INDEX:
Link here to a general overview of the novel
Prologue, Chpt 1, Chpt 2, Chpt 3
Recap: We join the story in a modern day alternative earth as mages Sebastian and Daav have been reunited 8 years following a traumatic incident that forced them apart. On his 25th birthday, Sebastian spots Daav at a BDSM club and follows him. Sebastian then shoves his way back into Daav’s life and confronts him in their old childhood home where they’d been raised together by a psychopathic Mentor and had fallen in love as teens. The night of the reunion, the home gets attacked by the minions of Daav’s biological father who has been trying to assassinate him. The two men escape right before the house explodes. Daav is injured by the explosion, and Sebastian brings Daav back to his place to heal him with the magic of the Verse. Both fall into unconsciousness from exhaustion.
And now the story continues…
Chapter Four
Daav
Staltz. A crowded presentation room. Father is there, talking to the people, the people of our country who listen to all he tells them. Like I do. He smiles at them, waves his hand and gives them a thumbs up sign. Everyone loves him. Father finishes his speech, and calls me and Mama up to the podium for the cameras. I am proud to be next to him. I have turned five and am old enough to be included in these big events. I am mature now, he has told me. He reaches over and ruffles my hair. I am happy.
I blink, and around me everything is suddenly extra beautiful, golden sparkling crystals are floating around the room between the people. I reach out to touch them. I have never seen them before. What are they?
Then, I blink again and see only the crowds, crystals now gone from my sight. The men and women are gasping, pointing at me. “Gold eyes,” people begin to call, and keep pointing. I am confused. Flashes of light. Cameras point at me.
Papa’s face is full of storm clouds. He grabs me by my shoulders and spins me to him. What is wrong? What is happening?
He yanks up my chin, his eyes scraping over me, looking hard. His fingers are hurting me.
I blink again and the sparkling crystals float around his head. Their beauty makes it bearable to watch his face fill with ugly. He cups his hand at the back of my neck and squeezes there.
He yells, “No!”
And then he’s pulling me by the arm, wrenching it almost out of the socket, off the stage, down the hall, to the room we were in earlier before the special speech he made.
We make it inside and he throws me down to the floor.
“Waste!” he is screaming. “You are a waste, and no son of mine. You threaten everything!”
My mother runs in behind him, crying.
“Gold eyes!” his father is yelling at her now. “He flashed gold eyes.” He is pacing the room. “No son of mine is a damned mage. Grandfather’s warning will not come true. I have worked too long. He will not expose me, he will not!”
And then my father is on me again, squeezing me so tight I think my bones will break. I’m crying. It hurts. And my father looks at me with such hate.
Again, he grabs me behind my neck and tightens his hold.
“You are a pathetic waste of oxygen. Just a waste.”
Mother is still crying, loud and gasping.
Father is at the door now, calling out of it to his guards. “Bring me my damn gun,” he says. “The law is the law. The sentence is death.”
“No,” screams mother. “Please, Carl. He’s our son.”
“Not my son.”
But of course I am. People always tell me and Father that we look exactly alike.
“Please. Lock him away. Hide him. Take some time and we will make a plan,” Mother begs. “You’ve been able to get by, we’ll make it so he does, too. Please, Carl.”
Father glares at mother. She gets down on her knees. “Please. Just wait. Maybe we are wrong. Maybe it isn’t even magic.”
Wet is streaking her cheeks, running black lines down her face. I look at her, and the sparkling crystals pop up again and circle her head.
“God, no,” she sobs. “Make the gold stop,” she begs of me.
And then father is yelling again to his guard. A large, scary man comes in and grabs me, carries me out.
I am crying as much as my mother. I don’t understand. I bounce and jostle and it hurts in my body as I’m carried over his shoulder. I can’t see much but eventually another big door is opened and I’m tossed inside.
The door is slammed behind me and I am in the dark.
I cry. Time passes. Sometimes I am brought food and water. I mess myself and eventually there’s a bucket to use to make it less messy. But it stinks.
Once, sometime later, my mother comes. They turn on the lights then, and I have to squint, not used to the bright. I go to her and throw my arms around her. She doesn’t try to touch me back. I pull away when she ignores my hug. But she only stares at me blankly then. She will not touch me. She will not talk to me.
After a while, she gets up and leaves.
I am alone.
More time. So alone.
But the crying never helps, never changes anything. So I stop.
I put my hand to the back of my neck, remembering my father’s squeeze there.
Blur.
There is no way to tell time. Or none I can tell.
But then, the door opens again. Slowly.
I back away into the corner. It is better to avoid the people who bring food and water.
A different man enters, large too, but dressed in a way the guards never are. He has a small light, shining around his body and creating a path. Not too bright that I need to squint.
And he walks toward me, his hand out, gesturing to me to come closer.
What? None of them ever did that.
“Come little mage, let me help. Nothing wrong with gold eyes, boy. I’ll get you somewhere where you’ll be clean and safe and well fed.” He gestures to me again. But I’m frozen. He mumbles words I don’t understand, sounding upset when I don’t move closer. Then I recognize the language. Orreancen? I started studying it in school. The language of our enemy.
“What asshole kills kids with mage potential? A damned genocide,” the strange man says. I hear the words, understanding most, not all.
Then, I do come closer. I want something to change, anything to end the dark loneliness. He is scary but he is something different.
I stand right in front of him.
And then he is holding my arm with a firm grip, pulling up my sleeve. He takes out a needle.
No!
And before I can move, it’s pinching my skin.
Maybe I do cry again.
Everything blurs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I shoot up from the weight of the awful memory trap, head spinning, foggy.
“Don’t!” I bark, not sure who I say it to.
Waste, rings through my head. So alone, the emptiness of it takes me over. I’m nothing. Less than shit needing to be scraped from the bottom of a shoe.
“Shhh,” a voice murmurs. A thumb brushes over my wrist, just above one of my clenched fists, leaving me shivering in between my fast breaths.
I run my hands over my face, trying to expel the last of the dream. But the realness of it lingers, the fear and shame and disgust.
“Daav, are you okay?”
Sebastian. Close. Next to me. The room is dim, the only light flooding in from a large picture window across from the bed.
Relief whooshes through me. Angel. It’s always like that with him. From the first day Victor opened the front door and his ginger head popped out. His fire warms me.
“You were having a nightmare,” he says. “Breathe, Prince.”
His hand returns to my wrist for another brush and travels down to my palm, enclosing it in his own. The warmth of his touch, of his bed, an old quilt half thrown over me, helps push away the last of the dream.
There he is, next to me, like he’s never been gone. And the weak part of me wants to curl up and crawl onto his lap, to let him stroke my hair as he had after the nightmares when we were boys. But that’s not going to happen.
“I thought you stopped having those by the time we were twelve,” he says.
“I would rather not talk about them,” I answer. They’d returned after Sebastian had left, but tapered off five years later. And then returned again after Victor died, and have increased.
Time to change the subject.
“My side doesn’t hurt. Neither does my head.”
He accepts the change of topic because that’s what he does, surf with my limits. Manage me. He’s been able to do this from the beginning and I am never sure how.
Sebastian shrugs, and runs his fingers over the fabric of the quilt, back and forth continuously. “Little ole me may have turned quarter century without becoming Orreance’s savior, but I can hold my own in the Verse still.”
I rest my hand atop his busy one to stop it. “Thank you.”
This close to him, he smells of mint and musk. He smiles, the slightly crooked canine uncovered with his wide, unabashed grin. “My pleasure, Prince.”
My dick stirs inside my dance tights at his name for me, at the feel of his skin. Or maybe it’s the smile, because when he gifts me with one it’s as if I am finally real. Not hidden, and not something to be discarded. And I crave it, weak fool I am.
“Do not look at me like that,” I say to him.
“Like what?”
“You know what. Like a treat you wish to devour.”
Like I’m as necessary to you as you are to me.
He licks his lips. “I always had a sweet tooth.” He glances purposefully down at our joined hands. “And who's touching who, Mr. Provocative.”
I pull mine away from him, and finally glance around his apartment.
His bed is enclosed, one gigantic piece of continuous wood curving around us, the ends of the full mattress rounding up into the structure which continues to the ceiling. The rounded sides are embedded with carved wooden shelves crammed with books and small sculptures. He still reads voraciously. Good. It’s like we rest inside of a gigantic egg, one long side sheared off for access to the room. A beautiful, carved almost oval bower.
And outside of the bed, evidence everywhere of his work. Because I have no doubt he has created both the bower and those pieces.
A potter's wheel sits in one corner, the floor around it draped with canvas for protection. Carving implements on another table. A blow torch on another and small sheets of metal against a wall, a tree stump and branches next to them.
His sculpture is littering every corner amidst the tools and supplies. On floors, and on tables and shelves he’s clearly built as well. Everything he touches is beautiful. He can’t help it. It’s a part of his magic as much as his Verse work.
And then it hits. “The explosion!” I gasp. Last night floods over me.
“Yeah, about that,” he says.
A lifetime of our memories in that cursed house, but they were our memories. I’d hoarded them for eight years, all I had left of this man. “The sculptures you left behind. They’re lost.”
He reaches over and chucks me under my chin. I flinch. He laughs.
“You look stricken, Prince. I’d say losing the debris of my early artistic attempts is the least of the worry. Your father’s men tried to kill you.” His amused look shifts to a frown. “It was the middle of the night, when they’d expect you to be home asleep. They’ve clearly been watching the house. How many times have they come at you already, Daav? Why isn’t the Conclave giving you protection?”
“The number doesn’t matter. I still live, Staltz failed.”
“Staltz has failed so far. And the Conclave? Johan won’t give you guards or relocate you? He has to be aware things changed after Victor died. Plus, your father knows your birthday is approaching.”
“Johan tried. I told him no.”
“And he accepted that shit? You’re their most valuable property.”
“A two sided coin. My value means he has to do it my way or risk losing my cooperation.”
He rolls his eyes. “Like you’d ever walk away from them.”
“But after my quarter century trials? They’ll need me, my goodwill.”
“Or maybe the Conclave doesn’t want to admit to Congress that they don’t quite have their shit under control. They always claim everything’s roses to the non-mage community.”
Enough of this conversation. I start climbing out of the bed. Despite wanting my independence from the Conclave, Johan will be helpful in finding me a temporary place to stay. And I need to get away from Sebastian.
Sebastian grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
“To the bathroom, and then to make housing arrangements.”
“You need help, Daav. Let me help you.”
The anger flares up without warning, heating my skin, scraping my throat. “I do not need saving. I can take care of myself. I have been for years now. Alone.”
Sebastian pales, but then his feisty ginger self surges back, his gray eyes flashing.
“You blame me for staying away, not trying to make contact.”
“No, I do not. It was better that way. You’re a distraction I do not need, Sebastian. My power has grown more since you've been gone. I do not want you in my life.”
Hurt him and he may let me go. But of course not. He’s Sebastian after all, the self-admitted glutton for pain.
“Not leaving you alone, Prince. Never again. Get over it. I told you that last night.”
A vibrating sound draws our attention to the bed frame, where a cell phone buzzes against the wood of a shelf.
“Shit!” Sebastian says, reaching for the phone. He checks the screen. “Fuck! We missed dozens of calls and texts.”
He touches the screen and puts it to his ear. “Hello.” He pauses, listening. “Yes. He’s here. What?!! Wait, slow down, I’m putting you on speaker. The idiot needs to hear this so I’m not accused of keeping anything from him, and so he can get his head out of his ass.”
He touches the screen again and drops the cell to the mattress, pointing at it.
“It’s Nuée. Stop walking away and listen.”
“Daav, you’re okay?”she says over speaker.
“Yes, Nuée.”
“You weren’t picking up your phone.”
“I don’t have it.” More precisely, it’s been destroyed along with every other possession in my life.
“Johan’s been trying to reach you. The Cohort’s been trying, too. Victor’s house. My god, there’s nothing left.”
“I know.”
“Have you watched the video of it? It’s viral now,” she says.
“No. We have been…unavailable.”
“He means unconscious,” Sebastian adds. “Him from injuries from the explosion, me from exhaustion after I healed him.”
“But you’re alright? Safe?”
“I said yes,” I repeat.
“Watch the video. I’m sending a link. It shows you, so we knew you survived, just not how injured or where you went. Someone caught you and Seb on their phone with both your eyes glowing gold.”
“Hold on, we’re watching it now,” Sebastian says.
He clicks the link. It shows the aftermath of the explosion, the manse in flames. The fire casts enough light to bring us into clarity. We’re on the ground, with my Angel bent over me, the tree pinning my legs. He tries to lift it off, but fails. Our faces are clearly visible as the person recording zooms in on us. I stir, and after an inaudible exchange of words, first Sebastian, and then my own eyes glow bright gold, completely distinguishable from the way they’d looked moments before with just the reflection of the flames. The tree splits and resettles and Sebastian pulls it off of me. He helps me stand and supports me, our touches plainly intimate, as we speak and then both limp away towards his auto.
“Shit!” Seb swears.
“It’s everywhere,” Nueé says.
Which means my father has seen it. And since I’m his spitting image, more confirmation for him I have survived his attempts on my life. But worse, if this has gone viral then the rest of the world will know that Staltz’s heir, the one he reported that he’d executed at age five after demonstrating mage power, is actually alive and in the hands of their enemy.
Embarrassing and humiliating for my father. And likely to lead to repercussions and a game with Orreance reflecting higher stakes. The Conclave protects images of their mages fiercely, hiding our identities, and this epic failure is a large one. It changes things.
“Yes, shit,” Nuée agrees. “Johan wants to see you. Both of you. He’ll send protection and a limo. You’re at Sebs?”
“No. To both.”
“Daav, don’t be stupid. You need to come in and let him deal with this.”
Sebastian says nothing, just watches me carefully.
“Tell Johan I would not disclose where I am. Only that I am safe and will come to Conclave headquarters when I’m able.”
“It’s not like I don’t know where you are. Or that he doesn’t suspect. You were both on the video.”
“I’ll be in when I can.”
“Daav, I know this is difficult. You like your privacy, I know you. But you need help, and we need a plan.”
Her voice drips with concern. Nuée is a lovely woman, a valued member of my Cohort. And if I trusted others, she would be on the list. But…in reality that list is short. Has never been more than one name. Maybe two, but the other is never going to be an option again.
“Goodbye, Nuée.”
“Seb, convince him to–”
I press end on the call. Place it back on the shelf of his bed unit.
Sebastian keeps staring at me. What is he thinking? The calculation in those gray eyes will not go in my favor.
“I need time.” Better to head off his arguments. And although I had intended to seek out Johan, this news changes something inside me.
Silence.
I stand from the bed and turn on him, the ridiculous man lounging casually amidst the sheets and quilt after our lives have literally exploded. Well, my life has exploded.
“Okay? Aren’t you going to lecture me about going into Johan for safety? Nuée is your friend, she’s tried countless times to speak to me about you. You aren’t siding with her?”
“Nope. Prince, if you’ve reminded me of anything since last night, it’s that you do things your way or not at all.” He winks. “And I’ve always found that hot.”
From his position on the bed, arms propped behind him on the mattress, Sebastian tilts his head back and stretches in an arch of spine, show of chiseled abdomen exposed at the line of his shirt riding up, and groaning with the relief to his muscles from the stretch. A tempting light red happy trail traveling beneath his waistline. The sinuous shape of him is too attractive, too alluring, too stimulating. And my dick stirs again, more than half hard, heat flushing down my neck, my chest, to my abdomen. His hair is still loose, free from the tie he usually wears to keep it back, and brushing his shoulders. His close trimmed beard frames his saucy smile. Like he knows exactly what reaction he’s caused.
“Plus, it’ll be way too convenient for you to skip out on me if you visit the Conclave and they find a nice space to hide you away. I’m selfish like that.”
My grunt is an attempt to buy time, collect the racing thoughts competing for attention. Of the explosion, the Conclave, my father, and the man lying in front of me like the tempting distraction he is.
Sebastian reaches over to his phone and turns the power off, crawls off the bed, a stalking hunter, and moves toward me. I back up a step involuntarily but catch myself and hold my ground. No, this will not do.
But instead of walking over to me, his body grazes my shoulder, bumping it as he moves past me, toward what I realize is his bathroom. His hands are busy stripping off clothes, his tee shirt, jeans, trailing them on the floor as he goes. My breath stutters. Nipple piercings! Umh! And no underwear. Free-balling. Bastard.
Then I’m sucking in again for a different reason as I focus on the red welts along his broad upper shoulders, decorating his lean, long back down to his rounded ass, where more stripes criss-cross both cheeks. Whoever placed them on his body must have used a heavy touch for them to remain overnight. He’d been at the Stem and Thorn last evening, too. And he’d been mad about damage done to me?
Dammit! Why did those marks bother me? I know what he likes, needs even. And it’s been eight years; I have no claim. But seeing the evidence of others touching him tightens my throat, chest, gut, heart.
And although he wields that swagger he’d perfected by the time I’d met him at age five, I glimpse his fatigue underneath it all.
None of it is yours to mention, waste. Soon, after I have time to make a plan, I will get away from Sebastian. Our time has passed. Now is for my work, my goals.
Said individual sticks his head outside the bathroom door. “You know Johan’s people will be here any time? Dress, Prince. We better skedaddle. Extra clothes are in my dresser. They’ll fit well enough, unless you prefer running around in your shredded tights. I have an errand to run, then, after, an idea where we can crash to avoid Conclave busybodies until you decide differently.”
He runs a purposeful, exaggerated gaze over me and sighs. “More time and I’d invite you into my shower, but I’ll be a responsible fucker instead. Dress Daav.” And then he disappears into the bathroom.
And I reluctantly follow his command.
Yes, buying time. That’s all this is.