Chapter 5
DAVEN
Daven didn’t like being told no. Especially not by men who attended the same Academy he did.
“The patient is under high-security watch, Daven,” the Luminary guard said. He was some asshole who studied Artificial Biology like Helianth did. Perhaps he should have a word with his cousin about the lack of respect he was getting from his classmate.
The man stood planted in front of the double doors to the medical wing. “I’m sorry, Daven, but those are Imperial Milanov’s orders. He said no visitors.”
“He meant no outsiders. I’m an Imperial Prince.”
“I’m sorry.”
Daven huffed as he took in his environment. After the rescue mission and the confirmation that the stranger—his stranger—was one of them, Milanov had Ryneth brought to his private medical wing.
When Daven had shown up that same night with a duffel bag, announcing that he wanted to spend some time with his uncle, for family bonding and all that shit, Milanov had just snorted.
It was infuriating, really.
Especially because the man had left that same night to see his wife, royal consort Norma Zephyranth. Daven’s aunt had spent the last twenty years asleep, trapped in a state she’d most likely never wake from, and even while away, Milanov had still forbidden him access to the patient.
Now, Daven stepped into the guard’s personal space. “I’m not a visitor. I was the one who hauled him out of the rubble. Now move.”
The guard didn’t. His hand stayed near his weapon. His stance didn’t shift.
“I mean it.” Daven bared his teeth. The urge for violence buzzed under his skin.
The guard’s eyes dropped to Daven’s mouth. Then he swallowed. “It’s just that I’ll be in trouble if—” His breath hitched as Daven clenched his hand, causing the pressure around the guard’s throat to tighten.
“If what?” Daven lifted his hand, his fingers brushing the black and gold collar of the guard’s uniform. “If you don’t let me in? Or if you do?”
The man’s feet left the ground. He made a gurgling sound, face turning purple. “O-okay,” he wheezed. “G-go.”
With a single click of his fingers, the air pulled back and the man nearly tumbled to the ground when his feet were suddenly dropped. “Open the door for me. Treat me with the respect I deserve.”
“Yes, Daven.” The man clutched his throat, panting, then swung the door open. Daven didn’t miss how the man’s shoulders sagged in defeat when he caught him by the shoulder and shoved him aside, pushing past.
“Thank you.” Daven pointed toward the corridor. “You may leave us alone. Close the door.”
“Of course, Daven. Sir.”
Sir. Daven scoffed under his breath. He wasn’t a sir by far, or a lord, or whatever the hell people called him. He was an asshole, a prince who always got what he wanted.
And he didn’t give a flying fuck about that.
Slowly he approached the large bed that stood in the center of the spacious room, his skin thrumming with each step.
There he was—the reason Daven had been so restless.
Ryneth.
The intensity of it irritated him. He didn’t understand why one injured stranger had gotten this far under his skin.
From this close, the man was breathtaking, with his white-golden hair and knife-sharp jaw. Ryneth’s skin was translucent, a white that made the blue lines of his veins show at his temples and wrists.
Daven moved to the edge of the bed. He leaned closer, his shadow falling over Ryneth’s chest. His ringed fingers traced the shape of his eyebrows, which were light and arched, adorning those eyes, wide even in sleep.
Daven remembered them open, remembered a silver that seemed to be made only for him.
Ryneth’s nose was straight when Daven’s fingertips trailed down to his lips. They were full, the lower one split and swollen. They had bled when Daven had saved him.
He looked at the wiry strength in Ryneth’s arms. The man wasn’t built like the guards in the mansion. His muscles were made for survival, for a struggle Daven was eager to witness.
Daven’s incisors throbbed. He wanted the breath in Ryneth’s lungs.
The hunger made no sense. The man was half-conscious and bruised, and still Daven felt drawn tighter with every breath he took.
Behind him, the door opened.
“I see our patient’s still asleep.”
Daven glanced over his shoulder. “I thought you were at the hospital.” He kept his fingers pressed to Ryneth’s forearm, feeling the rhythmic thrumming of the man’s pulse against his own skin.
“I was,” Milanov said. “I’m back. And you scared the guard.” His uncle walked toward the bed. He wore a tailored white suit, his platinum hair polished.
Daven shrugged. “He was at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“He had orders not to let anyone in.” Milanov’s amethyst eyes flashed as he looked at Daven. “Orders you disobeyed. Tell me, nephew, does your spontaneous stay have anything to do with your sudden desire to spend more time at the Green Mansion?”
Daven snorted, but his mind was racing. “They were painting my penthouse, I told you. I needed somewhere to stay. Besides, you have more than enough space.”
Milanov rumbled at that, but Daven could feel the Imperial’s eyes on him as he slid his fingers down to Ryneth’s long, slender ones, icy blue veins throbbing at his wrists.
“That I do. And I like having the company, even though I’m probably a terrible host at the moment, with a busy agenda.
By the way, Kylix said you did well on your first mission. ”
Daven didn’t know what to say to that. With Milanov it was never clear if the man was being frank or being an asshole. That was probably a family trait.
Slowly, unwillingly, he let go, leaving his hand suspended in mid-air when Ryneth’s breathing broke into a hitch.
Was he waking up?
His head rolled on the pillow. A gasp tore from his throat. Then his eyes snapped open, his gaze unfocused with pain.
“Zimeon, the patient’s waking,” Daven heard the Imperial bark through his multi-slate, but all he could do was stare at those silver eyes. How could he have missed those thick, light lashes that flashed pale against his skin?
Ryneth tried to move, but a groan escaped him as his muscles cramped against the sheets.
“Stay still.” Milanov rested a hand on the bed rail. “The doctor’s coming.”
Ryneth didn't listen. Panic flared in his eyes before it vanished again. He tried to sit up, but his frame shook with the effort. “Where… Where am I? Please—”
“You’re safe,” Milanov soothed. “You’re in my home. The Imperial residence on Helion.”
Ryneth’s eyes widened, looking far from reassured. The sheets twisted tight in his grip. “Helion?” he croaked. “Imperials? Why—”
“You were taken by criminals when you came to Helion,” Milanov said. “We brought you out.”
“What about the others?” Ryneth asked, the words dragging out of him.
“We found them.” Milanov adjusted the blanket higher over him. “They were removed before we reached the place where they kept you, but we recovered them afterward. You were the only one still inside.”
Daven watched the man struggle for air, his chest barely moving under the sheets as he listened to his uncle’s words. Did he remember what had happened to him?
“We need to know who did this to you,” Milanov continued, “so we can catch them. Any information is good information.”
Ryneth shook his head. His mouth trembled in a way that made Daven both horny and annoyed as fuck. What was it about this man that had him panting like a dog?
Ryneth’s gaze dragged over the sheets, then finally up, to stare at his uncle. “The men… ship…visors… they… C-Con… Concordant.”
At that moment, the door opened and Zimeon came bursting in with two nurses. Within seconds, Milanov and Daven were both edged gently toward the wall as the medical team took over.
“Concordant,” Milanov mused. “I’ve never heard that name before. You?”
Daven shook his head, frowning.
If Kylix had hit the skyscraper for Attica and Ryneth was naming someone else, then this had never been just Attica. Absentmindedly, he watched as Zimeon and his team tried to restrain Ryneth, who had grown more agitated and was trying to climb out of the bed.
Daven let his air circle the other man, pinning him with invisible force to the bed, rendering his limbs heavy and unable to move.
Next to him, Milanov spoke into his multi-slate, issuing orders to Kylix, but Daven barely heard any of it as Zimeon pumped Ryneth full of sedatives until the man’s head fell back on the pillow.
His eyes glazed as he stared at the ceiling, his breath coming in shallow hitches.
Milanov lowered the multi-slate. “Let’s talk to our boy before he falls asleep again.”
Zimeon stepped aside, giving them space at the bedside.
Ryneth’s eyes found them as they moved closer, his mind already drifting. He blinked, and a silver tear slipped down his cheek, making Daven’s pulse slam against his eardrums.
“Ryneth.” Milanov’s voice softened. He leaned over the bed, filling his view. “You’re safe now. We’re happy you are here.”
Ryneth didn’t answer right away, but his shoulders tightened as if he wanted to sink into the mattress and bolt at the same time.
Daven watched the silver eyelids droop.
“You’re here because you matter,” Milanov said quietly. “And because no one will touch you here. When you’re stronger, we’ll explain the rest.”
Ryneth’s eyes snapped open at that, only to glaze immediately after. But he stared at Milanov with his mouth open. “H-home.” He looked at the Imperial and then his gaze shifted. Then it landed on Daven.
Daven felt like he’d been tased, heat flashing through his chest as his gaze locked on Ryneth’s face. He wanted him to see the gold on his jacket and know exactly whose hands had dragged him out of that place.
His incisors itched, the way they did when his blood answered something it shouldn’t, and the tension in him pulled tight, drawing him toward the bed.
“Who are you?” Ryneth whispered.
Milanov rested a hand against the bedrail. “This is Prince Daven Caelith. He’s the one who found you.”
“Prince?” The word scraped out of him, thin and disbelieving.