Heart of Stone by Johannes T. Evans

Author:Johannes T. Evans [Evans, Johannes T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction & Fantasy, Historical, Fiction & Literature, Lgbt, Gay, Vampires, adhd, vampire gay, romance 1700s, adult adhd men, gay autistic
ISBN: 9781005965167
Publisher: Johannes T. Evans
Published: 2020-08-17T16:00:00+00:00

HENRY

“You’ve a face like a slapped arse,” said Mr Woodrow as he leaned back in Henry’s armchair: as Henry’s teeth had sunk into the heavy meat at his wrist, he had scarcely flinched, and what small effect Henry’s saliva had had on him when he’d been a young man of thirty had faded entirely now.

Everyone regularly exposed to a vampire’s venom – particularly those exposed to one particular vampire’s venom over time – tended to form some form of immunity, but Ambrose Woodrow Senior had only had the barest wobble in his step afterward, the first time Henry had drunk from him, and now it barely even did that to him. He was a gigantic man, truly hulking, tall and broad-shouldered and easily five times the weight of his son, and at least twice Henry’s own, although Henry’s flesh was very dense and his body far heavier than most men’s.

Henry said nothing as he pulled his banyan slightly tighter around his waist, and Mr Woodrow laughed in a low voice, tapping his knees. He was into his late forties now, on the cusp of his fifties, and Henry was well-accustomed to the thickness of his Scottish brogue, one that many new staff struggled to understand. He regularly heard Matthew asking one of the others what the stablemaster had said, but virtually everyone needed to do that, now and then, except his son.

“Mooning over that wee prick like y’are,” Woodrow said. “Would you not just fuck him and be done with it?”

“Christ’s blood, Ambrose,” Henry said sharply, and Woodrow laughed, and didn’t falter even when Henry shot him a foul expression. Woodrow was a coarse man who cared for horses more than people, and he’d never made a secret of it – for all that he loved his son, he didn’t tend to flinch away from frank advice in regards to other relationships.

“You sayin’ you don’t wannae fuck him?”

“I don’t.”

“You fuckin’ liar.”

Henry pressed his lips together very thinly, walking away from Woodrow and to the window instead, where his curtains were not yet drawn, and he looked out over the trees in the garden, wondering if Astaroth and the other cats had already been tossed out of the door by Mrs Woodbury.

He wondered, too, if Essex was looking out of his own window, or if he was already abed, curled up under his own blankets and sleeping soundly, or, perhaps, if he was still awake, and drawing… or writing letters to Bartholomew Dufresne.

“Go on then,” said Woodrow. “Tell me. Cannae avoid it forever, and I can see you fuckin’ desperate to.”

“Has anybody ever informed you, Ambrose, that you are a prick of the highest order?”

“Aye, sure have,” Woodrow said, shrugging his mighty shoulders. “Think it was in Katie’s vows.”

Henry had only met Katie twice – she’d died less than a year after Ambrose had been born, of some sort of infection, and although Woodrow didn’t talk about her often, Henry knew well that he’d adored her, had worshiped the ground she’d

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