11. Chapter Ten
11
Nicholas
N icholas stared at William’s back, walking beneath the shade of evergreens. The vexatious medic avoided conversation for over a day since the affair in the hot spring. Moments Nicholas couldn’t get off his mind, William’s heat, his shivering skin, the damn scent of disinfectant that followed him here. The man stirred a ravenous craving within Nicholas that nothing could snuff out, further coaxed by his prolonged lull. Even when Nicholas spoke of vicious fun, recounting tales of horror, William found solace in his reticence. He didn’t offer the fae a glimpse. Nicholas wanted those eyes upon him always. It was utterly sickening.
“Are you certain you know where you are going?” Charmaine asked from where she clutched William’s side.
The two were almost inseparable. Nicholas knew the humans huddled to share body heat, but his irritation didn’t fade. He wanted his hands on William instead. Clutching those powerful arms, sliding nimble fingers along the scars of his back, and clutching his strong waist.
Nicholas’ fingers flexed, recalling the intoxicating sensation that drove him wild. Evoking reactions from William similar to the other day, a moment of panic or fury set upon normally calm features, that was the fun of the game. He wanted to win.
“Did you not hear our stories the other evening?” Arden replied from where he led the group. “Faerie changes constantly. How do you suppose we survive in lands like that?”
“Answer the damn question.” Charmaine earned a raised brow from William. The two were fed and remained crabby. That appeared to be a normal state for humans. They reminded Nicholas of pixies, irritated by any who dared encroach upon their land, which was anything in their sights. They loved cursing one to continuously stub their fingers and toes or get an eyelash stuck in their eye. Nothing that caused too much harm but could make for maddeningly unpleasant days.
“We do not seek locations. We seek items or people,” Nicholas explained.
“Our magic is within us, all around us. We command it to our whims. Fae do not have this Sight that you speak of, these strings that you pluck to do what you want. We simply feel it, in here.” Arden laid a hand on his chest. “And this feeling is more than power that we throw around. It is a call to home, to safety, to a person or an item that we seek. It is easy out here where there is little else to smell other than sulfur.”
And musk, Nicholas thought. Even after their bath, the aroma lingered. The Deadlands liked to mark its territory.
“Among one of your cities would be more difficult,” Arden continued. “There’s too much noise, too many people, and too much happening. It’s confusing.”
“If that is true, why can’t any of you find Fearworn?” Charmaine asked. “Can’t you feel your way toward him?”
“Do you honestly believe Fearworn doesn’t have the power to cover that? He’s invisible, practically a ghost, unless he’s already close, in which case, we would be dead.”
Charmaine spoke momentarily with William, then meandered forward to join Arden. “Can you sense how far we are from the army?” she asked.
“Tonight may be our last evening alone in the woods,” Arden replied, and the two fell into further discussions. Mostly Charmaine asking about specifics on how fae track. This gave Nicholas a chance to speak with William alone.
William didn’t give him the attention he craved when he settled beside him. William’s wan expression remained as such since the hot springs. Nicholas struck a chord, unintentionally. An unusual situation because he typically struck chords on purpose. He wanted to agitate William, but he wanted the medic to fight, not crumble into this shell, a place of quiescence and disinterest that stole the fight from his eyes. Nicholas could not lie. William was interesting. Defiant. Vexing. And hiding more than he let on.
“Do you wish to know where the men who touched me last without my consent are?” William let that slip. He regretted it. Nicholas didn’t. He kept prodding that armor, watching the cracks swell along the seams. Every knick brought him closer to victory, to flames growing hotter, and he wanted them to burn together.
“Why not take this chance to leave?” Nicholas asked. William accelerated. Nicholas matched his pace. “You spoke of mortals drafting their military. You did not join of your own volition. Why not take this opportunity to escape? Have your friend lie that you died during the attack and go home.”
He received it; attention. A glimpse from the corner of William’s eyes.
“This will be a repeat of the village. I will continue speaking, regardless of you ignoring me,” Nicholas continued. “Your family must miss you. You can see them again.”
“You understand nothing,” William replied. A flush crept along his neck to his cheeks. “What happens when the generals ask you and Arden what became of me? The military will learn the truth, and I will be labeled a deserter.”
“And that is bad?”
“Yes. Fae have their oaths, so do humans. I’ll be hunted down and hanged for abandoning the kingdom, for going against that damn treaty. Deserting will be the reason I never see my family again.”
“Then don’t see them. Run. Live wherever you please.”
William scoffed. “Like I said, you understand nothing.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“Why?” William ran a hand through his short blonde hair. “Why are you bothering me?”
“I told you, you’re interesting.”
“I wish I wasn’t. I wish you’d find another way to placate your boredom.”
“How unfortunate for you that you are stuck with me.”
They fell into silence, not what Nicholas wanted. Fae were easier to converse with. They always wanted to, always waiting for a moment to strike. Fae liked the game, the pressure, and the rush of causing discomfort. Humans did not share such beliefs, which was a huge reason they were normally so boring. They cowered too quickly or got caught in webs of lies due to their ignorance. They didn’t dodge as well as William did.
“You care about them, your family?” Nicholas asked, uncertain now if he genuinely wanted an answer or was continuing to pester his prey.
“Of course. They’re family.” William cast a pitiful stare his way. “Right. You don’t care about yours.”
“Of course not. My siblings have attempted to murder me frequently.”
William stopped, then pinched his lips together. “I should have expected as such, but why?”
“Plenty of reasons, I imagine, more than they have likely ever shared with me. Blair, my eldest sister, sees shades as a curse. She believes all should be slaughtered the moment they are revealed. Being her brother makes no difference. My brothers, however, wish to take my place. I am the right hand to my father, who they rightfully assumed to be more difficult to kill. With me out of the way, they at least have a chance at more power and authority.”
“It is strange to hear you admit someone is stronger than you,” said William, pleased by the information based on the cruel tilt of his mouth.
“Strength comes in many forms. In terms of raw power, I have more than my father, but he is knowledgeable in ways I may never know. He has struck deals with more creatures than I can fathom, and because of that, he is never anything less than prepared.”
With furrowed brows, William started walking again. Nicholas kept to his side.
“Why would your siblings want to kill their own father?” William inquired.
“To become Lord of Darkmoon. That is how titles are passed. Whoever kills the previous lord takes their place and thus comes into more power, fed to them through the land itself, so long as they take care of it. In fact, that’s how one of my older brothers was named,” he explained. William’s perplexed expression stated Nicholas needed to elaborate. “Solomon, named after the previous Lord of Darkmoon many eons ago, long before any of us.”
William grimaced like a child tasting sour candy for the first time. “Are all of you named after someone your parents killed?”
“Exactly.” Nicholas clapped. “Oh, humans have such boring reasons for naming their children after an ancestor or frivolous meanings. My father disemboweled a Nicholas foolish enough to make a deal with him during the initial years of the Collision and thus that name passed on to me.”
William didn’t appear to find the tale as interesting as Nicholas. As a child, he asked his father to tell him the story of how he got his name many times. Though Laurent didn’t always share, the moments when he did were a joy. Back then, he viewed his father as the best trickster the realms had ever known and envied such talents. By now, he despised them. Laurent used everyone and everything to his advantage, for whatever purposes he pleased, even his children.
“I cannot comprehend the strange ways fae think,” William muttered. “Naming their children after those they killed is odd.”
“As if humans are not any more odd,” Nicholas argued.
“And what do we do that you consider odd?”
“I have an endless list, but for starters, you claim us cruel and yet live in a world where you deny others the very world around you. Food grows on your trees and in your fields, but there are those claiming those trees to be theirs, so others cannot eat the fruit. Houses sit empty, unused, but people sleep in the cold and stifling heat. This does not happen in Faerie. You eat the food you find. You live in the empty houses or build your own. My father may lord over Darkmoon, but any fae may build a home and call it their own, so yes, I find mortals odd.”
William’s gaze darkened. “I won’t deny that I find it odd, too.”
“Another thing we have in common.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“And then there are the medics trained to heal, but they take lives instead.” Nicholas smirked when William cracked his neck to the side. “Do you find that peculiar as well?”
“Speak your mind honestly, you rat bastard,” William growled.
“You complain of fae killing others, yet you’ve killed humans before, haven’t you?”
“A bold claim.”
“That you can easily lie against, but you let it slip.” Nicholas leaned in. He caught the scent of pine and snow, the essence of winter itself settled on William’s skin. He wore the frigidity like armor, burrowed deep into the consuming jade of his eyes. “The men who hurt you, you slayed them yourself, didn’t you?”
William maintained an emotionless expression best, better than any could ever hope. A blistering storm that Nicholas wanted nothing more than to challenge, to break.
“Were they the only ones? Come now,” Nicholas purred. “No one is listening.”
“Why do you want to know?” William stopped only to grasp the neckline of Nicholas’ blouse. He gripped so tightly the lining nearly choked a breath from the fae. “Hoping to tell the generals that I am a murderer, so they can arrest me?”
“No, I merely love getting a reaction out of you.”
A shroud fell across William’s face. He shoved Nicholas aside. “Find someone else to get a reaction out of.”
Then William hurried after Arden and Charmaine. The two had gotten further ahead than either realized. Nicholas held out his hands and spun in a dozen circles. “There is no else here as fun as you.”
“Then spare me until we return to camp where you can find another there.”
“I doubt there is anyone in this world as entertaining as you, my wicked.”
William turned to him. His brow wrinkled like an old hag’s leathered neck. “ Your wicked?”
Nicholas repeated the words in a husky whisper, “ My wicked.”
“I think the fuck not.”
Nicholas cackled. He skipped ahead of William, walking backwards so they were eye to eye. “What ever is the matter? The pet name is rather fitting for you, don’t you agree?”
“I don’t want a pet name from you.”
“But I like it and you don’t, which gives me more reason to use it.”
“You are fucking insufferable,” William spat and that fed the hunger gnawing on Nicholas’ bones.
He had William’s undivided attention and relished in the prospect, but he hadn’t the opportunity to conjure another response. A pressure like he had never felt carried over the wind. The trees creaked and cracked, bending at odd angles against the gale. Sulfur and musk stole the senses. Nicholas recognized the feeling, this sense of power invading the air.
Nicholas released a slow, excited exhale. “He’s here.”
A shroud encroached upon them, burying the forest in shadows. Lightning shrieked through the mist, aggressive and blinding. Out of that grim, a fae approached, tall and long-limbed with eyes of vicious violet. He held out a hand, nails sharpened into daggers. His voice, smoother than silk, chilled the air. “You have something that belongs to me.”
Calix Fearworn found them.