Sold to the coldhearted beast

A brother’s visit

*Raphael*

I am standing in the open doorway that leads into my brother’s office at the gambling hell. I can’t recall ever seeing the door closed. At his desk, my brother is bent diligently over his ledgers, his dark head bent in concentration, just as he had been the first time that I had seen him after twelve long years of separation. Tristan’s giant of a man had been waiting at the abbey ruins and he had brought me here, to this very doorway.

My grip tightens on the large package I am holding, I shift my gaze to the shelves on the far wall where Tristan keeps his assemblage of assorted globes. He had once told me that he collects them because they give him hope of there being a place better than where he is. I am saddened to see that my brother has acquired a new one. After Tristan had helped me right a wrong I had stupidly done to Anne before she became my wife … when I had no expectation of her ever becoming my wife … I had thought we might be on our way to closing this rift between us. But it seems my hope is as pointless as Tristan’s.

“I hear you’ve taken a mistress.” I say.

Tristan jerks up his head, his eyes … the same hazel as my own … are hard, his mouth set in a thin line. “I’ve not seen you in months and that’s how you greet me?”

I almost blurt out that it seems fair play. After not seeing me in twelve years, Tristan had merely reached back, grabbed a tumbler, poured whiskey in it, and set it at the edge of the desk. His face had held no expression, his eyes had been as calm as the sea before a storm. There had been no surprise, no rising from his seat, no embrace. His first words? ‘Stephan has yet to show’.

“I would have thought you had learned by now that I believe in getting to the point,” I say, giving my brother what I know is a devilish smile that will only serve to irritate him. “So who is she?”

Tristan grabs two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey. He begins to pour as I walk over and take a chair, then he pushes the full tumbler toward me. “I don’t see that it’s any of your concern.”

I lift the glass, inhale the fumes, and take a small sip. My brother does have a damned good taste in whiskey. “Is she pretty?”

Tristan narrows his eyes. “Thinking of taking her for yourself when I’m done with her?”

I belt out a laugh. “God, no. Anne damn near kills me with her desire for me. I could hardly keep another woman satisfied.” I relish another sip. “Besides, Anne is everything to me. When you have everything, you neither need … nor want … anything more.”

“Spoken like a poor besotted fool.” He sighs.

“You don’t believe in love?” I ask.

Leaning back in his chair, Tristan takes a good long swallow.

Not going to answer, I think. But then I hadn’t really expected him to. I know Tristan has yet to forgive Stephan and me for leaving him behind. We did not have any choice. Separation had been the best chance of ensuring at least one of us survived to manhood in order to reclaim the Alpha title.

“Don’t suppose I can blame you. I didn’t believe in it either, not until Anne graced my life.” I admit.

“Do take your leave before you begin spouting poetry. I have no stomach for it.” He rolls his eyes.

I truly dislike that Tristan is becoming more difficult and more of a recluse … at least where Stephan and I are concerned. He accepts none of our invitations, but I am not yet ready to give up on him.

“You know,” I begin, eager to change the subject, “Most people would at least inquire as to what a man is holding if he walked into a room carrying a large box.”

Tristan shifts his gaze over to the box. “I would have to care to ask. I don’t. It’s your box.”

“Actually, it’s not.” I put it in the center of the desk. “It’s yours. Well, not the box really. But what’s inside is yours. Although you’re more than welcome to keep the box too.”

I don’t know why I am rambling on stupidly. I am not anxious regarding what Tristan might think of my offering. I have battled the sea, tempests, pirates, and sharks. I have no worries here. Still I watch as Tristan eyes the package as though he thinks it might attack him.

“What do you mean it’s mine?” He says.

I wonder once again, as I often do, what sort of life my baby brother have led since the night we escaped death. None of us ever talk about our years apart.

Stephan had left half his face on some godforsaken battlefield in the Crimea.

I carry the scars of a lash that had flayed my back. I have always suspected that Tristan carries scars as well, but that they run much deeper than the skin, and I have little doubt that makes them much harder to heal. “It’s a gift.”

“Why?” Tristan mumbles.

“No reason in particular.” I know that I should have said ‘because you’re my brother and I love you’, but the words are as difficult for me to speak as I suspect they would be for Tristan to hear.

Tristan puts his tumbler aside and pulls the present nearer. He removes the lid from the box, tips it cautiously toward him …

Then he jerks gaze up to me, who squirms, feeling a bit self-conscious. “I know it’s not perfect. I carved it during the two years I was at sea, after Stephan had gained his title back.”

Slowly Tristan stands up, reaches in, and withdraws the wooden globe attached to a stand in such a way that my brother can spin the world as he pleases.

“Although I’m not so nimble with a brush, I thought about painting the land masses green and the ocean blue ….”. I start.

“I like it plain.” Tristan is trailing his fingers over every indention and relief, studying them as though they are of great importance.

“Do you? Like it, I mean?” I ask.

Tristan nods. “I didn’t know you could carve.”

There’s a lot you don't know about me, Brother, and I suspect even more that I don’t know about you, I think.

“One gets bored on a ship. Unlike working here, in a gambling den.” I say with a shrug.

“It gets boring, looking at ledgers and such all the time.” He admits.

I grin. “What do you do when you get bored?”

Tristan looks at me as though I have asked if he could fly. “I will continue working. Boredom is not an excuse not to work.”

“Do you ever go sailing?” I ask.

Tristan returns his attention to the sphere. “No.”

“I’ve started a business of designing yachts and having them built. The first, I just finished, is mine of course, but I thought the second could be yours.” I tell him.

“I have no need of a boat.” He mumbles.

I fight not to clench my jaw. A yacht is not a boat. Especially the ones I am designing. By the Goddess, the luxury built into my own vessel is appalling. “You might be surprised. The sea can bring calm to the soul.”

“If one has a soul, but still it’s not something on which I wish to waste my hard-earned coin.” He simply says.

“I wasn’t going to have you pay for it. It would be another gift. The Goddess knows I don’t need the money, and I enjoy designing something that so closely resembles a ship.” I tell him.

Tristan studies me. “What are you doing here, Raphael? We’re not friends, acquaintances, or even brothers, really.”

I shove myself to my feet. “We are brothers.”

“Why? Because we came from the same mother, had the same father? Being a brother is more than that.” He says curtly.

“Why will you not let go of the past? It’s tearing Stephan up that you have yet to forgive him for leaving you at that blasted workhouse. Do you really think he had a choice?” I ask.

His eyes narrow. “We all have choices.”

I know a speech is pointless. Tristan is beyond listening. I take some comfort in the fact that Tristan hasn’t flung the globe across the room. I sigh. “I’m going to christen my new yacht in two weeks. I thought you might like to go sailing with us.”

“I shall be too busy.” He mumbles.

“Enjoying your new mistress?” I ask.

He grinds his teeth. “She’s none of your concern.”

“Bring her.” I suggest.

Tristan’s brow furrows. “You’re joking. She’s the bastard daughter of an alpha. I’m sure her presence would offend the sensibilities of your wife.”

“If you think that, then you don’t know my Anne very well. And I wish you did. She’s a remarkable woman. You would like her. Anyway ….” I set my empty glass on the desk. “ … The invitation is open should you change your mind. Two weeks from Friday, be at the pack house at eleven.”

“Stephan’s invited as well.” It is not really a question, more a fact due to where we are to meet.

“Of course he is. He, his wife, and his heir.” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “My schedule is full.”

“Your loss.” I sigh.

I turn on my heel and march from the room. I refuse to give up on Tristan, not yet.