Chapter Four #2
“Good evening,” Declan said after a beat, continuing his careful tread to the bench. “So to speak.”
Antonio stood quickly, movements jerky now. Awkward. He didn’t move toward Declan, only shifted his weight from foot to foot, thumb picking at one of his fingernails.
The last time Declan had seen someone that on edge, it’d been at the end of a white powder line. It hadn’t been amusing, nor a cause for concern, as, well, twitchy happened.
Antonio wasn’t that kind of restless. He was parched earth, cracked and bare in the blaze of whatever set him alight. But not high.
“You came,” he said, sounding so grateful and surprised Declan wasn’t sure if he ought to be insulted.
“I said I would.” Declan studied the constant movement that was Antonio, fascinated. “You said it was an immediate request. I don’t like to leave people waiting.”
“Yeah, no, I appreciate it. You– Can we– Did you want to sit? Or standing’s fine. It’s not much of a walk around the pond. Lots of duck shit.”
Declan reached the bench, his fingers light on the back of it, wood irregular and cool. The sense of the man had shifted since last he’d seen him. Sharp copper curled through the rust, blotted out the sun, and seeped over the scraped-soft leather of him. Declan didn’t like how it sat on the human.
“Sitting or standing is fine. The ducks might have plans for their shit.”
Antonio sat, clearly wary, despite being the one who’d called Declan. Wary for his own reasons, Declan perched on the far edge of the bench. Too close, too long, and this–
This was not the time nor place for his deathsight to trigger. Antonio may very well tumble into a coronary in response.
Not that he was doing much now. Picking at his finger, looking at Declan and away again. And Declan, a man used to using silences to his advantage, felt wholly uncomfortable in this one.
“I admit to being surprised that you contacted me, especially via our mutual friend. Bo’s general opinion of me ranges from ‘should eat a bag of spiked dicks’ to ‘dry humored prick.’ ” Declan smiled wryly. “Affectionately, of course.”
Antonio’s exhale sounded amused. A half triumph, perhaps. Declan would keep trying.
“I didn’t know you and Bo were friends. Just figured he might know how to get in touch with a fae.
And, look, I– shit, I don’t got much to offer.
I’m sure the other nine are more–” A shrug and Antonio’s dark eyes still trained on his hands.
“I’m a Hollow, for what it’s worth. Some fae seem to like that.
But, I’m not gonna lie to you. That’s all she wrote. ”
“I… Pardon?”
Dramatics aside, Declan had a head for politics. For people. He knew how to play the game as well as most, if not better than. He’d been judge and jury. The fop. The evil fairy invited to parties so as to not curse the baby if left off the guest list.
This was far beyond something he ever had to know what to do with before.
It didn’t make sense. Doubly so with Antonio picking at his fingers, eyes downcast and words erratic.
“It means, that’s all I’ve got.”
Bugger.
“Yes, I– Excuse me, I’m afraid I missed part of the conversation, Antonio. What are you proposing?”
Antonio shifted his weight, moving closer to Declan. The pull of the bond, same as it called to Declan. He fought against it, that urge to edge closer. He fought and failed. Moved a scant breath nearer.
There were chaperones around when two possibles met for reasons, voids take it.
“Right. I guess I could be a little less of a fucking wreck.” Antonio laughed, an ugly, small sound that sat ill.
“I really wasn’t expecting you to come. And I’m not great at waiting.
I … before I waste more of both our time, what’d you mean earlier?
‘Inquiring about a bond.’ You said there were ten, so you’re, what, test driving the options? Seeing who you like?”
And that, that, was what had broken Declan quietly outside the garage. Antonio’s ready assumption that Declan might be a desirable match. The human didn’t know what being a sluagh meant. What he risked by being around Declan at all, let alone in such close proximity.
“There’s been ten over the last three centuries or so, present company included,” Declan agreed, following Antonio’s lead by watching the man’s restless hands.
Strong, stained from work, attractive even when frenetic, near vibrating with what ailed him.
“The majority of fae have perhaps three or four possible matches in a lifetime. I’ve received eight refusals, five of which I never met.
The two before you, I didn’t make an offer to. I did, in fact, start with my name.”
Antonio breathed deep in the darkness and shifted a little closer. And, voids, Declan knew what to do with handsome men watching him in the dark, their mess of brown curls and matching eyes catching the moonlight.
He knew. But not like this.
“So not test driving?”
Declan grinned. He didn’t look up. It was easier that way. “Not test driving. Mother said you had bad experiences with fae. You didn’t strike me as the sort to appreciate sugarcoating, especially as fae aren’t known for being forthright. I continued to press the idea as I enjoyed most of our talk.”
After all, one couldn’t really enjoy rejection when acceptance was sought.
“I’ll do it.”
Flat. Devoid of any joy, disgust, fear. Empty.
Declan had expected it to be like this if he ever found someone willing to take him as a bond. Once, young and ridiculous, he’d allowed his hopes to creep up. That’d been Tsuri. Dismissed with an impersonal letter, rich with formality. A lesson hard learned and closely kept.
He knew better than to look up at Antonio with a thrill of finally in his breast, eager for a future with someone who might, perhaps, someday, not mind his very core. He did, had been taught better, and still met Antonio’s eyes so the man’s expression could snuff those thoughts out fully.
It shouldn’t have hurt.
“You’ll do it?” Declan ought to look back to Antonio’s busy hands. He didn’t.
“If you’re still ‘inquiring.’ I’ll do it. I just need you to protect me.”
“I… Did something happen?”
Antonio stopped picking at his fingers long enough to reach into his pocket and pull out a crumpled letter. He held it out to Declan, hands on the wrong side of unsteady.
“I got this today.”
Declan took the paper, half crushed by a desperate hand. He smoothed it on his knee, eyes narrowed. Flowery bloody bullshit. Calloway. Declan’s lip curled despite himself, disgusted.
“This is why I dislike it when fae try to be poetic. They become their own bloody heroes.” Declan allowed his distaste to drip into his words. Antonio shrugged and shoved the paper back into his pocket with rough force.
“He’s not making it up. I wish he was.” An obviously uncomfortable admission, Antonio’s voice tight with it. “I said it. About staying with him. Fuck, marrying him. Just, I was twelve. A stupid fucking kid.”
A stupid fucking kid, but to the fae, a promise was a promise. Declan understood that. He hesitated, feeling the solid comfort of leather over his shoulders and sharp metal at his mouth. Declan licked the taste of it, Antonio, from his lips.
“There are things you must know about sluagh before you agree in full. Will you hear me out? I’m happy to weave between duck shit while I explain.”
And Antonio– Antonio shoved himself to his feet. Turned, and held his hand out to Declan.
“What I know about sluagh is Calloway’s fucking terrified of them. That’s about it.”
The fact he extended his hand to Declan showed that in spades. Humans and family willingly touched Declan, sometimes. Mostly his mother and human lovers who didn’t know him as a fae. Minders, when he had been younger, chosen for their lack of family and strong outside friendships.
And Antonio, Hollow Antonio who saw Declan from bone wings to black claws to boots, offered his hand with its wide palm and blunt nails without hesitation.
Declan, helpless to resist the temptation of contact, willingly given by someone who agreed to be his bond, took that warm, callused hand and stood.
Declan would protect the human for this moment alone. No bond needed, just this. Declan’s palm sang and sang and sang.
He kept that to himself, even as he tucked the memory of rust, earth, and leather away. Though he let go of Antonio’s hand, he did so with care. It wouldn’t do to jerk away as if Antonio were the sickening thing.
“Calloway isn’t alone in that fear. For double surety, we can always put in our bond oaths that neither will wed without approval from the other.” He meant it as a joke, wry smile and all.
“Bond oaths,” Antonio echoed, taking the first few steps back along the path. Declan fell in step beside him. “Bo never said anything about oaths. He just said they touched and it happened. Was– Fuck, wait.”
“Mm?” Declan shot him a curious glance.
“Was that it? Did I– Shit. Shit.”
Ah.
“You did not,” Declan said with as much conviction as one could without sounding angry.
He aimed for emphatic. For whatever would get air in Antonio’s lungs again.
“Everil and Bo are a unique case with very specific circumstances. Oaths are for surety, safeguards to protect a person or family from exploitation, or to– What’s the phrase?
Sweeten the pot. Make an unappealing bond more agreeable. The bond itself, we make with intent.”
Antonio, thankfully, breathed. Breathed and smiled in Declan’s direction, vaguely apologetic. He kept walking, too, his shoulder nearly touching Declan’s. Declan, selfish Declan, allowed himself the luxury of that closeness, and returned the smile, though without apology.
The rich brush of leather and metallic tang of a show gone too loud and too long, with a pit that begged to be thrown into anyway. The soft earth and grass underfoot did little to chisel away the ghost touch of solid ground, cracked and dry, sun-baked.