Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“Our quarrel would be with the House involved with the bid for the sluagh’s life,” Yenah said, smiling and sweet and just a wee bit intimidating. “As the machinations behind that attempt involved the manipulation and distress of one of our young oathsworn.”
Calloway. No wonder the boy was in attendance.
“Although I do hope you bring it to the Council, Veroni, Kesk.” Charil chimed in, their eyes flicking between sidhe and sylph. “Seeing as we’re on the human oversight committee. I would enjoy a properly petitioned reason to look into the damage done to one of our House.”
“The human–”
“These aren’t your lands, Kesk,” Declan said, his irritation shivering over the edges of his words. “You’re neither the head of your House nor a Monarch. Leave it be.”
Veroni sighed, soft and smooth as velvet. She placed one slender hand on Kesk’s arm, the very image of a placating bond.
“It looks as if we’ll need to discuss our next steps later, love. And unlike some,” her eyes cut to Hyacinth in cold assessment, “we know better to overstep. The current Monarchs have gone soft on their kind, and it seems the sentiment is catching. A pity.”
A muscle in Kesk’s cheek twitched, though he gave a tight nod. “As you say.”
“We’re all settled, then.” Charil smiled, turning away with a wave of their hand. “Thank Summer. Blood feuds went out of fashion decades ago.”
Fucking fae.
Declan glared at Kesk and Veroni until they moved to Nimai and Kylan’s bodies, Kesk’s voice terse as he gave orders.
“Talia, the garage, please? And Hyacinth, I’ll be in touch about the pub.” See? Declan, too, knew how to be ‘fine.’
“‘Course you will.” Hyacinth’s smile was once again easy, all hint of the shark gone. “See you soon.”
Soon. Yes.
He would breathe easier then, with no blood on the floor and Antonio safe. When, hopefully, the bond no longer ached with the cold numbness of skin on frostbitten metal.
“Aye,” Declan said. “Soon.”
Declan had been fifteen the first time he took a life. His minder of three years, Tesern, had begun a relationship with one of Florian’s nephews. If Aisling or Malin had known, she would have been dismissed immediately.
No close connections. It was a requirement of the job. No chances to trigger deathsight before Declan was old enough. Mature enough.
Pookas had very sharp claws when they had a mind to use them. And Declan had shaped his nails dull and short back then. No matter, as he had his teeth and magic. (His fear and hurt and panic.)
It had been Aisling who found him, following the sobs when she returned from an outing with Malin. Throat red and scratched, as bloodied as his face, and nigh hysterical. Tesern little more than a series of smears and chunks on the carpet.
All things considered, Antonio held up remarkably well.
Metallic tension thrummed through their bond, still that iced-over shock. It rang and rang and rang until Declan pulled Antonio into his flat, arm around his waist. And if Antonio’s arm about his shoulders felt more like clinging than cuddling, that would be just between them.
“The cars can stand watch.” Declan toed the door shut behind them. “Keep an eye out for stray cats.”
Antonio offered him a small smile and the gentle drag of his fingers through Declan’s hair, steady once again.
“You’ve gotta make your peace with that cat, man. You make Aisling choose, I’m not sure you’d win.”
“My attempts to reconcile with the creature resulted in destroyed jeans. Puck chose to hate me. I didn’t make that decision.”
Talking and smiling and petting as if all were right with the world. Like nothing had changed. Everything, as Antonio would say, was fine.
“I’m gonna grab us some beers. You hungry?”
Declan’s arm tightened reflexively, actively clinging. Dramatic. This was on him, he ought not be the one needing to cling.
“No food for me. A drink would be nice.”
It only took a moment, from there. Declan loitered, unwilling to step away, when Antonio went to the kitchen. Only the bar between them. Antonio took a moment by the fridge, door open. Breathing, thank the voids and stars and everything in between.
Thank everything, too, for Antonio, the center of his awareness. The tangle of his emotions, his love and his hurt. A soul wound because of what he’d done. For Declan.
Declan hadn’t meant for any of it. But he should have predicted it, somehow. He was a creature of inevitabilities.
Beers in hand, Antonio dropped to the couch, pulled Declan down with him, and out of his quickly spiraling thoughts. It was heart-breakingly comfortable, the now-familiar position of Declan’s back to the arm of the couch and his legs across Antonio’s lap.
Antonio opened Declan’s bottle and offered it to him. For a long moment, they sat in silence, Antonio’s hand resting on his knee and Declan taking slow, shallow sips.
“Jesus Christ, Murderpunk,” Antonio said into the quiet. “Fuck.”
“Aye. Well put.” Declan rested his temple against the back of the couch, pressed his legs down to Antonio’s thighs.
As close to a squeeze as he could manage in the moment.
“A thanks feels callous, but I worry a condolence may come across as patronizing. I simply…. I am sorry, Antonio, for what you had to do to save me.”
“I…” Antonio took a pull of his beer, hand tight on Declan’s knee. “I thought I was gonna lose you. Again. Fuck, Murderpunk, I was so damned scared I was gonna lose you.”
Scorching heat and metal gone muted, but at least Antonio spoke of it. Better this ache than stoic silence or terrified clinging, unable to speak.
He stroked the back of Antonio’s neck and shoulder, reaching as far as he could without toppling over. Antonio leaned into the touch with a soft sigh.
Declan loved him so much.
“You were right to warn me off forgoing my defenses as you did. Kylan did what should have been impossible, but leave it to a bloody qilin to bridge that gap. I underestimated them both.”
“You’re not doing that again. Kesk and Veroni or any of their minions come after you, challenge you, whatever, you don’t hold back. I don’t care how fucking confident you are.”
Harsh words in a hurt tone, love and need and sorrow braided through, punctuated with another squeeze.
“I feared Nimai would continue to refuse without the handicap, and if the attacks persisted… Nimai has a reputation with humans.” It wasn’t enough, and Declan knew it. “I’ll not do it again. I swear it. If I hadn’t–”
“They’re the ones who fucked around. Cheated. If they’ll cheat, so will anyone else who tries. I don’t want you throwing away half your weapons before the fight starts.”
Admonishment, and still Antonio leaned into his touch. Allowed Declan to run gentle nails through his hair, over the soft skin of his neck and shoulder and arm. Touch and touch and touch, no matter how far he had to lean. He’d magic the floor clean if he dropped the bloody bottle.
“I offered you centuries and I intend to ensure they happen. My word on it, Antonio. I’ll not leave you.”
“Thanks.” Quiet words, his fingers drumming lightly on Declan’s knee. “Goes both ways, you know. Said I’d have your back. Gonna. Nothing changes that.”
“I know. I trust you. Even if you feel me unsure at times, that’s by my own cracks. Not because I doubt you. You’ve seen me at a few of my worsts, and still reached for me. You’ve had me, each time.”
The offered jumper. Confronting Calloway. Pulling Declan from the brink and Reece and “not fucking happening.” Kindness after kindness, starting from the first time he called Declan “murder punk.” Lowercase, back then. A descriptor rather than a name.
“Few of my worst too. Hell of a couple weeks, yeah? C’mere.”
Declan had just enough time to put down his beer before Antonio dragged him onto his lap, hands unsteady.
He wrapped his arm around the man’s shoulders and received the familiar warm heat of an arm snaking about his waist in turn.
Antonio’s big hand splayed over Declan’s hip, soft lips to a pale shoulder.
“Wouldn’t trade ‘em for anything, you know.” Lips were replaced with the weight of his forehead, the perfect height for Declan to press his cheek against. “Not for anything. Love you, Murderpunk. Only good thing that place has ever given me.”
The horrible, beautiful thing about bonds was that Declan knew Antonio meant it.
“I love you too.” Declan nuzzled his cheek against soft curls and wished he could banish the tremors Antonio tried to hide from him. “There are many things I regret. I would relive them again and again, so long as it meant I could meet you. Singular, Antonio. You have been since the first we met.”
A rush of gratitude, though Declan couldn’t say why.
He traced his nails over the back of Antonio’s neck in aimless patterns, careful to shed no blood.
There had been enough of that for the day.
Antonio breathed deep, the scent of smoke and iron mingling through the knotted emotions between them.
The reassurance of touch and the purr of their bond settled Declan more than he could say.
“I told you to fuck off,” Antonio said, his voice rough. “And that I didn’t want anything to do with you.”
“Aye, so you did.” Declan agreed, toying with the fine hair at the base of his neck. “Then you made me laugh.”
“Yeah, but– You still came, when I asked, even after the shit I said. I– Christ.” Antonio shuddered, his shoulders hunched in further.
“Wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.
I’d’ve ended it. Shitty, I know. Putting the girls through that.
But I couldn’t let it happen again. I couldn’t.
And you… you showed up. Even then. Gave me a chance. ”