27. Chapter Twenty-Six
27
William
S leep often ended by the shouting of a sergeant, the scuffling of feet, or the fright of a nightmare. That morning, William’s eyes opened of their own accord. Overtaken by bliss, he swore he saw home, his bedroom where the sun cut in through the open window and books towered precariously on the bedside table. Then he blinked and found himself enveloped by fuchsia light emanating from hovering flames in Nicholas’ room. The sheets coiled around his legs. He sat up, perturbed by the empty bed, then discovering the owner seated at his desk.
“And here I thought you to be an early riser,” Nicholas teased over a steaming mug. “You often departed prior to sunrise during our previous engagements.”
“You should have woken me up.” William cleared his throat. Staying over wasn’t meant to happen. Nicholas had been right, William always left as early as he could, but for the first time, he slept as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I have work to attend to.”
“I was trying to be sweet by letting you get the sleep you so sorely needed.”
“Don’t feign sweetness. It’s unsettling.”
Nicholas cut across the room at record speed. He clutched William’s ankles and yanked him toward the edge of the bed, where the fae settled himself between his legs. He leaned forward, pressing their bodies firmly together. William melted against him, little more than putty for Nicholas to command.
“So be it. If you wish me to be rough with you, then I will be,” Nicholas said teasingly.
“Can you not wait until tonight? I have patients to attend to and sergeants dislike late medics.” But he didn’t want to leave, either. William wanted to stay here, trapped by Nicholas in anyway he desired.
“Your sergeant may find themselves a little forgetful this morning.” Nicholas devoured his neck, all greedy marks growing more passionate. “They will forget all about your late nature, or perhaps I’ll make them forget you didn’t show up at all.”
“You wish to keep me here all day? How voracious is your appetite?”
“You’re about to find out.”
He lost himself to Nicholas’ touch, the fae’s ravenous mouth claiming him and his hands shoving their way past the barrier of his shirt. Clawed fingers ran up his shivering skin. Their hips danced together as if they had never separated. He couldn’t comprehend how the pleasure escalated, how every evening he wanted more. No touch could quench his thirst, but the pleasure between them came to an abrupt end when the door swung open, and a stranger entered. Nicholas’ expression fell, twisting into a moment of terror so unlike him, William’s breath caught.
The fae separated himself expeditiously, standing tall and straight. Nicholas clutched at his loose pants, keeping them around his hips. Lowering his head, he muttered, “Father, what are you doing here?”
Lord Laurent Darkmoon carried the arctic winds themselves through the mere brush of his gaze to his calculated movements. Every step he took sent a wave of fear through William’s veins. Laurent didn’t have the carefree expression of his son, even if they shared the same ebony hair and oval shape of their eyes. Laurent’s, however, were gray as fresh storm clouds and his hair fell in waves over his thin shoulders. Thick gray horns sprouted from his scalp, twirling at a low angle behind his head.
“Get rid of your plaything, Nicholas,” Laurent demanded in a voice that cut.
“Leave,” Nicholas ordered without offering William a glance, although he suspected that was for the best. If the typically joking fae spoke so urgently, then Laurent had done worse than Nicholas ever shared.
William’s hands clenched into fists. He couldn’t explain the anger or sorrow when Nicholas cast him a pleading stare. The strangest urge overtook him, one where he wished to reach out, to take Nicholas’ hand and comb his fingers through that wild hair, asking him what had gone wrong and what he could do to make it better. The feelings swelled, whipping up a storm that shouldn’t exist, that he had to set aside because this was madness.
Nodding reluctantly, he hurried out of the room. The door clicked shut. He buckled his belt and threw on his shirt. Others were already in the hall. Inquisitive eyes took notice of him. The ring. Damn it all. William sought the item in his pocket to find nothing. The ring must have slipped out of his pocket, and it didn’t matter if he took a risk of returning to Nicholas’ room because it was too late. Behind him, a few doors down, an officer spoke to a fae and the two mortal soldiers shadowing him saw William. The men whispered to one another, eyes shifting between Nicholas’ door and William.
“Fuck,” he grunted, turning up the collar of his jacket in hopes that it may obscure his face. That they may not have got the best look at him, or they may suspect he was on an errand, too. He rushed through the halls, head low to avoid being seen by another. Outside, soldiers patrolled the causeways and around tents. William slinked through the shadows, quiet, careful, and double checking over his shoulder that no one followed.
The medical bay had been set up in one of the largest rooms of the citadel, what potentially may have been a dining room for Fearworn’s shadowed disciples. Cots filled the area. Some invaded the adjacent rooms, creating a long hall of shuffling nurses and the heavy aroma of soap and alcohol.
“You’re late, Vandervult!” Montgomery hollered after his arrival.
“Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again,” he replied.
“You will run the perimeter tonight. Twice.”
“Yes, sir.” William threw aside his jacket and washed his hands in a nearby basin. Montgomery muttered under her breath. His first offense was still an offense. Had anyone else been late, they would have gotten much worse.
Toiling among the sick and weary, William maintained a watchful eye for the soldiers who spotted him. He rolled over idea after idea, desperate to find an excuse if anyone came knocking. They were unlikely to believe any lie he weaved, but he had to try. Every shadow passing the doorway, any soldier who entered spelled potential trouble, and, eventually, trouble found him.
A quick glance into the room and William saw him; one soldier inspected the cots. He cursed the military for ensuring his uniform would stand out. No one missed the white armband of his jacket signaling him a medical officer. The men knew where to look for the traitor. One of them beckoned William over with his fingers. He finished administering medicine to his patient and stepped into the hall to join them.
Settling his hands behind his back, he forced an amicable smile. “If either of you is ill, there are cots available.”
“Don’t play coy. You know why we are here,” the man replied. The tag on his uniform dubbed him York and the other man Bobbett. York yanked William away from the door toward the adjacent room. Medical supplies lined the facade. A single torch clung to the wall on rusted hinges.
The two men shut the door, then surrounded him. Bobbett stood a head taller, wide as a carriage with fists thick as boulders. York may have been shorter, but he wore years of being a soldier through firm muscles and a scarred expression. Both had their hair shaved to the scalp and wild eyes.
“What were you doing sneaking out of the shade’s room so early this morning?” Bobbett asked through clenched teeth.
“I was not sneaking. We had business to speak of concerning the time we were lost,” William explained carefully. “I was injured by Fearworn’s monsters and have suffered strange symptoms since, headaches and irritability mostly. The shade occasionally requests an audience to see if I suffered any strange ailments from the beasts sent after us.”
Bobbett and York shared disbelieving glances. Gossip spread swiftly through the ranks. They had little else to do, so he suspected the men were made aware of soldiers having gone missing alongside two fae a while back. However, that didn’t mean either would believe the rest of his story.
“There are many traitors in our ranks. Great liars they’d have to be, to us and themselves, to actually share a bed with fae. Are you a traitor?” York asked, and Bobbett inched closer. His shadow swallowed William.
“Does my response matter? Sounds like both of you have made up your minds,” he replied.
“We just know when someone is spewing shit,” Bobbett countered, then his fist buried itself in William’s gut. A brick would have been softer. He nearly fell to his knees. Had he eaten breakfast, it would have been on their shoes.
The men dug their fingers into William’s shoulders, one on either side, and yanked him into a standing position. Their sharpened eyes promised violence, as did the low tone of York’s voice, “You best keep your eyes peeled, traitor.”
“Get your hands off him,” Charmaine’s stern voice had York and Bobbett retreating. She stood in the open doorway, eyes dimmer than William was comfortable with. He slipped a hand into his pocket, relieved to find the sphere Nicholas shared. At least that hadn’t been lost.
“What are the two of you doing disrespecting one of our medical officers?” Charmaine’s voice dropped another octave, low enough to growl. William took a slow step toward her.
“There was no disrespect.” York smiled until his eyes crinkled. “We were having a chat, nothing more.”
“Nothing is wrong,” William added with another hesitant step. He settled a hand on her arm. “We were chatting, like he said.”
“It didn’t look like a chat.” Her muscles tensed, like wires pulled tight enough to snap. Her attention switched sporadically between Bobbett and York.
“Everything is fine,” he whispered and presented the sphere. “Take this, if you need it.”
Charmaine’s fingers twitched when York stepped around them toward the door.
“Sorry to bother you. My friend and I are leaving,” York said.
Bobbett wore a taunting smirk. “But we will be seeing you later.”
“Why?” she asked. “Your chat is finished, isn’t it?”
“Albie,” William warned and tried to steer her away. If he slipped the medicine into her mouth, they could get out of this without another incident. With the door open, others will hear the ruckus if Charmaine got her hands on either of the men. If others somehow didn’t notice the ruckus, William wasn’t certain he could go to Nicholas for help, not with Laurent there.
“If you truly wish to know,” Bobbett laughed, and York gave him a warning glance that the bigger man ignored. He pointed a meaty finger at William. “That so-called friend of yours is a traitor. Caught him sneaking out of the wretched shade’s room early this morning. Fae cannot be trusted, and those foolish enough to lie with them are even worse, if you ask me.” Bobbet ran his thumb slowly across his neck, mimicking the cut of a blade. “He’ll get what he deserves when the time comes.”
Charmaine slammed into Bobbett. They fell into the hall, cursing, then screaming. Blood followed the seams of the rocky floor as Charmaine’s thumbs tore through Bobbett’s eyes. York shouted. William grabbed Yorks’ wrist before he got to his revolver.
“Fuck off!” York hollered between the loud crunching of bones.
Charmaine hit Bobbett with such force that she needn’t hit him again, but she did, over and over, his body motionless beneath her heaving form. She staggered onto her feet. A gaze, blacker than night, fell upon them and her body twitched unnaturally.
“By the Holy Soul, what is wrong with you?” York shoved William aside. His revolver fired in quick succession, every bullet missing Charmaine as she dropped to all fours and leapt. Her teeth tore into his gut, piercing skin and muscles as if they were thinner than paper.
Officers and nurses sprinted out of the adjacent room. Screams followed, rushed steps of those hiding or seeking help. William fell onto Charmaine’s back, the medicine crushed between his fingers. He grabbed Charmaine’s chin, but all the blood made her slick and she was strong. That unusual strength threw him aside with a wild toss. His back hit the wall. The medicine slipped from his fingers. Shouts rose when a group of soldiers came into the hall, firearms raised.
“Stop! Don’t!” William shouted, panicked.
Guns fired. The bullets caught Charmaine’s shoulder. Her shriek brought everyone to their knees. The sound rose to such a high pitch that his ears rang, and the walls shook. Violet tendrils shimmered beneath her skin. They stretched through her, up her neck and over her cheek. When their eyes met, he caught recognition and fear, but another gun fired. The bullet pierced her leg. She shrieked a second time, causing a dozen men to vomit.
“Kill him!” someone bellowed, but Charmaine was on the move. She shoved past the soldiers filling the hall, little more than pebbles in the face of her raw power.
“Damn it!” William hopped over the stunned soldiers. He followed her path of destruction through the hall. Doors had been ripped off their hinges. Soldiers laid across the floor, shoved aside or clawed if they dared to get into her path. Outside, the camp screamed and mages had their sights on her. Their magic rippled through the air, fire, lighting, wind and ice tore through the sky.
Charmaine swerved toward the citadel’s causeways. She bounded over one in a single jump, then she was gone.
“Fuck!” William’s fingers caught in his hair. He kicked the damned wall, toes throbbing and heart lurching into his throat. “Fuck!” he screamed until his throat was raw and he fell to his knees.