Chapter Five
Antonio
Christ, he needed to stop staring.
The sluagh talked oaths as they meandered around the pond, and Antonio kept looking at him. Watching the play of shadow over pale skin and bone, studying the way those pale blue eyes glowed with inner fire.
Daylight hadn’t done the bastard justice. In shadow, he looked like a fascist’s nightmare. An anarchist’s wet dream.
Antonio’s heart kept beating too fast, like it wanted to prove it was beating at all. All that adrenaline, looking for somewhere to go, turning desperation into something that burned.
Or maybe it was simpler than that. Declan was hot, and Antonio liked the way he walked the line between sexy and fucking terrifying.
Did it even matter? Nightmare or wet dream, Antonio was going to sell the guy his soul. What choice did he have?
“That’s it?” he asked, as Declan finished the whole bond spiel.
“Aye. But I can go over it again.”
“Nah. Let’s–” Don’t say ‘get this over with.’ “Get on with it.”
Good enough, apparently. Declan turned their meander toward the forest, until they were mostly surrounded by the trees, the sky disappearing behind the branches.
“Florian,” Declan called, in his deep, rolling rasp.
The wisp materialized out of the shadows, and looking at him, for a moment all Antonio could see was Calloway. That sparkling blue skin and silver-white hair still familiar after all these years.
No. No. This was someone else. The same blue skin, but this had to be the oldest looking fae he’d ever seen. Still, Antonio shifted closer to the sluagh. That was the whole point, right? That Declan would keep him safe.
“Are you serious?” Florian couldn’t have looked less happy to see Antonio if he tried. Well, Antonio was used to that.
“Antonio, this is Florian. He doesn’t like anyone except possibly Mother, and we all exhaust him,” Declan said, still guiding them both closer. “Florian, Antonio has agreed to bond with me. Will you stand witness?”
“He’s going to ruin the rest of Aisling’s carpet if he’s wearing all the iron she’s talked about.” Florian turned his frown on Antonio. “Are you sure? You realize the whelp’s not as funny as he pretends to be.”
“Don’t worry. I’m house trained.” Antonio couldn’t keep the bitter tang from his words even as he smiled at the wisp. Pets ruined carpets and knocked over cups. Couldn’t be trusted and should be kept on a leash. “And I’m not really doing this for the amusement factor.”
Antonio felt, more than saw, Declan’s sideways glance. All he could do was hope snapping at the guy’s friend hadn’t fucked things up too much.
“As Antonio said, no need to worry about how many chuckles I manage to get out of him.” Even with that rough rasp, Declan sounded mild.
“And hopefully, that was a dig at Faerie’s response to my distress some weeks back, rather than an insinuation that you are a pet, Antonio.
That’d be uncalled for. Wouldn’t it, Florian? ”
The wisp heaved a sigh, then pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, as if dealing with a headache. “Yes, it would be. Get on with it, then. I agree to stand witness.”
Antonio watched the interplay, each word ratcheting his tension higher.
Declan, all polite fae-ish threat. Florian equally bland in his response.
And Antonio, looking on. Powerless. He reached for his wrist, fingers finding the place where his iron bracelet wasn’t.
He’d taken them off before he’d left for the park. No rings, either.
No safety. No retreat. The panic hit him. Familiar, debilitating fear.
Antonio’s searching fingers closed around the necklace he’d thrown on. Ugly iron ore in a cage of silver. Something. Enough that he could breathe and force the words out.
“You first, murder punk.”
“Such sweet nothings.” Declan’s words burned like smoke in the back of Antonio’s throat as he turned, studying Antonio with that steady, predator’s gaze.
Don’t flinch. And he didn’t, even if he held his pendant a little tighter. The wisp’s disapproving noise mostly lost in his own forced-steady breathing.
The wisp could go to hell. This deal was between him and Declan.
“I offer my bond in good faith with oaths of soul and blood.” Declan’s low, serious words broke the silence before it could stretch too tight.
“I will protect you, Antonio, from those who seek to cause you harm or have caused harm in the past, regardless of their intent. You will not lack in food, space, or freedom of movement, be it between realms or within one. I give you no guest right, for my home will be your home whenever you wish it. I offer this, and this, and this, and no status lesser than my own. This vow I, Ceallach Liave Malich, give willingly on my name. Its breaking is the breaking of self.”
Declan’s gaze stayed on Antonio as he wove his net of promises. Antonio tried to remember that nets weren’t only traps. Sometimes, they caught you while you fell. The sluagh extended his hand, filling Antonio’s thoughts with woodsmoke, ink, and flower petals.
“You’re up, Speed Racer.”
“Speed Racer would’ve driven a Honda.”
Antonio peeled his fingers from the chunk of iron and met Declan’s intense blue eyes. One of Calloway’s bad fae. A monster.
Good.
Somewhere nearby, sirens screamed. This was so fucking weird. But when had his life been anything else?
“I offer my bond in good faith with oaths of soul and blood.” He swallowed, hard.
Fuck it. He wasn’t making good use of his soul, anyway.
“I’ll have your back. Try to make shit better for the ones getting stepped on.
Join the Council if I can.” That was about all Declan had asked for.
A shit deal. Well, he’d do his best to sweeten it.
“I’ll get wasted with you when things are shit, instead of fucking off.
I won’t watch the clock and leave when it runs down, either.
I’m not gonna blame you for shit you can’t help.
This vow I, Antonio Silva Reis Junior, give willingly on my name. Its breaking is the breaking of self.”
He reached for Declan’s waiting hand, covering it with his own, palm-to-palm. No turning back now.
“So witnessed,” Florian said. “On my name.”
Just like that, and it was done. Sold, one soul, poorly maintained.
Antonio rolled his shoulders, about to ask what was next on the agenda.
A spark, at the corner of reality. The world burned like tissue paper, blackened to ash.
Bonfires on the beach. Stolen beers gritty from sand, shared like clumsy, teenage kisses.
The curl of woodsmoke and sparks and longing, and his arms around his girlfriend’s soft shoulders, as he watched the way the light danced on the bronzed skin of a guy he wasn’t supposed to want to touch.
Wistful, but not unhappy with it. Free, and finding a place, and believing he could put it all away.
Fifteen, holding a bouquet of stolen flowers.
The sweet smelling purple ones that his sister Angela liked, and she smiled at him from the hospital bed, Mara in her arms. He brushed a petal over Mara’s nose, afraid to touch something so small and perfect.
She sneezed, and he lost his heart to his little niece.
The buzz of a tattoo gun; the bite bite bite of the needle into skin.
Ink mixed with blood, as he claimed another piece of himself in the only way he knew how.
A charm against memory, and he didn’t care if it worked, he only knew he felt better for it.
Ink to keep the monsters away, to show that he wasn’t afraid.
Declan stepping out of the shadows. Declan smiling, small and careful. Declan tucking his wings tight against his back.
“Blue ink.”
In the ashes of reality, there was Declan. Declan’s relief. Declan’s apprehension. Declan’s head on Antonio’s shoulder, his breathing unsteady and his hand curved around Antonio’s bicep. Holding on like he was afraid Antonio might disappear.
The wash of relief, of euphoric joy and fascinated desire to touch, was weirdly familiar. Like the rush he used to get from ecstasy, but more intense, his thoughts not drifting into fog.
He’d expected to lose his soul. He hadn’t expected Declan to replace it with smoke and ink and purple petals. He hadn’t expected the bastard to fit so perfectly against him. When has his hand found the small of Declan’s back, fingers spread to touch as much as he could?
It didn’t matter. The important thing was to hold on, because he knew what it’d do to Declan if he pushed him away. Didn’t know as in he understood. Knew like he could taste that touch-hungry loneliness, ebbing away as they held each other.
Florian cleared his throat.
“I think we need a minute,” Antonio said. “Without the witnessing.”
“I’ll make sure no humans see him without the look.” The wisp’s voice sounded like it was coming from very far away. “Come find me when you’re done.”
Declan leaned in, as the wisp walked away, his wings resting loosely against his back. Not that tight, nervous pose of earlier. This was more like another way to be close.
“They should’ve warned us that it’d punch like a handful of club candy,” Declan whispered, once the wisp was gone. “‘Intense.’ Bloody understatement. I didn’t know.”
Laughter cut through the quiet. Giddy, unsteady, and genuine. Antonio’s laughter. Oh. They were both high. And he’d sent away the only sober person in the park. Great.
He didn’t regret it, though. He didn’t want the wisp around, not when Declan’s voice was shaking, that pleasant, smoky rasp dropped to a whisper.
“Just need some obnoxious music. Maybe a smoke machine.”
“Colored lights,” Declan added, with a snicker.
Antonio pressed Declan more firmly against his chest, then let his hand trace upward, under his jacket, following the sharp jut of his spine. The man’s skin was no warmer than the night. What would it take to warm him up?
Antonio wanted to bury his face in Declan’s neck and inhale him. He wanted to find the place where pale skin gave way to wings of bone. He wanted to taste–