INDEX:
Link here to a general overview of the novel
Prologue, Chpt 1, Chpt 2, Chpt 3, Chpt 4, Chpt 5, Chpt 6, Chpt 7, Chpt 8, Chpt 9, Chpt 10, Chpt 11
Chapter Twelve
Sebastian
She’s going to attack Daav. My own rage flickers awake. No fucking way. This can’t be happening.
“Stop it the fuck now, Hanna,” I yell to break her focus, to keep him safe.
Instead, her eyes grow brighter, sparking gold. Shit!
Instincts hit. I know what to do.
We’re forbidden to use our magic to attack each other, but we’ve all figured out how to use it for harm, even with the restrictions. And with the Conclave’s silent message; be ready, Orreance may need you for this.
Hanna’s fast. She’s always been. Right behind me in her speed to merge with the Verse, to wield the magic.
I call for mine, focus on the squeeze of the room. My feet connect with the floor, and I settle into my stance and press my nails into my palms. I’d pierce my skin readily if it meant entry. No time for the points of my triangle, but enough grounding to get me where I need.
I open the Verse. Pain, desolation, tumbleweed tangles. Ugly, toothy, despair filled energy lurches around me. It calls me. I call back.
My place.
Standing in the solid true world of our suite, wrapped by the dark of my Verse, I throw my body toward hers.
We crash into the couch and the floor lamp to its side, falling, glass shattering. Smacking into the wood covered upholstery. Bruise and pain. Head spinning. Hanna lumped underneath me, her eyes still sparkling gold. Our limbs are jumbled together, but her power’s still wild, alive. Wanting a target.
Not gonna happen.
So I thrust my Verse towards hers, into the bloom of her magic. To force them to touch, purposefully.
My tangles leap, moving in a jagged erratic weave I’ve never seen. Excited fuckers?
Verse twist it!
Yelling around us, voices. Scared, demanding, confused. The bony press of her body beneath me and the pain of the fall and its bruising ghost away.
For a fleeting moment a washed out faded orange landscape of angles and points, geometric shapes with edges and fog running up and over each side appears next to my tangles, my tumbleweed ugliness leaning towards them. Hissing with eagerness.
Hanna’s Verse. I can see into it! Sweet agony!
The tumbleweeds lurch forward, like beasts bursting from a cage, and launch into the orange reality, descending on the angled shapes of the terrain.
Contact lasting only seconds, couldn’t be more, because then…an explosion.
Body flying, scraping against the floor, a roar of air and emptiness engulfs me. Shit, I’m airborne.
Then, slam.
Pain and beautiful pummeling fucking hurt.
A high pitched scream from the room.
I lose vision, Verse tangles and true vision both. Black for swimming seconds.
“Sebastian, Angel…okay…Sebas…fuck…wake….damn….Angel wake up!”
Daav.
His face hanging over me, running calloused fingers over my cheek, the back of my skull. His lips are so near. Close to mine. Yes. Want that touch.
“Angel, sweetheart. Wake up. Sebastian, can you hear me?”
There’s stark fear in his voice. Panic. Ah, no, Prince. Don’t worry, I want to tell him.
I lose it again. More wavering black.
And then another set of hands on my head as a warmth suffuses my limbs, torso, belly.
Vision clears.
Freddie is hovering above me next to Daav. The flare of gold winks out from Freddie’s brown eyes as he finally sits back on the floor, slouching, clearly drained from using magic.
He has some minor healing talent, sufficient when the injury isn’t life threatening. And it obviously worked as my head’s clear and the pain from the collision is missing.
“There you go, Seb. Not bad. You’re a lucky son of a bitch,” Freddie says, his eyes heavy.
The tired is a gray seeping hopelessness veined underneath his exhaustion. Just like the veins of marble, its unique flaws lovely as they create the uniqueness of each stone. That’s what makes me adore the pain and darkness. Flaws and brokenness make us all so much more. Few see it this way. They struggle against the brokenness. But that struggle only increases the warm fondness I have for them, for Freddie with his drooping not quite genuine half smile.
I sit up, forcing Daav back from where he’s been stroking my cheek. His eyes remain wide, uncertain. And are those wet trails on his cheek?
I only lost moments. Across from me, leaning against the side of a half listing couch, is Hanna. Her arms are wrapped around her knees. She’s sobbing.
None of the Cohort come close to her. None go to check on her, but she’s conscious. Maybe she fared better from the explosion when our Verses touched than I have.
Maybe. Although she’s not okay, and it’s not about the explosion.
I clear my throat. “I’m fine, Daav.” A cold settles over me. It feels foreign. I try hard not to let it in most days because I’d rather focus on the caring than the cold. And then I ask, to the sobbing woman across from me, “Did Harkness send you? Did he tell you to kill Daav?”
She looks up from her position with head bent to her knees, face twisting with shock.
“What?” she asks from beneath her tears.
“Did Carl Harkness convince you to kill Daav? I think the question’s pretty simple.”
“Ne…no,” she stutters.
“What did you plan to do with your tangles? We don’t do that to one another. I’ve been gone eight years and I still know that. We’re meant to be family, or as close as there is in this fucking mage lifestyle.”
“Angel, give her a moment,” Daav says.
I turn back to him. “No. She tried to attack you. Consideration is out the door.”
“She’s not my father’s tool. She attacked for other reasons.”
“You can’t be sure. Can’t know that.”
“I killed the woman she loved. If it had been you, our roles reversed, I would do the same.”
My patience for Daav’s self-hatred hits detonate as I grab his chin, pull his face close again. “First, you did not kill Trina. You loved her. How is it a crime for you to just be born? You didn’t ask for your powers, didn’t ask for one goddamn thing other than to be allowed to be a boy, be a son, and now a man. Fuck it, you didn’t even ask Victor to bring you here.”
I shot my gaze back to Hanna. “If you want to blame anyone in your twisted fantasies, someone closer to home, blame Victor. If he wasn’t already dead maybe I’d even help you end him. But really it’s Carl Harkness who killed her. He ordered this place bombed. And if anyone else in this fucking room misses Trina as much as you do, loved her as much as you do, it’s Daav. He’s not the man you need to punish, he’s the one to cry with. You both would do a whole fucking lot better if you’d grab on to each other and cry over her.”
Next to me, Daav looks down at his lap, his shoulders rounded in a hunch. He straightens a moment later.
Hanna’s sobs have stopped and she’s staring back at us with watery eyes, lost eyes. I know how she feels, the hole in her heart that lingers and lingers. The one that drains you out and leaves you half-alive. I’ve felt it for years. Only now mine’s been temporarily plugged. So I melt again, hurt for Hanna even if she fucking tried to hurt the man I love.
Hanna squeezes her eyes shut. Against the pain? Against shame over what she tried to do?
“I’m…sorry,” she whispers. Then louder. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Hanna,” Daav answers. Because of course he does. “I’ve tried to stay away. That was one of the reasons. I get it.”
And then it’s Nueé going over to Hanna, sitting down on the floor next to her, leaning in and bringing Hanna’s head down to rest on Nueé’s shoulder. Stroking her hair. “Please. It’s Daav and Seb’s fault that they’ve stayed away from us. But now that they’re back, please, help us keep them. If we can’t be eight, I’d like us to be seven. And if you and Daav keep Trina’s memory alive, then really we’ll be eight.”
Trina’s death didn’t just hurt Hanna and Daav, it wounded all of us. Maybe in a way we can never recover from. But I’m familiar with walking around wearing pain as if it were clothing.
“I’m sorry,” Hanna says again and buries her face against Nueé’s neck.
Nueé looks over at Daav and me and nods.
Bethany says to us,”We’ll take care of this. Go back to your rooms. You all need some space.”
Will anyone report this to the Mentors? No. Hanna may have pulled shit none of us expected, but our loyalty to her remains solid. I know as much. Okay, I still love the chit. And Daav…his focus is locked in on his quarter century trials.
He stands and holds out his hand to me. “Come.”
His natural command sends shivers over me not caused by the lingering cold of the attack. But he surprises me. What the fuck does he mean?
“Sure, Prince,” I say pretending it’s all casual, a verbal shrug in my tone. But when I reach up for his palm, the heat of his grip finally dissipates the cold and itch, and I’m so goddamn Verse twisted thankful for it.
His fingers are strong, able to make things happen. Wielding a gun, playing my body, edging it into painful, hard arousal. I never want to let go. Or maybe I do if I want him to touch other parts of me. Or hold my hand as we stroll down a street. Such a simple thing, something we’ve never had.
We walk down the corridor toward the personal rooms, assuming we’re headed to our own separate bedrooms, but wishing he’d keep us going past mine to his.
Instead we pass both our bedrooms, moving toward the great room at the end, the one that the Cohort had dedicated for him to use as a dance space when at headquarters. The one that he always retreats to when forced to spend required time with the bunch of us. Even before I left he did that, drawing away from too much group contact.
“I thought–” I start to say.
“The healing worked, you’re healthy?” he asks, continuing down the hall, pulling open the door when we arrive.
“Sure.” Freddie’s magic has even fixed some of the fatigue, a residual benefit.
“You wanted to watch me dance,” Daav says, ignoring my provocation.
Of fucking course I do, but I assume after what just happened, and having my own things to share about Hanna’s Verse, that we’ll talk first. And part of me wants to understand where we are in this confusing mess.
“We need to discuss strange things with the magic, including what happened before when we had sex, and something that just happened with Hanna,” I say.
“There’s time,” he says with a shrug. “After the day we had, we deserve a break. I do not want to discuss magic or deadlines right now.”
Who is this man and what did he do with Daav? My Prince never shirks responsibility, all Mr. Serious and all about his drive to dissect and perfect everything mage power related. He’s cautious by nature. Did my run in with Hanna push us into some bizarre role reversal? Hadn’t he just demanded I stay away from him?
He walks through the door, gesturing me through, a gentleman but with a flare in his gaze that’s all predator. A predator I want on me, want to eat me up as I bare my throat to him. Hanna’s attack must have driven the animal to the surface, and with the threat nullified he can’t fight, so that leaves fucking.
I take a minute to check, to be sure he wants what’s in his sea churned eyes. Maybe I’m still waiting for him to second guess his decision and walk away like he’s planned. To tell me this is a joke. I’ve lived without him for so long.
But he knows my question and answers it without me having to ask.
“You’re alive,” Daav says, as if that’s enough explanation for his one-eighty.
And there’s my intense Prince, powerful, a shining force of this world, meant to stand at the helm and steer unflinchingly into the untameable and wild sea to conquer all. I can picture him there, my fingers curling at the craving to start sculpting him this way. Mostly his overactive sense of his responsibility keeps him from giving into his own needs.
“I accept your offer, Mr. Ballet.”
I walk past him and through the door and turn to look at him over my shoulder. “I await, my Prince. Come dance for me.”
I may offer all casual, teasing nonchalance, but my pulse is running a marathon and my chest squeezes with a please make this true, please let this be real.
He smiles, trailing me inside, brushing by in slow motion as he runs a palm over my hip as he passes, leaving me all shiver. “There’s the daydream in your eyes,” he whispers into the shell of my ear as he goes. “A naughty one. Watch me dance, Angel. And then we shall see.”
And I love it. Everything about him, including the sexy sway of his stalking strides as he walks further into the room. He’s let something inside of himself free. My heart beats faster and I forget about everything that plagues us, the danger, the pressure, the years of separation, what I have to say about the magic. It’s like a contact high from being next to him after forever.
And then he reaches the other side of the room, bending over, the line of his back and shoulders cutting the air as he’s rifling through a basket with his ass on display. I love that ass. The muscles of his glutes taut, the beautiful rounding of his cheeks has me leaning forward, following him further into the room. My breath cages. He slips out of his shoes and into an old pair of ballet slippers he’s found. His hands grasp the edges of his shirt and pull it over his head, exposing those gorgeous abs and the treasure trail disappearing below his waistline. The developed chest and biceps. A fucking feast.
“Sit.” He waves me to the couch under the windows. “Watch the show.” And then he moves to the music system on the built-in shelves on the side of the room and hits the controls.
But instead of the strings of a classical ballet piece, something else sweeps into room, a deeper sound, more modern, but with a primal drumbeat and the promise of swaying hips, sweaty sheets, and a pulse racing wildly at a bared throat. Daav turns to me, walking to the center of the dance floor, and it’s everything I can do to keep my backside planted on the cushions.
Because it’s then that the low voice of the singer calls out into the room to the music, and Daav…moves.
His body cuts the air, spinning and leaping through the space, pausing between shifts in the tempo to stalk through the pounding drums and lyrics all promise and dark seduction, his hips thrusting forward, unabashedly showing the thick cock outlined beneath the fabric of his pants.
Here’s my predator finally launching after its prey, the movement of strong muscled thighs dominating with each spin.
And shit, he lowers himself with a purposeful slow slide into a full split with his eyes fixed in my direction, promising everything wicked.
“Mmmh,” I moan.
Verse kill me now. I lick my too dry lips and damn, that flexibility. What he could do to me. My breath is shallow in my chest. My palms sweat as I rub them on the couch, a poor substitute for what I really want to touch.
He’s up again and on his toes, his body bent back in an arch, then spins, spins, head whipping around and then going still to find me with his gaze, pinning me in place.
Fuck, Daav leaps, his whole body flipping in the air in a 360. My breath stops in my chest. Damn. It’s surreal because I’m sitting feet away from the man who was always my miracle. After so long, after years of living half dead my gut, my heart, my cock are battling between themselves to scream at me. ‘He’s here. Grab him before he disappears on you. Pull him in. Never let him go.’
His body pulses with intense energy as he dances a promise, like a courtship ritual where his aggressive, sexual, sensual control of limbs is an attack on me. And during it all his eyes always find mine, their dangerous gleam keeping my prick rock hard, so hard its pain, and the buds of my nipples erect and rubbing against the fabric of my shirt. His eyes promise to burn me to the ground. I fucking believe them. Burn it all down.
I shift on the couch, transfixed and ready to let him capture me, throw me under him and force himself into my body. Destroy me if he wants, I’ll die a happy man. My Verse stirs again, tangles scratch claws out and dig, and my body tightens, impatient and cock filling incredibly more with anticipation. Fucking magic, I push it back along with the worry. My focus is all Daav.
The music, his dance are the spell and I’m so damn willing to be ensorcelled as done by the wizards in old novels. Not the magic of our post-asteroid reality, but a romanticized one of wands and words enslaving both people and the laws of nature.
And finally, with a last reverberating beat of sound, the music slides away into completion, and my Prince, the man I love more than air, I want more than anything, freezes in his final pose.
His grin is all wicked. “Was that what you wanted, Angel?” he asks, the sweat glistening off his chest, and me hoping to lick the trails of it down those damn pecs, those abs. Mmmhhh.
Something wicked this way comes. Please.
Instead I shrug, pretending casual and not the needy mess that wants him pounding into me ASAP, owning me.
“Pretty good, I guess.”
He’s coming at me on the couch now. “Pretty good?”
“Sure. You have decent rhythm.” But I can’t keep the wide grin from my face any longer. “But I’m kinda hungry. You think there’s any leftovers in the kitchen? I’ve missed Ravel’s cooking. He does a mean red sauce and I remember he keeps stores in the freezer. Maybe we can defrost some.”
“You are quite the troublemaker, Angel,” Daav purrs, his own small smile tilting his lips, his sea eyes greener now, sparkling with intense emotion, aka lust. Thank the Verse.
And then he’s looming over me and fists my hair. I grimace with the pain but the pull on my scalp lights up every inside place, his lips crashing down on mine, the stubble of his face sandpaper. Nothing gentle. Yes. Biting at my skin, moaning low and growly against my mouth as he eats.
Daav pulls his lips away, giving us enough distance for me to see an almost agony wrinkling his brow. “Get in my bed now, Sebastian. I want you naked and kneeling.”
I don’t have to be told twice.