Chapter Seven
Antonio
Cornered.
Back to the wall, no exits, nowhere to run kind of cornered. That’s what he was. Calloway was coming for him. Not eventually. Not tomorrow. Any minute.
Antonio paced the length of Declan’s living room. Sitting room. Whatever-the-fuck you called a room with overstuffed chairs, dark wood, and a roaring fireplace. Just about now, Antonio was ready to call it hell.
With every passing minute, the tension ratcheted a little tighter, until Antonio found himself wishing he’d gone with plan A and gotten it over with.
This wasn’t going to work.
In a lifetime of stupid ideas, ‘sell your soul to a fae so that you aren’t kidnapped by the fae’ topped Antonio’s very long list. All he’d done by bonding Declan was make himself accessible.
“Antonio?” The sound of his name in Declan’s low, lilting rasp was already comfortable.
He’d be losing that too.
“Yeah?” He stopped pacing, though he rocked in place, fingers rubbing the nettles above his wrist.
“Will you–” Strange, but the sluagh looked uncomfortable, hands in his pockets as he spoke. “Will you stand with me? Physically?”
A knock, distant but clear. Antonio flinched.
Declan. Focus on Declan. On smoke and bone. Pointed teeth and that pleasant, sharp drag of an ink-filled needle over skin.
“Think I can manage that.”
Footsteps, growing closer.
“I have… If you’d like something to do with your hands.” A strap of leather dangled between Declan’s fingers, offered almost shyly.
Maybe Calloway wouldn’t want him if he was already wearing Declan’s collar.
The thought wasn’t fair. Anger and bitterness and nothing to do with Declan. The black leather bracelet, worn with time and studded with silver, was exactly the sort of thing Declan would wear. Not a mark of ownership, but a kindness from a friend.
Because, somehow, that’s what they were.
Old leather, soft with age, carrying the bonfire and lilac scent of Declan’s aura. (He’d drawn the flowers that Declan put in his head. Lilacs. Murderpunk had a lilac aura.) It wasn’t iron, but it still felt good to hold.
Declan meant safety, too.
“Look– Whatever happens.” He knew better than to say thank you to a fae. But Antonio knew better than to do a lot of shit he did. “Thanks. For trying. You’ve been real.”
“My thanks, in turn, for your trust,” Declan answered his words with a faint smile, leaning in so their shoulders touched. Even now, the contact felt too good. “Real and all.”
Antonio wanted to say something else. Maybe about Declan not feeling bad when things went to shit. But Aisling’s laughter carried into the room, followed by the banshee herself.
“It’s been far too long since I’ve seen either of you,” Aisling was saying, her smile bright and too wide. “And now look at you both: Council members.”
Council members. Two of them. The pair made up opposite ends of the hot, blond, white dude scale.
The first, who towered over everyone else in the room, was so conventionally handsome he looked like he’d been designed by committee.
The other had glass-delicate features and long, white rabbit ears hanging down his back. A brownie and a pooka.
Antonio’d met plenty of both.
“Only until someone strangles me,” the pooka said cheerfully. “Which Teth promises will be any day now. They send their regards, by the way. Keeping up with old friends and all that.”
Aisling murmured something polite in response, already turning back to the door.
And that was the worst part. All the pleasant, easy conversation. Like it wasn’t the end of Antonio’s whole world. His life about to be traded away. And fuck, there was Calloway, stepping into the room. Staring at him.
At fourteen, Calloway’d been beautiful. He hadn’t gotten less so. Sparkling, sky blue skin and bright, gentle eyes. Antonio used to feel so treasured by him. Had coveted his attention like nothing else.
His hand clenched, tight, around Declan’s leather bracelet as his breath came sharp and shallow. He locked his gaze on the sluagh’s shoulder, because if he kept accidentally meeting Calloway’s sorrowful looks he was going to throw himself out the window.
“Antonio! Summer, I’m so glad you’re safe.” Calloway’s voice was pure and sweet, like cool water. He took two quick steps forward.
“Nimai. Wyte. Calloway,” Declan said in his warm ‘talking to fae’ voice. “Be welcome.”
Calloway froze. “You–”
No need to guess who you was. Not with the coil of satisfaction from Declan.
“Me,” Declan said. “I recommend bringing out your pretty manners, Calloway.”
The pooka snickered but said nothing.
“I’m sure we all intend to be very well behaved, Declan.” The brownie sounded like every pastor who’d ever come to the prison, selling Jesus to the desperate souls. That confident, self-righteous loudness. “Everyone wants the issue settled amicably.”
This was the part where Antonio was supposed to talk. Because that was him. He was ‘the issue.’
All he managed was a choked “Calloway.”
There was a beat of quiet, and Antonio could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. Everyone but Declan, who watched them back, standing between Antonio and the end of the world. The end of his world, anyway.
“Well, I guess that takes care of introductions,” said the pooka. “Let’s get right to it. Anyone being held against their will, raise your hand.”
That was … a weird thing to say. Antonio frowned, shooting a glance at the pooka, who stared back with wide, guileless eyes. The innocent expression was ruined by the way he smiled.
“How nice to have that settled,” Declan said, after a long stretch of silence. “May I show you out?”
“That’s not right,” Calloway whined, wringing his hands. “Of course, Antonio wouldn’t raise his hand. You’re right beside him. Who’s going to say they’re being held against their will in front of the person doing it while on their lands?”
Declan glanced in his direction, and there was a bitter twist to his emotion that Antonio couldn’t read through his own panic.
“Antonio,” he said, still sounding all fae, the rough-edged Murderpunk who’d joked easily about punk music and coke hidden away. “If you are being held without consent, or if I coerced you in any fashion, now is the time to speak. I’ll in no way retaliate on you or yours. I swear it on my name.”
The bastard had to be kidding.
“Antonio,” Calloway’s voice was pleading. “He can’t hurt you. I can keep you safe like I always did.”
The words surprised a bitter laugh from Antonio, all the sharper because he really had believed them once.
Keep him safe. Christ.
And yeah. They’d been kids. So maybe Calloway wasn’t really to blame. But he’d played with Antonio like a toy. And when the other ‘kids’ had played too rough, he’d tossed him aside like one.
Fuck everyone in this whole damn world but Declan. “I’m not–”
“Now, now,” said the brownie, cutting Antonio off like he wasn’t even there. “Let’s not put too much pressure on the poor human. Minds are so easy to change. This is a matter of claim. And, forgive me, Declan, but it’s my understanding that Calloway’s association with the human predates your own.”
“He’s not a popsicle,” the pooka objected. “It’s not a matter of who got the first lick.”
“I see no reason why it wouldn’t be.” The brownie offered Declan a patronizing smile. “Come now, I know the search has been long, but this is beneath you. Just give the boy his toy back.”
Antonio could feel Declan’s fury. Not a bonfire. A burning forest, the sort that turned the sky orange for hundreds of miles in every direction. And still, there was a chill precision to it. A needle inking bells over his collarbones. Painful and safe, all at once.
“His name is Antonio,” Declan rumbled, sounding dangerously calm. “We are bonded. He is not a toy. You, of all people, should know how difficult it is to change the mind of someone who doesn’t wish it to be.”
Calloway took a step back at the first echoing scratch of Declan’s voice. The brownie stayed put but didn’t speak, and Antonio could almost feel the fear radiating off him. Only the pooka seemed unaffected, still smirking like this was the best show he’d seen all week.
And Antonio? He felt Declan’s anger like a promise kept and shifted closer to the sluagh.
“Antonio? If you’d like to speak, please do so.” Declan’s gaze stayed locked on the brownie. “Nimai will not interrupt you again.”
Declan would hold space for as long as Antonio needed him to. Declan was like that.
But still–
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, talking only to Declan. Because fuck the rest of them. “I’m here with you. You know that. And they’re not gonna hear it.”
“It matters,” Declan replied, turning to face Antonio and Antonio alone. “Your voice matters. You need not speak further if you don’t wish to. I am here with you as you are with me. I do know that.”
Sharp nails and soft touch, that was Declan. Fresh tattoos and flower petals. The only good thing in a world that felt like it was shaking apart.
“Got each other's backs,” Antonio said, tight. Left it at that, as Declan turned back.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’ve given us your answer,” the pooka interrupted, no longer sounding playful or amused. “If you’re where you want to be, then this isn’t our problem.”
Ok. Maybe the pooka wasn’t so bad. For a fae.
“Would that it were that simple,” Nimai replied, sounding like a court-appointed attorney now. All false apologies and superiority. “If we’re honoring Antonio’s word, surely his previous promises also stand. He pledged himself to young Calloway.”
“Years ago,” Calloway added.
“There’s the greater impact of this to consider,” the brownie said as if the interruption hadn’t happened. “What sort of precedent does it set if we allow a bond to excuse oathbreaking?”
“Precedent? As I recall, the Council has recently set some fascinating ones regarding humans and oathbreakers.” Declan turned back to face the man, all mild and fae again. “Besides, Calloway promised to come for Antonio ‘soon,’ then waited nearly twenty years to attempt to keep his word.”