Chapter 9
NINE
ATLAS
I lie staring up at the ceiling of the cell, watching the shadows dance across the concrete. Was Elvira lying about us being underground? I didn’t think anything was built underground in New Orleans due to it being swampland. But what would be the point of a lie? Just to throw us off?
“I think that bitch was lying,” Rune murmurs, and I startle.
“Were you just reading my mind? Is that one of your powers? Maybe your magic is back.”
He barks a laugh. “No, but good to know we’re on the same page.
I’ve been lying here racking my brain trying to think of what could be underground if we’re in New Orleans.
The only thing I know of is an old Cold War bomb shelter built by the government in the sixties, but that flooded years ago, or the enchanted bunker on my family estate, but that’s also long gone.
So, either Kallis was wrong, or Elvira is full of shit.
And as much as I hate to admit it, Kallis is usually pretty dead-on.
Plus, she managed to get you here, so her intel, limited as it was, had to be good. ”
I grunt in agreement. “We’ve been asking around about any wars, and no one has heard anything.” I roll onto my side and prop my head up with my hand so I can look up at him on the narrow cot. “Is it possible Elvira’s lying about that too?”
“Anything’s possible, and I wouldn’t put it past her.
Especially if I’m right and someone’s been messing with necromancy.
If she’s a reanimated corpse, she’s basically a puppet, she’ll say whatever my captor wants her to.
She won’t have her own thoughts or ideas about anything, which might explain how she didn’t know what I meant by gumbo. ”
I wrinkle my nose at the thought of someone digging up a corpse just to turn it into a puppet.
“I thought necromancy was pretty frowned upon among magic users.”
“It is,” Rune says darkly. “We don’t do it. Ever. Anyone who does is basically ostracized, or worse. Whoever is doing all of this clearly doesn’t give a fuck, which makes them as dangerous as they are powerful.”
“And you can’t think of anyone who fits that description who has a grudge against you?” I know I’m prying, but this is really starting to seem personal. If Rune can think of who might be doing this, it could help us figure out what they want and how to get the hell out of here.
He’s quiet for a long time, and I start to wonder if he’s fallen asleep.
Either that or I offended him and he’s giving me the silent treatment.
I listen to his even breathing and narrow my attention down to the invisible thread of connection I can still feel between us.
It’s flimsy and delicate, like a spiderweb that could easily fall apart if handled clumsily.
“I have a lot of enemies,” he says, startling me out of my meditative focus.
“I have a habit of pissing people off, as you could probably tell from Kallis’s reaction.
But I can’t think of anyone who would be powerful enough to bind my magic and somehow probe my mind for childhood memories while also being unhinged enough to resort to necromancy. ”
“Probe your mind for childhood memories?” I sit up fully. “What are you talking about?”
Rune rolls onto his side to face me now in the dark, his long hair falling to one side, the outline of his body looking thinner and frailer than I remember from the first time we met.
“It’s nothing much, but it’s a bit unsettling. The last few days, the meals Elvira has been bringing have been some childhood favorites. I don’t see how it could be a coincidence.”
I shuffle closer to him, unconsciously drawn towards him until I’m leaning against the bed, close enough to smell the faint hint of magic on him and the distinct Rune scent underneath the week’s worth of sweat and grime.
“Maybe we’re thinking about this wrong. What if it’s not an enemy but someone you think of as a friend? Someone you’re close enough with that you’ve told them about your childhood.”
Rune laughs again, more loudly this time. “I don’t have friends, Atlas. I was snatched from a bar a week ago and you’re the only one who’s even noticed I’m gone. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”
“Have you tried being less prickly?” I tease with a half smile that I’m not sure he can see in the dark.
“The thorns are there for the roses’ protection, Gargoyle,” he says with a sad kind of wisdom in his voice.
The urge to tell him that I’ll protect him now rises inside me, but I push it down.
It’s too much, and something tells me he won’t believe it anyway.
It’s obvious that he’s spent his whole life unable to trust anyone but himself, but he has me now, whether he knows it or not. And I’m going to get us out of here.
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do once you’re free?” I ask, hoping to change the subject to something more hopeful.
“Do you mean after I slaughter whoever’s responsible for this whole thing?” he asks dryly.
I chuckle. “Yes, after that.”
He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair with a grimace I can see easily in the dim light, thanks to my gargoyle vision.
“Take the longest, hottest shower of my life. There will be scalp masks involved, exfoliators, the works.”
The image of Rune naked with water running over his lean body, droplets following the lines of his intricate tattoos and cascading over his hard nipples and soft cock fills my mind and heats me down to my core.
The sudden rush of lust startles me. Unlike Roman or Cassius, who spend half their lives driven by their most primal urges, it’s not something that happens to me often.
In fact, I’m having a hard time remembering the last time I had the urge to run my tongue over a man’s soft, warm lips or feel the heat of anyone’s body against mine.
I clear my throat. “That sounds nice.”
Rune flops back onto his bed. “Murder first though.”
“It’s important to prioritize,” I say, and he laughs again, more agreeable and less harsh this time.
“And I swear to all the gods that I am never going to try to pick up any stranger at a bar again as long as I live.”
The lingering heat in my gut hardens into something more protective and fierce.
“Is that what you were doing when you were abducted?”
Rune nods. “He wasn’t even that hot. I was just horny and it had been way too long since I’d had any action from anyone other than my own hand.”
Dammit, that image floods my mind too, of Rune with his hand around his hard, aching cock, his back arching off the bed as he lets out loud, panting moans.
I don’t know why, but I imagine his tattoos glowing as his skin flushes, little sparks of his magic visibly flickering around him with his mounting pleasure.
I clear my throat again and move away from his bed, shuffling back to my spot on the floor. We’re being held prisoner, sex should be the last thing on my mind.
“Sorry, am I making you uncomfortable? I don’t know many supes who are prudish about sex.”
He’s right. Sex is hardly a taboo topic in our world. Not like humans, with their cloak of shame around the subject. Sex is too interwoven with most of our natures and even magic for it to be something we get shy about.
“No, it’s just been a long time for me too,” I confess with an awkward huff.
He hums in understanding. “I guess we really should try to get some sleep. It’s not going to do us any good to let our strength wane.”
“Right. Night.”
“Night,” he whispers.
RUNE
I’m not sure how much sleep I’ve actually gotten when the sound of Elvira’s clomping footsteps wakes me. Even after we agreed we should get some sleep, I laid awake for a long time trying to think of anyone who could fit the description of my captor. It didn’t get me anywhere, unfortunately.
I crack my eyes open just in time to see Atlas fade into the concrete floor.
That’s a handy little power to have. I wonder if I could find a way to duplicate it for myself.
It would be more useful if it worked with things other than stone, of course.
A chameleon spell, or maybe a potion… I ponder the idea, wishing I had my notebook to start jotting it down.
It always helps me work through ideas when I write them down.
I have journals full of my attempts to perfect certain spells and rituals, noting all the failed attempts and what worked so I can build on it and tweak it until I get it just right.
Thank fuck I’ve protected them all with curses strong enough to keep anyone from stealing them.
I don’t bother saying anything to Elvira this morning. It’s not like it’s any use anyway. She drops the tray inside my cell and it clatters to the floor, rattling noisily and spilling bits of scrambled egg.
“Thanks,” I mutter sarcastically as she stomps back out. The way she moves, I’m even more sure of my necromancy theory. It’s like her body doesn’t work quite right, too stiff and clumsy.
Once she’s gone, Atlas reappears fully and sits up with a groan and a yawn. He reaches for the tray and carefully sets it on the foot of the bed for me.
“Here.” I use the fork to attempt to section off half the scrambled eggs for him. “There’s only one fork, so you can either use your hands, or we can rock-paper-scissors over who gets to eat first.”
He shakes his head. “You can eat it all. Your body needs it a lot more than mine does.”
I eye his rock-hard—no pun intended—physique. The man is large and seems to be pure muscle. I doubt he has to work at it, either. It’s so unfair how naturally fit most supes are. Meanwhile, us poor human mages are fighting for our lives at the gym if we want six-pack abs.
“You won’t be any good to either of us if you pass out from hunger,” I point out, scooping a forkful of eggs into my mouth.
His lips twitch into a smile. “It would take weeks for me to start feeling any serious effects from hunger. And even then, I’d just turn to stone. Once you get out of here and get your magic back, you could fix me up like that.” He snaps his fingers.
“If we’re stuck in here for weeks, I’m going to go fucking feral on Elvira,” I mutter, and he chuckles.
“We won’t be. We just need a plan.”
“A plan? That’s brilliant, why didn’t I think of that?”
He narrows his gray eyes at me, but I notice a twitch in his lips like he’s trying not to smile.
“The sarcasm is a great start, it’s sure to get things moving.”
“The sarcasm is a load-bearing structure, thank you very much.” I shovel more eggs into my mouth, then hesitate when I realize I’ve finished about half in only a few bites.
“Last chance,” I warn him. “If you’re just being a martyr or whatever and you actually need to eat, speak now or forever hold your peace. ”
Atlas waves for me to go ahead, so I polish off the rest of my breakfast in a hurry. My stomach growls anyway, barely satisfied. After that long, hot shower, I’m going to eat my body weight in fillet mignon and cheesecake.
“What’s your favorite food?” I ask.
He cocks his head and grins. “Look at you being all friendly and shit.”
I glower at him. “Someone told me yesterday that I need to be less prickly if I want to make friends.”
“Aw, you want to be my friend?” he teases.
“Not anymore,” I quip back.
“Nope, you can’t take it back, you want to be my friend.” Atlas reaches for me. His fingertips brush the back of my hand and a spark of magic sizzles between us.
My eyes widen and he freezes, staring at me in surprise.
“Do that again,” I command.
He slowly moves his hand, his fingertips ghosting along my skin, and another spark flickers.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs.
“Holy shit,” I agree.