by Parker Foye
Words, she said. Kent might struggle with words but he knew that language. He wore it in scars.
Hadrian released Tabitha’s hand and sat back on his haunches. Tabitha resettled on the settee. Their positions—Hadrian lower, Tabitha higher—didn’t reflect the dynamics of the conversation. Turned out alphas could sit anywhere in a room and command it.
Felicity still watched Kent like he would do a trick. He itched under her gaze.
“I’m pleased to hear that,” Hadrian said. “As I’ve another request of you, and—”
“Double guard,” Kent interrupted. His vision might be spotty, but he could guess what Hadrian would ask. For Kent to go with him. Felicity’s attention narrowed on him. “When he goes home.”
Tabitha had greed and pity in her gaze when she cast her eyes to Kent. Like he was finally worth something, linked to an alpha, a firestarter, and he’d managed to fuck it up anyway.
“Of course. Having a real prince owe me a favour would be in my interest. There’s no secret in that. I’ll leave a warden here while you both make arrangements.” She glanced at Hadrian, her expression clearing. “If that is acceptable to you?”
* * *
Though tension made his shoulders stiff with knots, Hadrian nodded. “Acceptable. I’ll contact you once the moon begins to wane.”
He rose to his feet, and the unfamiliar warden left the house, like he’d waited on Hadrian’s signal. Felicity remained seated. Hadrian offered his hand to Tabitha, and it seemed for a moment as if she’d refuse, but she conceded with a small bow of her head. A powerful player in her own game, Hadrian was careful to respect her rules despite his anger at her machinations. They could easily do each other damage in this small room, if they were careless with word or gesture.
Kent is worth the risk.
As certain as the moon would rise, Kent was worth the risk. Hadrian didn’t know when it had happened, but the stray who’d first compelled his loyalty had somehow earned it without even trying. Little brat was an alpha in every way but one.
Tabitha crouched by Kent, her skirts splaying on the floor like froth from a wave. As Hadrian watched, Kent wound his fingers in the fabric as if to keep himself anchored. With his other hand, he pressed his scrap of scented cloth to his face and inhaled deeply; as his health faded, Kent’s senses had magnified in counterpoint, as if to better defend his vulnerable state. Hadrian had watched the slow decline with growing dread. He prayed Tabitha had good news.
If she didn’t have good news, he would show her what an alpha did to avenge his own.
“I’ve come to honour our agreement,” Tabitha said, glancing at where Kent held her skirts. “I have the ingredients and the moon is due. If you are amenable, I would release you tonight. If I may check the binding a final time?”
Kent nodded, eyes wide. Never verbose, his words seemed to have dripped out of him along with far too much blood.
“As I thought.” Tabitha gestured imperiously to Felicity. “Bring my bag.”
Hadrian watched with curiosity as Tabitha and Felicity exchanged various items: a small orange, a metal file, scraps of paper set aflame while Tabitha chanted in a language Hadrian didn’t recognise. Shortly after they began, Kent’s eyes drifted shut, and Hadrian helped him lie back, his head on Hadrian’s knees. He ignored the question in Tabitha’s eyes as she smoothed her bony fingers down Kent’s throat and along the edge of his collar. Jealousy curdled in Hadrian’s gut, and he studiously played with the ends of Kent’s hair until Tabitha nudged him.
“I don’t understand. Is he injured more than I can see? A warding, perhaps?”
Hadrian glanced at the dark stain on Kent’s torso. “Pinned on with a knife. And shot, first. I tore the card off, but—”
“That’s why he’s such a mess. Even with the collar he should have begun to heal. The wardings have worked in opposition. Thrice-cursed street magics! He never should have been bound. Not like this.”
“But you strung him along to be free?” Hadrian snarled, more savage than he intended. Closer to the wild. In his arms, Kent twitched and opened his eyes, like the moon called to him as it did Hadrian.
Tabitha glanced between Hadrian and Kent. She set her jaw. “I’m a businesswoman. I know an investment when I see one. Let me try again.”
The items pulled from Tabitha’s bag became more esoteric and her chanting more frantic. Hadrian concentrated on Kent, on smoothing his hair and the small divot between his eyebrows, where years of worry had left a scar. When Tabitha traced a symbol over Kent’s chest, Kent screamed like she’d set him on fire, jerking in Hadrian’s arms. Hadrian shoved Tabitha away and eased Kent onto his back, pleading silently. His wounds wept unendingly.
You can’t go please don’t go please stay. All shall be well. Please stay with me.
Eventually, Kent’s screams quieted to whimpers and he became still. Hadrian lay alongside him, uncaring of their audience or how an alpha should conduct himself. Social hierarchies had no place on a deathbed.
Movement from Tabitha drew Hadrian’s attention. He glanced at her, finding her once more on her feet and looking down on them like a compassionate god with hands tied. She watched Kent for a moment, then met Hadrian’s eyes and shook her head.
“It won’t work. Too much spellcraft and not enough left to fight the workings. Even healing wardings would take more of him than they’d give. I’m truly sorry. There’s nothing I can do that won’t kill him where he lies.”
“We understand. Thank you,” Hadrian said. He didn’t mean a word. He meant them all.
“If he—You know where I am.”
Tabitha took her leave without looking back. When she was gone, Hadrian pressed his hand to Kent’s forehead. Kent’s pallor abruptly turned even more sickly, taking on a grey tinge.
“Felicity, would you get Annie? And water? And—”
“Understood.”
Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me.
* * *
A flurry of movement happened around Kent. Tabitha’s words rang in his ears like bells tolling. “There’s nothing I can do.” Two years she’d dragged him around by the nose on promises she couldn’t fulfil. Two fucking years.
And this is all I get?
Two more years than anyone thought you’d get.
Someone stroked his hair. His mother used to do that. Stroked his hair and tweaked his pointed ears and tapped his nose. Cold nose. Healthy pup.
Fading in and out, Kent blinked back to consciousness when Annie brought clean water and rags, mopping his brow and the back of his neck, under his sweaty hair. Hadrian helped Kent to the settee. Kent stumbled, even with help, and blinked stupidly at the dark stain on the floor where he’d been sitting. Had that always been there? Had he spilled something? Annie would be cross.
“Jesus! Is that blood?” Felicity yelped, dropping the rags she held.
That would explain it.
Kent didn’t struggle when sleep came for him.
* * *
Cloves. Blood-and-earth. A wild sea on a winter day. Hadrian talking soft in a language Kent didn’t understand, a higher voice responding in kind. Felicity. Kent couldn’t muster annoyance at her presence. Couldn’t muster anything other than contentment.
Warm hands touched his throat and he started to full consciousness, but he must’ve been slow. Only Hadrian sat by him, wringing out a cloth that smelled sick with sweat.
“You’re awake,” Hadrian said. Whispered. Like he wasn’t sure.
Kent wasn’t sure either. He shrugged, immediately regretting it when he remembered his shoulder wounds. The wounds that hadn’t healed. Coppery blood-smell filled the air and Hadrian’s expression crumpled.
“It doesn’t stop bleeding. I don’t know what’s wrong.” Hadrian pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been in and out
all day. Night, now. We should’ve called in a doctor, but Tabitha—and Felicity—Christ. I’m sorry, Kent.”
Dying, then. About time. Kent crawled his hand toward Hadrian’s and tugged it close, pressing his face to Hadrian’s palm. All the secrets there. Kent wouldn’t object being another. Something worth remembering.
Hadrian cleared his throat. “I could make you a wolf. Try. The moon makes me stronger and you’re so—well. It might work. It has to work. What do you say?”
“Already wolf,” Kent said. Even his voice sounded like a ghost.
“But—I can try. God, let me try.”
You’re a fool.
So am I.
“If I—I can stay?”
“Stay?” Hadrian’s hand twitched in Kent’s grip. “Of course you can stay. I asked you to, didn’t I? We’re stories, you and I. Where do we belong but together?”
Kent wanted to be strong enough to refuse Hadrian’s offer, certain it would be a waste of time, but fear made him hesitate. Not fear for dying, but fear to leave Hadrian. Alpha or not, Hadrian needed someone to keep him safe. Their short time together had proved that much. Wolves and trains and locals with sticks and bad ideas. And Felicity could only do so much. Wardens didn’t have Kent’s nose.
He nodded shallowly. “Try.”
If nothing else, Kent would gain a few extra minutes of Hadrian’s company as they waited for him to drain dry.
“Very well. I haven’t—but I know what to do.” Hadrian’s smile looked like a grimace. Leaving his hand where Kent held it, he took Kent’s other hand. Turning it over, he smoothed the skin with his thumb. “I’m concerned you don’t have much blood to lose. Are you sure?”
Kent nipped the soft skin of Hadrian’s palm. “Sure.”
When Hadrian looked at him, Kent felt thin, transparent, like Hadrian could see straight through Kent’s skin to the heart of him, all the black twisting things. But Hadrian didn’t run. He stayed where he sat and brought Kent’s inner wrist to his lips to kiss it. Soft.
The bite was sharp as acid in an open wound.
Kent jerked against the settee, jolting hurts old and new, only kept from falling by Hadrian’s firm hold. Fire howled through his veins, like his blood was oil and Hadrian had set it alight, making his heart stutter and every open wound smoulder. The pain was everything. Kent was a bright star of agony on a dark blue sheet of sky.
It’d be worth it. The moon would be worth it.
“Kent?”
That’s my name. Isn’t it?
Kent opened his eyes and blinked at Hadrian, still holding Kent’s wrist. Had he been there the whole time? For the days Kent spent boiling like a frog in a pot?
Relief smoothed Hadrian’s face. “You went away for a second. How do you feel?”
A second? A fucking second? Huffing a feeble growl, Kent turned his attention within, trying to feel the change taking hold. Maybe his claws would lengthen. Or disappear? Hadrian didn’t have claws. Kent stretched out his hands and feet to encourage them to alter. Nothing. Fuck. Nothing.
He opened his eyes when Hadrian touched his cheek. Read the answer on the downward-turning lines of his face.
“I’m sorry,” Hadrian said. His eyes were wet.
Kent tugged his hand from Hadrian. Blood trickled down his wrist. At least Hadrian had been restrained with the bite. Kent wouldn’t bleed out any faster. Wouldn’t leave Hadrian any quicker.
“Is okay,” he said, throat clicking dry. “Is fine.”
“It isn’t! I really thought—but it didn’t. I want—”
“Outside. Let’s go outside. Moonrise.”
Kent couldn’t die in Annie’s front room. She’d never forgive him. And fresh air was supposed to be good for health, wasn’t it? Not that there was much in the way of fresh air so close to the workhouse. Lucky Kent’s nose had given up. He could barely smell his blood despite sitting in a pool of it.
They negotiated the hall with difficulty, since Kent refused to be carried like a bride, finally sitting together on the back step of Annie’s house. She’d shown him the step when he first moved in, proud to have a scrap of garden instead of living in a back-to-back. A legacy from her husband’s attempt at social climbing. Kent sent thanks for the arsehole’s forethought to the ether as he and Hadrian crammed together in the small space to watch the sky.
Cloves swelled in the air, strong enough even Kent’s stoppered nose could smell them, but didn’t draw closer. Felicity’s presence in the house came as a comfort. She’d make sure Hadrian got home. She had to. Kent would haunt the deceptive ward-peddler if she didn’t.
Kent let his head drop to Hadrian’s shoulder. He stared at the far moon until white spots replaced the black in the corners of his eyes. Hadrian draped his arm around Kent’s shoulders, pressing him more firmly to the earth when Kent felt he might float right off it, his fingers curling around to brush Kent’s collar. Hadrian stilled.
“Kent. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” Kent said. He hadn’t needed to think about the word at all.
Hadrian shuffled until he crouched in front of Kent. He placed both hands on the collar. Kent sagged without something to lean on, but Hadrian kept him steady.
“I want to try something. You must let me know if it hurts.”
Not knowing how he’d notice one hurt above everything else, Kent let his head fall forward. Close enough to a nod. If Hadrian wanted to snap Kent’s neck, finish him quick, Kent wouldn’t resist. Kent didn’t have the energy to waste on protest he didn’t feel.
“All shall be well, and all shall be well,” Hadrian muttered. It had the feel of an oft-repeated prayer. He rested his temple against Kent’s. “And all manner of thing shall be well. I promise.”
Kent let his eyes fall shut when Hadrian’s palms began to heat. He could smell burning flesh. Maybe the hurt would come later?
Kent’s eyes snapped open when Hadrian burned through the collar.
I’m not going to die today.
Like an ember, long-smouldering, had been breathed into life, Kent began to burn. A cleansing fire, chasing out old poisons of never-enough and don’t-belong. His senses sharpened, like the binding had dulled them, and he imagined he could see veins of magic in the earth. Imagined he could smell it on Hadrian, burning like Kent did.
He knew the moon. He knew himself. He wanted to howl with grief for years lost between binding and freedom. Wanted to howl for the joy of being shown the way home.
This is how a wolf feels.
He bared his teeth. I’m going to live.
Strength poured into Kent’s body like moonlight, like air inflating a sail, like crawling out of a too-small space and stretching for the first time. The spot on Kent’s back that had never healed sang with a clean kind of pain, and Kent twisted, trying to see, trying to feel with clumsy hands but finding only raised scars where the stump had been. He checked Hadrian’s failed bite and found a silver scar, delicate and perfect. Finally he fingered the points of his ears and snagged the tips with his claws: both still present. Kent wasn’t full wolf but breaking the collar had released the binding on his natural strength and he’d become again the half-something he’d been born. The berserker who’d come down from the highlands. Not a prince. Not a stray. He had his own place in the story Hadrian would tell.
Dizzy with the sudden loss of pain, Kent grabbed Hadrian’s hands and found his claws had grown when Hadrian yelped, laughed and changed their grip.
“Steady there, you’ll do yourself a damage. How do you feel?” Hadrian asked.
Kent grinned, cutting his lower lip when his fangs took up more space than they used to. He licked away the blood. Tasted the same.
“Good. Feel good. Want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?”
“Perhaps not here—Kent!” Hadrian’s protest broke off
when Kent tugged Hadrian into the house and down to the floor, kicking the door closed behind them. Their hips aligned, and Kent surged into Hadrian, like all the energy restored to him had been given for this one purpose and if he didn’t act he’d explode.
And what a waste that would be.
In the periphery of his awareness, cloves wafted into the room and rapidly retreated. When he focused, Kent could smell Felicity, Annie, the lingering traces of Tabitha and the other wardens. More, if he tried, he knew. He didn’t try. He wanted every sense filled with Hadrian.
Hadrian seemed to have a different idea. He tried to rise, unable to get far with the way Kent had hooked his legs around Hadrian’s knees, and huffed down at Kent when his progress was thwarted. His smile was wet and soft with kisses.
“I want to see you,” Hadrian said. “I need to be sure you’re healed. Let me. Please.”
Kent didn’t have the strength or desire to reject the plea. He remained sprawled on the floor as Hadrian undressed Kent like he was praying. Each button or tie a psalm. Kent shifted self-consciously as more skin was exposed. The removal of the collar had healed him, but wounds had left their marks, and he was sticky with blood and dirt. Hadrian didn’t appear to give a shit. He traced each newly revealed story on Kent’s skin like he could read them.
When Kent was finally naked—more naked than he’d been since Matron and the warden collared him—Hadrian began placing kisses across Kent’s body, marking a trail only he would ever follow. Kent endured it until he twitched with the need to move and tackled Hadrian to the floor, stripping him with alacrity.
“I thought I was—I wanted to—Kent!” Hadrian’s protest was muffled by his shirt as Kent yanked it off and tossed it aside.
“Love how you say my name,” Kent said, straddling Hadrian, his hair tangled around them. He rocked their hips together, feeling an answering hardness from Hadrian. “Again.”
Hadrian bit a kiss from Kent’s lips and trailed his fingers down Kent’s body, fingertips noticeably warmer than they should be. Like he wanted to melt his touch inside Kent’s body, where it could never escape or be forgotten. Or maybe that’s what Kent wanted.