Chapter Three #2
“What happened?” Vale asked. He hoped he’d get answers from Robbie because from the set of Cyril’s jaw, he didn’t think he’d get them from his boyfriend.
“Cyril had an odd reaction to the deceased woman he had to work with today,” Robbie said, staring at Cyril as if daring him to deny it. “He didn’t tell me what was going on, but I’ve never seen him react that way, so I knew something was up.”
“I see,” Vale murmured. He really didn’t see, but he had to say something. Cyril still looked like a skulking teenager, which was endearing, but it didn’t tell Vale what the fuck was happening.
“I’ll call you as soon as I know more,” he promised Robbie.
“You know, you two could stop talking as if I’m not there,” Cyril complained. “And I truly am fine.”
Robbie nodded. “All right. I’ll see you soon, then.”
Cyril’s expression softened, and he hugged Robbie. “You will. Thanks for taking care of me.”
“Just don’t do anything stupid, please.”
“I can’t make promises,” Cyril said with a laugh.
As soon as Robbie was out the door, Vale grabbed Cyril’s hand and dragged him toward the bedroom.
Cyril didn’t argue, which meant something definitely was up.
Hopefully, he’d tell Vale. Vale would find out one way or another.
He needed to protect his boyfriend, and he could only do that if he had all the information he needed.
“What happened?” Vale asked as soon as the door was closed.
Cyril shook his head. “I knew her.”
“The dead woman?”
“Well, I never talked to her or anything, but I’d seen her before.” Cyril hesitated. “During my nightmare.”
Vale was confused. “The one you had last night?”
“Yes. I’d never seen her before then. I’d never even heard her name. I just know that yesterday, I was in her head when she had the car accident. I felt her die, Vale.”
This was far from being Vale’s area of expertise, but he wasn’t going to abandon his boyfriend. “And it was the first time you dreamed of someone dying?”
“Well, I dream of people dying all the time, but never like this. I don’t know what happened.”
“Maybe you’re not fully healed still,” Vale suggested.
“The doctor said I’m fine.”
“But the doctor doesn’t know anything about your ability. Is it possible that it’s changing after you hit your head?”
Cyril hesitated, then shrugged. “I guess it is, but it’s never really changed before.”
“You never suffered a head injury before, either. There’s also Oscar to consider.”
“What about him?”
“Well, he’s linked to you, isn’t he? Wouldn’t it make sense for him to change if you are changing?”
Cyril turned to look at Oscar, who, as always, was lounging on the bed.
He raked a hand through his hair, and Vale desperately wished there was something he could do to help.
Unfortunately, if Cyril didn’t know what was going on, there was no way Vale would.
Necromancy wasn’t his area of expertise.
He had no idea how it worked. Most days, he wasn’t even sure that Cyril knew how it worked.
“I don’t know,” Cyril murmured.
Vale hated this. He hated feeling powerless and like there was nothing he could do to protect the people he loved.
Unfortunately, if this had to do with Cyril’s ability, he truly could do nothing this time.
He was going to have to wait and watch his boyfriend deal with this on his own.
He could support him, however far that support reached.
Vale wasn’t sure it would be far enough.
* * * *
CYRIL WASN’T AS SURPRISED by what was happening to him this time around.
After his previous experience with Elizabeth Stewart, he knew what to expect—mostly.
The signs were already familiar—the disorienting shift from his own consciousness, the suddenness of being in someone else’s final moments, the helpless awareness that he was about to witness another death.
He knew from the first moment that he wasn’t in his bed or in his body anymore.
In fact, he’d never seen this place before.
It was cold and damp in a way that spoke of abandonment and decay.
While the room was dark, there was enough light filtering in through broken windows for him to be able to see what was happening around him. Even the air smelled damp and mildewy.
He wished he couldn’t see. He also wished he couldn’t feel whatever the person he was in was feeling, because the only thing he could focus on was their pain—searing and like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
It radiated from his chest in waves, each pulse worse than the last. He curled in on himself instinctively, but a loud noise made him jump, and he looked around frantically.
Only to be met by the sight of a man aiming a gun at him.
The pain was still there, but Cyril couldn’t look away from the man. How could he when he recognized him? He’d never thought he’d ever see Vale pointing a gun at him—and in a way, he wasn’t—yet here they were.
Vale looked different, though. He was younger, probably by close to ten years.
His face held a softness that time and experience had eaten away, his eyes wide and not yet hardened by the weight of the things he carried with him today.
His hair was dyed an unnatural shade of red, almost garish in the dim light.
The gun in his hand was steady, but he wasn’t, not fully.
There was something in his posture, a tension that Cyril wasn’t used to seeing.
Cyril had to look away. He glanced down, not surprised to see blood where he could feel the burning pain. It spread across the fabric, warm and sticky. He’d been shot.
By Vale.
The realization hit him like a physical blow, stealing his breath.
He knew what was happening now. There was only one reason for him to be here, and it was that the person he was inside was about to die, just like Elizabeth Stewart had.
He didn’t have a lot of time left, but he didn’t know what to do with the seconds he still had.
Should he demand Vale explain what he’d done?
Would it even make sense to do that? This wasn’t Cyril’s Vale—not the man who brought him coffee in bed and worried when he worked too late.
This was a Vale that Cyril didn’t know and would never meet beyond this nightmare.
He wondered if Vale would tell him about it if he asked.
Vale had been hiding something that involved the Organization John had escaped from, something that made his jaw tighten and his eyes go distant whenever Cyril pushed for answers.
It wasn’t hard to guess what it was now that Cyril was in the thick of it.
He wanted to believe that Vale would never hurt an innocent person.
He needed to believe it. Maybe the person he was in was guilty of something terrible.
He looked down desperately, hoping to see a gun or something else that would tell him that he was inside a bad guy and that Vale had been trying to defend himself, fighting for his life or protecting others.
But that wasn’t what he saw.
He—the girl he was in—was wearing a dark-colored skirt, socks, and sensible shoes.
There was a backpack next to her, open with part of its contents spilled across the grimy floor.
Amongst the things Cyril could see—pens, a water bottle, crumpled papers—was some kind of badge that showed the picture of a painfully young woman with dark hair and eyes. There was a name next to her picture.
Melissa Campbell.
She looked like she should be in college, not bleeding out in an abandoned building. Cyril could feel her fade already. The pain wasn’t as sharp anymore, which should’ve been a relief, but he knew what it meant. Her heartbeat was slowing, her blood leaving her body instead of keeping it alive.
She was dying.
He rolled his head to the side to look at Vale one last time.
Vale had lowered his gun and was approaching, an almost frantic expression replacing his previously cold expression.
His face was pale, eyes wide with something that might’ve been horror or regret.
Was he regretting what he’d done? Had it been an accident?
Cyril wanted to reach out, but Melissa’s strength was leaving, taking his ability to move or speak. He couldn’t ask the questions he desperately needed answers to. All he could do was watch as Vale knelt beside them.
Melissa closed her eyes, and all Cyril could see was darkness.
Until he sucked in a breath and jerked into a sitting position, his heart hammering against his ribs. The pain was gone—thank God—and when he reached for his chest, he was able to move freely, his hands finding only smooth skin beneath his sleep shirt.
“Cyril?”
The familiar voice made his entire body tense. He felt something brush against his arm—Vale’s hand, warm and gentle as always. He didn’t think before moving, couldn’t think past the image of Vale’s younger self holding that gun, couldn’t separate the man he loved from what he’d just seen.
Cyril moved so quickly he almost fell off the bed, his legs tangling in the sheets as he scrambled away.
When the light suddenly turned on, he blinked rapidly, trying to adjust, but there was nothing odd about their bedroom.
Same warm-painted walls, same scattered books, same messiness.
Vale was sitting on their bed, staring at Cyril with wide, worried eyes.
He wasn’t the red-haired Vale from the vision anymore—this was Cyril’s Vale, older and scarred.
He wasn’t reaching for Cyril anymore, but someone else was.
Oscar had placed himself between them, his tentacles tense as if he was ready to strike.
Cyril placed a shaking hand on top of Oscar’s head, hoping to calm both of them.
“Easy,” he whispered. Oscar relaxed slightly at the contact but didn’t move from his protective position, and Cyril found himself grateful for the barrier between him and Vale.
“Cyril?” Vale asked again, and there was something fragile in his voice that reminded Cyril of the younger man in his nightmare. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Maybe I have. Cyril had the thought, but he couldn’t say it out loud. He cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”
“You woke up screaming.”
The words hit him like a slap. “I did?” Cyril hadn’t realized that. Melissa hadn’t been screaming when she’d died—she’d been too weak.
“Yeah. Loud enough to wake me and Oscar. Was it another nightmare?”
Was Cyril supposed to answer that? Vale would push if he didn’t—not now anyway.
“Yeah. I didn’t really see much because the room was dark.
” He wanted to ask Vale to explain what he’d seen and demand the truth about Melissa Campbell, that abandoned building, and the gun.
But at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to form the words.
He didn’t know how Vale would react, and for the first time since they’d been together, that frightened him.
He loved Vale with a depth that sometimes took his breath away.
He’d fallen in love with his gentleness despite his profession.
His overprotective streak should have felt like too much, but instead, it made Cyril feel cherished.
It was strange, loving a professional assassin, but Cyril had never felt like he was in danger with him.
Vale’s violence was something that happened to bad people in a world Cyril didn’t understand.
He still didn’t feel physically threatened—not really.
But he felt like maybe he didn’t really know Vale at all.
Maybe there was a hidden side to his boyfriend that Cyril hadn’t yet met.
He didn’t think he wanted to discover that person in the middle of the night, with nowhere to run and only Oscar’s protection between them.
“But you’re okay?” Vale pressed, and there was genuine concern in his voice, the same tone he used when Cyril worked too late or forgot to eat.
Cyril needed to project calm before Vale’s protective instincts kicked into overdrive. The last thing he needed was Vale trying to fix this with hovering and questions. “I’m fine. It was just a nightmare.”
“The kind of nightmare you didn’t have before getting hurt.”
“Look, there’s nothing we can do about this right now.” Cyril’s voice came out sharper than he wanted. “Why don’t we go back to sleep and talk in the morning? Maybe I’ll remember more then.”
He doubted he’d see anything else—he hadn’t with Elizabeth Stewart—and they couldn’t sit there for the rest of the night, staring at each other.
Vale looked like he wanted to argue, but Cyril did the puppy eyes he knew got to Vale every time, widening them just slightly and letting a little vulnerability show through.
Tonight wasn’t any different from all the other times he’d used that particular weapon.
Vale’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and he reached for Cyril, maybe to pull him into his arms the way he always did when Cyril needed it.
Oscar jerked out of Cyril’s hold and placed himself between Cyril and Vale again. Cyril stared at him, once again wondering what was wrong with him. Oscar had never been like this, not even with Vale during their early days, when they still hadn’t fully trusted each other.
“I think it’s best if we keep some distance between us tonight,” he told Vale. He was secretly relieved, even though it hurt—he loved Vale with everything in him, but after what he’d seen in his nightmare, he didn’t think he could bear it. Being in the same bed was hard enough after what he’d seen.
Vale’s face went carefully blank, but Cyril caught the flash of hurt before it disappeared. “If that’s what you need,” he said quietly.
Cyril hated that he felt like that, torn between love and fear, between the man he’d chosen and Vale’s past. But until Vale was honest and told him what he was hiding—until he explained what had happened to Melissa Campbell—he didn’t think he could be comfortable with Vale.
He hoped Vale wasn’t hiding something as terrible as killing innocents, but considering what he’d witnessed in his dream, he couldn’t be sure anymore. That uncertainty felt like he was losing his boyfriend.
Maybe he already had.