Changes (Belle Morte Book 4)

Chapter Five

Gideon

Standing out in the corridor, Gideon listened, his hand still on the door-handle. The sound of Jason's heartbeat thumped softly through the door, coupled with the sounds of heavy breathing.

If Gideon wasn't a vampire, his heart would have been beating just as hard.

Who was this boy, who'd walked into the House and woken him up? That's what it felt like – like he'd been asleep for years, until Jason had come along.

And just then, in Jason's room, Gideon had been almost overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him, an urge that was so strong it was a wonder he could fight it.

Filth.

A shudder rolled through him and he backed away from the door.

Muck snipe.

He clenched his fists.

Pigeon-livered cur.

The words were burned into his brain.

People didn't talk like that anymore. Even Gideon knew that the evolution of language meant that, in the modern world, such insults would be considered comical rather than cruel, but they were still painful to him – just as painful as they had been more than a hundred and eighty years ago.

Sometimes he managed to suppress them. Sometimes, when he was attracted to someone, he could pursue that attraction without the ugliness of the past hanging around his neck. But Jason wasn't just anyone.

Jason was different.

Gideon wasn't entirely sure why; he just was.

If attraction was usually a bright, shining thing, then what Gideon felt for Jason was pure gold.

He didn't know what to do about that.

He could have talked to him – someone who would actually understand – but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he backed away from the door even more.

Memories of furious fists roared through his head and he actually flinched, shutting his eyes and waiting for the pain.

It didn't come.

There was no one here to hurt him, just the steady sound of Jason's heartbeat on the other side of that door.

Why had Gideon even come here?

He did want to learn about the modern world, but there were other people who could have taught him – Seamus, for example. But Gideon didn't want Seamus.

He wanted Jason.

He wanted to listen to him talk, to see the way his eyes sparked with passion and defiance, to gaze at his artfully tousled hair and beautiful mouth.

The sheer force of his wanting frightened him.

He needed to get away from that door, that room, and the boy still inside, the boy whose heart thumped with that same want.

Gideon made his way into the grounds, hoping the cold air would clear his head.

Outside the wall, the protests raged on, and Gideon concentrated on blocking them out. After the pure poison he'd read on Jason's phone, this was actually easier to cope with.

He wasn't alone out here – Isabeau sat on a stone bench close to the walls of the House. A slight breeze lifted her chestnut curls, blowing them around her face.