Chapter 13
Hawk
I t’s been a long day.
Such. A Long. Stressful day. Driving into Boston in broad daylight would have been damn risky, so we waited it out, moving to the south of the city along small roads. I did get a bit of shut-eye after we hid the car in a woodland, with Sylvan keeping watch, but it wasn’t nearly enough after already missing sleep on the night my useless fucking family tried to part us.
My boy might be a bit crazy, or a tad too invested in Dungeons and Dragons, but I feel protective of him. While many would have called my decision to linger in the very area where I’m known as a fugitive as suicidal, I can’t say no to his pleading eyes.
I don’t know what kind of metal that collar is made of, but my brothers couldn’t get it off, and the sparks they accidentally created left several purple burns on Sylvan’s skin, scattered over his throat like dark stars in a faraway galaxy.
I considered telling him that, but he doesn’t seem to be that much into sci-fi, so I settle on calling them pretty, which seems to ease his anguish about his perfect skin being ruined.
In any case, if that grimsmith guy can free him, I’ll help make that happen. I even know the name of the bar he’s supposed to frequent, but I’ve only been there once, many years ago. It’s somewhere on the outskirts of town, but the exact location keeps eluding me.
“Hawk! Look!” Sylvan exclaims and squeezes my forearm. It’s warm, but I’m stuck in a hoodie to hide my tats. It wouldn’t matter that much, but I mourn every missed opportunity for his soft fingers on my skin.
Soon , I tell myself. Soon.
I hoped he spotted the bar, but instead, I stare up at a massive billboard advertising the Biggest Pretzels in Massachusetts!
“Are you… hungry?” I ask, wondering if I’m stupid or just self-destructive. I should not be in Boston. I should not be thinking about getting him pretzels. I shouldn’t have even hit on him in the first place. And yet, here I am, basking in the glow of his attention.
I’ve never even seen a boy this fine.
Any time tears glisten in his beautiful blue eyes, I feel this primal need to do anything I can to stop them from falling down his cheeks. Seeing him squirming in pain from the wound on his leg had me on the verge of going ballistic on my whole family. The only thing that stopped me was that I wanted to take care of his leg and get us out of there.
“I would very much love to try them. Can we afford to? I have some money left, and soon enough, we will not need human coin anyway…” His growing smile lights up the car, and my heart beats faster.
I smile, even though deep down I know this means he’s out of touch with reality. I’m fine with being reimagined as a hot barbarian to his elven prince, but there is no denying our situation. Still, everything inside me wants to soothe and please him, so I press a small kiss to his head as we dash past the billboard. “I suppose we could ask about the bar while we’re at it.”
Sylvan claps his hands together, looking excited like a kid at Christmas, his pointy ears twitching. He rises in the seat and stares out of the window in anticipation of the giant pretzels. After five years in the can, just being in the presence of such an adorable creature makes me melt. It doesn’t hurt either that the attraction between us is sizzling louder than a donut in hot oil.
He changed into a different shirt when I was napping, since my dad tore the collar of the other one. This top is black, loose, with almost the entire back covered in lace revealing milky skin, as if to tease me. Elaborate frills cover half his hands, starting at the wrist, and I’m amazed that the outfit didn’t get wrinkled. Must be some fancy new fabric.
I took the initiative at my parents’ place and repacked his stuff from the unmanageable chest into a massive bag for me and a smaller backpack for him. Do I think it’s ridiculous to be taking all those books and trinkets with us? Including a lava lamp ? Yes. But when I thought about him crying over losing his precious possessions, I knew I couldn’t leave them behind.
“How thrilling!” Sylvan says as we approach the cafe-gas station-shop with a giant pretzel display at the front. “They cannot possibly expect one person to eat that,” he points to the display. “A whole family wouldn’t be able to.”
As he glances my way, a chuckle rolls out of my throat, and I pull him close, so happy to be here with him. Maybe I’m not destined to escape the law after all, but what time I have, I want to spend with him, enjoying his eyes on me and feasting my own on his amazing body, soft lips, sapphire eyes.
“This one might not be edible. Let’s see what they have inside,” I say and put on the same face mask that obscured my identity at the first gas station. It’s nothing special, just a bit of printed cotton, which happens to smell of stale lady perfume and has a bit of a pink stain left by the lips of Sylvan’s former landlady. But it works.
“You prefer sweet? Salty?” I ask as we stop in front of the shop’s bright windows. It has seen better days, as there are cracks on the blue and brown walls. A part of the neon logo mounted on the roof keeps blinking, but our vehicle is the only one within sight, other than an old van at the back, which likely belongs to the owner.
We’ll get some crunchy snacks, ask for the way to the bar, and be on our way.
Easy-peasy.
“As long as it’s not too sweet, I would like to try both,” he says with all seriousness, as if this decision is of great importance.
He stretches when he gets out of the car, and even standing on his toes, he’s so… tiny. I love how big it makes me feel next to him. If we weren’t trying to avoid attention, I’d pick him up and carry him inside for the fun of it. I’m a fugitive with only a few bucks to my name, yet to him, it seems I can offer so much more. He’s impressed by my size, my strength, excited to get a pretzel, and even my not-extraordinary driving skills are amazing to Sylvan.
He walks into the shop first, and I notice he’s limping a little. I hope his leg doesn’t hurt too much, but we will get to take care of that eventually.
The elderly lady behind the counter looks at us from behind thick glasses. Her hair is like a cloud of cotton candy, though white rather than pink, and she’s wearing a T-shirt depicting her with two huge iced pretzels.
“Oh, hello! You’re just on time. I was about to close for the night,” she tells us with a winning smile and already picks up a small paper bag, ready to serve us.
There aren’t many pretzels left at this hour, but I’m drawn to the one smudged with lashings of cheese.
“Thank you, madam, we will not be long. What is cinnamon?” Sylvan asks, stunning us both into silence.
The shop owner meets my gaze, clears her throat, then turns back, only to return with a steel container filled with brown dust. “It’s a nutty spice.”
“May I try it before I make my decision? I don’t like spicy food.”
I fight the urge to put my arm over his shoulders. “It’s not hot, if that’s what you mean.”
“Ah, yes, in that case, I might like some.”
As soon as I spot him lifting a whole spoonful of cinnamon to his nose, alarm bells ring in my head and I pull him away. “It can be dangerous to inhale it.”
He stills, and I swear he was about to just eat a whole spoon of cinnamon to the cafe worker’s wide-eyed terror.
Sylvan puts down the spoon after smelling it from a good distance. “Oh. That is indeed good to know.”
“Well… what can I get you?” the owner asks with a smile glued to her lips as she puts the container to the side. One of the pretzels, sprinkled with bits of salt, is the size of my pecs, but the others appear to be a more manageable size.
“The big one, the one with cheese, and… one with cinnamon?” I ask, glancing at Sylvan, who offers me a fervent nod and rolls on his heels, as if he can’t contain his excitement.
It’s so damn cute.
And it pisses me off that were I straight, and he—a girl, I could have cuddled him now without drawing attention. But it is what it is.
I place a banknote on the counter, and after a second of hesitation, grab some lube and condoms too from an area with basic medicines and cosmetics. “We’re looking for this bar… it’s called The Rusty Stallion.”
She doesn’t look into my eyes when she scans my items. “It’s two miles down the road or so, but I’m pretty sure it’s been closed for a few years now, and found no buyer.”
My mouth goes slack under the mask, but I nod and join Sylvan, who’s helping himself to some water from a fountain in the corner. “That guy we’re looking for… you sure he’ll be there? This lady says the bar’s no longer open,” I tell him in a low voice.
Sylvan smells his cinnamon pretzel and his pointy, sunburned ears twitch like he’s a happy kitty. “It might look that way, but I know a way in, don’t worry.”
I get myself a cheap coffee from a machine, because I’m pretty sure this will be another long night, and we sit at a small table.
“How do you know he’ll be in? Do you have a number we can call?” I ask, pushing my foot between Sylvan’s. The chair’s narrow and keeps digging into my flesh, no matter how many times I shift around in it, so I just accept my fate and focus on the positives—like Sylvan’s sugar-dusted smile.
His eyes light up when he bites in. “Oooh! Very good. I will miss this when we leave. Not too sweet, the dough has a bit of crunch at the edges—Yes, the grimsmith. If he does have a phone number, I don’t know it. But it’s where he works. I very much doubt he will be anywhere else than at his workshop.” Sylvan leans closer and lowers his voice. “He was banished almost thirty years ago before I was even born, but my family finds it important to know of people like him.”
Of course they do.
Because Sylvan is a prince from a royal line that’s been attempting to take over the throne of the Nocturne Court for almost a thousand years, blah, blah, blah—
“You can tell me if he’s an ex, or something. People don’t always have sex within BDSM settings,” I try to encourage him to speak the truth.
He looks genuinely insulted, but why else would he be wearing a collar welded around his neck? Sylvan must have been up to something to end up in this position, and the innocent ice prince face can’t fool me. I’m not judging him for it either. I just need to know what to expect so that I can protect him better.
“I’m not sure what ‘beediesem’ settings are, but he and I were most definitely not involved in any way. I don’t even know what state he is in after thirty years in the human realm. I dread to imagine it, really, but last time I heard of him, he was alive, even if banished for life. You see this?” He points to a tiny engraving on the collar. Increasingly disgruntled, I nod. “This is the Nightweed crest, a brand of the Nocturne Court’s Lord. If I enter the Nightmare Realm without taking it off, I will be hunted. The grimsmith, Tassarion, has one like it on his skin, as he is never allowed back. Frankly, I find it an injustice to be sentenced to fifty years, when it’s my brother who schemed against Lord Kyran—”
“Can you be very honest with me this one time, Sylvan?” I ask, and when he lowers his chin, staring at me, I go on, content that I have his attention. “Do you actually believe any of this, or is this some kind of full-time role-play situation?”
He goes still, doesn’t even chew, and his pupils grow wider as if I’ve dropped a splash of ink into the dark blue. “Hawk. Are you saying you’ve not believed me all this time?” Sylvan swallows and clenches his jaw.
I don’t want to confront him about it, I really don’t, but what the fuck am I supposed to do when my life could be on the line? I might have picked a better moment for it, but it’s not like I can reverse time now.
“You claim to be an elf from another world. How can I believe that? I thought we’re… acting out your fantasy,” I mumble, leaning back as his mouth trembles. I hate how disappointed in me he looks, but that expression is soon replaced by a growing frown, which… yeah, does make him resemble an offended royal.
“How dare you? I have given you my body. We have made promises! It will be full moon in the Nightmare Realm tomorrow , and you’re questioning my intentions? Worse, you don’t even believe in them?”
I hate how the mask muffles my voice, so I pull it under my chin and lean toward him. “Look, you’re great, but I have no reason to believe all this fantastical stuff, do I? You wouldn’t be the first guy to believe he’s something he's not. This dude in my prison believed he was taken by aliens every night, and that was a load of shit.”
Sylvan gets up, probably to look at me from above for once. Fire dances in his blue eyes, but we need to talk about all this sooner rather than later. “Did you make your promise to become my Dark Companion because you thought it to be of no meaning?”
I clear my throat and take note of the shop owner glaring at us. “I figured you liked me as much as I liked you.”
“‘Liking’ is of no consequence, Hawk! You are on the cusp of pledging your shadow to me. Binding your life to mine. Our mutual attraction and shared desire are only a lucky twist of destiny.”
I’m the one who should be angry, but when I sense the scorch of his disappointment on me, it’s like being lashed.
I have such a weakness for him.
“Look, I will believe when I see proof, but you gotta admit it’s kinda difficult, no?”
Sylvan is so flushed his whole face is rosy, but his voice is like ice. “Fine,” he grits out through his teeth. “But until your shadow is bound to mine, my body is not yours to toy with. I will not be made a fool.”
Despite my best intentions, I roll my eyes, because he’ll be under me before we work out the level of his delusion, and we both know it. He’s drawn to me just as much as I am to him.
“Why are you like this? I’m not trying to cheat you. In fact, I asked this question because I feel you're too deep into the whole elf thing, and I’m worried!”
“Because my whole life I’ve not been taken seriously, and here you are, my promised , doing the same!”
I get up as soon as I see his eyes glazing over.
“Sylvan, I do take you seriously, but would you believe me if I told you we could live on the moon, without seeing any proof?” I ask and reach out for him, only to have my hand brushed off.
“Don’t!”
I flinch, feeling as if he’s struck me.
“Is there a problem?” A male voice asks, and I freeze, looking over Sylvan’s head, straight at one of the two cops buying fucking pretzels.
When did they even enter? I was so wrapped up in Sylvan, I didn’t notice. I feel my face flush as the colors of a police car loom on the edge of my vision, and my hand darts to my mask, but the other cop zeroes in on me, taking a sharp inhale.
“It’s him!”
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This will be the most costly fucking meal I ever consumed.