by A. H. Lee
Mal started to say something. Something like, “What is your command, master?”
Azrael spoke first. “Malcharius Thardarian Vi’aesha Charn, be free.” He followed it with the necessary incantation. The words seemed to jangle inside Mal’s head. He felt as though he had whiplash. You…! You, you, you…
Mal shot to his feet. For a moment, he cursed the human part of himself. He was feeling too many things at once. It was intolerable. Mal seized the collar, jerked it off his neck, and flung it at Azrael. He had intended to hit him, and he succeeded. Azrael raised his hands to protect his face, and the collar smacked him hard in the stomach.
Azrael staggered backwards. “Mal…”
“You arrogant, self-righteous prick! You lying, hypocritical, tyrant!”
Azrael was backing away from him. “Mal, I thought—”
“You thought I did something without you, asshole! You thought I had somehow gotten the mistaken impression that you respected my judgement or opinion!”
Azrael’s back met the wall beside the washroom door. Before he could skitter away, Mal closed the distance, caught him by the wrists, and pinned him there. He snarled into Azrael’s face. “You want to fight with me? You don’t get to do what you just did, then dust off your hands, and walk away. Come on, boss, pull yourself together, because we are doing this!”
Azrael just looked at him. Mal wished he was better at reading human expressions. Fight with me, damn you! “Do something!” bellowed Mal. “Say something!”
Azrael was starting to shake.
Mal didn’t know what that meant. “I hope you’re still mad, because I certainly am!”
When communicating with mortals, Mal depended heavily on his ability to sense emotion. He could sense nothing past Azrael’s personal wards, and this had always been a sore point between them. In a burst of frustration, Mal ripped through the wards. In the past, Mal had always taken care to do this gently. He knew it was a privilege and a unique vulnerability that Azrael allowed him. But fuck it. You just bound me! Mal tore off Azrael’s wards as though he were tearing off a shirt.
Azrael’s face twisted and he made a pained grunt as though a horse had kicked him. The wards flickered violently for a moment before going out.
Mal pulled. He pulled like he intended to kill this man who’d made him and bound him and loved him and saved him and married him and hurt him and needed him and and and…
Mal stopped. Azrael’s bright, sorcerous magic churned inside him like living flames. Azrael’s eyes were so dark. He still hadn’t struggled. Mal had pressed their bodies together instinctively. He could feel Azrael’s erection against his thigh—the inevitable result of Mal’s feeding.
Deliberately, Mal eased his grip on Azrael’s wrists…and on his magic. “You’re afraid,” he whispered. “You’re more afraid than you are angry. And not of me. Of…of…”
Azrael looked away. Mal knew that expression. That was despair. Azrael’s voice came out in a croak, “I’ve handled this poorly. I thought… I truly thought—”
“Afraid,” continued Mal as though he hadn’t heard, “of the Wild Hunt. Because Mab had me under a spear. And you don’t trust her at all. And...”
“I should never have made that corn,” whispered Azrael. “I knew better. I’m the sorcerer; knowing better is my job. It’s not your fault, Mal. You’ve got every right to be angry—”
Mal kissed him. Azrael tasted like tears. Mal broke the kiss and pressed his mouth against Azrael’s ear. “I’m alright.”
“Mal—”
“I mean it. Get that through your head before you say anything else. I am alright. Not dead, not hurt, not corrupted by faery magic. I’m here. I’m fine.”
Azrael’s breath hitched. Mal kissed his neck under his jaw. From a mortal lover this would surely have been a sign of forgiveness, but from Mal, it could have been a prelude to deadly revenge. Yet the fear sloshing around inside Azrael was not directed towards Mal. He could sense that clearly without the wards in the way. The fear was directed towards Ania. It was wrapped up with anger, too, burning hot and bright. You thought you’d lost me.
Mal pulled on Azrael’s magic, but slower this time. The anger tasted bitter to his demon senses, the fear sour on the back of his tongue. He let go of Azrael’s wrists, but the sorcerer didn’t do anything sensible with his hands, such as summon a fireball or shove Mal across the room. He wrapped his arms around Mal’s head.
Azrael spoke in a guttural whisper. “I thought you weren’t good at emotions other than desire.”
“It’s all tangled up with your arousal,” murmured Mal.
Azrael said nothing. His breath was coming short and fast.
“From inside your head, it seems like you want me to fuck you,” said Mal. “But maybe that’s only because…” Because I just ripped off your wards and fed on you.
Azrael shut his eyes. “Yes.”
“Even though you’re angry and scared?”
Azrael’s voice sounded hollow and unlike himself. “Because I’m angry and scared.”
Oh. Mal kissed harder, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin over his pulse.
Azrael’s voice wavered. “Only I don’t see…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. After an instant, Mal leaned back to look him in the face. “Don’t see what?”
Azrael didn’t meet his eyes. “Why you’d want to.”
Mal kissed him on the mouth. This time, he moved his tongue and felt Azrael’s lips part, unresisting. Mal caught his wrists and pinned them over his head with one hand, his other hand wandering up and down Azrael’s side from his armpit to his hip. Mal’s thigh pressed between Azrael’s legs, the length of their bodies tight against each other. “Oh, I want to,” Mal growled.
He made his trousers disappear, reabsorbing the magic. This situation should have been threatening, considering what had just happened. And yet he felt Azrael relax. The last of the fear and anger drained away.
Mal let go of Azrael’s hands and ripped his shirt open. Buttons went everywhere. Before Azrael could react, Mal claimed his mouth again. He slid his hands over warm skin—Azrael’s stomach, his chest, his nipples, his back. Azrael was struggling for breath between kisses. He had his hands in Mal’s hair.
Mal reached down and unfastened Azrael’s belt and trousers, peeled off his underwear and pushed it down to land on the floor. He lifted Azrael off his feet for a moment, kicked the clothes away, and then spun him around against the wall. Azrael was panting and trembling. He pressed his palms flat against the plaster, his forehead coming to rest with an audible thump. Mal paused to slide a hand underneath his lover’s, palm to palm. “Something slick,” he whispered against Azrael’s ear.
Azrael’s fingers curled in Mal’s larger palm. Mal could see bruises forming on his forearms and wrists. Mal resisted the urge to cradle his hand, to say, “Let’s go lie down on the bed and do this with more finesse.”
But this is how you want it.
Azrael said the words and Mal moved his hand to catch viscous fluid. He rubbed the hand over his cock. This didn’t seem like a day for fingers or taking it slow. Nevertheless, when Mal pressed himself inside, he didn’t move for a long moment. He just stayed there, feeling Azrael’s ribs rising and falling in short, sharp breaths. He began caressing his lover’s body, tracing his navel, brushing over his rigid cock, but not lingering, running over his stomach and across his chest. He paused there to rub his fingertips back and forth across a nipple, while his other hand glided up and down Azrael’s inner thigh.
Azrael groaned—an animal sound deep in his throat. “Mal, please…” He’d gotten better at relaxing in the moment of penetration, but he would tense up again if Mal didn’t handle this correctly.
Mal waited until he was pushing back, and then responded by pressing Azrael flat against the wall, so tightly he could hardly get a breath. Mal’s hips moved—short, hard thrusts deep inside. It wouldn’t have looked like much to an observer…except the sight of
Mal’s powerful ass flexing. But Mal knew exactly how that felt deep inside a human body.
Azrael dissolved into incoherent whimpering. No fear. No anger. He didn’t have a thought left in his head except desire. Mal reveled in the sense of absolute control over this person who had just bound him. Mine, mine, mine…
At last, Azrael managed to get out words. “Mal, please touch me. Gods, please, please, please…”
Mal had avoided Azrael’s cock precisely because he wanted to hear this. “I love it when you beg,” he purred into Azrael’s ear. He moved back enough to slide his hand over Azrael’s hip, then around his cock. Mal’s thumb circled the leaking head.
Azrael was sobbing for breath. Mal fucked him harder, his hand rubbing and stroking. Azrael climaxed in seconds, his cheek pressed to the wall, his hands flat against the plaster.
Mal let himself finish. The pleasure of feeding and the pleasure of sexual release flooded his senses. Before he thought about it, he murmured against Azrael’s neck, “I love you.”
Azrael made a noise like a sob. “Mal, you are like my heart walking around outside of my body.”
Mal blinked. What does that mean? He pulled back, moved away a fraction. Azrael turned to look him in the face. Mal caught a glimpse of the chalk circle out of the corner of his eye and felt a trace of lingering resentment. He considered just letting Azrael stand there, half naked in his torn shirt. “Well, I’m glad we got that sorted out. Are you going to clean up the chalk circle or is that something you expect me to do?”
But Mal just couldn’t. He folded Azrael into his arms. “I know you were scared for me,” whispered Mal. “I know you thought I was corrupted and you had to get the faery magic out before it got worse.”
Azrael drew a shuddering breath. “Mal…this sounds strangely incestuous, but in some ways, you are very like a child to me. You are more than a lover. Certainly more than pet.”
Mal thought about what Tod had said about symbiotic creatures. “Sometimes you seem like a god to me,” he whispered.
Azrael went very still.
“You made me…more or less…” continued Mal.
Azrael grimaced. “I’m a dreadfully flawed deity. ‘Arrogant, self-righteous, hypocritical tyrant.’”
Mal sighed. “Please tell me you’re not going to keep quoting that back at me for the next month.” He stared at the ceiling. “Other times, it seems to me like you and I were in a sort of arranged marriage.”
Azrael gave a chuckle that sounded more like himself.
“You put a ring on me twenty-five years ago, but it was a marriage of necessity and both of us were really young and neither of us liked it much. Took us two decades to consummate it.”
Azrael shook with laughter. Mal thought he sounded relieved—bone-weary and desperately relieved. “Mal, I’m sorry. I did that all wrong. I panicked.”
“It’s alright.”
“I do want you to make decisions. Obviously, you have succeeded where I failed. I would have laid any amount of odds that Mab would have already taken advantage of a situation like this, but apparently she hasn’t.”
Mal sighed. “She’s not human. I’m not human. Mostly. I understand her better than you do. Just like I knew Lucy needed her own room, and you didn’t.”
“Yes,” said Azrael. “I…I see what you mean. Did you make a contract with Mab?”
Mal shook his head. “I asked her to behave as a friend. No contract will hold better than that, Azrael.”
Azrael looked a little skeptical. “Faeries like rules better than demons do. In many ways, they thrive on rules and don’t know how to behave without them.”
“That may be true,” said Mal, “but her rules for ‘behave like a friend’ will be better and different than yours. You need broader parameters for dealing with someone like Mab, not narrower. And you do rule most of the magical world between you. Faerie is just another neighboring kingdom, engaged in constant border skirmishes with other kingdoms under your protection. Why not bring her into the fold?”
“I had not thought of it that way.”
“Because she’s not human.”
“Yes.”
Mal had rarely heard such a total capitulation from Azrael and he found he was trying to contain a stupid grin. Maybe we are partners. Partners who fight and then fuck and then go have dinner with friends. “I love you,” he said again.
Azrael dropped his face against Mal’s shoulder and Mal realized belatedly that this was going to make him weep. “Hey. Hey, we have to go to dinner.”
At that moment, the door to the suite opened a crack. Jessica’s voice issued cautiously from the other side. “Mal? Ren?”
Azrael raised his head and spoke in a hoarse voice, “It’s alright, Jessica. You can come in.”
She entered cautiously. The snow had stopped and noonday sunlight shone through the window. The unlit room seemed dimmer for its brilliance.
Jessica looked around, taking in the burned circle, the soot on the floor, Azrael’s shirt buttons scattered everywhere, his torn and discarded clothes. Mal still had both arms around him.
“It’s alright,” Mal said. “Azrael thought I was corrupted with faery magic and he needed to burn it out of me before it was too late. That was kind of rough, but I’m not corrupted, and everything is fine.”
Jessica looked at them searchingly. Mal knew they didn’t look fine.
“Everyone’s a little worried out there,” she said softly. “Jacob has put Ania in a cage. She’s not doing anything bad as far as I can tell. She seems concerned about her horse. She says she left it tethered in the garden. She called it a night terror.”
“Oh, hell.” Azrael rubbed hard at his face. “She came on a faery hound?”
“She came straight from the Hunt,” said Mal.
“Hell.”
“She really is taking as much of a risk as you are,” offered Mal, “possibly more.”
Azrael screwed his eyes shut. “I know, I know. I have to…fix this.”
Jessica came to put her arms around them. Mal drew her into his hug against Azrael. She leaned up to kiss Mal. “Did Ren tell you about making cookies?”
“No.”
Azrael gave a snort of laughter.
“Let’s just say, I had no idea it was so…stimulating.”
Now Mal started to laugh. “Putting that much undifferentiated magic into butter? Yeah, I can imagine. Did you two fuck without me?”
Azrael was blushing. You blush at the strangest things, buddy.
“Super hot. Up against the wall,” purred Jessica.
“Well, you can say you’ve tried that both ways,” said Mal to Azrael.
Azrael swallowed. “I…um…may need another shower.”
“Well, hurry up!” exclaimed Jessica. “Everyone’s waiting for you to tell them we’re not going to murder any guests or lock them in spirit vessels.”
Chapter 13
Azrael
Fifteen minutes later, Azrael strode down the hall from his bedroom, dressed in his beautiful red waistcoat with gold threads, complete with black bow tie. The two people he cared about most came with him. Mal was wearing a black and gold patterned waistcoat that brought out the brightness of his green eyes and the darkness of his long lashes. Jessica had put on black tights and a pair of green and gold heels that showed the elegant shape of her calves. They came clicking and laughing down the hall into the dining room, united.
Azrael saw that Jacob had indeed put Mab in a cage. It looked like a large, silver bird cage. Then he and Lucy had apparently gone back to playing chess. “She’s done nothing with magic that I can detect,” said Jacob as Azrael entered. “I believe she is primarily frustrated that she cannot join our game.”
Mab had taken off her black riding boots, although it hadn’t done much good. Her stockinged feet had immediately adhered to the floor. She’d sat down with her arms folded over her knees, watching the chess game longingly. She looked small and rather forlorn.
Mab turned w
hen Azrael entered. She stood as he came closer. Azrael tried to dismiss the cage and was annoyed when he couldn’t. “Jacob, please get rid of this.”
Jacob spoke, and it was gone.
Azrael stopped in front of the faery and made a formal bow. “Queen Mab.”
She looked at him uncertainly. At last, she returned the bow. “Lord Azrael.”
Azrael extended his hand. “Here, in these rooms, it’s Ren.”
Mab looked at his hand, then at his face. Slowly, she extended her own hand. “Ania.”
Azrael unlocked the binding spell with the touch of their fingers, and the faery smiled—still uncertain, but with a flash of her pointed teeth. “My staff is bringing a small luncheon for my family and early guests in advance of the big meal this evening,” continued Azrael. “Would you care to join us?”
If she decided to leave in a rage because of his initial reception, Azrael wasn’t about to stop her. He didn’t think he owed her an apology. Not after the horse incident. But Ania didn’t seem angry. “Alright.”
Azrael sat down at the breakfast table, motioning for Ania to sit beside him. She cast one longing look at the chessboard at the far end, then took a chair.
“Can Ania have a cookie?” asked Jessica.
Azrael laughed. “Yes.”
Jessica wanted to make everyone more drinks, too. Mal wanted to help. The two of them moved around the kitchen as Azrael and Ania sat in awkward silence at the table. At last, Ania’s eyes flicked to Mal. “What are you going to do to him?” she asked in a low voice.
Azrael could not tell whether she was merely curious or whether she felt actual concern for Mal’s safety. “Nothing.” Nothing I haven’t done already.
Ania didn’t look like she believed him.
“Because,” continued Azrael, “one does not punish one’s spouse. And because he is right.”
Ania stared at his face. She spoke with a sudden rush of what sounded like sincerity. “You understand that I have aspects, right? Just like a demon. Or…not just like, but somewhat like. I am not exactly the same person here as I am in Faerie. The person who made friends with Jessica is not exactly the Faerie Queen. Not all of the Faerie Queen.”