31. Chapter Thirty
31
Nicholas
F earworn had Charmaine. Nicholas saw her through the bastard’s eyes, possessed by the virus within. A black void replaced the brown of her eyes. Beneath her eyes and around her mouth, the skin peeled and a leathery pattern like that of snakeskin appeared. She stood motionless under Fearworn’s scrutiny. His claws gripped her chin, pushing her head from side to side. Her fingers twitched, but she dared not raise her hand against him, even when he commanded her to lie on the table. Fearworn grabbed a scalpel and cut into her leg where the beast had bitten her. The virus sprouted from there, now thick, black roots tangled in through the sinew.
Fearworn muttered to himself and took notes, sounding pleased. He inspected her newly formed claws, so thick they broke through skin. Blood stained her fingers and gums where her teeth sharpened to points. Then he sewed Charmaine up and shoved her aside. She stood in the room's corner, dull-eyed and motionless.
If William saw this, if he knew, he would be indisposed. Nicholas never cared about the thoughts of others. He spoke cruelties like a politician spewing lies, but the desire to stir trouble had dulled. He would not bring this news to William. More accurately, he couldn’t.
Nicholas returned to himself, seated cross-legged on his bed. Laurent informed the generals where Charmaine went earlier that morning. The generals ordered Nicholas to monitor Fearworn while the army prepared for what they hoped to be the end of this war. With the last batch of recruits having arrived hours ago, the final string hung in their grasp. A string that, when ripped, would unravel all Fearworn crafted. It’d be a two-day march to Fearworn’s hideout, and they had to get there without arousing suspicion. If Fearworn slipped away, it didn’t matter if the army decimated his hideout. He was the source, the infection that needed to be cut out.
“Nicholas?” Arden munched on a tray of cheese and crackers on the floor. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Fine. I’m going to take a walk,” he replied. Arden watched his departure. His duty was to ensure Nicholas didn’t lose himself in the many hours he spent sharing Fearworn’s eyes. And if he did, he wasn’t certain what his father would order, if he told Arden to sink an iron dagger into his heart or not.
“Where will you be going?” Arden inquired.
“Wherever I please.”
“To your mortal medic, then?”
Eerie silence draped over them. Arden bathed his impish grin in red from the wine in his goblet.
“What mortal medic do you speak of?” Power surged at the tip of Nicholas’ fingers, yearning to sear the grin off Arden’s pale features.
“William, of course. I expected you were toying with someone, seeing as you called none to your bed, but this was unexpected.” Arden knocked back the last of his beverage and smacked his lips. “Lord Darkmoon doesn’t believe you, by the way, that William is merely a plaything.”
So Laurent informed Arden of what he saw. The question became; what were Arden’s orders? Was he to prevent Nicholas from seeing William? Or worse?
“My father believes nothing I say, so I often wonder why he bothers to ask,” he said.
“Then I will ask, is William merely a plaything?”
“That is none of your concern.”
Arden knew evasiveness as well as he. His avoidance gave way to an answer that made his kin laugh. “Should Evera, or better yet, your sister, hear of this, they will have a lot of fun with him.”
Nicholas caught Arden’s neck, squeezing so tightly saliva dribbled over his lips. “They will hear nothing of this,” he warned, voice hostile and foreboding. Fuchsia light illuminated the veins beneath his skin, brighter than a summer sun. His nails pierced the skin of Arden’s neck. Blood tickled the tip of his fingers. He pushed and pushed until Arden’s neck craned back at an odd angle and he gagged, fingers clawing at Nicholas’ wrist. “Should any learn of William, I will suspect you to be the culprit. My wrath will be unforgiving and relentless. You know that well, don’t you?”
He let go Arden enough for him to sputter, “I do.”
“So you will ensure no one learns of this, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Or I could make this much simpler and be rid of you now.” Nicholas held tighter. Arden dared to summon a vine between the cracked stones. Nicholas caught his wrist and snapped the bone. Arden couldn’t cry out. The hold around his neck was too tight, strangling words and breath from his lungs. When Nicholas released him, Arden plummeted, heaving and coughing. He cradled his bruised neck. Blood slicked the back ends of his hair. Amused ruby eyes fell on Nicholas as he went from coughing to chuckling.
“Do not toy with me again,” Nicholas warned.
Arden raised a hand in surrender and laughed louder. “Would only ever dream of it.”
Then Nicholas stalked out of the room. He may as well have hung a sign around his neck that read soft. Arden saw through him the moment Laurent revealed who his so-called plaything was. Then Arden put him in a position where he couldn’t lie. Any words he shared would be seen as avoidance. He made his threats, though that did not guarantee Arden wouldn’t speak on them. If Blair learned the truth, she would seek trouble. Evera could learn the truth, or worse, her mother. Alvina had plans and she would destroy anything in her path.
Nicholas nearly pivoted to finish the job, drive an iron dagger through Arden’s heart and be done with it. But that would prove to a far worse party that they were right to assume William might have meant something, something mystifying and dangerous. He walked faster, heading for the very person Arden had accused him of. There was no point pretending not to. After that encounter, he wanted a break.
The citadel grew into a frenzy ever since the mages of Heign visited. Although a rare few knew of what the mages learned, the soldiers understood they wouldn’t visit without enormous news. Rumors spread that a way to defeat Fearworn had been conjured. Gossip elated the troops, sent them buzzing about the camp, working more fervently both in celebration and nerves. If the rumors were true, the last battle was soon, and they were right to worry.
Fearworn would go down fighting. The battle would be bloody. Such thoughts often put a smile on Nicholas’ face. However, now he thought of William on the battlefield, surrounded by Fearworn’s beasts. Hands bloodied from saving one poor soul after the other, his eyes cold, distant and unsettled, like they would be upon learning about Charmaine.
Damn it. Concern did not suit him.
Nicholas came upon the med bay where soldiers coughed or laid motionless, eyes lost. William toiled among them, a cloth wrapped around his face. He handed foul smelling medicine out and made sure they kept the liquid down. Nicholas wished to waltz in, grab William, and take him wherever he pleased. William would be cross if he made them appear too friendly, especially after having met Laurent. He did not blame William for his paranoia. He was smart to be worried, so Nicholas entertained himself in the hall by freezing any water on the floors to make soldiers trip and stumble. The men would hop up and wander off, thinking nothing of it.
He snickered in secret. The hair on the back of his neck stood high. He caught sight of William. The cloth William wore around his face now hung on his neck, revealing the grim line of his lips and the bags beneath his eyes. Ah, his wicked caught him playing games.
William exited the med bay to enter an adjacent room. The door remained opened. Nicholas scurried after him. Crates filled the storage room. William opened one to push through vials in search of more rancid medicine. Nicholas caught his prey in a fierce grip. He tugged William away from the crate and nuzzled his nose along the back of that tempting nape, savoring the shiver he shared.
“I have no time for you, trouble. The ill require my attention.” Humor filled William’s voice, much to his relief.
“I am an ill man for you, William Vandervult.” He burned one ravenous kiss after the other along William’s neck. “Give that attention to me.”
“If by ill, you mean rabid, then I suppose you are.” William spun in his arms for a kiss. He wanted nothing more than to drag William to bed. Damn it all, they didn’t have to do anything, so long as William kept looking at him like that, like there was nothing else in the world.
“And whose fault is that? You are the greatest temptation there is. How am I ever meant to resist?”
“Is that so?” William ran his hands down Nicholas’ chest to knot his fingers into the belt loops of his pants. “Maybe I’ll tempt you tonight.”
“Now.” Nicholas growled.
William released him. “Tonight, or nothing at all.”
He pressed another lingering kiss against William’s temple. “You are cruel.”
“There is a reason you call me wicked.”
“Indeed, there is.” He didn’t let go and was pleased that William didn’t pull away. His arms draped around Nicholas’ shoulders, fingers lazily playing with the fae’s hair. He absolutely couldn’t shatter this moment by telling William about Charmaine. He would keep him distracted, do anything to prevent William from asking or thinking of her and all the worries.
“You are staring,” William stated.
“Admiring.”
“You needn’t sweet talk me. I have already agreed to share a bed with you tonight.”
“I am sweet talking because I want to.” Because he didn’t wish to leave. Even if William would slip into his room and warm his bed, he wanted to spend this time together, too. An odd, albeit welcome, sentiment. He couldn’t recall wanting to be with someone for no reason. Everyone offered something, laughter, booze, violence, sex, something, but William merely being in his arms meant far more. He hoped William felt the same, that he wanted Nicholas around, not the powerful shade, just Nicholas.
William stepped closer, so they were chest to chest. Nicholas’ thumbs brushed his bulky uniform aside to rub soothing circles atop his skin. The tension William always had slipped away and his enchanting lips pulled into a smile.
“Sweet talk some more, then,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I want you to.” Or needed him to. William hadn’t been sleeping well ever since Charmaine was lost and Laurent learned of them. On the nights they shared, William laid awake for hours. If sleep took him, he’d awake soon after, sweat coating his brow and breaths panicked. Nicholas tugged him into bed and ran his fingers through William’s hair, easing the man into a restless slumber.
During those moments, when William looked lost, Nicholas didn’t know what to do, and that irritated him. So, he did what he could, and clung a little tighter, hoping his touch would be enough to be of some comfort. If sweet talk would help, then he would give that, too.
“You are a beauty this world does not deserve,” Nicholas said.
Pink tinted William’s cheeks, and he licked his lips. “More.”
“There is not enough time in this life or the next for me to commit all the carnal acts I wish to do with you.” Among other things.
“More.”
“Tonight,” he teased. William rewarded him with laughter, sweeter than sugar, addictive and enthralling. He wished to capture the sound, bottle it so he could take a sip every evening and fall into bliss.
“Touche.” William settled his hands atop his chest. “I really should return to work. I am sure you have duties you are ignoring.”
“Not ignoring, but avoiding. I would rather torment you.”
“I know. You are exceedingly good at that, trouble.”
“I like when you call me trouble.”
“Then I shall never call you trouble again.”
Nicholas caught those charming lips, leaving one peck after the other, making William smile wider between every breath. “Go away,” he said, but didn’t release Nicholas’ shirt.
“One more minute.” An hour, a month, a year, a lifetime, none of it was enough. William made him feel something dangerous, something he liked and disliked craving more of.
Unfortunately, William pushed him aside and gestured for him to leave. He grumbled a curse and wandered toward the door, stopping only when William called, “Nicholas… have you seen her yet?”
He froze with his hand on the doorknob. He dared not meet William’s gaze when he replied, “My father has informed the generals of Fearworn’s whereabouts. We will leave soon.”
“You didn’t answer. Have you seen Charmaine?”
Nicholas turned the doorknob. William’s hand fell on his shoulder. The shade pushed the door open, knowing William would let go. He wouldn’t want anyone to see him alone in a room with Nicholas. He used that to his advantage, even if it hurt, slipping into the hall and away from William, whispering his name. Nicholas hurried past the med bay. A nurse stepped out, moving toward storage as she muttered a list to herself.
“Oh Doc, a soldier has come in with an awful rash. The other nurses could really use your help on it,” she called, distracting William further.
Nicholas released a slow breath. William would ask again tonight. He would do anything to avoid answering, save canceling their rendezvous, of course.