by L. C. Davis
“Remiel said you were a hybrid,” I said, struggling to remember the angel’s words. It had all seemed like a dream while it was happening. “A hybrid of what?”
“In my realm, there are no vampires or humans. No demons or angels, either,” he said. “We have our own monsters and our own gods, but primarily, there are the Fae and the Elven.”
“Fae?” I blinked. “Like fairies?”
He squinted in disapproval. “We don’t appreciate that term or the human characterization that goes along with it.”
“Er, sorry. But you’re what, a blend between the two of them? That doesn’t sound so bad.” He seemed a bit tall for one of the Wee Folk, but at least he didn’t sparkle. Usually. Somehow, I doubted he’d appreciate me asking why.
“It doesn’t sound bad to you,” he muttered. “When you think of Fae, you think of cute little sprites floating around, granting wishes and waving wands. Maybe paying children for their lost teeth,” he sneered. “The real Fae are more or less humans who can wield magic. There are some minor physical differences. Our skin has a bluish glow, our ears are pointed, and we have wings that we usually keep retracted.”
That explained the fog. “So, you’re hippie vampires with pointy ears. I’m not really getting where the abomination part comes in.”
“The Fae don’t feed on blood.” There was an edge of bitterness in his tone, but it seemed to be directed inward more than at me. “Elves do. They’re bloodthirsty, warmongering savages and a drop of Elven blood is enough to have you exiled. Unless you’re the Queen’s child.”
I blinked at him. “The Fairy Queen?” He glared at me and I corrected, “Sorry, Fae. You’re royalty?” It came as a shock, but not a surprise. At least that explained his hoity-toity attitude.
“I’m the Queen’s son, yes, but I’m not a noble.” I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.
“How did you end up here?”
“I’m not permitted to say and it would put you in danger if I did.”
“Danger? From who? I’m already dead.”
“There are worse things you could be. I shouldn’t even have told you what I am, not the least of all because it’s shameful.”
“Maybe where you’re from, but not here,” I said, taking a step closer. “Not to me.”
“You saw me. You saw a fraction of what I really am, perhaps, but enough that you should understand,” he said, growing agitated. “I’m not a ‘monster’ like you or like Nick, I’m a monster.”
“This is about the teeth, isn’t it?”
His mouth turned into a thin line. “Partly.”
“Okay, the teeth are freaky,” I conceded. “Just keep your mouth away from my dick and we won’t have any problems.”
He searched my face, frowning. “Who said I wanted to suck your dick in the first place?”
“You did invite me into the shower,” I reminded him, taking another step until he had to choose between pressing his back against the shower or touching me. He chose the former.
He turned his head and his exposed neck looked too good not to kiss. His pulse was frantic underneath his flesh and despite the fact that I now knew without a doubt he was about as far from human as it got, he’d never seemed moreso. I pressed against him, our bodies taut and his back flush against the heated stone. His cock twitched to life and mine was already at full attention, aching with the blissful friction of being pressed between his stomach and mine.
“I suppose I did,” he breathed, running his fingers through my damp hair. “You know, now that you cut this, it’ll never grow back.”
“Unlike you, I don’t really give a shit what my hair looks like,” I said, running my tongue along his jugular. His skin tasted like honey, but it was as smooth as silk.
“Obviously.”
I grabbed his ass and pushed him harder into the wall until the breath rushed from his lungs and I captured his lips. He returned the kiss with far more hesitation than the last time, but his lips parted to allow my tongue entrance and I kissed him until I could no longer taste Nick’s blood. When I reached between us, his shaft was as hard and erect as mine. I took the soap off the ledge and worked a lather up in my hands without breaking the kiss, running a soapy hand over our dicks and relishing the way it felt to know he was feeling the same surge of pleasure I was getting from my own hand.
“Daniel,” he gasped, his head knocking against the tile as his hips jutted out against mine. I nearly slipped but pressed my left hand against the stone to get more stability and kept stroking, using the small distance between our bodies to get a better look at his face. His eyes were all blue again, but there were embers of lust within them so I gripped us both harder and picked up the pace, intent on turning those embers into a flame.
“You like that?” I asked, my voice sounding far more like a growl than I wanted it to.
His hands were on my shoulders, gripping tight as he stared down at what I was doing and nodded. His breathing was so shallow and I was already wound like a spring, but I wanted this to last if only so I could keep him like this, vulnerable and receptive to the pleasure I’d always wanted to be the one to make him feel. I slowed my strokes, applying a little more pressure and his knees nearly buckled in response as he let out a delirious moan.
“You have any idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you make that sound?” I whispered in his ear, stroking languidly, savoring the slow roll of pressure, up and down, from crown to base. “How long I’ve wanted to touch you like this?”
His eyes met mine, doubt dousing the flames. “Me or him?”
It was a fair question. A day ago, I wouldn’t have known the answer but that night had changed things. It had changed the way I saw Asher, and even though my questions-to-answers ratio was still seriously skewed, it was the first time I’d been able to acknowledge, even if it was only to myself, that whatever act of God or the devil was responsible for Asher and Dennis changing places, it was undeniably for the best.
“You might think you don’t belong in your world,” I said, brushing my lips against his smooth jaw. “But mine is better for you being here.”
His hands left my shoulders to frame my face and he kissed me desperately, pleadingly. I rested my hand on his bucking hips to still them and started stroking harder, faster. We’d both waited long enough, and as much as I was tempted to draw it out even longer, I needed him to come for me. I needed to reward him for opening up to me, for letting me see inside of him, even just a little, and I needed all that trembling and moaning and groping to reach a climax more than I even needed to come myself.
I did, of course, because the throbbing of his pulse through his cock squeezed tight in my hand and sliding against my dick alone would have been enough to push me over the edge, but it was the sound of my name on his lips as one stream of cum after another hit my chest that was purely orgasmic. I kept stroking, my hand slick with his seed and mine, just to enjoy the sight of him shuddering a little longer as I tortured his oversensitive member. Finally, he cried,” Stop, please, I can’t,” and I did, letting the water rinse the evidence of our mutual orgasm off our bodies.
For a moment, Asher stood there leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed as he caught his breath and I just watched him. For the first time, when I looked at him, I wasn’t seeing a ghost. I wasn’t seeing Dennis at all. Nothing about his features had changed, but they were his now, somehow, and I didn’t want that to ever change. He finally opened his eyes, a weary smile on his lips. “I suppose you managed to get around it this time.”
“Get around what?” I asked, realizing I was smiling back at him. For the first time, it was just easier to smile than not.
“I’ve just been wondering who’d be fucking who when we finally got around to it,” he said, running his hand down my chest. “Since you had such a problem with me leading while we danced and all.”
I snorted out a laugh, pulling him closer. “Guess we’ll just have to see what happens next time. Like you said, it’s o
nly dancing.”
Twelve
HOLDEN
After the gala, I spent most of the night unsuccessfully trying to get answers out of Locke, but he’d taken to shutting me out of his room and he had the magical security system to do it successfully. The next morning, I went to the post office and waited out the morning rush so I could talk to Nick. I sat on the counter as he sorted through packages in the back, trying not to freak out. Despite the fact that everything had gone to hell the night before, he was almost infuriatingly calm.
“Allen knew, Nick. How does that not bother you?” I finally asked. His response to my recollection of the conversation in which his brother had tried to bait me into admitting he’d imprinted on me had been a less than shocked, “Huh.”
“Allen’s always been able to read me,” he said with a shrug. “Doesn’t mean he would have said anything. Besides, it’s not like it matters now. The cat’s out of the bag.”
“Please don’t remind me of cats,” I muttered. “I could have blown everything! I would have if Remiel hadn’t shown up when he did.”
“Look, there’s nothing we can do now,” he said, tossing a stack of envelopes into a big gray bin. I was pretty sure I wasn’t even supposed to be back behind the counter, but it was Stillwater and the only people who had the power to sanction Nick were directly related to him. Not that that was necessarily a free pass now that his pack knew he’d imprinted on a witch.
I sighed. I hadn’t wanted to bring up Brent at all if I could help it, since Nick had made it clear that his deceased brother was not a topic he wanted to discuss, but I didn't feel that I had any other choice. “You know what Locke did when Brent found out about us. Why is it not any worse that your whole pack knows?”
Nick stopped what he was doing and straightened up, his back still turned to me for a second. I was sure I’d crossed a line, but when he turned to face me, he didn’t look angry or hurt, just...tired. “It was different with Brent,” he said, reaching past me for another bin on the counter.
“Why?”
“Because Brent found out before Locke talked to my uncle.”
“What did they talk about?” I asked. “I know they came to some kind of deal, but why? Locke has something on your uncle, doesn’t he?”
“No. Holden, I told you, just let me deal with my family.”
“I have been, but not knowing how you’re dealing with them nearly led to me fucking everything up when I was alone with Allen for two minutes. Now that they know we’re together --”
“Nothing is going to change,” he said firmly. “Listen to me. Brent isn’t dead because he found out who you were at a bad time, he’s dead because he went after you and Daniel. Period. Whatever Locke did or didn’t do to manipulate the circumstances, Brent is the reason Daniel’s dead and he would have killed you, too.”
“I get that, but --”
“No buts. You don’t understand how this works.”
“That’s my point! I don’t understand your pack at all, and I never will if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
“There are dynamics at play you couldn’t understand even if I put you in more danger by laying it all out for you. This is why we compel our mates, why we keep them out of this shit. You answer one question and it just leads to a thousand more.”
“You act like I’m the one who opted into this,” I said, trying to hold back the tears brimming in my eyes. “I didn’t ask to be part of the Whitaker family soap opera, but guess what? I’m part of it whether either of us like it or not, and you trying to keep me on the outside is only making things more complicated. What are you so afraid of happening if you let me in?”
“That’s just it. You think it’s as simple as giving you answers, but it’s not. It all goes so much further back than me, than us, and it all has to keep going long after I’m gone. I’m not just a pack wolf, someday I’m going to be the Alpha and that means I have responsibility to protect our secrets and everyone else, not just you,” he muttered, kicking a box out of the way. “I’m trying to do that the only way I know how, but I’m not like you, I can’t just run away.”
I stared at him, telling myself I hadn’t just heard those words come out of his mouth. “Just ‘run away?’ Did you seriously just say that to me?”
Regret flickered in his eyes, but it was too late. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah, you did. You never say anything you don’t mean,” I said, jumping down off the counter and leaving the back room.
He rushed after me and grabbed my arm. “Holden, wait! I’m sorry.”
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, jerking my arm away.
“Please, can we just talk about this?”
“Why would we talk when I can just run away?” I shot back. “That is what I do.”
He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, so I took the chance to leave and kept walking. I knew if I went back to the house, with my luck, Locke would actually be there. He was always there when you didn’t want him. I kept going, at first in no particular direction before I decided to circle back and head to Mrs. Marrin’s. There were still a few boxes I hadn’t brought over, but it was the contents of the basement I was most interested in.
If Nick didn’t want to tell me anything, fine, but I knew someone who would. Mrs. Marrin had told me once about the journal her family kept, and I was beginning to realize that even if Nick did tell me everything I wanted to know, his perspective on the Whitaker family history as an Alpha was not necessarily the objective truth. I’d been putting off the task since ten years locked in one basement had left me less than enthusiastic to spend any more time than I had to in any other, but it was no longer just a matter of curiosity.
Mrs. Marrin was out when I arrived, but I still had my key and I was paid up through the month, so I took a deep breath, went down into the basement and started looking through the endless sea of boxes. About five boxes in, I began to realize that only half of them were labeled and the markered description of the contents on the ones that were was hardly reliable.
I spent most of the night searching fruitlessly, but at least it was a decent distraction and an outlet for my irritation. Once the anger faded, I was left only with the hurt feelings. My family had always been a sensitive topic, especially after the vision Remiel had showed me of Ezekiel, and Nick’s words had so closely echoed the guilt I’d always harbored. Not for running from my father but from everything else.
Somewhere between the ten boxes of ‘90s Christmas decorations and the pots and pans that were erroneously labeled as “library,” I gave in to frustration and put my head down on a large plastic bin to rest my eyes. The basement was poorly lit by a single overhead bulb and my eyes were strained from trying to read the spines of the books I had found. Everything was old and leather bound, so it wasn’t like the journal was guaranteed to stand out when I finally did stumble upon it.
I didn’t remember falling asleep, but when I opened my eyes, the light was out. My heart raced as memories I was perfectly happy suppressing began to creep in. I groped the darkness for a box to support myself on and stood, reaching for the chain light overhead. I pulled it and it clicked, but the light didn’t come on. The bulb had blown. I felt my pockets for my phone only to remember I’d been charging it at the post office while I talked with Nick.
“Shit,” I muttered, carefully easing my way forward in the direction I could only hope led to the basement stairs. I sincerely regretted promising myself that I’d put back the boxes I had already sorted through later now that later had arrived and I was stuck wading through a sea of cardboard in the darkness.
Then I heard something. Rustling, then a squeak. A mouse, maybe a rat.
The image of a small, furry brown rat stuck to sticky yellow paper in the corner overlaid itself in the darkness and I stumbled. Of all the things that had happened in that basement, of course that was the flashback that chose to haunt me now.
As afraid as I’d been of the ra
t that had taken up residence in the walls of my childhood home, it had been my only companion for months. I would never forget finding it in the trap in the back of the closet underneath the stairs, or the way its little mouth had been slightly open, its face contorted in distress.
My chest was tight and despite my best efforts, I couldn’t recall any of my old therapist’s advice on breathing through a panic attack. Deep, even breaths only worked if you could breathe, but it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the basement. I got to my feet and rushed for the stairs, groping blindly for the bannister. I found it and scrambled up the stairs on my hands and knees, latching onto the doorknob.
It was locked. Of course it was. Mrs. Marrin didn’t know I was coming over and there was no telling how long I’d been asleep. She’d probably seen the door unlocked, thought she’d left it that way and locked it back before heading to bed. I banged on the door and listened for footsteps in the hall, but no one came.
Wait. It was Saturday when I’d gone into the basement, but that meant it might easily be Sunday now. Mrs. Marrin always spent Sundays out of the house, starting with bingo “as a matter of principle” and she was usually out all day. I lost all composure at the thought of spending a whole day in the darkness and started jiggling the doorknob, then resumed banging when that didn’t work. Every time my fists made contact with the wood, it felt like I was slipping further into the past. I didn’t know how long I’d been crying for help, but as I gave in and slipped down the door, I was overcome by the strangest paranoia that maybe I wasn’t in Mrs. Marrin’s basement but my father’s. That maybe I’d never really left at all. It felt like I’d been there for days, but at the same time, it felt like no time had passed since that last night more than a decade earlier, the one where I’d fallen asleep against the door like I had so many others.
I still didn’t know what had possessed me to try to open the door then, but as my heart beat so fast it hurt, I reached out and touched the doorknob.