Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
“How is she?” Cillian asked when Bran slipped into his borrowed bedroom.
Bran closed the door behind him with a quiet click, leaning against it with a sigh. “Sleeping now. Jupiter is watching over her, and I set witchmarks on the door and windows. I’ll know if anyone tries to get in while we talk.”
Cillian nodded, taking a seat on the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed. “I think we’re overdue for that.”
He’d tried in that cabin in the woods, both of them distracted by the monsters attempting to claw their way inside.
Then there’d been no time while they suffered as Ainmire’s prisoners, their every move watched over by the Fae.
Privacy had been a laughable dream, but they had it here in this castle.
Bran had done something with his magic to make sure the room was free of any spells the Fae might have put in it, his witchmarks hidden in the corners now.
That small act of protection had left Cillian feeling safe, and he knew he’d sleep better whenever he did crawl into the huge bed Verlin had given him.
All three of them had taken time to wash up, getting rid of the rotten scent of the wyrding. The servants had left out an elaborate set of clothes for Cillian that he’d tossed to the floor in favor of a pair of plain brown pants and a linen shirt he’d convinced them to find for him.
Bran fiddled with the end of the leash, the metal glinting in the light from the wall sconces. The same glass spheres from Ainmire’s estate were used in this one. Cillian had relied on Bran to get the fire elementals to burn when they’d entered the room, still having no idea how to use his magic.
“Are you mad that I’m Fae?” Cillian asked, gesturing at his face. The dresser had a mirror over it, and he’d tried not to look into its reflective glass, still finding a stranger staring back at him.
Bran slowly shook his head. “Your heart is still human. You’d hate me if it weren’t.”
“But you should hate me, right? Isn’t that what you and everyone have been saying? That witches and Fae are at war with each other?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“You left.”
Bran let the leash go so he could cross his arms over his chest, glaring at Cillian in a way that was so familiar, even after years of absence. “You pushed me away.”
Cillian slowly got to his feet again. “And I told you I didn’t mean to.”
There weren’t any monsters clawing at the door and walls of the bedroom, fighting to get in—just the two of them and a past that had haunted them both for years.
Bran had been a ghost in Cillian’s memories, haunting him since graduation, lingering in the empty spaces of his life.
Bran was both regret and want to the foundations of the man Cillian had become before he knew he was Fae underneath the skin he’d lived in for almost twenty-six years.
But Bran hadn’t walked away after that reveal, so here they stood, in some impossible land, told to be enemies by habit and culture, and both of them only reaching for each other.
“You were my first kiss,” Cillian confessed. “And you literally burned me.”
Like iron, he didn’t say, but Bran’s flinch told him the other man made the connection anyway. “Maybe your glamour reacted to me because I was a witch?”
“I don’t know. I remember it hurt, and I wasn’t expecting it. So I pushed you away, but I never meant for you to leave.” He couldn’t keep the ache out of his voice, expression twisting as he tried to suppress the hurt. “I dated other people, you know? But none of them were you.”
“We never dated.”
“They weren’t you,” Cillian repeated, staring at Bran. “I never wanted them to be. I only wanted you. I want you.”
Bran closed his eyes, tilting his head back. “I didn’t think you did back then. Pelham is a small town, and I couldn’t stand the thought of living there if you hated me.”
Cillian took a step forward. “I could never hate you.”
Bran opened his eyes, meeting Cillian’s gaze with a wealth of emotion writ plain across his face. “Everyone here wants you to.”
“Fuck them. If I’m their prince, then they can’t tell me what to do.”
“You realize that if I didn’t know you, I’d want to kill you?”
“The same way you’d kill your sister?”
Bran took a half step back at that, hunching his shoulders as if Cillian had punched him. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? Everyone here thinks she’s a Fae, too.”
“She’s my sister.”
“Exactly. And I’m your best friend. It doesn’t matter that we’re Fae.”
Bran dragged a hand down his face, swearing quietly. “It should. Any other witch would want you both dead.”
“You don’t.”
“Because I know you!” Bran burst out, shaking his head rapidly, causing the leash to swing back and forth. “You may look like one of them, but you aren’t.”
“And you might be a witch, but you don’t hate me.”
At that, Bran let out a little ragged laugh, hazel eyes watery when he looked at Cillian.
“How could I? I think I’ve loved you in one way or another since we were kids, even when I didn’t have you by my side.
I can’t just turn it off now that I know what you are.
It’d be like asking me to give up my magic. I won’t do that. I won’t.”
The words had Cillian closing the distance between them, heart pounding hard.
He stopped in front of Bran, mere inches between them that didn’t feel so far anymore.
He caught the end of the leash in one hand, rolling his wrist to wind it around his hand until his fingers touched the silver collar around Bran’s throat.
Bran hadn’t taken it off, its presence a claim and mark of ownership that kept him safe from every other Fae around them because the crest on it told everyone that Bran belonged to him.
Cillian lifted his other hand to Bran’s face, using his thumb to gently wipe at the corner of one eye, brushing away the faint hint of a tear. “I might look like the prince they lost, but I don’t have his memories. If regaining those means I would see you as the enemy, then I don’t want them.”
He didn’t speak of the terrifying cracks at the back of his mind. He chose instead to focus on Bran, who sucked in a harsh breath, lips parting. Cillian did what he should have done seven years ago, what he’d dreamed about doing ever since he’d lost the man now standing in front of him.
He kissed Bran, and this time, it didn’t burn.
Cillian was taller than Bran now and had to lean down to kiss him, tilting the other man’s chin up for their mouths to meet.
Their lips brushed, soft and gentle for a single second, before Cillian deepened it, slipping his tongue past Bran’s teeth to taste him.
He groaned when Bran hesitantly kissed back, the other man’s fingers gripping the front of Cillian’s shirt to tug him closer.
Cillian kissed him fiercely, backing Bran up until he had the other man pressed against the door, heat pooling in his gut.
Bran gasped against his mouth, sliding one hand up Cillian’s chest to hook around the back of his neck, holding him close.
He kissed Bran again, over and over, still holding on to the leash, his hand splayed over Bran’s shoulder, thumb pressed into the hollow between Bran’s collarbones.
His skin felt on fire when all he’d felt was cold over the last few days, cock slowly hardening in his pants, body pressed against Bran’s.
It took effort to tear his mouth away from Bran’s, resting their foreheads together as he breathed raggedly, eyes closed as he tried to get himself under control when all he wanted to do was let go. “Tell me you want this. That you still want me.”
Bran choked out a laugh, his fingernails digging into the back of Cillian’s neck. “I couldn’t forget you for seven years. If I left again, I’d still think about you.”
Cillian opened his eyes and raised his head, staring down at Bran. He tugged lightly on the leash, arching an eyebrow. “You can’t run while wearing this, but if you tried, this time, I would follow.”
“I know,” Bran whispered.
Cillian’s gaze dropped down to the collar Bran wore, the jewels glinting in the low light. “Do you want me to take it off? I can when we’re alone.”
Bran licked his lips, eyes full of desire when Cillian met his gaze again. “I hate what the Fae do to witches, but…I feel safer wearing your collar, knowing that it makes me yours and no one else can touch me.”
Cillian would be lying if he said his cock didn’t get harder at those words. “Then we’ll leave the collar on.”
Bran shuddered, falling back down on his heels, pupils blown wide in his eyes. He swallowed thickly. “You’re the only one who can take it off.”
A dark thought coiled its way through Cillian’s lust-addled mind—that if he had his way, he never would.
Bran couldn’t leave if he was collared and leashed, after all.
Cillian stole another kiss. “I’m going to find something to fuck you with. Finish getting undressed.”
The way Bran whimpered made his cock throb, and he only wanted to hear more of that sound.
Tearing himself away from Bran took effort, but Cillian succeeded in prying his hands off Bran and making his feet move, practically running into the attached washroom.
The open shelves above the porcelain basin sink held all manner of vials and tins containing supplies for washing.
One of the glass vials had an oil that didn’t smell too strongly, and Cillian carried it back to the bedroom, coming to an abrupt stop past the door.