Nathaniel
I FOCUS ON THE chicken I’m currently grilling, prepping early for dinner. I’m trying not to think about last night—or Landon’s smirking face as he left for the airport early this morning—and failing miserably.
I’m… conflicted.
Never once have I loathed someone so much and wanted them at the same time. Sure, it’s a sexual want, but want nonetheless. How do I deal with this?
What happens when the time comes and it’s time for me to take his power away, stripping that part of him? I don’t care if he hates me more than he already does—I’m not interested in his feelings.
But will I feel empty without the sex? No one has soothed these urges inside of me so beautifully before. Between his desire to fight back, the push and shove of it all, and the way he refuses to break? To give in?
The thing inside of me that craves violence, the thing that makes me a very morally gray man, speaks to him. And he speaks right fucking back.
He coddles and caresses it with his shitty personality alone. Am I prepared to lose that?
The answer is yes. The answer will always be yes. It is my job, and it’s something that he most definitely deserves.
The tension inside of me dissipates a little.
The chicken is cooked, so I rest it on the cooling rack and wash my hands, prepared to ask Master Abraham if he’s ready for tea.
As I make my way from the kitchen and into the large front foyer of Chastain Castle, I take in a steady breath.
Everything is alright—everything is how it should be.
My eyes are drawn to the door that leads into the back gardens, and through the small window, I see Atticus. He’s staring out at the waves, stock-still.
Just as I’m about to head that way to ask him if he wants tea, he shuffles to the right, and I see him.
Julian. Standing on the ledge with one foot raised to jump right off.
My blood runs cold.
He’ll die. As soon as he hits the water, his limbs will freeze, and he won’t be able to move. To fight against the thrashing waves. That is, if he doesn’t bash his skull on a rock first.
I’m running. Before I can even comprehend it, I’m sprinting out the front doors and around the side of the west tower. If I rush in straight off the bat, he might very well retaliate and jump. I need to get him from the side.
I’m not the only one with this idea, though. Atlas is running a few paces ahead of me, seemingly completely unconcerned or unaware of my presence. He must have exited the front door right before I left the kitchen. And as I pause by the west tower, Atlas runs straight for Julian, who jumps.
Julian sinks like dead weight, and I’m tearing through the little trail that leads down to the beach, my shoes digging into leaves and sand as I approach the water.
I only debate it for a moment. Jumping in to try and save him, I mean.
Truthfully, the only feelings I have for Julian are mild respect for his character and slight irritation when I think of his time with Landon.
But Atlas? I love him like family. And I just know, with everything in me, that if Julian dies today, a part of Atlas will, too.
The water is cold. Fucking freezing against my skin as my fingers immediately go numb, and every joint hurts to move.
But I swim anyway, opening my eyes against the sting of the salt as I push myself further and further.
Listen, I have a power or whatever, but I’m not invincible. I’m a normal guy outside of that singular thing and very susceptible to dying of Pneumonia.
Even as I push through the hardening of my sore muscles, I can feel how my body is threatening to tense up completely.
Maybe this was a rash decision. Maybe I should just—
I spot Julian’s body, seemingly unscathed other than his darkening skin.
He’s floating somewhere beneath the rolling tides but not quite sinking to the ocean floor, either.
All thoughts of turning back disappear as I push myself forward, gripping his arm and pulling his body to me as I swim back toward the shore, my head finally breaking the surface.
Wave after wave attempts to drown me, throwing salt water in my face as I push through it, wading through the cold.
And finally, finally, I find solid ground again, Julian pressed against me where I hold him in my arms. But he’s not… he’s not breathing.
My own breath is shallow and forced as I gently lay his cold body in the sand, my mind immediately reeling with how to revive him.
Starting with chest compressions, I alternate between that and mouth-to-mouth, counting lowly to myself.
I can vaguely sense approaching footsteps, someone calling out to me, but I’m too focused. I’m desperately trying to bring this man back to life.
I wish my power were more useful. I wish there was something more I could be doing as I press into his chest, holding his nose as I breathe my own life into his body.
“Give it up, Barfred. There’s no pulse,” Atticus says softly, but I ignore him, continuing my attempts without hesitation.
The cold water should prolong his descent; there could be hope left.
“Please, Julie,” Atlas is whispering, suddenly across from Julain’s body as he sits on his knees. “Come back to me. Don’t die. Wake up and love me.”
My heart constricts in my chest, my own body shuddering against the wind.
I’m not a particularly nice guy. But for the people I care about? For Atlas, who is so tortured and sweet? I’ll breathe into Julian’s mouth until I physically can’t. Until I’m passed out from exhaustion.
“Barfred,” Atticus warns again, but his voice is cut off by Julian, who makes a choking noise.
I can feel it the moment his life returns to him, expanding his chest and violently shaking his body.
Thank fuck.
Green, foamy liquid begins to pour out of Julian’s mouth, and I shove his body, rolling him onto his side as I call out, “Move,” to Atlas.
I watch as Julian vomits, not hearing a single thing other than the gargled sounds as I wait for his full recovery. For him to breathe on his own.
Time crawls by until finally he mutters, “A-Atlas?”
“Julie! You’re alright now. We have you. You’re safe,” Atlas cries, brushing Julian’s wet hair from his face.
A moment passes, one full of relief, before Atlas suddenly throws his arms around me.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Thank you so, so much. I… I can never repay you for what you’ve done.”
There is so much affection, so much appreciation in his voice that it makes my throat tight. I did it—I saved his lover.
This right here is why I do what I do. I work for the council and push through my own feelings time and time again for people like this—the ones who need someone stronger than them to protect them.
“No worries, Young Master Atlas,” I say gently. “Just doing what’s right.” I pat his head, standing to leave. They need a moment alone. “I need to shower before I catch a cold.”
As I walk away, I hear a mumbled “W-where am I?” from Julian.
My skin is numb, the wind blowing through my dripping hair just enough to have me shivering anyway. The fabric of my clothes is clinging to my skin in an uncomfortable chafe as I head into the bathroom on the first floor—the one readily available to employees—and strip.
Hannah, who must have seen me walk in soaking wet, sneaks in momentarily, taking my clothes to the dryer and replacing them with sweats and a t-shirt. I always keep a spare change of clothes in the laundry room; you never know when you’ll dirty yourself in the kitchen.
“Thanks, Hannah!” I call after her, hearing her responding hum as she slips back out of the room.
I stay safely hidden behind the shower curtain, though I doubt the married woman wants to ogle me anyway.
The hot water is painful against my frostbitten skin, and I know that somewhere else in Chastain Castle, Julian is most likely experiencing the same pain.
I’m happy he’s alive, more for Atlas’s sake than his. The poor boy would have probably shattered. He would have fallen apart. I’m not sure why Julian decided to jump from the cliff, but he seems relieved to be alive.
I doubt it was an intentional, suicidal move.
I sigh, standing under the showerhead as my skin begins to thaw even further.
Will I tell Landon that his best friend was just brought back to life with my own breath? No. It’s not that I’m concerned for his feelings per se, but more that I refuse to report back to him like a dog.
I owe the man nothing—nothing but what I’ve already promised him. Total and complete destruction. Even if his body gets to me, even if his desire sings to mine.
Despite this—even as I can see clearly in my mind’s eye that I still hold this loathing, this disgust for him—I want to see him again.
I want to fight, to dominate his body, to watch him crumble at my hands. Visions of his bright green eyes, his soft hair, and the firm ridges of his body cloud me even now, as I’m trembling and worn down.
Landon doesn’t deserve the pleasure I inflict on him, but I do. I deserve as much joy from this life as I can rip from its greedy hands, and if I want to use him as a source in that, I don’t see the issue.
Surely the council can wait just a while. I can probably get away with a month or two if I wanted to, claiming that I’m gathering evidence.
As long as Landon continues to lie low, I should be able to wring a few more pleasurable visits out of him before I rip him to shreds. Permanently.