by Aliya DalRae
“Sorry,” Martin said. “This is Merlin. Merlin, Becky.”
“Merlin?” Becky smiled that toothy smile again. “Did your mother not like you or was she just a big King Arthur fan?”
Merlin saw Martin visibly flinch before he turned to offer an apologetic shrug.
Merlin ignored it and responded to the girl, who he’d decided he didn’t much care for. “I don’t remember my mother. She was murdered when I was young, so I’m afraid we’ll never know her reasoning.” Of course, none of that was true, but the lie felt justified by Becky’s reaction.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, and she had the good graces to at least act contrite.
She was saved by the appearance of a pimply-faced boy with a stack of boxes in his arms. “Order for Martin,” he said as he placed the lot on the counter. When his hands were free, he saluted Martin, did a sloppy about face, and disappeared into the world of pizza pandemonium.
“What’s the damage?” Martin asked, looking for all the world like he’d just been pulled from the jaws of a dragon.
Becky gave him a total, then said, “You having a party? I’m off in an hour.” Apparently over her previous faux pas, her suggestion was clear. You pay for the pizza; dessert would be on her.
Merlin shouldered past Martin, exchanged his beer for the stack of boxes, then headed toward the back of the restaurant. Perhaps he had misunderstood. Maybe all this interaction with Martin was the Soldier’s way of sucking up to a Warrior in order to work his way to the top of the ranks. All the sexual tension Merlin felt could very well be one-sided. A lot of centuries had passed since anyone caught Merlin’s eye. He could easily have misinterpreted the signals, if indeed there had been any signals to read.
Truth was, life would be a lot easier if Martin were straight. Merlin could put this all behind him, put his unreciprocated emotions back in the drawer where they belonged, and focus on a proper working relationship with the Soldier. That would be for the best.
But it didn’t mean he wanted to bear witness to Martin making a date with that toothy human.
“Not that kind of party,” he heard Martin say before the door closed behind him.
Merlin stood in the parking lot, the pizza boxes warming his hands in the early autumn air. It was starting to get cool at night, but his insides burned with emotions he didn’t want to name. The lights in the parking lot dimmed, then popped back on again when he closed his eyes. This had been a huge mistake.
He inhaled deeply, the scent of pepperoni and banana peppers filling his senses. That nasty combo was exactly what he needed to clear his mind.
No, not a mistake. Now he knew this crazy attraction he had for Martin would not be returned. Any signals he thought he’d seen were a figment of his imagination, a pie in the sky pipe dream that he simply had to let go. Once he figured out how.
Martin joined him in the parking lot and fobbed the locks on their Hummer. He opened the back door and took the boxes from Merlin, distributed them on the back seat.
“Sorry about that,” Martin said as they got into the vehicle and headed toward home. “She can be a bit much sometimes, but she always comps me a beer, so…”
“Do you not have a Legion gold card?” All the Soldiers were issued the cards upon graduation. Merlin arranged for them himself. Given his recent decision to Elsa this thing and “let it go,” he tried not to sound snarky, to make it seem like a random question with no meaning behind it at all. He failed.
“Yeah,” Martin said, fortunately not picking up on Merlin’s tetchiness. “But it’s more fun this way.” He offered another playful wink and Merlin turned away.
It’s better to know, he told himself, ignoring the wink, the mixed signal, and focusing on the way the Soldier had flirted with the human girl. Maybe now he’d get some sleep.
Chapter Twelve
N ox thought he had distracted the female from her initial question, but he should have known better. Rachel wasn’t one to let go of something once her mind was set.
He’d been watching her as she stared out the window, marveling at how beautiful she was, her red hair glinting in the cabin’s dim light. When she looked at him, he felt something, a moment frozen in time. Then she had to go and ruin it by bringing up the Primeval.
All Nox’s true fears slammed forward and the wall he’d thought he’d rid himself of locked back into place. Protect yourself. Trust no one, especially the pretty ones.
So instead of opening up to her, pouring his heart out as he longed to do, he closed the mental door.
“Ask Mason,” he said. “I’m sure he’d let you see my file.”
Rachel tilted her head, narrowed her eyes at him before responding.
“I’m not so much interested in the “official” version,” she said. “I’d rather hear yours.”
Nox shrugged. “It’s not that interesting. I got out, nearly killed myself doing it. Now, at the crook of the Primeval’s finger, I’ve been loaded into a speeding sardine can and am currently hurtling through space toward the last place on earth I would choose to be.”
“Mason will protect you. He’s sworn to protect us all.”
Nox curled his lip as he glanced toward the rear of the plane. He knew Raven and Mason could hear him, but it mattered not.
“No one can protect us from Primeval Magnus. Once he’s set his mind on destroying you, there’s nothing anyone can do to prevent it.”
“Really,” Rachel said. “Aren’t you being a little dramatic?”
Nox growled. “Spend a few centuries in his care, princess. Then we’ll talk.”
“I’ve been around the Primeval,” Rachel countered, “including Magnus. I practically grew up at Court.”
“Well then, I suppose you would know better than I what they’re capable of.” Nox turned his head to peer out the window again, unable to maintain eye contact. The female was naïve for all her years on the planet, and the way she looked at him, challenged him…if he weren’t careful, he would find himself telling her his entire life’s story.
“I’m not saying that at all,” Rachel said. “Obviously, you have a unique perspective. There was talk of you being there, of course. Of you having special abilities. I’d already left home by this time, but I heard the rumors. Word was that you were more dangerous than your brother. I always found that difficult to believe. I thought they must have been exaggerating to explain why Magnus continued to hold you, even after it was clear you were not the foretold Destroyer of the race. Now that we know what you can do, however, I see how they might have erred on the side of caution.
“I heard males talking to their mates, even in the United States, telling them not to worry. The Primeval had people to control you, and it was impossible for you to escape. I’m assuming they were Sorcerers, the babysitters?”
Nox didn’t answer, just continued to stare out the window.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m just saying, with everything the Sorcerers have pulled lately, I sincerely doubt the Primeval would still be on good terms with them, even Magnus.”
Nox turned to her then. “Have you ever met Magnus?”
Rachel dropped her eyes and shook her head. “I’ve spent plenty of time at his Court, but I admit I have not had the pleasure of meeting him personally.”
“Pleasure. Right. Well, I assure you, if there’s potential for gain, he will have no trouble consorting with Sorcerers or any other monster that comes down the pike. They’re all dangerous—the Primeval—but Magnus is the worst of them.”
“He can’t be too bad,” Rachel snapped her head up, her eyes flashing. “He’s commuted your sentence, and Raven’s.”
Nox didn’t speak until he saw her gaze fall to his sightless left eye. “I promise you,” he said, pointing to the dead piece of glass that now resided in his socket, “Magnus had a good laugh over this. I’m not convinced Raven and I are off the hook. It was entirely too easy. Something major is going on, have no doubt. I can’t imagine him wanting to see me otherwise.”
Rachel sighed. “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s simply a misunderstanding. Mason will get it all sorted, and we’ll be out of there and home in no time at all.”
Nox studied her for a long moment, the set of her jaw as she clenched her teeth, the way her nostrils flared as she breathed in and out. “You don’t believe that, now, do you?” he asked.
Rachel swallowed and glanced out the window. “I have to. The alternative? Not seeing the kids again? That’s not an outcome I could bare.”
Chapter Thirteen
M erlin had every intention of dropping the pizzas at Rachel’s suite and making some excuse to escape. He’d already spent way more time with the Soldier, Martin, than he’d ever intended. The trip into town had been informative if not ill-advised, the time for Merlin to take his leave long past due.
However, once inside the twins bombarded him with raucous cheers and enthusiastic hugs, and Perry awarded him with a surprised, glad-to-see-ya slap on the back.
Martin spread the boxes out on the breakfast bar and opened things up while the girl, Phire, shoved a paper plate and napkin in Merlin’s hand. She then led him to the pizza buffet and told him to help himself.
“The cheesesteak is mine,” she said, “but I’ll split it with you if you want.”
“I’ll take it, Merlin,” Talon shouted from the couch, his mouth already full of pepperoni pizza. “She never shares her cheesesteak with anyone.”
“If you wanted cheesesteak, you should have ordered one for yourself.”
“Pig.”
“Jerk.”
Merlin politely declined the sandwich and took a step toward the door, but Phire maneuvered him around, making escape an impossibility. He liked these kids, and he didn’t want to be rude so he allowed the young female to herd him toward the buffet.
Martin and Perry had already loaded their plates past the point of cardboard integrity, and Phire was asking him which pizza he preferred. Merlin wrinkled his nose at the pepperoni and banana pepper pie, and Martin breathed over his shoulder. “Not a fan of the peppers?”
Merlin glanced behind him and shuddered. How had the Soldier gotten so close? “Not that kind,” he said to cover his reaction to the other male’s nearness. “They’re nasty.”
Martin belted out a hearty laugh and took a huge bite of the offensive concoction.
“Take it to the table, mister,” Phire said and shoved Martin toward a chair in the adjoining dining area. “Males,” she added with an eyeroll as she settled herself on the end of the sofa opposite her brother.
Merlin smiled and chose a couple slices of Hawaiian. Now pineapple he could get down with.
“Over here,” Phire said, patting the cushion between her and Talon. “Aunt Rachel’s not going to believe you had dinner with us. I wanted to invite you a million times, but she always said you were too busy.”
Before Merlin could answer, Martin said, “It’s true. Merlin doesn’t get out much. I practically had to kidnap him to get him here tonight.”
“Really?” Talon said. “Cool!”
Phire threw a wadded-up napkin at her brother. “He’s exaggerating, Talon, but either way, Merlin, we’re glad you’re here.”
Merlin thanked her, sat down and enjoyed his pizza. The conversation between the Soldiers and the twins was lively and amusing, and he found himself smiling between hesitant bites. He felt, not exactly out of place, but more as though he were on the outside of a beautiful snow globe looking in at all the laughter and fun. He didn’t socialize for so many reasons. Though the Warriors didn’t know his precise situation, they still understood, never pushed. They all had their issues, and that as much as anything, made them brothers.
But Martin wasn’t a Warrior, not yet. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, how situations like this affected Merlin.
And yet, it wasn’t all bad. Phire said something, patted his shoulder and took his empty plate. She returned with two more slices of the Hawaiian, which Merlin ate without thought. It was all so—normal.
He emptied his plate yet again, declined thirds, and took a drink from the bottle of beer that had magically appeared in his hand. Not Yuengling, he realized, but the same that Martin drank. The Soldier’s go to brand? Perhaps.
“So, was Becky working tonight?”
Perry’s question broke through the sit-com atmosphere and whiplashed Merlin back to reality like a knife to the heart. He took a long drink of beer as he watched for Martin’s reaction. The male nodded and rolled his eyes at Perry, but he was grinning as he bit into another slice.
“She wants you, man. I’m telling you.”
“Yeah, yeah, get in line,” Martin said. He was laughing, bragging, but Merlin noticed the edge in his voice, the tension in those broad shoulders.
“Seriously,” Perry pushed. “You should take her out. Bang her brains out if nothing else.”
“Ahem! Children!” Phire said, and everyone laughed.
Everyone but Merlin. He was too focused on Martin. He’d seemed so interested in the female earlier, but now? The discussion was definitely making him uncomfortable.
“Oops. Apologies, Phire,” Perry said, then turned back to Martin. “But you know I’m right.”
“Seriously yourself,” Martin frowned. “She’s just not my type. Why don’t you—date her, Perry?” He threw a wary eye at Phire, who nodded her approval at his word choice.
Perry’s eyes clouded briefly, and he sighed.
“Shit,” Martin whispered. “Sorry man. You’re not ready. I shouldn’t have…”
“No,” Perry said. “It’s just, it’s not even been a year yet since Heidi…”
“Yeah, again. My bad.”
Perry took a deep breath. “It’s all good. I’m just not there yet. But you, you have no excuse. It’s always the same answer. She’s not your type. They’ve been blondes, brunettes, red-heads. Big boobs, little boobs…”
Phire threw her hands over her ears and shouted “la-la-la” over the conversation while Talon scooted to the edge of his seat to hear better. Merlin’s focus remained wholly on Martin, whose discomfort grew with every word from Perry’s mouth.
“Tall ones, short ones, curvy as a mountain road and flat as a fresh planed board. And always you say to me, ‘not my type.’ I’m beginning to wonder if you even have a type.”
Merlin drank slowly, his eyes on the empty plate in his lap while his attention remained focused on the conversation going down between the Soldiers. He reminded himself that the answer was unimportant, that it absolutely did not matter what kind of female Martin preferred. The key word there being “female.”
When the two fell quiet, he looked up, searched Martin’s face for some clue as to which direction his thoughts fell.
Martin, who had been studying his beer bottle like it contained the secret to true immortality, glanced up at Merlin. Their eyes met for a moment so brief, if Merlin hadn’t been watching closely he would have missed it. Martin closed his eyes quickly, rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger, but not before Merlin saw the peridot spark the Soldier sought to hide.
And that was his cue to go. Merlin carried his plate and bottle to the kitchen, dropped them into the trash can and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” It was Phire who spoke, but Merlin could feel another pair of eyes boring into his back.
“I have to go,” he said, overwhelmed by the urge to run.
“No!” the twins chorused.
“We’re going to play Trivial Pursuit,” Talon said. “It’s like the analog version of Trivia Crack. Perry says it’s even better. You should stay and play with us.”
“Yeah,” Martin said, his voice a little rough. He cleared his throat. “Stay and play.”
Merlin would have missed the double entendre, ignored it even, if Martin hadn’t stood and put his back to the crowd. His eyes sparked again, the bright flash of peridot this time leaving no doubt.
Merlin’s breath caught, he couldn’t swallow, his mouth
a desert, dry and parched. He shook his head. “I have to check on Harrier’s flight. Thank you for dinner, for…everything, but I’m afraid I must be going.”
He gave an exaggerated bow to the children, then made a hasty escape. He was out the door before he could change his mind, was halfway down the hall when he heard Martin call his name.
Don’t stop. Just keep going. He turned the corner, mentally unlocked his door and reached for the knob. The hand on his arm came from nowhere. Merlin turned and Martin was right there. The male was taller than Merlin, thicker, his hours of training having filled out that aristocratic form to the point where he could nearly pass for a Warrior already.
“Come back,” Martin whispered, his breath feather-light on Merlin’s face as he spoke.
“I can’t.”
“Why?” he asked, his lips a mere hair’s breadth away.
Merlin felt himself thicken, Martin’s nearness both exquisite and painful. “Because the games I want to play are not trivial, and my pursuit would be improper. Dangerous for both of us.”
“Then let me come in.”
Merlin froze. He hadn’t been wrong after all. The Soldier was offering him everything. All he had to do was open the door.
“Please.” He whispered the word against Merlin’s mouth.
Martin’s lips were soft, his breath a sweet mixture of beer and banana peppers, which, for some reason, didn’t seem quite so offensive now. It would take little to no effort at all, just the slightest lift of his chin, to meet those lips with his own. To open his mouth and invite the exploration he’d been dreaming of for weeks.
Just open the door.
Merlin heard the creak of hinges—had he done it himself? —and a voice called out. “Martin? Where’d you go? We’re ready to play.”
Merlin stepped back, pulled away from those soft lips and strong arms as Martin fought for composure.
“Be there in a sec, Talon. Just had to check on something with Merlin.”
“Well, hurry up,” the boy called. “Phire’s getting antsy, and she can be impossible if she doesn’t get her way.”