Master of Obsidian

1

Jesse watched with a small, secret smile as the vampire paced around the office. He knew Gideon’s frustration at being trapped in the room wasn’t amusing—and Gideon would be very annoyed if he knew that Jesse was privately laughing at him—but he couldn’t help it. Gideon went through the same dance of impatience and frustration every single day, almost as if he forgot his rather lethal allergy to the sun every morning, only to be rudely reminded when he stepped out for the newspaper.

Gideon would want to leave the second the sun was low enough, so Jesse knew he needed to have his research done, his maps prepared, and his notes in order. He didn’t have time to watch his boss, or note the way the tension made his broad shoulders tight, or the way his dark hair flopped over his forehead. But his strong hands, clenching and unclenching into fists, kept drawing Jesse’s eye. He had nice hands.

Gideon disappeared from Jesse’s line of sight, allowing him to get back to his work. The case they were working on finally had a warm trail, and that was why Gideon was chomping at the bit. In the two years since Jesse had found himself thrown into Gideon’s world, this was the most high-profile investigation they had conducted. Toby Richards, Councilman Richards’ only son, had been found rather brutally murdered, and while it seemed most of the Chicago police force had been assigned to the case, it only took one glance at the savaged body to know it was demon-related

And there was only one investigator in the city capable of finding the demon culprits responsible.

“We’re leaving in ten minutes,” Gideon warned, his voice drifting from the next room.

“I’ll be ready,” Jesse called back, though that was unnecessary. Of course, he’d be ready. That was his job. The most bizarre job Jesse had ever held, but his job, all the same.

Jesse closed his books and began packing his leather case. It always annoyed Gideon when he brought anything that wasn’t a weapon, but having easy access to his research had saved their asses more than once. Gideon never complained anymore.

“Ready?” Gideon asked, not bothering to check if Jesse answered in the affirmative before heading to the garage.

Jesse fell in step behind his boss and friend, noticing that Gideon’s pants were tighter than usual. He mentally kept a running tally of Gideon’s appearance, noting slight variations and differences on a daily basis. That wasn’t technically part of his job at Gideon Investigations, but he still did so faithfully. Gideon had barely changed since the day they formally met, of course, but that didn’t really matter. Jesse thought he was perfect as he was.

“This is recon,” Gideon said as Jesse buckled his safety belt.

“Right.”

“I want you to keep an eye on the perimeter while I go into the warehouse.”

“Right.”

“But if you see anybody, shout for me. Don’t try to—”

“To engage them. Yes, Gideon, I know.”

“Good.”

It wasn’t that Jesse couldn’t hold his own in a fair fight, but demons and vampires rarely fought fair.

He didn’t need to give Gideon directions from the maps he brought. Jesse wasn’t sure exactly how long Gideon had been in Chicago, though there was evidence that it was since at least before the first fire. Gideon didn’t like to volunteer information about his past. Jesse wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t like to dwell on the atrocities he had spent the last forty years trying to put behind him, or if he had some other inexplicable reason. One day, he hoped Gideon would assuage his curiosity, but until then, Jesse was happy with the information he had.

Jess never pried, though his life had been devoted to information and knowledge, and Gideon was a repository of history, and the stories he could tell almost made Jesse drool. But the man had given him a job when Jesse desperately needed one, and later, somehow, he had become a close friend. And Jesse firmly believed it was wrong to interrogate close friends—no matter how tempting.

There were several things Jesse avoided doing because Gideon was a close friend. He never got Gideon drunk with the ultimate goal of seducing him. He never tried to angle an invitation to his bed. He never kissed him, even when he thought Gideon sorely needed the contact. He never took advantage of the number of times Gideon sat before him, stripped naked, bleeding, and in need of first aid and a sympathetic ear to vent his frustrations. It was true he wanted to do all those things, but at the same time, he was content with the role in Gideon’s life—existence—that he did have. It was a privileged one.