by Aliya DalRae
Mason and the others were safely on the ground in London, so unless and until he heard from the Warlord, he could relax as far as they were concerned. All he had to focus on were the patrols in Fallen Cross and the surrounding cities, and anything Tas deemed important.
The Aussie Warrior currently sat in a chair along the wall of Merlin’s office going over the night’s progress. His sunshine yellow hair was pulled back in a tight man bun, his blue-green eyes drawn after a long night commanding the troops. With everything going on in London, they were on high alert here in Fallen Cross, every eye and ear searching for signs of Sorcerers or related ferals.
Merlin didn’t realize Tas had stopped speaking until the male snapped his fingers in front of him. “You okay?” he asked, and Merlin wiped the scowl from his face.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“It’s me you’re talking to,” Tas said. Oh, yeah, right. The guy who could sense an agitated Vampire from a hundred paces.
“Not sleeping well,” Merlin admitted the least damning bit.
“Anything I can do?”
Merlin laughed. “I don’t know, read me a story? Sing me a lullaby?”
But Tas didn’t crack a smile. “I’m serious, Merlin. I’ve never seen you like this. You, of all the Warriors, are always, and I mean always, calm. This isn’t like you. It’s been coming on for some time now, and I’m starting to worry.” His Australian accent held a hypnotizing lilt, and Merlin wondered if he was putting a little extra something-something into it.
“It’s nothing.” He waved the Warrior’s comments away.
“No,” Tas palmed the armrests and pushed himself to his feet. “It’s not nothing, and you can’t convince me it is. But I won’t press. If you need to talk, or anything else, let me know.”
Merlin stood and held out his hand. “I will.”
Tas took what was offered, and Merlin felt a wash of calm sift through him. His muscles eased, and tension rolled off him like drops of rain, leaving him feeling more relaxed than he’d been in weeks. Tas was using his special brand of emo magic on him, and Merlin was grateful. “Thank you,” he said and bowed his head.
“I mean it,” Tas said. “I’m here.”
When the Aussie disappeared down the hall, Merlin sat in front of his wall of monitors, soaking in the sense of wellbeing he’d been struggling to regain. He was seriously considering making daily appointments with the Emo Doc, when he sensed he was no longer alone.
Perhaps hourly appointments would be more appropriate. The calm he’d been enjoying disappeared as his back coiled into a tight spring and the headache that had briefly eased came back full force. He glanced up to see Martin filling the doorway, his broad shoulders tensed as he pinned Merlin with a lingering gaze.
“Merlin.”
Just the sound of his voice sent spasms through Merlin’s groin, and he turned to face the bank of monitors, looking for something, anything, to keep him occupied. To keep him from looking into those grey-green eyes.
“Merlin?”
“Yes.”
“We need to talk.”
Merlin sighed. “Just leave your report on the desk. If I have any questions, I’ll let you know.”
Merlin heard the door close, but the sound of shuffling feet was inside the room, rather than out in the hall where he needed it to be.
“I…had the night off, remember? Merlin.”
It was a plea; one Merlin couldn’t help responding to. He swiveled his chair around but forced his face into a mask of indifference. “Was there something else?”
It was a challenge, maintaining disinterest. Martin stood before him, tall and powerful. The aquiline nose, the sharp cheekbones were the only trace of aristocracy that his training had been unable to mold, to harden.
The Soldier blew a fallen lock of white-blonde hair from his eye, his perfect brow drawn. “We need to talk about earlier, about the…”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Merlin said.
“But…”
Merlin stood, and though his six-foot height fell far shorter than Martin’s much larger mass, he controlled the space as he spoke with the authority of the Warrior he was. “Stop.”
Martin’s eyes sparked, a brief flash of peridot lighting the room, but he closed his mouth.
“The only thought I have about that is whether or not I should bring you before Mason for assault.”
“What?” Martin’s face fell as though Merlin had slapped him, but he recovered quickly. “There was no assault, and you know it. By your own words you wanted that kiss and so much more. You said…”
“I’m a Warrior, Soldier, and for more reasons than you could possibly understand, this,” he waved his hand between them, “can never happen. Fine. I apologize for any misunderstandings I may have been responsible for, but I am speaking plainly now. Do not seek me out. Do not contact me. Do not come into my office for anything other than Legion business.”
“Why are you doing this?” Martin whispered.
“Me? Why am I doing this? It’s all a game to you, Martin, the way you flirted with that human, then came on to me. I can’t do games. I won’t. It’s far too dangerous. If anyone were to find out what I am…”
“You mean gay?”
Merlin closed his eyes as he felt the Shade taking form. The anger had built inside him to the point where, should he release it, the whole mansion would go dark, perhaps the entire Compound. He fought to maintain control, and once he found it, he grasped it hard and opened his eyes.
“There is no honor in this thing between us. I will not dishonor Mason or the Legion by giving in to some carnal attraction. Would you dishonor your family?”
“I dishonored my family the minute I became a Soldier.”
“This is different.”
“Not to them. They’d much rather see me behind a desk studying law or medicine. Soldiering is the work of lesser beings. I might as well have become a stable boy for the reaction my choice received. Discovering that I prefer males could make me no lower to them than I already am.”
Merlin felt for the kid, sincerely, but there was no way he could do this. Not again.
“And the human?” Martin continued. “That was a test. I’ve felt the attraction between us from the moment I first laid eyes on you, but I couldn’t be certain. I flirted with Becky to make you jealous, and what do you know? It worked. You can deny it all you want, but I saw the way you stormed out of Perky’s. You think I would have followed you back to your place if I wasn’t sure you felt the same?
“You have one thing right, though. Being gay in a barracks full of female-happy Vampires is not easy. Do I want them to know? Not my first choice, but I thought with you I would have one person, one place I could go where I could be myself. Guess I was wrong.”
“It just can’t be,” Merlin said, the sorrow he felt leaking into his words. “Find someone else, Martin. It can’t be me.”
“Fine,” Martin said, his grey-green eyes swirling as he strode to the door. He had his hand on the knob but turned back. “Answer me one question.”
Merlin nodded, could do nothing else.
“Was I wrong?” Martin asked. “Did I misread you, or is this one of those, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ things?”
Merlin closed his eyes and turned his back to the Soldier, the Shade once again threatening to consume him. “Go,” he said.
Time stood still, the only sound that of Martin’s ragged breath. Then the door opened, closed, and Merlin was mercifully alone.
Chapter Twenty
N ox stood in the hallway, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Rachel had selected his darkest jeans and the white shirt with the buttons he’d packed “just in case.”
“Stop fiddling with it,” she said as they waited for the others to join them.
She’d insisted he button the damned thing almost to the top, and he was trying hard to convince himself that this was the reason he felt like he was suffocating. He sensed her eyes on
him again and dropped his hand to his side where he clenched his fist instead.
Rachel patted his arm. “It’s going to be okay. The Primeval wouldn’t dare try anything with Mason and the others in the room. You’ll be fine.”
“Why are you doing this?” Nox asked, more to take his mind off the impending dinner with his former captor than any real interest in her answer.
“Doing what?”
“Fighting for me rather than with me. One minute you’re ready to jump down my throat for breathing, then the next you’ve got the entire Legion bowing to your will in my defense. What gives?”
Rachel stepped away from him, clasped her hands together and shrugged as she turned away. “It wasn’t right. I wouldn’t stand to see an animal treated the way they’ve done you.”
Something in the way she squared her shoulders, the strings of tension in her neck spoke a different answer. “Really,” he asked, dragging the word out.
She flipped her head around and glared at him. “I’d have done the same for Raven,” she said. Her eyes weren’t sparking, but it was a near thing.
Much better.
Nox would have liked to continue arguing the point, but Mason joined them before he could counter. Harrier and Raven arrived right behind him, and just like that, the short reprieve Nox had enjoyed was over.
Giles met them at the bottom of the stairs, disapproval thick in the once over he gave them. He didn’t say anything, though. Bastard was probably looking forward to the dressing down they were about to get from Magnus. No pun intended.
Having arrived before them, the Primeval sat at the head of the table looking every bit the royalty he was. He wore a black tuxedo, fancier than anything he’d provided for the males in their group, but then again, he was the Primeval. While his attire read “party,” his glower screamed anything but. One at a time he examined them, his face darkening with each inspection.
When his gaze landed on Nox, it was as if the male’s head were about to explode. Magnus’ face flushed until it was nearly purple, his eyes sparking mercury as he glared. Nox shifted his feet, but he held the Primeval’s eye. He was determined to get through this evening unscathed, believed Rachel and Mason when they said he’d be safe. He was a free male, a newly appointed Legion Soldier. This male held little power over him now, and he refused to be cowed. At least not on the surface. Inside, his intestines writhed, and he felt as though he might vomit.
When the Primeval spoke, it was to Nox and Nox alone. “What is this?”
Mason stepped in to field the question. “It seems Nox’s dinner attire was misplaced.”
Magnus sneered, but finally tore those evil eyes from Nox to look at Mason. “They were not misplaced. I had no intention of allowing him to dine at my table. I assumed, being Legion, you would have figured that out.”
“Ah,” Mason shrugged. “Well, then, perhaps we should all return to our rooms? It has been a long journey, after all.” Mason signaled the others and as one, they turned their backs to the Primeval. Nox blew out a relieved breath, but his reprieve was short lived.
“Stop,” Magnus said, and they did. “That won’t be necessary. Giles, another place setting, if you would.”
The butler hurried off to do Magnus’ bidding as the Legion group selected their seats. The table was ornate with space enough to seat twenty, though there were only chairs and place settings for ten, once the servants provided accommodations for Nox. Solid mahogany shone in high gloss, with grotesque carvings of humans in various degrees of torture along the edges and thick legs, faces distorted in pain as they stared out at the Primeval’s guests.
Ignoring the place cards someone had meticulously arranged in the center of each plate, Mason selected the seat at the foot of the table, opposite the Primeval. Rachel and Nox sat to either side of him and the Warriors book-ended their group. The space they put between themselves and Magnus did not go unnoticed, but Nox supposed Mason was making a point. He hated to cause such difficulty, especially when they were there to sort out the lies circulating about him and Raven. Still, it felt good to know that the Warlord had his back.
A commotion at the entrance caused the irritation on Magnus’ face to melt into something else. “It appears our other guests have arrived. I do hope they aren’t slighted by the casual atmosphere this evening.”
Nox saw Harrier and Rachel exchange an odd look as the rest of the group turned to see what manner of guest would have the Primeval looking downright gleeful. Rachel glanced at Nox then returned her eyes front and center. She and Harrier both seemed to be making a concerted effort not to look at the newcomers.
Giles returned, followed by three individuals, two of which Nox recognized right away. The Sorcerer, Ulrich Fuhrmann, stood tall and thin, his white hair pulled back in a tight braid that seemed to vibrate within its bonds, indicating he was holding on to an incredible amount of magic. An elegant female clung to his arm, Vampire, with auburn hair piled high upon her head. She had an aristocratic air about her and a familiarity that Nox couldn’t place.
Behind the two was the last person Nox thought he would ever see. Maxx. The feral had somehow escaped the death blow Nox felt certain he had dealt in their last encounter at the Fur Farm in Fallen Cross. Yet here he was, the picture of health, to the extent any feral looked healthy. He raised an eyebrow when he caught sight of Nox, smiled and winked. How had the bastard survived?
Fuhrmann selected the seat at the Primeval’s left hand but pulled out the chair next to him for his companion before seating himself. A bit of commotion ensued when the woman refused to take the chair offered her. There was a lot of whispering and hissing, but the woman was adamant that she would not be sitting next to Harrier. Finally, Magnus indicated the seat to his right, and the woman gratefully accepted the offer. Maxx placed himself between the Fuhrmann and Harrier, where he grinned across the table at Nox again.
Once everyone settled, Magnus rose. “I believe we all know each other,” he said, “even if you haven’t been properly introduced.”
The woman hissed again. “You didn’t tell me we would be dining with vermin this evening.” She spoke to Magnus but aimed her icy glare at Harrier. “I should have known an animal would be incapable of keeping its word.”
Harrier’s face reddened. “Apologies, Mother. I didn’t realize you’d be here. Excuse me.”
As the Warrior scooted his chair back, Rachel grabbed his arm. “You’re not going anywhere, Harrier.” The male paused as Rachel directed her attention down the table. “As we are guests of the Primeval as well, you’ll dine with a civil tongue toward my brother or you’ll leave. It makes no difference to me.”
The woman sighed. “Rachel. Still defending the indefensible, I see. But I am here as Magnus’ guest, not yours, and this is his table. Unless the Primeval has an issue with me, I’ll not be going anywhere, and I’ll speak to that abomination however I please.”
“He’s not an abomination,” Rachel cried. “He’s your son, your own flesh and blood, and here by your doing, not his own. I would suggest you take responsibility for your own actions and not push them off onto those who’ve had no say in the matter.”
“He’s no son of mine.” The woman’s eyes sparked, a golden color much like Nox had seen from Harrier, leaving no doubt that the woman was lying. For Harrier’s part, he was glaring at Rachel, his chair still backed away from the table, as he remained poised to escape if possible. Nox didn’t blame him. That mother of his was a right bitch.
Magnus interrupted the women, putting a stop to what was shaping up to be an all-out brawl. “It’s all right, Victoria. It seems the Legion have brought all the animals to the table tonight. I apologize for any discomfort their presence is causing you. I’m afraid it could not be helped.”
“I understand, my lord. I shall put my sensibilities aside for now as there are much larger issues at hand.” She glared down the table at Nox and Raven then, and Nox felt his insides twist.
Raven cleared his throat. “Ex
cuse me, madam, but have my brother and I done something to offend you? Victoria, is it? By all accounts, I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”
Victoria. That name tickled at Nox’s memory. Where had he heard it before?
“Nox, Raven,” Rachel said, as though picking the question from his mind. “I don’t believe you’ve met my mother. She’s the one responsible for you being separated from each other at birth.”
“I only reported what I saw.”
“Bullocks,” Rachel spat. “You reported what you wanted the Primeval to hear. What would be most dangerous to the race.”
The servants chose that moment to bring out the first course, a thin broth served in Wedgwood china bowls that they placed in front of each guest. The soup went largely ignored, except for Maxx, who seemed to be uninterested in his surroundings and the drama taking place around him.
Victoria narrowed her eyes at Rachel. “Lies, and from the mouth of my own daughter.”
Nox exchanged a look with his brother and gave him a mental ear flick. Raven’s eyes were sparking and Nox noticed the tip of a fang descending from beneath Raven’s lip. Not that he wasn’t furious himself, but having Raven go full on beast mode here was the last thing they needed.
“Are you insinuating that your mother knew the monster that would be unleashed upon the race if they were separated? That Raven would become a beast and nearly destroy us?” Magnus sounded perplexed, but honestly, could he have been so blind?
“I’m not insinuating,” Rachel said. “I’m saying it straight out.”
“Victoria?”
The woman shot a death glare at Rachel before simpering to the Primeval. “Lord Magnus, my daughter speaks in riddles. She wasn’t even around when I made that prophecy.”
“Which is precisely how I know you were responsible. You were furious when the courts rejected Rebecca and me. Don’t think I didn’t hear you muttering to yourself about revenge, even before I left. You were determined to make them pay.”