Chapter Twenty #4
“Why not? The passport process can’t be that arduous,” Declan said because he was a prick.
“Neither part of the isle is going to deny a bloke just for having spent some time away. Not for something vehicle related, with no human damage.” He glanced to Antonio.
“Unless you were actually a serial arsonist or out terrorizing the public?”
“Not that I remember,” Antonio answered, grinning.
“That’s very sweet, Declan,” Angela said, in a voice that said it wasn’t sweet at all. “But I’m afraid you haven’t fully considered what it means to date someone with Antonio’s … history. Most countries don’t welcome felons, though I can’t speak for Ireland. But it touches everything.”
Hard to speak for a country that didn’t exist. Declan would give her that. He was the very image of restraint, up to and including not dropping his glamour just to fuck with her. Antonio would never forgive him.
It galled him, was all. The way she said it. As if a person fully in the know about her brother wouldn’t bother with him.
“Angela, can we skip this?” Antonio asked. “Declan knows about all that shit.”
“Before we started dating, even. The only thing that gave me a moment’s hesitation was that he returned my mother’s horrible, jean-shredding cat.
” Declan smiled at Angela and Michael with plenty of teeth.
“But I’m more than happy to divulge in graphic detail all the considering I’ve done of him if you’d rather not skip this part. ”
Angela tried, and failed, to not look offended as Antonio snickered. Michael, though–the prick–furrowed his brow and turned to shoot Angela a triumphant look.
“This is exactly what I was talking about,” Michael crowed.
“Michael.”
“See, Antonio, it comes down to influence. You can do whatever you like. It’s your life. But I can’t have Mara thinking it’s okay.”
Hot steel and cold water. Cracks turned to shattering, chips everywhere.
Antonio paled and opened his mouth to speak. No words came.
“This isn’t what we discussed,” Angela hissed.
“Which ‘this’ do you mean, Michael?” Declan asked, his voice gone all fae. Pointedly, politely passive-aggressive and topped off with a smile. “A slightly off-color insinuation? I’ll admit, it wasn’t on par with the level of class and discretion you displayed when we first met.”
“I don’t–”
“Bring up someone’s sex life in front of a seven-year-old and refer that person as dirty? Speak about the habits of the ‘two crazy queers’ under your roof within earshot of impressionable children? What an upstanding role model.”
“Dulce wasn’t supposed to be listening to that,” Michael snapped as if that were the issue. Like it was Dulce’s fault for being a kid.
“He didn’t mean it,” Angela said at nearly the same time.
“Children hear everything,” Declan retorted. “Though I can’t blame you for feeling bold when you could get away with saying those things with only Dulce to speak in defense. Finding bravery in the tacit approval of silence. That’s not ugly or inappropriate at all, is it?”
Michael scowled, his face the same deepened red of the first time they met. The man must have surrounded himself with an echo chamber of a social life, to not have anything to say to that. Not even slurs. Which, admittedly, surprised Declan.
Angela, at least, had the sense to look as guilty as she did shocked. Though the fact she was clearly scrambling for words without success said plenty about her as well.
Antonio caught Declan’s hand, the one on the table, where everyone could see. Warmth slid over the metallic winter chill, that leather-rich curl of safety. Declan might never get used to such ready support.
“Christ,” Antonio said. “I’m not any gayer, or any crazier, than I was a month ago.”
“No one thinks you’re crazy, ‘Tonio.” Was it to her credit that she sounded apologetic? “It’s just… It’s different when you’re seeing someone.”
“Yeah, I’m not fucking nearly as many guys. Declan’s not going anywhere, Angie. So you better decide whether you’re okay with that.”
Angela stared at him, at their hands. Declan slid his free one over Antonio’s in solidarity. Love. Michael drew a breath to speak, which Declan truly had no patience for. Bastard had said enough.
“I imagine it’s difficult,” Declan said, eyes on Angela. “Being put in a place where you love a sibling so antithetical to everything you value. You remind me a little of my brother in that. He despairs of me.”
“That’s not what this is,” Angela replied, her voice tight.
“True. You care more for Antonio’s well being than Colm does mine. So perhaps it might help to know that being loved in spite of what you are is no more comfortable a place. You know exactly how the people you love the most would feel about you if you weren’t their exception.”
The table fell silent, though Michael probably only because, after a quick glance, he decided Angela’s hand was too near the steak knife for comfort.
“You don’t have the first idea…” Angela trailed off with a shake of her head. Tears threatened, despite her valiant attempts to blink them away.
“What I’ve put the family through?” Antonio prompted.
“I didn’t say that,” Angela objected.
She hadn’t needed to. Perhaps she needed to be reminded of what the family put Antonio through. Secure wards and camps meant to save him from himself. Declan bit the words back; it would do him no good to blame her when Antonio’s relationship with his niece was at risk.
“It’s your call,” Antonio said. Painful, how gently he said it.
“Damn right–”
“Shut up, Mikey.”
And he did. But then, he was a bloody coward who only picked on targets he knew wouldn’t fight back.
“I won’t push it,” Antonio continued. “You don’t want me around Mara–”
“It’s not you.” And this time, her glare at Declan wasn’t meant to be subtle.
“You don’t want us around Mara, that’s your choice.
You don’t want us at dinner, we won’t come.
You explain it to her, though. You explain why she’s not allowed to come around even though Dulce and Gabriella can.
You explain to Elaine and Claudia why I don’t show up to meals.
Because it’s you choosing. I– Shit.” Antonio shook his head, steadied his voice.
Breathed, at the stroke of Declan’s thumb to his hand.
“I’m your brother, no matter what. I love you.
But I’m not gonna carve myself into pieces for you. For anyone.”
Angela stared at him, stricken.
People so often forgot that bloodletting went into conformity, and could bleed a person dry. Could leave a trail of sunbaked earth crumbled to ashes and the scent of rust-stained leather scraped raw in the air. Only when they needed to take the blade to their own skin did they realize.
“All I’ve ever done is try to protect you.” Angela’s words were so soft, they’d have been lost, had anyone else made noise.
“I know.”
And of course, Michael, the fuck, chose that moment to speak up again. “After all she’s done for you, you do this to her?”
“Michael,” Angela snarled. “Please.”
“He’s right,” Antonio said. The words brought Michael up short enough that the bastard didn’t open his mouth.
“You’ve done more for me than anyone, Angie.
You’ve tried so damn hard. And I know that all you’ve wanted is to give me a normal life.
But you can’t. There’s never going to be a white picket fence or a wife who works in real estate. I can’t have that. I don’t want that.”
“This is what you want?” No glare, this time. No accusation. Simply conflicted distress. A step up.
“‘This?’ For the first time, I’ve got someone who loves me. Someone who doesn’t judge me. If that makes me a bad influence, then that’s what I’ll be.”
Angela wrung her hands. Declan thought of the first dinner and the easy way Antonio interacted with the girls.
How they adored him. And that had only been a couple hours of observation.
Angela had countless more such memories, and Declan doubted any of them included Antonio behaving inappropriately around the children.
“I want Mara to see her Tio Tio happy,” she said. “I want to see you happy. You’ve been through so much.” And there, she shot Michael a glare. Judging by his wince, it was paired with a kick. “If this… if you’re happy, and you’re not… if he isn’t…”
“He met my parole officer. She gave him the all clear.”
Reluctantly so, but she had.
“And you’re happy?”
“And I’m happy.”
“Alright then.” Angela took a slow, controlled breath. “Don’t miss dinner. Either of you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Declan said and meant it. Then, carefully, fae through and through, “I love Antonio. His happiness means a great deal to me. I have no intention of being someone he regrets inviting into his life.”
Antonio smiled. Declan felt it, when the man raised their hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to Declan’s knuckles.
Angela, it turned out, asked much the same questions as Clara once she felt given leave to do so. This time when the subject of law enforcement came up, he opted for a different answer.
“I’m happy with you as well,” Declan said the next evening, kissing salt from Antonio’s shoulder. “In case you wondered.”
“Yeah?” Antonio grinned and shifted closer. There wasn’t much room, with Declan seated on the hood of Antonio’s car and the man between his spread knees. But he tried, stars bless him, and settled his hands on Declan’s hips.
“Oh, aye.” Fingers trailed over broad shoulders, carefully healing small cuts left from their passion. “Those marks you like so well stand as ready proof. They darken over time when a sluagh finds joy in their life. Even the ones by my temple are visible, now.”
Antonio smiled, rough and real in that way he had that Declan so enjoyed. “Sluagh have a built-in moodring?”
“We’re creatures of complex and mysterious depths,” Declan answered, which earned him a laughing kiss that he returned with teeth.
“A sluagh with only their nails, wrists, and eyes blackened is not long for this life. It’s hard not to fade when you think there’s no way back to happiness.
But I,” another kiss, more scraping of pointed teeth than anything and Antonio’s fingers tracing the marks, “am at no such risk, as you can plainly see. You make me happy.”
His touch burned in the best way. Sent shivers through Declan all over again.
“Think we should make sure you don’t have any in hiding then, Murderpunk,” Antonio murmured against his neck. “Just in case.”
Time passed too quickly there, in Antonio’s garage.
Antonio worked, and Declan learned all about different kinds of wrenches and sockets, and that Antonio could repair a car while answering inane questions.
Learned too, that tight hands on his wings and a mouth on his nipple could work Declan nearly to completion.
That pinning Antonio facedown with a single hand between his shoulder blades would have the man hard before the first shred of clothing came off.
Declan grew used to the sweet thrum of sun-drenched contentment from Antonio far more quickly than he had the discordant song of his anxiety, back in Faerie.
Basked in the constant contact and affirmation in each waking moment.
Days that purred of leather and lilacs melted together until they were no longer being counted down.
He didn’t wish to leave.
They would be found eventually if they stayed in the mortal realm. Found and chased. Even if Declan stopped aiming for the Council, Nimai wouldn’t let up.
Declan would burn down all of Faerie before he let Antonio be harmed. He could, and he would.
And so, when the day of the party came, they went.