8. Chapter Seven
8
Nicholas
A s if built to house the dead, the abandoned town sat desolate, eerie, and silent. The Dread Peaks spotted the skyline, reminding all the poor souls they were trapped. The townsfolk understood a gruesome fate awaited them the moment Fearworn raised those mountains. That was why Arden and Nicholas stumbled through a dozen homes containing aged remains. Bones lay beneath withered nooses or families huddled together in corners. The ones who didn’t see an escape made their own.
Nicholas shuffled about wardrobes in search of attire. While the cold of Terra held nothing against the winters in Faerie, he had no interest in returning to the army looking like shredded paper. He had a reputation to uphold, strikingly good looks requiring equally beguiling clothes. Though none of the villagers had more than dated moth bitten robes. He settled on a dusty maroon blouse. Bugs and rodents gnawed at the sleeves, but he rolled them up to his elbows. A loose ribbon along the neckline of another shirt worked well to tie his mussy hair into a short ponytail.
“We should abandon them,” Arden said. “The mortals are worthless to us now. We can find the army on our own. If they die on their way back, that’s on them.”
“We would be quicker on our feet without them,” he muttered, imagining the rage burning within William’s frostbitten eyes.
“And we’d be without their annoyance.” Arden ambled behind Nicholas to grasp his waist. “You seek revenge against the medic. This is revenge. We leave them here to rot and be on our way.”
“Thinking of them frightened and moments away from death does bring me tremendous joy.” Though he would be remiss not to witness William’s demise in person. The mere mention of his name fanned a spark that wouldn’t disperse from the edge of his mind. A place William infiltrated and made his own with a few irritating conversations. Frowning, he hated admitting, “But if we run into more of Fearworn’s creatures, or the bastard himself, a healer would be helpful.”
“Mortals are hardly healers without their precious herbs and potions, neither of which he has on hand. The Sight,” Arden snorted. “Can you believe they call their magic that? And yet they see so little. It’s practically worthless and the longer we’re out here, the more likely there is of an attack. We leave them and we return to camp sooner.”
“You find them so intolerable to risk that?”
“Do you not?”
They could be an annoyance, but William was an attractive one. Nicholas found the miraculous view worth the disturbance. However, he did have a book to decipher, which he could not do here, and Laurent would have his limbs snapped one by one if he lost the book.
“So be it,” he agreed, while rubbing a hand against Arden’s arm. “We’ll abandon them, but we should find a home to rest in for a few hours. My wounds are healed, but I remain weary. We’ll leave them to their fate before dawn.”
With a plan set, the fae continued their search for a suitable home. A house near the center of town held up the best. The roof hadn’t caved in and the door not only shut but also locked properly. Not a ward against colossal beasts, but could prevent unwanted small critters or recently hatched spions from entering. Though small, they were born with many siblings and could kill with a few jabs of a poisoned stinger.
Arden handled the smashed windows, blocking both with multiple layers of vines. Charmaine and William found firewood and Charmaine lit the hearth. The flames eased the crispness from the room. Arden and Nicholas retrieved ice from the fountain. He sat the buckets in the backroom, what used to be a washroom.
“The mortals can wash up first,” Arden declared. “I can no longer stand the stench.”
“Are you certain the stench isn’t your own?” William replied, earning a twisted snarl from Arden. Nicholas bit back a laugh. He wouldn’t want the medic to think himself funny.
William and Charmaine swept to the backroom where she heated the ice into steaming water. Arden laid on the remains of a bed in the corner. The legs had shattered, and the frame rotted, but a dingy mattress stuffed by hay survived. Nicholas was about to join him when movement caught his eye. The washroom door didn’t close properly. The hinges squeaked as it opened halfway. Steam encircled William, who sat his dirtied shirt on an old cabinet.
Nicholas ran lustful eyes over William’s delectable form, the kind he’d love to get his greedy hands on. William stood with his front facing the door. His attention fell on Charmaine while she whispered. His calloused hand ran a wet rag over his powerful shoulders. Water followed the curves of scarred chest, over a pink nipple Nicholas had the abrupt urge to capture between his teeth. Further and further, the water crept down his abdomen to disappear within the golden curls above the hem of his pants. Pants Nicholas yearned to slip off those pale thighs, to feel every muscle twitch and shiver beneath his feverish touch. That would be interesting; a way to see something other than exasperation or apathy in William’s eyes, to make him desire for that which he hated and relish in his turmoil.
Then William caught his predatory gaze. Nicholas smirked, and the medic kicked the door shut. Pity. He certainly was the type Nicholas wanted beneath his sheets. The medic’s foul mouth would make for a much better use there.
A couple moments passed before Charmaine and William emerged, hair damp and skin cleared of most dirt. A heavy musk hung over them, something this land wouldn’t let them be free of. While Charmaine announced the fae could wash up, William approached Nicholas to spit, “I know fae lack most of public decorum, but do they not understand privacy either?”
“What’s wrong?” Nicholas’s eyes passed over William’s taut form. “Worried I may have been disappointed by what I saw?”
“Worried you liked what you saw.”
“Are you truly so confident about making such bold assumptions?”
“If you didn’t, then say so.” William waited. Nicholas couldn’t lie. No fae could, so he didn’t. “Keep your eyes to yourself, bastard.” Then he brushed by, ensuring to slam his shoulder into Nicholas’.
The shade bit back a snarl and hated himself for allowing his eyes to stray to William’s backside. Yet another potential gem obscured by unappealing clothes.
Nicholas strolled after Arden into the washroom. Afterward, Charmaine agreed to take the first watch. Arden would follow, then William, then Nicholas, although the fae planned to depart before all of that.
Nicholas slept on the remnants of the bed, waiting for Arden to wake him. Quiet mumbles stirred the sleeping shade some time later. He woke to a dim fire. Arden lounged in one of the surviving chairs. William sat in the far left corner of the house, his back leaning against the stonework. Charmaine slept on the floor next to the hearth.
“Did we not agree for one to keep watch? We all need our sleep,” said Nicholas.
William glared, probably because Nicholas didn’t bother whispering and the bed creaked with his movements. He slipped off and stretched. Charmaine stirred, but didn’t wake. That didn’t lessen William’s annoyed attention. Nicholas’ lips quivered into a smile, always proud to irritate most, but especially William.
“We’ve been under constant attack. I figured it would be best for all of us if two kept watch,” the medic replied.
“Because of the monsters or us?” He gestured toward himself, then Arden. “Frightened one of the fae found a loophole in the treaty and would cut your throat in your sleep?”
“No, although I had a strange thought that two cowardly bastards may abandon Albie and I in the perilous woods with no provisions and monsters on our tail. Certainly that wouldn’t have happened, would it?” William’s eyes dared either of the fae to speak.
Nicholas dropped onto the floor beside him. William tensed when their arms brushed. He did it on purpose to get William’s reaction. They always riled him up in one way or the other and he found himself incapable of resisting the pull, something almost hypnotic called him to William.
“Isn’t that what you wanted, for us to separate?” Nicholas argued.
“I wish, but Albie was right. Four of us are better than two, even with that cursed book, although you may not think the same.”
“You’re annoyingly attentive,” he said. His eyes admired the lines of William’s firm jaw and the ample curves of his neck that would look wonderful marked by Nicholas’ lips.
“I’ve learned to expect the worst, particularly from those like you.”
“We could still leave. Neither of you can keep up with us at our swiftest,” Nicholas warned.
“If you’re intent on being foolish, then do so, but don’t come crawling back when you meet trouble.”
The tense air between them bristled and shifted. Nicholas didn’t look away, as if the two shared an unspoken battle that whoever broke eye contact first lost. He hated losing, especially if it was against William. The mortal irked him in every way but he didn’t want the evening to end. He wished to sit here, testing how far he can push. See if William would dare to raise that revolver at him again, like he wanted to the other day. See what other reactions he could provoke that William never expected to show, that was a victory in his mind.
Nicholas waved a dismissive hand at Arden. “Take your rest. We are not leaving this evening.”
The creaking of the floorboards then the bed informed him Arden had obeyed. William kept his undivided attention. Jade eyes reflected the glistening flames, but Nicholas had never seen a look so unbearably bitter and bleak.
“There’s a coldness to your eyes, William. Has anyone ever told you that?” He brushed a stray hair from William’s brow. He snickered when the tip of a knife pressed against his neck. Iron, the most efficient way to kill fae. His skin blistered beneath the blade.
“You are becoming far too familiar for my taste. Move aside,” William warned.
“But I like this.” Nicholas pressed forward, uncaring of the blade sizzling against the thin skin of his neck. William remained still, not giving him so much as a twitch. Eyes as cold as before, in the forest where Nicholas saw Death for a brief moment. “You don’t tense easily,” he whispered.
“Shall I congratulate you on stating the obvious?”
Nicholas leaned back. William let the knife rest against his leg. His knuckles remained bone white along the handle, prepared to strike. Nicholas wished he would. He wanted to see what William would do, what they could do together.
“Tell me, what would make the little wolf tense?” he asked.
“A cup of bad tea.” William’s blatant disregard and distant demeanor made Nicholas want to break him more. The game had been set, and he thirsted for the sweet taste of triumph.
“You are no fun, won’t share anything with me. At least keep me entertained. I sense neither of us will get any more sleep this evening.”
“You seem more than entertained right now.”
Nicholas snapped his fingers. “Let us have a game of riddles. I will make the first simple.”
William’s defiant disapproval was ignored.
“We do not wish to meet, but always will. What am I?” Nicholas kept his excited eyes on William, momentarily confused by the sudden interest.
“Death,” he said confidently. “And you stole that from Martha Middle’s Book of Riddles.”
Nicholas shouldn’t have been surprised. The information Arden retrieved proved William came from what humans called a refined upbringing. He understood some families had better education than others. Fae knew of no such things. Knowledge could be found by those who sought it. A hag residing on the edges of Darkmoon built a library within the forests said to have a copy of every text in existence. Nicholas knew of no one other than her to have read every piece, perhaps because some ventured into the woods and were never found. The hag always laughed and claimed they must have lost themselves in a good book, but Nicholas always believed she trapped them so she could cook them up for a meal.
“You have read her works, then?” Nicholas hummed. “I quite enjoy her fables, too. Impressive for a mortal.”
William gave the first sign of life outside his indifference by feigning a gag of disgust. “I despise that we have anything in common.”
“What a joy to hear because I imagine we have quite a lot in common, son of Lord Robert and Lady Matilda Vandervult.”
Nicholas found it, a knick in the armor, albeit small. William’s eyes shut, suppressing an emotion, then opened, showing nothing, and his voice remained level when he asked, “Am I meant to be flattered by your invasive intrigue?”
“Perhaps. I like to know what I’m up against, and I will admit that you are intriguing.”
“Hearing that from you is rather insulting.”
“How much have you spoken with them, your parents and brothers?”
“How much do you speak with yours? I hear fae don’t hold family relations to high esteem, that they do the bare minimum and are, more often than not, cruel and malicious.” William countered, not allowing Nicholas to dig deeper. He was skilled at turning a conversation.
“Compared to that of human expectations, certainly not. We do not require coddling.”
His words held a semblance of truth, others he couldn’t say them. Fae and mortals differed in many ways, their family expectations being one of them. Nicholas didn’t know a family like humans did; the ones who spent a day dedicated to celebrating their birth, joining around a dinner table for good food and mirth on a religious holiday, or missing a sibling because they hadn’t seen one another for a few days. However, fae had their traditions varying from creature to creature.
Sirens, for example, would sing for seven days and nights when a loved one died. Their voices, usually eerie, became so sorrowful nature wilted at the riverbanks, as if to mourn with them. They laid their dead on lily pads and surround them with keepsakes, precious stones found on the bottom of the riverbed or trinkets lost by swimmers.
Redcaps, while vicious and violent, were even worse if any threatened their young. It didn’t matter who the child belonged to. If any dared attack a young, the Redcaps moved as one. They protected their own with a ferocity like no other.
Nicholas wasn’t so certain what traditions his family had other than disdain and avoidance. They had their revels, like any other, but they were nothing more than loud parties where they drank themselves into oblivion. He dared to consider for a moment what it would be like to celebrate, as humans did, to wake one morning to them celebrating his birth rather than cursing his existence.
Nicholas dispersed such ridiculous thoughts and focused instead on the task at hand, one he better understood. “Tell me how such a fragile child who spent so many days in the infirmary became,” he waved a hand toward William. “Like this?”
“Do specify.”
“A walking sexual frustration.”
His hopes of a blush were dashed when William responded nonchalantly, “Puberty.” Then the mortal shared a wry grin. “Since you adore games, why don’t we play a new one? Let’s see who can remain quiet the longest.”
He faked a yawn. “Even your idea of a game is boring. What if I share information as well?”
“Not worth it, as I am not interested in you.”
“You try so hard to wound me.”
“I wish for nothing more.”
Those words were another string for Nicholas to grab. He settled closer. He did not miss the darkening of Wililam’s eyes, the way a muscle feathered in his jaw. He relished in it, in fact. The fire at their back was nothing in the face of their intensity.
“Must make you regret even more not taking your chance back there, in the woods.” Nicholas set a hand against William’s muscled thigh. Still not a flinch. He wanted William to tense, to twitch, to shudder and snap under any pressure.
William feigned innocence. “What regret do you speak of?”
“A moment where you could have been rid of me with the last bullet of yours, although Arden and your fiery friend would have grown suspicious of the hole in my head.”
The look returned, a bitter dullness to William’s otherwise enchanting eyes. As if Death reaped the color and usurped body and mind.
“There it is. That look.” Nicholas inched closer. William’s side pressed firmly against his chest. They shared the air they breathed. The fae’s fingers spread out across a brawny thigh he wished was uncovered, that he wished trembled or showed any sign of discomfort or yearning.
“If by look you mean that of irritation, then yes. I’ve always shown that to you.” William raised the knife in warning.
“The lies humans weave are so tedious. You know of the look, of the chill inside you. You have the eyes of a beast, like me.”
William’s tempting lips, plump pink and begging to be ravished, parted in a silent breath. “What are you implying?”
“I am implying you are a dangerous man, William Vandervult, and I am curious how many know it.” Nicholas’ hand lifted further.
“Move once more and I will relieve you of your fingers.”
“Are medics meant to be so quick to violence? Though I suppose you would excel at a mysterious dismemberment, ailment, or death here or there.”
“If you believe that, then you should play nice, although for you, that may be impossible. Few people tell you no, don’t they?” William’s eyes shifted over Arden’s sleeping form, then back to Nicholas. “As a shade, your kin show you a form of fearful respect, and I hear your father lords over Darkmoon. You’re accustomed to spoils.”
“That’s right. I am as rotten as rotten can be. I’ll do anything to get what I want.”
“But you want me dead and I’m still here.”
“There are several things I want from you.” Nicholas would have eagerly shared the list, even the desire to relieve William of his clothes for an evening of carnal lust if only for a chance to break the stoic facade, but suddenly, William stood.
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
“I heard nothing,” said Nicholas.
William clutched his blade tighter. “There’s something outside.”