River pushed to his feet and walked over to the wall of cases. “That’s amazing.” There was something almost reverential in the way his fingers lightly touched one case after another, a look of sad longing in his eyes.
“Do you play?”
River quickly shook his head. “No. But I always wanted to learn. I love music.” He paused and flashed Bel a too-bright smile before turning his eyes back to the instruments. “Would have killed to learn when I was a teenager.”
“Why didn’t you?”
River’s hand fell limp at his side. “When you’re in a pack, you have to learn skills that are of use to the entire pack. Learning music, playing an instrument doesn’t fall in that category.” He shook his head and turned away from the instruments, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Wyatt was barely allowed to go to school for medicine. We heal really fast and we don’t get sick, so doctors aren’t exactly in high need.”
“What were you expected to learn or be?”
“I’d settled on mechanic.” River pulled his hands out of his pockets as he sat down. He held them out in front of him. They were good hands with long, nimble fingers. Strong hands. “I’m good at putting things together and taking them apart. It’s a solid, useful trade.”
“Yes, it is, but you didn’t care for it?”
“Not really. I didn’t mind the puzzle aspect of it all. Figuring out what’s wrong with a car or engine. But I didn’t care for a lot of the tedious upkeep.”
Logically, Bel understood the pack’s edicts. They needed their members to be productive people in their society, all of them adding to the strength of the whole. But to deny a person not only the one they loved, but also the calling of their soul was just barbaric. He was glad River and Wyatt had escaped that life.
With Bel, they had a chance of grabbing what they wanted, right? That was what he was fighting for when it came to being their protector.
And maybe that was enough for them to be together. Bel could take on the role of benefactor. He could make sure Wyatt had a chance to get his medical degree if that was what he wanted. River could learn how to play an instrument or all the instruments.
Wyatt and River would also be together.
Bel could make sure that little bubble of happiness remained protected.
“What instrument do you want to learn?”
River’s head popped up and he stared at Bel in shock for a moment. “Seriously?”
“Of course. We’re talking music. I’m always serious.”
River smirked and turned his gaze back to the room, his eyes roaming over the instruments already there. “All of them,” he said in an awed kind of whisper.
Bel chuckled. “Okay, but where do you want to start?”
“The guitar. It’s mobile. I can easily take it with me from room to room so I can practice without disturbing anyone.”
“I’ve been telling Marcus for years that his piano isn’t very realistic. And you don’t want to suggest one of those electronic keyboards to him. You’d think you’d suggested setting a cathedral on fire and pissing on the ashes.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Bel waved toward the guitar case. “You can play with that one if you’d like. It’s one of Winter’s, but he hasn’t played it in months. We’ll look into finding one for you.”
Yes, Winter hadn’t touched that guitar since the night of the attack. There were probably smears of dried blood on it. Bel rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefingers, trying to force away the old memories.
“When you talk about your family, they’re…they’re actually related to you by blood, right? It’s not just a vampire thing where you all have the same sire. I thought I heard that you grew up together.”
Bel dropped his hand and nodded. “Yes, the four of us are blood relatives. Brothers. We were all born in London in the early eighteen hundreds.”
River managed to gasp and give a strangled laugh. “Holy shit, you’re old!” he cried with his hand partially covering his mouth. “You don’t look more than…midtwenties.”
Bel smiled and gave his bow tie a little tweak. “Well, I like to think I’m pretty well preserved for one hundred and seventy-six. How old are you?”
The werewolf’s smile turned sly. “Fifty-one.”
“You lie!” Bel exclaimed, his eyes nearly falling from his head. “You look as if you’re barely out of your teens. How old is Wyatt?”
“Sixty-two.”
“No!” Wyatt could easily pass for a man in his early thirties or even late twenties. All of River’s mannerisms and his boyish charm spoke of someone so much younger.
River turned serious as he leaned close to Bel. “Werewolves are extremely long-lived. We age very slowly.”
There was some hidden temptation layered under River’s words that were teasing Bel’s brain and libido. River and Wyatt would stay young and virile with him so much longer than if they were merely human. No sickness to plague them. And they healed quickly from injury.