12. Chapter Eleven
12
William
P arents wove tales of Calix Fearworn, every depiction more fearsome than the last. So few souls saw him that every story painted him differently. He was taller than a house, with horns of midnight black and eyes of pale flames. He walked on crooked legs in a mangled form, skin a grotesque green and eyes milky white. Some claimed Fearworn had no physical body, that night itself constructed his form, a living essence of shadows.
They were wrong.
Calix Fearworn was stunning in every sense of the word, a figure of holy beauty and typical fae perfection. His thinly muscular form lay beneath countless draped fabrics, sparkling silver that caught the violet hue of his cat-like eyes. That violet stretched across his iris, save for a single glint of fuchsia within. His white hair would have trailed behind him if it weren’t up in a high ponytail, revealing the sharp lines of his bleached complexion. The light caught along his cheekbones, creating a sterling sheen, as if the sun desired nothing more than to accentuate his aura.
Six shadowed disciples stepped clear of the miasma seeping from Fearworn’s form. They were the tales parents wove with eyes the deepest black, as if nothing lay beyond but an empty void. The miasma lived within them, a deep purple that snaked through their bodies and showed through their leathered skin. Crooked nails thick as blades crept out of the tip of their rotted fingers and pointed teeth barely fit in their too wide mouths. Without lips, their saliva coated their fangs and stained their chins in black with a faint purple hue.
Fearworn approached. His face remained placate, uncaring even. He stood with grace, hands carefully positioned atop one another at the base of his stomach. His head cocked like a curious deer in the meadow, and yet didn’t sit right, as if his neck sprouted at the wrong angle.
“You are the one who killed my Creator,” he said placidly, referring to the shadowed disciple Nicholas stole the book from at Lockehold.
“I am.” Nicholas donned his infamous wayward grin. “And you are the fallen shade, Calix Fearworn. I have been hopeful for an audience, but this isn’t what I had in mind.”
“What you had in mind was a battle on your terms, though even that would not be enough for you to best me.”
Fearworn swept a hand toward the miasma. Four beasts lurched out. Three were the muscled snake monsters from the other evening and the other must have been the perfected version of the flying beasts. A fraction bigger, with wings set right along its leathered hide and acid dripping from its fangs, scorching the earth beneath its clawed feet.
“If you are so confident, why bring an arsenal to battle against us?” Nicholas earned glares from his companions, even Arden.
Now was not the time to agitate the bastard they had been chasing for decades. They were outnumbered and, as Nicholas said himself, even the powerful shade could be taken down by too many fangs. William had nothing more than a knife to battle with. In the face of Fearworn’s power, he was inconsequential. He hadn’t felt so helpless since his training days. Worth less than a bug crushed beneath an unknowing heel.
“I want my book, and I will get it,” Fearworn replied simply.
The monsters leapt. The air left William’s lungs when Nicholas tackled him out of the way. Surprising, seemingly to both of them, as the fae offered a wide-eyed stare prior to lunging onto his feet. William scurried up, too, clutching a blade far too small in the face of these beasts.
The monster with wings and three shadowed disciples descended upon them. Arden and Charmaine battled against the rest. Fearworn watched from a distance with calculative attention. The beasts hissed acid rain. Nicholas dodged this time. As did William, darting behind a nearby tree that came to life. The limbs snaked around him. He slipped from their grasp.
A shadowed disciple crept through the forest. His fingers cracked like a marionette on strings, forcing the forest to obey his whims. Shadowed disciples were nasty beings pushing themselves too far, some mortal and some fae, though no one could distinguish them once they got this bad. They commanded Fearworn’s beasts and the elements, and it left them rotting like a corpse. William knew little of them other than they were vicious, powerful, and died young, sickly and corrupt to the core.
Branches snapped at William, scratching and beating him. A puddle of acid sizzled a step away. Grabbing a branch, he broke it free and dragged the branch through the acid. With a wild swing, he flung the acid. The disciple shrieked when the rain came upon him, eating through his features.
William sprinted forward. He stabbed the branch into the disciple’s abdomen. Another scream followed. Acid ate through the disciple’s clothes and tore at the skin beneath. He released the branch when the shadowed disciple grabbed it. The branch came to life, thorns breaking forth that would have shredded his hands.
Clutching his blade, he went for the disciple’s neck. The disciple surged backwards, dropping the branch and holding a hand over his burning stomach. The black of the disciples’ eyes spread through his skin. His mouth lurched open, far too wide, stretching the skin and revealing a grotesque purple forked tongue.
William ran before the man shrieked; a sound so high pitched he whimpered beneath the pain. The forest erupted, trees quaking, roots bursting forth, and thorns sprouting from nowhere. He couldn’t outrun the destruction, but he could use another to his advantage.
He dashed in Nicholas’ direction. His power flashed through the forest, brilliant coral light and flames. One of the flying monsters battled against him, jabbing a wild stinger and lunging with vicious teeth. Acid spotted the surrounding ground. Nicholas must have heard the living forest because he looked over. Waving his hand, he ripped a tree from the ground to smack the monster across the head. It spewed a sea of acid, almost hitting William, but burning apart the forest at his back instead. He skid to a halt behind Nicholas, the both of them panting.
“Trying to get me killed?” Nicholas snarled.
“Trying to spare myself,” he replied. “Where are the other disciples?”
Nicholas didn’t need to answer. William glimpsed the two laying mangled on the forest floor, limbs broken and clawed beyond recognition. That was two down. Two more on their end to go.
The miasma crept in, leaving a vile taste in the back of William’s throat. Even the monster retreated. Fearworn approached with the shadowed disciple William injured. Fearworn raised his hand. A pulse rippled through the forest, flattening trees and sending them to their stomachs.
He couldn’t breathe, struggling against the phantom pressure crushing him. A wild shout of anger and power burst forth from Nicholas. The pressure upon them lifted. Heaving, William rolled away. Nicholas’ fuchsia light brightened. The strings around his form seized, becoming too difficult to gaze upon. That light twisted into a long form like that of a hissing snake. The head snapped forward. Fearworn swiped at the snake like it was nothing more than a bug. The light dispersed. Nicholas cast fire, ice, and power that did nothing more than irritate Fearworn.
Fearworn set aflame. Violet light smothered him, towering into the sky. His eyes widened, monstrous voids that cracked the skin. The smooth voice existed no longer, replaced by a gravelly growl. “I tire of these games. Give. Me. My Book!”
He flicked his fingers. Nicholas stumbled, pulled closer by an unseen string. Another flick, and the book appeared beneath his shirt. He clutched at it, wrangling the invisible power. A snap at their back garnered William’s attention. The beast inched forward. Its stinger raised high, pointed at Nicholas’ back. William threw his knife. The blade embedded itself into the creature’s tail.
Nicholas lost his concentration from the noise and the tome slipped from his hands. Fearworn caught the book. His power softened and a crooked smile spread across his face, child-like. He forgot about everything else, running a gentle hand over the cover and flipping through the pages.
William dared to pity the man, an unfortunate soul cursed at birth, if the tales of shades were true. He wondered who Fearworn had been before this and who he could have been without his obsessions.
Nicholas leapt. The shadowed disciple called forth roots that ripped across his arm, but it was too late. He was at Fearworn’s throat, one hand of fire raised and another bristling with the light of a storm.
William lost sight of them after the beast lunged for him. He ran for the trees. A battle echoed behind him. Blasts of powers, Fearworn’s growling voice threatening destruction, and the beast’s lumbering steps. He listened for the monster’s deep breath. He swerved to the right, avoiding a spray of acid. His gaze swept through the forest, desperate for an escape. Then Nicholas appeared above the beast with fuchsia light at his back spread as wings. A sphere of energy pulsated in his palm. The beast dodged, though the sphere singed its side. Nicholas fell beside William.
“Run,” he demanded and held William’s wrist hard enough to bruise. They bolted. Blood stained Nicholas’ lips and chin.
“That blood,” William said, panicked and worried, though he loathed to admit it.
“It is not mine.” Nicholas wiped the blood away with the back of his arm and spat into the snow.
Behind them, the miasma strengthened. The fog devoured the trees, and the winged beast lurched out of it. William and Nicholas ran toward a thick grove of trees where they had to move sideways to slip through. Bark snagged on their clothes. Branches scratched their skin. A shadow passed overhead. The monster shrieked above. William looked up. His foot caught on a rock and he fell. His body rolled down a hill, grunting and groaning. He skidded to a halt at the bottom, panting and head spinning.
“Don’t die on me now, my wicked,” Nicholas demanded while sprinting down the hill. His harsh touch yanked William to his feet. “I haven’t had all my fun with you yet.”
“That makes me wish for death.” His delirious eyes swept over their surroundings. He fell into a valley. The treetops formed a protective canopy. He glimpsed a cove along the hillside. “There,” he whispered, limping forward. Upon closer inspection, the cove was more of a thin strip in the rock, shadowed by the canopy and hillside. “We can hide here. Use your magic to push snow in front of us. The beast won’t notice.”
“I can fight the beast. We kill it and keep moving,” Nicholas argued.
They heard the monster passing by and the forest creaking, perhaps by the surviving shadowed disciples’ will.
“We can’t outrun Fearworn, especially with those beasts under his command,” William argued, while pressing both hands to his throbbing head. His exhaustion hadn’t settled, but he could at least heal himself of this concussion.
“The beast will see our tracks.”
“I am certain your little fae tricks can cover them.” He grabbed Nicholas’ arm and yanked. “Fearworn got what he wanted. He will lose interest soon enough and take those damned wretches with him. We hide, unless you want to lose against Fearworn again once he catches up. Only this time, the loss will be permanent.”
“I didn’t,” Nicholas bit back the lie he could not tell. Growling, he dragged his feet to the cove. The trees creaked, signs of the beast growing near.
“Nicholas,” William hissed. “Now.”
The fae gave a disgruntled huff and slid beneath the rock face. William followed, noting the disappearance of their tracks leading into the cove. Nicholas waved his fingers. Snow piled in front of them, leaving a slim opening for light to trickle in. The cove was barely big enough for them to lie atop one another. Chest to chest. Hips to hips. A heat that could melt a glacier into a lake. But the fae didn’t take this opportunity to be a torment, and that spoke far more than the racing heart William felt against his chest.
Nicholas’ eyes rolled, incapable of focusing. He shuddered, eyes shutting, then opening, then shutting again. Sweat trickled from his brow. A hand clawed at the ceiling of the cove, nails shredding the rocks like they were no flimsier than paper. His breaths came out sporadically, too much, then too little.
Gripping Nicholas’ hand, William tore it from the rock-face otherwise the monster would hear. He pressed two fingers to the shade’s erratic pulse. Nicholas snarled, though as William tugged on the strings of his heart, he settled. His eyes fell half-mast and breathing evened out.
The earth shook. The monster shuffled through the snow outside.
Nicholas set a hand against William’s waist. He ignored the touch of cool fingers rubbing the skin beneath his tattered clothes. For once, the fae didn’t toy with him. This was to comfort himself. He clung to William, desperate and terrified. His eyes couldn’t hide that truth, wide, unyielding, frightened, and focused entirely on William. As if focusing on anything else would make him lose himself entirely.
William didn’t hate the attention as much as he should have.
Heavy steps came closer. They held their breaths. Nicholas’ grip tightened. Though his nails cut William’s skin, he said nothing. He pressed forward. Their foreheads touched. Nicholas’ trembling hand interlocked their fingers, squeezing like his life depended on it.
The monster’s hot breath fanned through the cove, then the creature veered away.
Nicholas’ breathing slowed, but he kept them close, practically entangling their legs and brushing his cheek against William’s. It was almost sweet, almost breathtaking. As were his eyes, that stifling roseate light invading every crevice of William’s mind to illuminate the most lewd and frightful thoughts. He hated imagining how Nicholas would react if he kissed him, if he took those vile lips and made them bleed, made them moan and gasp.
Fuck, what is wrong with me? He thought.
The monster flew off. The trees creaked under the power of its wings. Neither dared to move for a long, horrible moment where it took far too much of William’s willpower not to lean in, to destroy the space between them.
Then Nicholas pushed William toward the exit. The snow tumbled away. Nicholas crawled out of the cove, panting and running snow over his face. He shoved some into his mouth as if it’d wake him from a stupor and ran it through his hair.
“The great Nicholas Darkmoon is claustrophobic. I did not expect that,” William remarked. He was somewhat relieved to catch Nicholas’ pointed stare. That was more like him, more like them. Bickering would help him forget that dreadful thought of a kiss, of how his heart continued racing from Nicholas’ touch rather than their near-death experience.
“I will not let you spoil my good mood,” Nicholas said between swallowing more snow, then running his hands up and down his arms.
“Good mood? Albie and Arden are missing. Fearworn sent us running with our tails between our legs. Most importantly, we lost the book.”
“Oh, but I got something much better.” Chuckling, Nicholas stood. His voice and expression feigned humor well enough, but his body betrayed him. The hands clutched at his side continued to tremble. “Shall I share a secret with you, William Vandervult?”
William stood and dusted himself off. “Will I regret this secret?”
“Most likely, for if you tell another soul, it won’t only be my wrath you incur, but that of my father. Believe it or not, he is far worse than me.”
William could not imagine that. Nicholas had proven to be irritable and violent with little provocation. Laurent must be a force few could withstand. However, the way Nicholas admired him piqued his interest enough to ask, “What is this secret?”
“Fae do not have monarchs. They have lords over wild Faerie lands, but no lord owns their land. Faerie lands have power, each different from the last.”
“Is that where fae magic comes from, why some can call upon certain elements but not others? And why even fae fear those like you?”
Nicholas nodded. “In a way, yes. The older a fae gets, the stronger they become, but ultimately our abilities stem from our homelands. Shades, like me and Fearworn, call upon more power than our kin can comprehend and that scares them. However, only the lords and their direct lineage can tap into something special, something unique from their homes. Maybe because we are the protectors of our land. Maybe because Faerie likes to play games, too. None of us are for certain, but Darkmoon has a saying that all know in Faerie; do not bleed upon Darkmoon soil, for you will never leave.”
“Is that some form of curse?” William asked. “Your blood binds you forever to the lands.”
“You can physically leave, but Darkmoon knows you, has a part of you, and will always find you.”
“This helps us, how?”
“I am of Darkmoon, as much a part of the land as the roots of its trees.” Nicholas shut his eyes. When next they opened, they were striking violet; Fearworn’s eyes. Though only Nicholas could pull off such a vicious grin.
“That blood from before,” William muttered, momentarily breathless at the implications. “Fearworn’s?”
“Precisely. So far from Faerie, the power of Darkmoon is weakened, but enough. Enough for me to hear and sometimes see through Fearworn’s eyes, same as I did with his creator, and Fearworn will never be the wiser. Now,” Nicholas cackled, elated beyond words. “I can track this bastard for the rest of his damn life.”
That was the first time William had felt it in years; hope. A hope so stifling he joined Nicholas in his laughter. The fae’s shock rendered him silent while William sounded erratic, pressing a hand to the back of his smiling lips that wouldn’t cease no matter how much he willed them to.
The always hidden Calix Fearworn got caught by the one fae he shouldn’t have. Out of everyone, Nicholas got his hands on him, teeth more accurately, and those teeth would never let go. The puppeteer’s string could be severed and the world set free. The war could end. William could go home, leave these last five years behind and rework himself into a new man, a better one.
His laughter spilled over so loudly his throat and sides ached. Tears rimmed his eyes, a mixture of sorrow, joy, and fear. The end of this war meant returning home. That’s all he had ever wanted, and yet, the mirth couldn’t outweigh a mounting fear. What would his family think of the man he had become? Would they hate him as much as he hated himself? Could he be someone else, someone new and whole?
“I never heard you laugh. I was thinking you were incapable of it,” Nicholas said.
“You never stopped to think it was because you did nothing worthy of a laugh,” William countered between labored breaths.
“Of course not. I’m a thrill to be around.”
William’s laughter continued. He couldn’t stop even when Nicholas approached. The fae captured his neck and waist. A rough hold where his nails pinched the skin of William’s nape and for good reason, he’d have pulled away otherwise. At least he told himself he’d pull away if he could when Nicholas kissed him.
It was everything. A rush. A danger. A curse.
Shivering pleasure corrupted his senses as Nicholas clung to him like a last breath. The collision of their lips was by no means gentle. Nothing with Nicholas ever was. His pressure was overpowering, his wanting engraved into teeth that bit at William’s lips. His tongue sought havoc, to muddle William’s mind. It worked. He thought of nothing. A moment suspended in bliss, in the touch of Nicholas’ greedy hands upon his yearning skin and their bodies becoming one.
The heat of the hot spring paled to this. Nothing could mimic how good Nicholas’ wicked mouth felt pressed against his, or the pleasure of hearing the soft growl emanating from the back of his throat when William dared to retreat. Nicholas was greedy even for his air, trying to yank him in for more, to kiss until their lungs gave out and all faded to black.
“Now is not the time for this,” he muttered against Nicholas’ mouth, although he knew he should have said more. That this was wrong. He didn’t want it. But they were grand lies he couldn’t pretend to believe. As their lips brushed between panted breaths, all he could think about was kissing the bastard until they became sick of each other, until he knew Nicholas’ lips better than any, until he could recognize his breath.
“Now is the best time.” Nicholas’ lips cascaded to William’s neck, zealous to mark him. “Consider that a celebratory kiss and those to come a chance taken in case those beasts return to tear us to shreds. I want a taste of you before that may happen.”
“Why?”
“Because you are disobedient.” Nicholas pressed their foreheads together, so their gasps mingled in puffs of white. “You are a haunted soul, wild, dark, and dangerous. I dislike you entirely, but it is a strange dislike, one I crave.”
“One you crave to crush.” He pressed his hands to Nicholas’ shoulder and pushed. “I will not let you fool me.”
“Fool you?” Nicholas’ fingers danced over his erratic pulse. “You are fooling yourself. What I may or may not do doesn’t frighten you. What frightens you is that you like this as much as I do, my wicked. The danger. The rush.”
William bit the inside of his cheek, tasting copper.
“A warm cup of tea and books, you said?” Nicholas chuckled coldly. “You were a child, but not anymore. Now, you’re a dangerous man seeking to be something you aren’t, to be tame when you are wild.”
William should have formed a witty remark, should have fought back, but Nicholas spoke the truth, and he hated it. The truth terrified him, particularly when spoken by a fae who shouldn’t have known so much. In the short time they’ve known each other, Nicholas peeled back layer after layer through sheer force of will. His constant annoyances, the prodding, the way he observed William like a specimen caught by a scientist with too much to prove, it all led to Nicholas mapping out the darkest recesses of William’s soul and he couldn’t shut the fae out.
“William!” Charmaine’s voice cut through the haze. He conjured the power to shove Nicholas aside.
“We’re here,” he said, hurrying toward the edge of the hillside where he heard her.
Charmaine appeared along the edge, covered in forest debris and blood. A long gash tore through her twitching left arm and her right eye swelled shut.
“Most of the blood isn’t mine,” she said before William conjured a word. “Arden needs you. Right now.”
A hand caught William’s waist. Nicholas leapt up the hillside, landing beside Charmaine. His hand lingered a moment longer than it should have. Charmaine didn’t notice, already rushing in the other direction. William hurried forward, intent on ignoring the lustful eyes at his back and the cursed moment shared.