The rest…he’d have to figure out later.
Chapter Seventeen
Rafe found himself standing outside the Arsenault front door the next night, his mind only partially settled. Marcus had made good on his promise to speak with his brothers. Bel even made a rare appearance at his penthouse, looking quite put out that Rafe hadn’t brought his concern to him. Rafe soothed his twin, though not exactly with the truth. He’d wanted Beltran to consider the situation with his brilliant, analytical mind. Rafe had been concerned that if he spoke directly with Bel, his twin would agree with him if only to ease Rafe’s worries and guilt. He was desperate to make sure Lola and the others were protected, but he didn’t want to do it at the risk of his brothers.
He hadn’t heard from Winter yet. That could have been due to Marcus being unable to reach him, or maybe Winter was still thinking about the suggestion of becoming a clan, which would mean welcoming outsiders.
In the end, he wasn’t too troubled by Winter’s silence. His little brother would come around.
At least if his own people were secure, Rafe could turn his full attention to Philippe and the Arsenault clan.
The door opened, and Rafe couldn’t say he was pleased to see Jullien on the other side. The vampire made Rafe nervous. Rafe wanted to think it was only the ugly tang of jealousy that made him suspect Jullien, but he was also well placed within the clan. He’d been with Philippe the longest. He knew everyone, and he would be the one person Philippe would never suspect.
“Why do you keep coming back, Varik?” Jullien asked. He remained standing in the doorway, his wide frame blocking Rafe from entering.
“I wish to help your clan,” Rafe replied.
“I’m beginning to agree with Ezra’s suggestion to align with the MacPherson clan. Your concern is more focused on Philippe and his bed than the problems of the Arsenaults.”
“And why does it matter to you what happens in Philippe’s bed so long as we locate the bastard hunting your clan?” Rafe stepped into Jullien’s personal space, his nose barely an inch from Jullien’s. “Or would you rather we not find that person?”
“Fuck you, Varik. You don’t care about the Arsenaults. You don’t care about Philippe. You’re having some fun, and then you’re going to toss him aside. You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself and your brothers. You—”
“Jullien!” Philippe’s voice thundered through the hall and had Jullien jerking away from Rafe. He turned toward his clan leader so Rafe could now see Philippe standing just a few feet away in the relative gloom of the home. His face was flushed red, and his jaw was clenched as if he were trying to hold back a tirade.
“Master Arsenault,” Rafe said smoothly, trying to unruffle Philippe’s feathers. Not the easiest of tasks when his best friend had just argued that he was being used by his lover.
“Come in, please,” Philippe instructed. Each word was stiff and clipped.
Rafe entered and closed the door behind him. He stepped around Jullien, who remained glaring at Philippe.
“I was hoping we could spend some more time brainstorming and researching your concern,” Rafe said. See? He could be diplomatic and calming when he tried. He normally didn’t want to try, but he wanted to for Philippe. He found himself wanting to do a lot of things since meeting Philippe he would have considered out of character in usual circumstances.
Philippe sent one last glare at Jullien and stormed into the library with Rafe on his heels. Rafe paused only to close the door while Philippe walked to the far side of the room. The silence hung heavy between them. Rafe didn’t quite know what to say to make Philippe feel better.
“Well?” Philippe snapped, startling Rafe. “Aren’t you going to deny it? Say that you’re not fucking me for a bit of fun.”
“I didn’t think I had to.” Rafe smirked and strolled across the room, weaving around the furniture that separated them. “I was always quite sure that I was faced with the smartest, most astute vampire in all the Americas.” He closed the distance between them and reached up to cup Philippe’s cheek. The flush was still there, but Rafe had a feeling it was more embarrassment than anger now. “I thought this man was well aware of my blind devotion to his happiness and well-being.”
Philippe closed his eyes and leaned his head against Rafe’s palm. “Mon amour, forgive me,” he whispered.
“There’s mon ange,” Rafe practically purred at the softness in Philippe’s voice. “Nothing to forgive. You have so much on your mind. You worry about your people. You shouldn’t need to worry about the one you’ve trusted with your body.”
“I trust you with my heart, Rafe.” Philippe opened his eyes. His startling green eyes held Rafe in their warm grip. “Don’t you know that? Here I thought you were the smartest, most perceptive man.”