Chapter 5
His little ghost looked wrecked. Pale hair, dulled gold, hung uneven around his face, strands matted with sweat.
His eyes, bright and hot, were too large in the hollows of a starved face.
He had lean shoulders and sharp cheekbones, jutting collarbones.
His shirt clung torn and damp, frayed at the hem.
Kylix looked at his feet. His boots were outworn. How the hell had he been able to run on those?
“You want to eat. I can see it. Your entire body is trembling.”
The words made Kylix’s pulse jump, his chest clench with that same feeling that had chased this Wastelander all the way to the graveyard for a loaf of bread.
Interesting.
“Here’s my problem, little one. I don’t know who you are. So far, you have stolen bread, run away from me, and when I confronted you, you fought me.”
His captive shivered, shaking his head, as if he didn’t agree. He swallowed, but no words came out.
“I know you can talk. I heard you beg me.”
And it had been the sweetest sound in the world.
Kylix frowned at the sudden thought.
“I’ve got fresh bread here. Fresh fruit. Tell me, when’s the last time you ate grapes?” He plucked one from the basket and threw it into his mouth, humming when he licked the sweetness away.
His captive shuddered. The Waltr reflected him in glass, six reflections slumped in a circle, each thinner than the last. He wasn’t beautiful in any safe sense. He was a relic, fragile and furious, trembling and unbowed.
He looked a few years younger than Kylix, early twenties. Platinum blond hair curled around his head in untamed strands. He looked small, as if hunger had cut years away. Lips parted quickly, trembling for the bread.
Kylix inhaled deeply. It was that fear he craved. It was what the Dariux in him needed. The artificial injections he had received as a child had granted him special gifts, his fire element, his need to hunt, his desire for fear.
Kylix was loved by Helions. As head of the Luminary, he was responsible for security on their planet. He’d been in charge of chasing Attica, the rebel organization who’d left ruin and death in their wake, and bringing them to heel.
And he had. But not even he could ignore that this boy, this frail, trembling beauty, had helped him wrap up the case. He’d frozen the rebels before Kylix could get to the crime scene and had therefore saved his cousin Helianth’s life.
Kylix studied him the way he studied fire, in awe. Every twitch of his jaw drew Kylix deeper. Every fast swallow pulled him in.
And he didn’t know why.
Not even he had a reason to keep him here.
Which was why he had to be fast.
Kylix threw another grape in his mouth. “Hmm. They’re so good. Are you sure you don’t want to try?”
Leaning in, he pressed the fruit against his little ghost’s mouth, using it to trace the shape of those lips, lush as they were despite being so dry. He mapped every subtle curve, drank in every shocked gasp.
“Open.”
Their eyes met.
Slowly, his mouth opened. Kylix’s cock hardened at the sight. His little ghost was perfect, desperate and hungry and completely at his mercy. He used the grape to trace the straight row of white teeth. A sob filled the silence.
“No, little one. You won’t get to eat if you don’t talk.” Kylix plopped the fruit in his own mouth.
In the background, Vandor coughed. Kylix had forgotten he was there. His presence irritated and aroused him at the same time. His subtle disagreement was laughable.
He broke the bread.
Mine before Light. Mine before Fire.
“Let me ask you again. What’s your name?”
He slowly lifted a piece of bread. His eyes fixed on the captive’s mouth, watched how the boy stared at the food, pride and stubbornness temporarily forgotten.
He let it hover within reach. He let him take a corner.
Dry against his tongue. Then his lips closed.
Crumbs stuck damp at the edge of his mouth.
His throat worked too fast. He swallowed like a man starved.
A fleck caught on his lip. His tongue brushed it away.
He coughed once. It was a ragged sound. Spit gleamed at the corner of his lips.
Vandor coughed once again. “Perhaps he needs some water, sir.”
“Perhaps you need to shut your mouth,” Kylix murmured in return. He tilted his head, eyes locked on the boy’s face. Desire licked at his insides. “Or do you think he’s right, little ghost? Is it water you want?”
His blink was enough. Kylix had seen many prisoners crack. This was where it started; it always did. “So easy,” he murmured. “A scrap and your body sings for me. Perhaps you’re right, Vandor. Perhaps a bit of water is all he needs to share his secrets. Would you like that, little one?”
He held the glass in front of his face. “Your name.”
“M-Mirel,” he finally rasped, defeated.
“Mirel.” Kylix tasted it under his breath. He said it again to feel the shape. He pressed the glass to Mirel’s mouth and watched as his lips parted and drank eagerly, throat working, desperate to keep up. When he finished, Kylix set the glass aside on the table.
“You were named after the Light? Did your mother hope you’d burn bright or freeze the world?”
Mirel’s shoulders lifted in the smallest shrug. “I-I don’t know.”
Kylix pinched the bread between two fingers and held it near, letting the warm scent do the work. “Tell me,” he murmured. “Was the old man your father?”
He tore off a crust of fresh bread and brushed it against Mirel’s lower lip. His lips parted, sharp teeth ready to bite.
He pulled it back when the lips parted. “Uh-uh, not yet. Yes, or no?”
Mirel shook his head.
“Good boy.” Kylix watched as Mirel chewed, overthinking his situation.
Mirel was Dariux, that much was sure, but did that also make him an ally? As trained as he was in security, he couldn’t be sure. Where had he come from? How long had he lived in that graveyard?
“Now, once again, who taught you the power of ice?” He brushed a strand of white hair from Mirel’s face. His heart jumped when their eyes met.
Mirel pressed his mouth thin. No answer.
“You are a stubborn little thing.” Kylix pressed another crumb to the lower lip. “Is it because you fear me? Here.”
Mirel’s mouth opened for the crust of bread.
Kylix’s cock thickened at the gesture. He watched in fascination as Mirel’s slender throat worked. “It doesn’t matter, little ghost. I will find out. Though perhaps it might be too late for you then.”
Mirel jerked back, fists clenching. The cuffs held. His lips pressed shut then parted with a rasped denial. “I-I don’t know.”
“You don’t know who taught you the power of ice? Would you like to know?” He took another piece of bread and fed it to Mirel, brushing a knuckle over the dry lips as they chewed.
“N-no,” Mirel rasped after he swallowed.
“Here’s what I know. It was you, at the Aureate. You were the one who killed Ludo Fandi, through Cyprian’s hands. That was impressive. But why risk yourself for him? Do you know Cyprian?”
Mirel looked away.
“Did you want Ludo dead?” Kylix leaned in on his own volition, hunger making his incisor itch with the need to kill. He licked his lips and brushed them against Mirel’s cold cheek. “Or did you just enjoy the violence?”
“N-no.” Mirel jerked back, eyes wide.
Kylix laughed. “Little ghost, and a little liar as well. What am I going to do with you? Vandor, what should I do with this thief? Throw him in our cells, or into the arena?”
“Sir, perhaps—”
“Shut up.” Kylix brushed his mouth against Mirel’s temple, breathing in. “It would be a waste to kill such beauty.”
Mirel’s cheeks darkened.
Kylix dragged his lips over the heated skin, following the slope of his jaw down to the curve of his mouth. “It was also you who froze my crime scenes,” he murmured. “I could have you arrested for that.”
Mirel pulled back, breath ragged.
“Do you live in the graveyard?”
“Y-yes.”
Not anymore, Kylix’s inner voice whispered.
Good Light, what was happening to him?
“For how long?”
Mirel’s shoulders sagged. He shook his head lightly.
Kylix wanted to laugh it away, wanted to punish him for his useless stubbornness. Nobody refused an Essential, Helion Elite, let alone an Imperial Prince. Yet here he sat. Mirel, small, bound, exhausted, famished, and did.
It made him want to discover every inch of him. Peel off every layer of grime and refusal until he understood why the hell he’d chased after him. Why he had brought him here.
Why his body reacted to him the way it did. It wasn’t simple hunger or a need to kill. No, there was something else.
Mirel’s skin had turned pale with exhaustion. The tremor in his body told Kylix his strength was nearly gone.
“I will find out who you are.” Kylix leaned closer. “I will know, and then you’ll regret not having told me.” His breath felt warm against Mirel’s cool cheek, his heat ghosting his lips.
“I will hunt you down. Bring you to your knees.” He could feel the faint tremor of breath against his mouth, could feel the way Mirel’s silver lashes trembled.
He let the crust graze the parted lips. “Or you could tell me what I want to know.”
Mirel’s tongue flicked out to take the bread, making Kylix’s hunger spike.
“How—”
His question was cut off by the sound of a deep chime.
Kylix yanked up. “Who the fuck comes to my place unannounced?”
Vandor flicked his multi-slate. “It’s Moargan. Cyprian is with him,” he said.
Mirel’s head snapped up at the name. Kylix’s pulse tightened at the thrill of it. He filed the reaction away, kept it to himself.
“Go on down,” Kylix told him. “I’ll be right behind you.
” He placed the food far enough that Mirel couldn’t touch it.
“I’ll be back,” he promised, “and then we’ll continue our little conversation.
I’m beginning to have some appetite myself as well.
” He bent and pressed a kiss against the chain, then laughed as he turned and left.
Moargan lounged in the living room as if the place were his. Cyprian leaned pale at his side, black hair damp at his temples. Golden eyes burned faint through sickness. One hand pressed tight to his chest.
“Cyprian isn’t well,” Moargan said. His smile tilted, but his hand tightened on the younger man’s arm. He glanced at the Waltr as if testing the heat.
“So you bring your bonded to me?” Kylix raised a brow.
Moargan chuckled and tightened his grip. “Trust me, I’d rather not. But he insisted.”
“Why?”
“You left the arena early.”
“So? There was an incident that needed taking care of.”
“And have you?” Cyprian’s gaze lifted. Golden eyes burned faint even through sickness. His chest shivered with effort. A drop of sweat slid down his throat.
“Have I what?”
“Taken care of it?” Moargan said dryly.
Kylix brushed a hand through his hair. “I’m still working on it. You guys just had your ceremony. Shouldn’t you be bonding somewhere?”
Moargan whistled, pressing Cyprian close. “If that’s what you’re worried about, dear cousin, don’t. No, you see, my lover insisted we come here. Cyprian?”
Cyprian tugged at his shirt with trembling fingers. He lifted the hem, baring chest and ribs.
Luminous lines webbed his skin, the living map of every Dariux still bound to life. They appeared when one of them drew near, or when another touched Helion’s soil again.
The marks pulsed faint, then flared, the spiderweb brightening until it burned gold through his skin.
“Good Light.” Kylix’s eyes burned in awe.
“Another Dariux has been detected, and they are close,” Moargan said. He tightened his grip on Cyprian’s arm.
“Another one?” Kylix asked, sharper than he meant.
“Not close, Kylix. Here.” Cyprian’s voice was thin. “In this house.”
“In this house.”
“Have you seen anything?” Moargan asked.
Kylix slowly shook his head, torn between loyalty and selfishness. He didn’t enjoy seeing his cousin’s bonded visibly affected, but he wasn’t ready to give up his secret treasure either. Not until he was finished toying with him.
After all, Mirel had been arrested, meaning he’d fallen into his territory.
Moargan hesitated, but when Cyprian let out a low hiss, he stood and pulled his bonded from the couch. “He will let us know when he does find someone, won’t he?”
Kylix flicked the comment away. “Yeah, sure, sure.”
“But what if he doesn’t know they’re here or they’re lost?” Cyprian tried. The threads on his chest pulsed deeper.
“What? In my house?” Kylix grinned until his jaw ached.
“That’s not possible, and you know it.”
“But what if—”
“That’s enough, lover.” Moargan pulled him from the couch, an arm around Cyprian’s frail shoulders. “You’re frightening yourself.”
Kylix thought of Mirel’s fragile build upstairs. Mirel, who sat chained in his Waltr, waiting for him to return. He stood too. “If I happen to find anything inside my property, I’ll let you know.”
Moargan chuckled. “You do that. Now, I’m taking you home. You should be in bed, lover. You’re still recovering from all the excitement. We’ll soon do a proper celebration with the rest, cousin.”
“Sounds good.” Kylix’s multi-slate dinged with a message from the Luminary. He frowned when he read the text.
“What is it?” Moargan wanted to know.
“It’s probably nothing, but I’ll check to be sure. Some medic was reported missing, works in the prison.” He walked them to the exit. “Did Helianth get home in one piece after the ceremony?”
His cousin, and Moargan’s younger brother, had been badly injured during a recent kidnapping. Attica, a group of rebels, were responsible, and had been put to trial tonight.
Moargan closed the buttons of Cyprian’s coat. “He did. He’ll be feeling much better in a few days. There.” He dropped a kiss on Cyprian’s forehead. “No more worrying. And you, come for drinks soon. I could use the entertainment.”
“Sure thing.” Kylix watched them leave. His smile fell the moment they were out of sight.
It was obvious Mirel was Dariux, but he had hoped to have more time alone. Now, with Cyprian’s physical reaction to Mirel, he had to be fast.
And he didn’t even know what it was he truly wanted.
Perhaps he should have told them about his captive.
He turned up the stairwell, each step heavy with possession, with more need. By the time he reached the Waltr, blood had pumped south and his body felt taut.
Perhaps not.