by Lyra Evans
“Niko, I—”
But Niko cut him off, unable to break the two realities apart in the moment. “You don’t deserve a second chance,” he said, but it came out like a whisper, like a breaking cry. Preston probably heard him. Maybe the whole jungle-forest did. But he didn’t care. He felt stinging at his eyes, fire in his chest and throat, and suddenly, he felt warm arms around him too.
He was on the ground, wrapped up against Cobalt, burrowing into his chest, smelling the ocean and feeling himself anchored back down into reality. A soft song played in his ears, a melody without words, but he knew the meaning. It was calm and reassuring and full of love. He was afraid of it, but it calmed him still.
“You’re right,” Cobalt whispered to him, holding him tightly. “I don’t deserve a second chance. But Coral does. And so do you.”
Chapter 19
When Niko opened his eyes, he was warm and relatively comfortable. His body did ache dully, but the soreness was deep and did not require urgent attention. Taking in the sight of the room in front of him, it took him a long moment to remember where he was and what he was doing there. The books scattered around the floor looked more egregious in the early morning light, and the debris of their search of the cabin reminded him of the recklessness with which they’d approached the situation. Niko sighed at this.
He’d somehow ended up in the pull-out bed, oriented correctly, and underneath the coverlet. His shoes and jeans were off, but his shirt was still on. He remembered none of that, but the weight dipping the mattress behind him told him Cobalt was likely responsible. And as he thought of Cobalt, his rage from the previous night flashed in his mind. He shut his eyes, feeling ashamed and uncomfortable.
Niko did not do outbursts like that. He simply didn’t. Not really. But twice now he’d exploded on Cobalt in a matter of days. And though both times had ended with Cobalt wrapped around him, gathering him in, Niko didn’t like the pattern that was emerging. True, there were exigent circumstances wearing on them all, but Niko was used to stress and pressure. That was nothing new. But where Cobalt was concerned, everything felt foreign to him, and everything felt more difficult. Was this what being Fated or Soul Mates or whatever word—was this what that was like? Struggle and anger and outbursts and glorious sex followed by more intense emotion and pain? It didn’t seem right, but Niko was by no means an expert.
His heart still pulled at him, drawing him closer to Cobalt, desperate for him, for his touch and kiss and the sound of his voice. But the hollow in his chest seemed to be growing. It pulsed now with a low-level vibration of rage. It was angry and wounded. It was all the ways people had hurt Niko in the past. It remembered. And that Cobalt had turned his back on his own sister, whatever she might have done, struck far too close to home for Niko. A sibling does not bear the same responsibility as a father, but that didn’t mean they bore none. And that wasn’t Niko’s injury to forgive. But could he do it anyway?
A soft shifting behind him encouraged Niko to open his eyes and get up properly. He rubbed at his face and sat up, turning to look at Cobalt. He didn’t know what he would say, what he should say for what happened the night before. Apologize for his ridiculous rant? Or pretend like nothing happened? Niko was shit at navigating these things; it was one of the reasons he generally didn’t maintain long-term relationships.
But when he looked at Cobalt, he found the Selkie with his eyes screwed shut, his brows furrowed, a look of silent distress on his face. Heart stopping, Niko reached for him. His fingers barely brushed at Cobalt’s cheeks, and the Selkie flinched away. Even that barest of touches seemed to leave a scrape across Cobalt’s skin. Cold drenched Niko, and he shuffled back on the bed, pulling the coverlet away from Cobalt. The sheet around his arms was red and wet.
“Fuck,” Niko said. The burns on his arms must not have been healing properly. He’d been drinking so much water the previous day. Niko should have known, should have pushed for more truth. He should have forced Cobalt to go into the river or—“Cobalt, can you hear me? Cobalt?”
Brow knitted tighter, Cobalt whispered, “Niko.”
Swearing to himself, Niko swiped his hands over each other, trading for more sensitive touch, and felt the air just above Cobalt’s injuries. The heat radiating from the Selkie’s arms was intense enough to be mistaken for outright fire. Niko pulled back, swiping his palms together again, then he pressed his hands as gently as possible to Cobalt’s upper arms, away from the actual burns, and tried to make some trades.
He pulled the heat into himself, offering water and lower temperatures in its place. But the burning that surged through Niko’s hands at the exchange was like shoving his arms into molten metal to the elbows. With a cry, he yanked his hands back when he couldn’t take it anymore. The skin on his own hands and forearms was raw and red now, but Cobalt seemed only minutely improved.
Opening his eyes with effort, Cobalt said, “No, Niko. Don’t.”
“You shut up,” he snapped back, the order undercut by the shaking in Niko’s voice. “You should have told me the truth! I don’t know what to do, Cobalt. What do I do?”
“Here.” Preston had appeared at the edge of the pull-out holding a jug of clear water and offering Niko a cup with a straw. Niko took the cup and put the straw to Cobalt’s lips so he could drink. Preston, meanwhile, poured out the jug over Cobalt’s bloodied bandages. It splashed little, wetting Niko in the process, but the water was soaked up almost instantly by Cobalt’s parched skin. “How did he get burned?”
Niko had no time to question Preston’s intentions or knowledge. “A chimera,” Niko said. “It walked into our camp in the night and surprised us in the morning. Cobalt shielded me from the burst of fire it let off before running away.”
Preston sucked his teeth in admonishment and set the jug aside before rushing to the refrigerator. He opened the freezer and searched around in the puff of condensation that emerged. When he returned, he was carrying a frosted bottle of ice-blue liquid with a glass topper.
“You should have told me yesterday he was burnt by a chimera,” he said, shaking his head. He set the frosted bottle aside and reached for Cobalt’s bandages. Cobalt tried to flinch away, but Preston pushed on, ignoring the way Cobalt writhed as he removed the gauze. The bandages had set into the burn, sticking to skin in a way Niko very much did not like. The pain must have been intense because Niko had never seen Cobalt like this, struggling and mute, barely able to keep his eyes open. Niko felt his heart in his throat. He couldn’t breathe.
“No—ointment—” Cobalt bit out through the pain as Preston tossed aside the bloodied bandages and reached for the bottle. The burns shone a bright and blinding orange-red, unnatural to the skin. It was difficult to look at, searing at Niko’s eyes whenever he tried.
“Not ointment,” Preston said, brushing off Cobalt’s refusal. “It’s a potion. Chimera burns require a potion to heal. Otherwise the heat will continue to burn through the skin until it hits the bone and consumes you whole.”
Eyes wide as headlights, Niko watched in horror as Preston yanked out the topper and poured out the icy-blue liquid over Cobalt’s injuries. It fell from the bottle like silk more than liquid, tiny snowflakes flitting off the surface of the potion as it hit the air. The moment the liquid touched the burn, it hissed and cracked a sound like breaking ice on a lake. Cobalt cried out a moment, and Niko braced, wanting to touch him but afraid to hurt him further.
Then he calmed. The frosty potion settled into every tiny crevasse of the burn, coating his skin completely and solidifying to a milky, iridescent solid that looked a lot like actual ice. The hissing had stopped, and Cobalt’s tense muscles, fighting the pain and struggling to maintain consciousness, finally eased. He collapsed almost boneless back into the mattress, his eyelids heavy as he tried to keep them open.
“Well, guess I’ll need more of that,” Preston said, studying the now empty bottle. It had been full. “Stuff isn’t cheap, either. Only a few Witches in Nimueh’s Court are skilled
enough to make it. You’re racking up quite a debt, Sincloud.” He shot Cobalt a pointed look at that last before setting aside the empty bottle.
“Send the bill to Chief Banyan,” Cobalt said, his voice rough and shaky but loud enough to hear now. Colour was slowly returning to his skin already. Niko reached out tentatively to touch him, and though Cobalt’s skin still felt like tree bark, he hummed softly at the feel of Niko’s fingers. “But thank you.”
Preston crossed his arms over his chest. Niko felt as though he’d just been launched into the sky only to land safely on an invisible platform. The danger had passed, but he still felt at risk. He turned to Preston.
“Why did you have that on hand?” he asked. “Chimeras are so rare most people don’t bother.”
“Most people aren’t me,” he said. “And good thing I did, or your boyfriend here might not have made it.” He favoured Cobalt with another scolding look. “The water you were drinking yesterday just barely kept you going. In the future, don’t be so proud about your injuries. It’s stupid.”
Niko coughed a half-laugh, surprised to find himself agreeing with Preston. He covered the sound by clearing his throat, but Preston caught him in a look that said he knew Niko agreed. Cobalt nodded weakly and tried to sit up. Niko moved to support him or help him or catch him—whatever he needed—but Preston placed a flat palm to Cobalt’s chest and shoved him gently back down.
One hand reaching up to swat Preston away, Cobalt frowned. “Do not touch me.”
Preston rolled his eyes. “Then don’t be an idiot and try to get up,” he said.
“We do not have time for me to rest,” Cobalt said. “We must go to Juniper and prove Niko’s innocence.”
Preston actually laughed. “You’re not going anywhere, I’m afraid,” he said.
“You said you would take us,” Niko shot back, instantly on guard.
Waving a hand, Preston said, “And I will. Take you. But Sir Burns-a-lot here is most definitely not coming.”
“I am fine,” Cobalt said, bristling at the idea that Niko should go with Preston alone. Niko didn’t particularly like the idea either, but even small movements seemed to take a lot out of Cobalt.
“Liar,” Preston said. “That potion will treat the magical component of the burns, but once that fades, you’ll still be left with very serious, very real injuries. The only way you’ll be of use to anyone going forward is if you spend the day in water. That’s how Selkies heal, if I understand correctly.”
Cobalt groaned as he shifted himself successfully to a semi-seated position. Niko’s stomach tightened at the sight of him. Even his Soul Stone, shining ethereally on his bare chest, seemed to have dimmed from the experience. The bright blues and greens were rather muted, still drawing to the core of Niko’s heart, but the song it played was quieter, nearer to silence. Niko shivered. He wasn’t aware of how frightening silence could be.
“I can soak for ten minutes and be back to fighting order,” Cobalt proclaimed, and Preston pursed his lips.
“Does this Alpha-like stupidity really turn you on?” he asked Niko. Niko’s jaw clenched. Preston shook his head. “Even if that was true, which it isn’t—don’t argue with me—you still couldn’t come. Noor’s been around Selkies, you forget, and she’s been around you. She knows that feeling Selkies give off. It’s too remarkable, once you know what to look for. She’ll make you in a second.”
Something about that struck Niko, like worrying at the edge of a sticker that just won’t peel off. He felt himself struggling to pull something up in his mind.
“She has met Niko,” Cobalt argued, and Niko wasn’t sure that was helping matters. They needed to get in to see her, so arguing there was no way to do so was rather counter-productive.
“There’s no disguising Selkie influence,” Preston said, then turning to Niko, he smiled wolfishly. “This one, however, I can work with. Noor may be perceptive, but she’s no Werewolf. I’ve a plan in mind that’ll fool her.”
Niko didn’t like the look on his face much, but he couldn’t argue that Cobalt needed to stay behind. He was too weak and too identifiable. And as Niko studied the ice-coated burns on Cobalt’s arms, he felt guilt rise in his stomach. He hadn’t paid enough attention, hadn’t urged Cobalt to treat himself better. He was so focused on Preston and figuring out the case he’d nearly allowed Cobalt to die because of it. That thought cut through him, dislodging the fears about being Fated or worrying about Cobalt’s less-than-perfect past. He found himself imagining the morning playing out differently—him turning over to find Cobalt still and cold, his entire being eaten away by the chimera fire. And the last thing Niko would have said to him was he was undeserving of a second chance.
“You should stay,” Niko said, nodding slowly. He set his jaw, forcing the guilt down, burying it beneath everything else. Cobalt needed rest and healing. He needed to stay.
“Niko, I will be—”
“But you might not,” Niko said. “You told me yesterday water and rest would help you, but it didn’t. You could have died. That’s forever, Cobalt. That what you want?”
The implied question was clear. Cobalt’s eyes confirmed this. If he meant he would never leave Niko again, he would have to do better. Putting himself at risk for no reason was not responsible. It was not treating his promise to Niko with respect. Cobalt held Niko’s gaze for a long moment, his expression resigned. He nodded.
“If you insist,” he said to Niko. “But be safe.” Then, turning to Preston, he offered the Werewolf a glare. “His life is your life. If anything happens to him, I will hunt you down. You will not enjoy it.”
Eyebrows shooting for the sky, Preston smiled and nodded. “Noted.” He turned to Niko. “You’re going to need to trust me—” Niko snorted a laugh. Preston’s look flattened. “At least for the length of our visit. Noor knows all there is to know about you. She knows all the details of what you look and sound like, so you’re going to need to be none of those things.” He went to the ladder and picked up a box he’d set on one of the rungs Niko hadn’t noticed earlier.
“We have some disguises already,” Niko said, nodding to his duffel bag.
Preston snorted. “Those are costume-store disguises. Noor will see through that. Hell, even without my advanced senses, I could smell the plastic coming off those hats and wigs. You need to look different, smell different, sound different—”
And then it clicked with Niko. Werewolves had enhanced senses unparalleled in any other creature. There were stories of how Werewolves could smell what you’d eaten for dinner the previous night, what brand of air freshener your office building used, and even what brand of toothpaste your lover preferred. Preston could gather details about a person based on his sense of smell alone that even the best detective could only guess at after a thorough search of their personal lives.
“You knew who we were,” Niko said quietly, staring at Preston. Preston stopped, cocking one eyebrow. “At The RACK. When Cobalt and I met you for the first time. You knew who we were right away.”
Preston shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t know what—”
“You had to know Cobalt was a Selkie based on sensation alone,” Niko said. “You just talked about how being around Selkies as often as you were made it impossible not to notice. And you would have smelled the ‘cop’ on me a mile away—” But Niko realized something else, even as he said all these things. “But I guess recognizing me by my face was even easier.”
Preston was very still. Cobalt studied them both.
“Niko, what do you mean?”
“I had never met you before The RACK,” Preston said.
Niko shook his head. “You were tasked with looking into me. You told us that. You also told us you’ve only had contact with one person since you disappeared to this cabin. No way you could’ve found out all the stuff you did about me through one person. No. You looked into me before you met me at The RACK. When Cobalt and I showed up, you already knew exactly who we were.�
�� And the final ring of the bell in Niko’s head was the loudest. “And you let us into the auction anyway. You wanted us to bring it down.”
Preston said nothing to that. He held the little wooden box in both hands, his eyes trained on Niko. Niko searched his face, but there was nothing to find. It was expressionless.
“As I was saying, the items I keep in this box—”
“But you invested in the auction,” Cobalt said, adjusting himself in the bed. “You were Oak’s economic partner. Why would you invest in it if you meant it to be destroyed?”
Preston tilted his head down, pulling his neck until Niko heard a soft pop. Rolling his head back, Preston seemed to be working out the tension. He sighed.
“That’s quite a complicated question,” he said finally. “And it has an equally complex answer. Put simply—I invested because I was expected to. And possibly because I wanted to.” He looked away, staring intently at his box. “I don’t know anymore.”
Before his eyes, Niko saw Preston transforming. The psychopathic monster began to break away, crumbling to reveal a torn and confused person underneath. From what Niko knew of the Werewolves of Connor’s Court, they were a race that put the good of the pack above all else. They were honourable and determined and protected each other. Their murder rate was essentially zero—barring that unfortunate issue with Sky Hawthorne a while back. Wolves hunted out of necessity and survival and defense of their pack. They did not kill for fun. And while Preston had lived most of his life, it seemed, in Maeve’s Court, a part of his home Court still seemed to live inside him. The question was what caused him to forget the Wolf in favour of the monster?