Avow

CHAPTER 20

Charleston 1801

Gabriel sat in the dark, leaning back in a large chair with his feet propped up on the desk before him. He tapped his fingers and waited.

Tristan appeared in the hallway and headed for the front door.

“Where are you off to?” Gabriel stopped tapping his fingers.

Tristan eyed Gabriel. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” He cocked his head to the side. “Very odd behavior for a…what is it you call yourself now? A gentleman?”

Gabriel smiled. “Interesting how you always change the subject when I ask about your nightly whereabouts.”

“Why do you care, brother? Have you no whores to play with tonight?”

“Is that where you spend your time? Brothels?” Gabriel dropped his feet to the ground and leaned forward with a sharp smile. “No, of course not. Not Tristan. My righteous brother does not mar his time with the company of sinners.”

“Except for you.”

“Will you not tell me where it is you go dressed as,” Gabriel glanced Tristan over, taking in his loose, cut off pants and wider-than-fashionable shirt, “a pirate?”

“Trust me, brother.” Tristan glanced at him with mischief in his eyes. “A pirate would not bode well where I go.” Without another word, he exited the house, leaving Gabriel in the dark.

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel stood from the chair and grudgingly gathered his coat from the hallway.

Lofty Tristan, he could deal with.

Soft-hearted Tristan, he could tolerate.

But dark, mysterious Tristan?

Gabriel would have none of that.

There was room for only one irreverent soul in the Archer family, and Gabriel had staked that claim long ago.

He left out the front door, keeping to the shadows as he followed his brother.

Through darkened streets, questionable alleyways, and a part of town Gabriel used to frequent but never thought Tristan would set foot in, he followed his brother until they reached an abandoned building.

At least, it looked abandoned.

Tristan slinked his way down an almost hidden set of stairs and Gabriel hovered nearby, watching as Tristan nodded to a doorman—who looked just as questionable, if not more so, than the alleyways they’d just walked through—and entered a door that opened to the sound of a crowd, light spilling onto the doorman before the door fell shut.

What…the…hell?

Gabriel debated for several minutes, not sure if he should follow after Tristan or let his brother be. Curiosity was the victor, as always.

Slinking down the stairs as Tristan had, Gabriel approached the questionable doorman and kept his face as expressionless as possible.

The doorman looked confused. “Archer?”

Gabriel nodded. Sometimes, being a twin had its advantages.

“But I just…you just...how…?”

“I left out the back.” Gabriel hoped this was explanation enough and that there was, indeed, a “back” to whatever this place was.

The doorman shrugged. “Alright. Best of luck tonight. I always put my money on you.”

Gabriel nodded again as the doorman let him into a bright room filled with people, bookies, the smell of sweat, and the sound of breaking bones.

Well, damn.

Walking along the outskirts of the crowd and keeping in the shadows as much as possible, Gabriel moved toward the spectacle in the center of the room.

A shirtless Tristan, blood running down his face and body, had his bare-knuckled fists raised before a much larger man who was throwing punches in his direction. The larger man was far more beat up than Tristan and he was stumbling with injury and disorientation. Tristan blocked every blow the man served and, after a few minutes of watching the large man stomp unevenly from side to side, Tristan clocked him in the face.

The man fell to the blood-splattered floor and the crowd cheered. Somewhere a bell chimed and Gabriel finally understood what he was watching. He didn’t believe it, but he understood it.

He waited four more matches until the crowd thinned and people began to disperse, then he stood outside the stairwell, hidden in shadows, until a bloody Tristan emerged.

Grabbing him by the nape, Gabriel threw his brother against the wall of the building. “Prizefighting? Are you crazy?”

Caught off guard, Tristan swung at Gabriel’s face, pausing just before making contact as recognition set in.

God, he was a mess. Blood everywhere. A swollen eye. Sweat matting his hair and chest.

“Hello, Gabe.” Tristan smacked Gabriel’s hand off him and spit on the ground. “What brings you back to your old stomping grounds? I thought you were a changed man.”

Gabriel ignored the comment, though it was true. Since Scarlet’s death, he had no desire to be the slobbering, self-hating, drunken gambler he’d been before. She had loved him. He now had something to live for.

“I’ll ask again,” Gabriel said. “Are you insane?”

“No. I’m well.” He smiled. Like a crazy person, he smiled. “I’m excellent, in fact. I’ve not lost a fight in many weeks.”

“You are immortal. These are not fair fights, not real victories.”

Tristan examined his knuckles, torn flesh slowly mending itself, then looked back up. “Now, don’t go spewing morality at me brother. You have a reputation to uphold. Whatever would the townspeople do if you were to become the ‘good’ brother? I’m sure chaos would ensue. You must hurry and find yourself some brandy and a painted woman and fix this morality nonsense so the world may be right again.”

“I’m serious, Tristan. Prizefighting is illegal.” Gabriel suddenly felt like the grown-up between them and was not comfortable with his new role.

“I know.” Tristan’s crazy smile was back.

Who was this person?

Tristan spit again. “Since when do you care about the law?”

Since my brother went rogue, apparently.

Gabriel shook his head. “It’s wrong to fight when you have an obvious advantage over your opponents—

“My advantage is not all that great. Did you know,” Tristan looked at Gabriel with something akin to glee in his eyes, “that the more wounded immortals are, the slower they heal? All I have to do is break a few bones or cut myself up before a fight and I am almost as mortal as any opponent. I learned that from one of Nathaniel’s books. Helpful information in those wizarding bibles.”

Gabriel blinked. “What’s the matter with you?”

“What’s the matter with you?”

Gabriel rubbed his face, completely dumbfounded. “Explain this to me. Why are you participating in these fights?”

“Because it feels good to hit something. It feels good to be hit.”

Ah.

This was punishment for Tristan. This was a way to hurt, and be hurt, in between Scarlet’s lives.

“Don’t worry, Gabe,” Tristan spit again. “The fights are more equally matched than you think. I‘m not cheating. I feel the same pressure, the same pain, the same—“

“Guilt?” he challenged. “Sadness?”

Tristan’s cocky face sobered.

Gabriel shook his head. “This doesn’t bring her back any faster. Or change what will happen when she returns.”

Dangerous anger filled Tristan’s eyes as he lowered his voice. “Do not speak to me about Scarlet.”

And then he was gone. Disappearing into the night with blood on his skin.