Chapter Twenty-Six
Declan had known Hyacinth’s party wouldn’t involve fancy, delicately shaped glasses with a splash of alcohol and sweet harp music too soft to interrupt the murmurs and polite laughter of the guests.
Hyacinth never did anything by halves, and when he’d told Declan to wear something from their New York days, well, he’d had a little idea of what they were in for. It’d taken raiding the very back of Antonio’s closet, but they’d managed to find him something that fit the same vibe.
Granted, Declan hadn’t expected Hyacinth’s little corner of House Linden to be reimagined into a claustrophobic New York alley.
Buildings towered, adorned with rusted fire escapes, pigeons wandering over cracked sidewalks as crows screamed from the higher windows.
Even the smell, smoke and exhaust, garbage and metal, was like Declan remembered.
The muscular oread checking invitations at the door stopped them, eyeing Declan and Antonio critically.
“Don’t like the outfit?” Declan asked, looking down at his fitted red tartan trousers, decked out with pointless chains and hooks, his sleeveless top, cut down the sides, and a knuckle to clavicle fishnet undershirt. Maybe it was the faux-iron decor on his wings and additional earcuffs.
(Matches at their fucking feet.)
Music, loud and bass driven, poured out of the open door, carrying with it the scent of cigarette smoke and strong alcohol. This was a place where he and Antonio, looking absolutely delicious in the too-tight white t-shirt and black leather vest they’d found, fit right in.
“Just giving Hyacinth a chance to see the guests of honor are here.” The oread grinned and waved them in.
Inside, the space itself was the exact right sort of close and dark, lit with neon.
There were more stairwells, loft spaces, and shadowed little corners than made architectural sense anywhere but Faerie.
A pair of clurichaun in skintight jeans and glitter manned the scratched-up, paint-splattered bar, and a kinnari, her feathers a brilliant pink, acted as DJ.
It appeared the dress code was mandatory. Declan spotted a selkie manning a side door with a few of Hyacinth’s crew, waving in a seelie who had arrived in Faerie-weave. Past him, he could just make out a room stuffed with clothing fit for the scene, and, knowing Hyacinth, accessories to go with.
“He’s throwing it so we can meet people who aren’t utter assholes,” Declan had told Antonio. “Hyacinth’s no saner than the rest of us, but he knows how to not be a shit host.”
Declan grinned, quick and fierce. Under the lights, what had been a brush of nigh invisible makeup along his cheekbones and temples blazed a spray of silver, as did the tips of his claws and the outline of his predator’s eyes.
Antonio slid an arm around Declan’s shoulders, tugging him in closer.
He could feel the tension leaving the man, and himself.
Here, just maybe, there could be something good in Faerie for them.
Some kind of joy in the realm for Antonio, even if at Hyacinth’s hands.
Stars knew Declan did a terrible job of it.
“Hopefully you aren’t offended by a party inspired by some ill-advised adventures into nineties gay clubs.”
It had been nearly a month. Declan had missed this.
“I think I’ll survive,” Antonio answered, scanning the room in open fascination. “Jesus. This is incredible. Fantasized about taking you somewhere like this.”
“I would love to be taken somewhere like this.” Declan glanced up at Antonio through his lashes. They were close enough, and he bloody well could.
“Yeah?” Antonio’s thumb, work rough, ran slowly over Declan’s lower lip. Sunlight on hard-packed earth, aged steel under his fingertips. Declan stole the taste of Antonio from his skin with a sweep of his tongue.
“Yeah.” Though, of course, that embarrassingly breathy answer came as he spotted Orrim and Hyacinth descending from their little overlook, taking their time on the stairs.
Declan nodded to them, leaning into Antonio further.
“For now, our obliging host is on his way. The one with him is Orrim, our erstwhile photographer in the human realm.”
Hyacinth was hard to miss. He had painted individual feathers in glowing, neon colors, all the brighter against his enormous black wings.
Leather pants and an open button-up, chest painted with matching colors as if left by an enthusiastic, glowing lover.
In contrast, Orrim looked downright respectable in an impeccably cut suit, his dark hair just tousled enough to be purposeful.
Not even a hint of neon on his small, pointed cat ears or lazily waving tail.
“Never seen a spider fae before,” Antonio murmured as the pair approached. “They all so into bones?”
“Likely,” Declan answered, fingers curled at the back of Antonio’s vest. Held on. He wanted to hold on. “Though if Hyacinth was able to charm any from their lairs to a party, I’ll be all the more impressed.”
Hyacinth and Orrim stopped to talk to someone at the foot of the stairs, Hyacinth gesturing toward one of the guests with a sharp shake of his head. Orrim smirked beside him, straightening his cuffs.
“I mean the one you called Orrim,” Antonio said, with a tilt of his head. “I see a dude with spiderweb wings and eye tattoos in a fucking bone corset. Really good hair. Looks Asian. Not what you’re seeing?”
“Not what I’m seeing, no.” Declan studied the pooka–Jorogumo?
Tsuchigumo?–with new consideration. His dedication to the bit was impressive.
Declan let out a laugh more air than sound.
“I see a cat pooka in a very well-made suit. Ears, tails, the whole of it. East Asian remains consistent. He’s never let on. ”
“He knows Hollow can’t see glamour, right?”
“Sometimes you get so used to it being in place that you forget it’s not who you are.” Declan knew that too well.
“Assuming I shouldn’t–” Antonio started but cut himself off as Hyacinth finished giving his instructions and the pair made their way over.
“There are more coming,” Hyacinth said, as if they were already in the middle of a conversation. His voice lacked that distinctive sidhe pull, and his smile had teeth. “And you can trust that anyone who isn’t quickly escorted out is a good prospect.”
Even as he spoke, a man was directed toward the door by the wispy sylph that Hyacinth had been talking to. Orrim’s attention followed the pair.
“One more for the naughty list,” he murmured. Declan had missed that velvet voice. “We’ll save on the Christmas cards this year.” His eyes fixed on Antonio then, and he extended a hand. “Antonio, correct? I’m Orrim. Declan’s done well for himself.”
Antonio kept his surprise from his face, though it flickered through the bond readily enough. Still, he shook Orrim’s hand without hesitation. A far cry from the first morning, his panic when faced with Aisling, Nae, and Tsuri.
“Good to meet you. Think I’m the lucky one, though.”
“Luck, you’ll find, can run in multiple directions. Take good care of this one, Declan.”
“I’ve done my best,” Declan replied with an easy smile. “To prevent you from wasting time on season’s greetings, if nothing else.”
“You actually do Christmas here?” Antonio’s thumb traced a warm line over Declan’s arm, inviting him to lean in closer. So he did.
“Nah,” Hyacinth answered, with a loose, easy shrug. “Something sneaks down your chimney in Faerie, it’s best to shoot to kill. Winter Solstice, though, some of us get a bit wild.”
Antonio smirked, throwing Declan a sideways glance. “That’s what I hear.”
“You might say some get downright possessed,” Declan added with a snicker.
Banter with friends, and Declan with sunshine in his arms. It was a moment to tuck away and selfishly keep to himself. Hold close when the thoughts in the night grew too close and Antonio so far, everything hurting.
“That sounds like a story to be told over drinks,” Orrim said, all smiling amusement. “Next time. We’ll let you two make friends. Hyacinth, if someone doesn’t make use of the dance floor soon, I intend to break something.”
“A few thrown bottles might add to the atmosphere,” Hyacinth responded, turning away with barely a flick of his hand in goodbye to Declan and Antonio. He tucked a wing around Orrim and sauntered leisurely away.
“I asked him once if they were fucking,” Declan murmured, watching them go. “Hyacinth laughed in my face.”
“Really? Dude’s hot. Think it’s the web wings.” Antonio leaned in, lips brushing Declan’s ear, flirtation offered with a kiss. “Maybe he’s not into unseelie.”
Declan shivered, his eyes sliding shut.
He remembered the one time Hyacinth had seen him without glamour, in some little back alley while they put the fear of every God known to man and myth into a bare-knuckle brawler Wyte had taken up with.
Prick liked Wyte as arm candy, expected him to sit down and shut up.
He’d not liked Wyte off dancing or drinking with his own friends.
Hyacinth’s eyes had gleamed with something almost like interest, keen and curious, when he saw the gaunt, sharp-edged version of Declan, claws and wings and crocodile teeth.
“I don’t think that’s it,” Declan said, squeezing Antonio’s waist to keep him close. Stars, it felt so good. Side by side and held. “Orrim’s been with him since Hyacinth was around Dulce’s age.”
“How old’s he now?”
“Hyacinth?” Declan considered. “Under a hundred. Around Wyte’s age, I believe. Age is different for fae, though. Hyacinth at thirty was considered more of an adult than, say, Calloway now.”
“Fucking fae.” Antonio smiled when he said it; the bond lit with the soothing caress of leather and sunbaked earth and metal. “Guess it’s time to play nice?”
“I suppose we ought.”
Declan waited for Antonio to drop his arm and fall back a step, as he had every other time they needed to ‘play nice’ around other fae. For that distance he knew wasn’t rejection, and yet felt very much like it.