by Ana Calin
He measures me with his dangerous red eyes. “I don’t mind the smell.”
“But I do. Besides, something is wrong with Nazarean, I need to tend to him. Maybe he got hurt when you pushed him out of that air fae’s way.”
“He would have died pierced with a sword if I hadn’t.”
“I know, and I don’t mean to be ungrateful. I’m just saying. He needs help, just like you did when you first came to me.”
He looks down at my familiar as if he can perfectly relate. I try to remember the last time someone looked at Nazarean that way, like he was more than a magic accessory, like he was a real person. Few people understand the complexities of these animals.
Xerxes’ eyes sweep over the barren fields around the street.
“There.” He points in the distance. “I think it’s a village.”
I squint. “I don’t see anything.”
Of course I don’t, I don’t have his higher being senses.
Before I know it, he slips an arm around me and hoists me onto his back. I can only hold on with one arm around his shoulder, the other arm holding Nazarean. Worry chokes me. He doesn’t have enough energy to clamber up my shoulder and shelter under my ponytail, as he usually does.
Xerxes picks up speed until our surroundings turn into a blur, and I hide my face in his black hair. It’s as smooth and silky as it looks, and his scent of man and fire drowns my senses. Realms, I could get used to this. I breathe in his scent along with the feeling of safety that engulfs me. Only when he sets me down in what appears to be the entrance to a village do I notice the ache in my arm from holding on to him, my hips and my thighs burning from how I clenched my legs around him.
He runs an arm around my shoulder, supporting me as we start down a little street with houses lining it on each side. But our surroundings soon blur as shadow rises from his body, encapsulating us.
“Xerxes, I can barely see,” I manage when my eyes start to itch.
“We can’t risk anyone recognizing us,” he says in a low voice.
I try to steel myself against the feelings that his closeness and his voice stir in me. I have to fight this. I let myself grow comfortable around him, but I can’t by any means fall for him.
“By now Lysander must have found out from your guards that I took you. I suppose that’s what I get for going against all my rules, and letting them live,” he says. “That’s why we have to keep a low profile. So we’re going to find a place where we can hide, but also take care of Nazarean, and study this tome. Maybe a free house.”
“There are no free houses in any of the villages around Edinburgh. Barns are probably all we’ll be able to find. But in order to help Nazarean I’ll need some basic comforts.” Despair seeps into my voice. My familiar’s breathing grows fainter by the minute. My throat tightens with the urge to cry.
Xerxes stops when we come close to an inn. I know the place, I used to come here with Zillard long ago. It’s everything one would expect from a medieval tavern, with a huge hearth, hot bread, and ale to make for a full medieval experience. The only problem is—it’s filled with people, and we can’t go in there surrounded by shadow, it will only draw more attention.
“We can climb directly into a room,” Xerxes suggests.
Remembering how he climbed the tower at the Grand Mage’s mansion with Nazarean and me on his back, I know that would be a piece of cake to him. But just as we approach the building, two shifters barge out of the inn, halfway through the shifting process, rolling together like a huge ball of fur and fists. More people follow, cheering, pints in their hands. There’s no way we can climb the inn now, not without being seen.
My eyes fly to Xerxes, gauging his reaction. He frowns, calculating our next move.
“Come on,” he whispers, and whisks me by the boisterous group with our heads down. They’re fully focused on the fight, which is how we manage to slip into the inn unobserved, just as more spectators reel towards the door. Xerxes hitches a black cloak from the back of a chair, one that’s so common-looking it won’t draw attention, and pulls it around himself, and the hood over his head. He draws me to the back of the inn, to a secluded little table by a small window at the very back.
“You’re gonna need something to ward off attention, too,” he says. “Your face is glowing. Why don’t you undo your hair, and keep your head down, let it fall over the sides of your face. I’ll go get you and Nazarean something to eat, and a room.”
He leaves so fast that I don’t even get to ask him with what money he’s going to do that with. But soon I understand. He slips his hand into a few coats, getting silver and even a few golden coins. With most of the tavern clients gathered by the door, and the rest so drunk that they’re either sleeping with their heads on the table or singing to themselves, it’s easy for him to acquire what we need.
I watch him as he reaches the wooden bar. He’s so tall and large, the cape molding the shape of his thick shoulders that he’s bound to draw attention like a magnet despite the cloak. The man behind the counter frowns suspiciously at him, but Xerxes slips two golden coins into his meaty hand, and the man grins under his mustache. I don’t hear what Xerxes is telling him, but I’ve heard stories about his ability to ensure people’s loyalty if he gets a moment alone with them, and it’s not always through intimidation and brutality.
He returns with milk and a plateful of steaming bagels. The smell reminds me just how hungry I am, my stomach growling. It’s strange, seeing the villain I’ve been fearing for so long carry food for my familiar and me. The way he places the bowl of milk by his side on the bench, helping Nazarean over so he can drink, warms my heart.
“Can I tell you something?” I grab a bagel, but it burns my fingers, and I drop it again.
“I thought we were over questions like that.” He keeps his voice low, to make sure no one hears as people start returning to their places, laughing and slapping each other’s backs, others reeling and barely keeping their eyes open or their magic in check, their auras flashing in different colors around them.
“No one has shown so much care for Nazarean before. The way you treat him, and the way he reacts to you, it makes it hard for me to believe you’re even remotely evil.”
He turns his face from Nazarean to me, his eyes flashing red from under his hood. A sense of danger creeps up my spine.
“Don’t fool yourself, white mage. I’m still the man who built an army of Undead and allied himself with the darkest creatures to take over the world.”
I swallow back what I wanted to say next, and turn my attention to the bagels. I blow to cool them, and I eat two of them so fast I barely breathe between bites. I can feel Xerxes’ eyes on me, but I ignore the blood burning in my cheeks. I’m done worrying about how he sees me. It doesn’t even matter, or it shouldn’t. Just because he treats my familiar nicely, it doesn’t mean he’s a good guy, how could I be so stupid as to think otherwise?
He’s a villain, he’s always been one, and always will be. And yet...
“You know, Xerxes, I’ve seen many things in my life,” I say, licking the cream cheese from my fingers. It’s just so damned good and, like I said, I decided to stop caring what he thinks. “I’m young, but through my work I’ve met more people than many others do in a lifetime. I’ve met heroes like Lysander, I’ve met vigilantes, and I’ve met rascals. But do you know what I’ve never encountered?”
He just stares at me from under the hood, only this time I ignore the chill. I even act against it, and lean in over the table.
“I’ve never met a villain that was evil just for the sake of it. They all had some explanation, and they all felt they were in the right. There was reason and logic behind their actions.”
“So what’s your question,” he says when I stop talking, my eyes roaming all over his face looking for the answer. In all the years I’ve been doing energy work, I’ve learned how to read faces.
“Why do you want to take over all the realms?”
“Maybe I don’t have a reason.
It’s just who I am.”
“Bullshit. Everybody has a reason. It’s how people work.”
“Do I look like people to you?” He activates the fire inside, and his eyes light up again, his veins glowing through his skin. It’s intimidating, but no one who handles Nazarean with so much care would be able to hurt me now, so I hold my ground.
“When you first met Lysander for a negotiation,” I begin, “you did it because you wanted control over the Sea Court through Arielle. You came looking for me because you wanted your power back. We got that tome from the Grand Mage because it will lead us to the Firestone. You had reasons for every one of your actions. Now you expect me to believe you want control over all the worlds just because?”
“I’m the King of the Fire Realm. The only thing I crave is power, it’s who I am, and it’s what drives me. It’s my because.”
“Why do you crave power? What’s it gonna do for you when you have it?”
His features harden. “Is this an interrogation?”
“If I’m going to help you with this, I want to know who you are. I want to understand your motives, so I have a chance to live with myself when you achieve your goals. Because I have no doubt you will achieve them. We’ll find the Firestone, restore your core, and you’ll become the most powerful man in all the realms. What then?”
He holds my gaze, but he doesn’t answer. I press.
“Just imagine it. You’re up there, at the top of the world. What will you do with all that power? Or is there anything you’ll want then, what more will you reach for?”
When he speaks, his voice is all I need to know I’m right. There’s a strong, serious reason behind everything he does, and what he became, even if he won’t reveal it.
“Come on,” he says. “I got us a room. Nazarean needs proper care.”
As we head up the stairs I think of the two versions of Xerxes. The version of him that now carries Nazarean, my familiar purring at his chest and accepting him like he has the purest soul in the universe. And the version that performed the scene with the Grand Mage. A gut-wrenching scene, even though it didn’t involve physical cruelty. When I think that it was the ‘mild’ version of what Xerxes usually does, my skin crawls. What would a violent scene look like, performed by the King of Flames?
He unlocks the door to a room at the end of the corridor. It’s a heavy wooden door that smells old, and that reveals a room with an authentic medieval feel. Many places in Flipside Edinburgh look gothic and straight out of the Middle Ages, but this room, having hosted countless supernaturals in the many centuries that it’s been standing, is imbued with so much energy the air is stuffy.
Xerxes crouches by the fireplace, laying a hand on the logs. Fire sparks to life, casting its warm light on his face as he pushes the hood off his head. He pulls the cape off and lays it on the floor by the fire, laying Nazarean down with all the care one would use to lay down a baby.
I approach slowly, and kneel down beside my familiar. I close my eyes and place my hands over him, feeling his energy.
“Oh,” I sigh as my eyes roll behind my eyelids, feeling Nazarean’s energy. “It wasn’t you, it was the air fae,” I whisper. “When he pointed the blade at us, he used it to draw life energy. Nazarean jumped to protect me, and the magic hit him instead of me.”
Tears trickle from under my closed eyelids. Guilt is choking me. But as my skin lights up, drawing energy from the fire to channel into Nazarean, something hard and warm strokes my cheek, right where my eyelashes touch my skin. I open my eyes to Xerxes’ face.
“Keep looking at me,” he says softly. “Draw power from me. I’m a creature of the underworld, like Nazarean. My energy will save his life.”
“What are you talking about? Nazarean isn’t from the underworld.”
“Listen. The fire energy you’re using, it will help him. But if you really want to make your familiar the strongest being he can be, the best version of himself, you have to draw power from a creature of darkness or fire.” He takes a deep breath, rising on his knees and leaning over Nazarean to me. I should lean away form him, especially because I still stink of sewer, but I can’t bring myself to.
“Nazarean is a spirit from Tartarus, sent by your father Hades to watch over you.”
“What? No, he is—he came to me in the woods when I was ten, he’s a forest spirit, a spirit of the elements.”
“I don’t have time to explain now, but I need you to trust me on this. Us creatures of the dark sense each other. It’s why he accepted me from the start—that, and because I never intended to hurt you. I needed you alive and safe more than anybody else, at least ever since I found you in Edinburgh.”
Ever since he found me.
“And before?”
“Listen.” He takes my hands, and his energy courses through me, shaking the flesh on my bones.
“What in the high realms—”
“I need you to channel my energy to Nazarean, Cerys. Please, trust me. Just do it.”
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and do it. In the end, this is the King of Fire, one of the oldest and mightiest supernaturals that ever existed, he must know what he’s talking about. And indeed, I can sense Nazarean regaining his vigor in a matter of seconds. Within minutes he’s up on his paws, stretching his body and his tail in the air.
“It worked,” I exclaim happily. Before I know it, I’ve flung my arms around Xerxes’ neck, my body slamming against his iron chest. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t move at all, and I realize what I’ve done. I spring back from him like it burns. The way he looks at me, it heats up the blood in my veins. His face, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
CHAPTER IV
Xerxes
Cerys moves swiftly away from me, putting distance between us. My heart twists inside my chest, because I hate it that she’s afraid of me, but I remind myself it’s better this way. Still, it doesn’t help that she’s a full blown femme fatale in her latex catsuit, her blue-black hair cascading down below her waist, her golden eyes gleaming under the shade of her long, curved eyelashes. There’s power in her innocence, and her essence calls to me in a way that I might not be able to resist.
Fuck, I’ve gotten too close. I rise to my feet, but that only leaves her there, on her knees in black latex, staring up at me. A vision of her undoing my ripped jeans and putting my cock into her mouth fills my head, which tears a growl from deep within my chest. I want to say something, but I don’t get the chance. Cerys jumps up to her feet, picking up Nazarean.
“Nazarean and I need to get cleaned up now. We won’t be long.”
She slips into the bathroom, but the preparations take much longer than she expected, and they involve more back and forth. She has to warm the water over the hearth, and go back to fill the small tub. I carry the buckets for her without asking, because I know she’d refuse if I did, and then I wait at the table by the stained glass window, studying the tome of the Grand Mage under the lamplight.
When Cerys returns I raise my head from the tome, and my heart stops. She’s only wearing the duvet from the bed around her shoulders, her hair wet. Nazarean jumps down from her shoulder and comes over to me, purring and leaping to my lap and then onto the table. She cloth-dried him, so he’s not dripping, but his fur is still wet.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I had to wash the suit, too.”
“I understand.” I try hard to focus on the tome, and tune out her presence, but it’s impossible. Her scent of wild lilies envelops me, mixing with that of the lavender soap she’s used to bathe. For a moment I wish I could touch her skin at least as lightly as the scent of lavender. My entire body tightens, my hands on the tome. But then she draws a chair, and my cock reacts in my pants.
Fuck, this woman is messing with my head.
“Did you get anything on the Firestone,” she inquires with genuine interest, focused on the open book.
“Most of it is just documentation of whom the former Grand Mage has met, when and
why, merely minutes of his meetings. There’s no specific reference to Apophis’ Wraiths, but here.” I turn a few pages back. “He received reports of spies from the cosmos of chaos lurking in the Cemetery of Doom. They were spotted with a stone that seemed to be made of solid fire.”
I need only mention it for Cerys to understand.
“The Cemetery of Doom?” she breathes. “High realms! That’s one of the most dangerous places in the Flipside.”
“Yes, and it makes sense that the Wraiths hid it there of all places they could have chosen.”
“Does it?”
“The Cemetery of Doom is a portal between worlds, just like the Bermuda Triangle, or the Mariana Trench, only that this one...” I stroke Nazarean, grateful that Cerys familiar gives me a chance to look away from her without making it awkward. “It also links our system of worlds into the cosmos of chaos that Apophis rules.”
“But doesn’t that mean that Apophis would have access to the Flipside through the Cemetery?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I have been guarding the realms against Apophis for thousands of years. He cannot enter without me knowing. But hiding the Firestone in the Cemetery of Doom does make it somehow more available to him.”
“What do you mean somehow more available?” She curls in her chair with her knees up, the fluffy white duvet enwrapping her just from her chest down. Only her pretty collarbones and shoulders are visible, her skin white and glowing like ivory, making my mouth water.
“He could have cursed it.”
“I’m curious,” Cerys says. “Why did you go through the trouble of protecting all realms from Apophis, instead of just your own? For all you care, he could have taken the others. You’re all about chaos and destruction, too.”
“There’s a very big difference between Apophis’ kind of destruction and mine. Apophis is a cosmic worm that consumes everything in his path. His terrible jaws would open and swallow our worlds whole, so we can’t protect just one and leave the others. No one knows what happens to the worlds deep inside the bowels of Apophis, because no one has ever come back to tell the tale, but I’m willing to bet all living, breathing creatures aren’t doing any living and breathing in there.”