Chapter 8 #2
Petur glared at him and then inexplicably began to laugh.
“I don’t know why I keep getting surprised by you,” he said between his chortles.
“But yes, we can sell these things and start a reserve for our people. Although I am a bit offended that you don’t think I’ve already taken these sorts of concerns into consideration. ”
“Have you?” Deyvid asked, arching a brow. “What are you doing for them, then?”
“Paying for such things out of my own pocket,” Petur replied airily. “But your idea is much better. My funds aren’t inexhaustible, after all.”
“You’re …” Deyvid’s voice trailed off as he contemplated the man in front of him. Petur was smiling, smirking even, but there was a hint of vulnerability around his eyes. That vulnerability quickly turned into sheer satisfaction as Deyvid plopped himself down in his lover’s lap.
“Perfect,” Deyvid murmured as he leaned in to kiss him. “Ridiculous and perfect.”
“Yours,” Petur replied. “Only you get to see it.”
“I’m glad I do,” Deyvid said.
The last holdouts among the Shifter Corps were brought over when Petur made it known that the establishment of the fund was Deyvid’s idea.
With the exception of Brannon, and that was the point where Petur seemed to lose his patience.
He had the man transferred to Tania’s personal guard, and when his sister complained to him, his only reply was, “This is what happens when you meddle in the affairs of others, sister. You get what you want. Clearly, you wanted this man’s loyalty.
Now I have given it to you wholeheartedly. I hope you enjoy it.”
Deyvid wished that he hadn’t been the cause of what seemed like an indelible rift between the siblings.
It was clear from the way Petur spoke about his sister that they had been very close before he came on the scene.
He felt bad about it, and yet Deyvid knew by his second year of living and working with Petur that he wouldn’t be giving the man up.
Not willingly, not for anything. Not unless death parted them.
Two months later, death did try to part them.
Or rather, an assassination attempt on Arven did.
It was sheer chance that Deyvid was even with them that day, but Petur hadn’t given up trying to encourage them to get along.
And so, on an outing for the royal family by the seaside, Deyvid ended up trailing along a ways behind them.
Not a part of the group and yet, thanks to Petur’s doggedness, not comfortably shunted to the side either.
It was a bright, sunny day, the water glistening on the waves like a million tiny gemstones.
The smell of salt was thick in the air, and for all that there were plentiful guards, the beach itself was crowded with other pleasure seekers.
Most of them were barefooted and digging their toes into the fine-grained sand with delight.
Deyvid wasn’t barefooted even though his feet were terribly hot.
He could run faster on sand with his boots on.
It was that discomfort that had him scrutinizing the feet of others and made him startle when he saw a man walking along in a light shirt and trousers and thick leather boots.
As he neared the royal family, Deyvid began to run forward.
“Petur,” he shouted. Petur caught the alarm in his voice and motioned for the guards to more closely surround the royal family.
But the assassin noticed it too and decided to take his shot while he could still get it.
With a sneer, he turned toward the royal family, his hands brimming with sparking orange light, and hurled a fireball toward Tania and her consort, Jemal.
It missed as both of them took on their shifted forms in an instant, the queen falling back into the water as a dolphin and her husband becoming a quick red fox.
Undaunted, the mage loosed a second fireball, aiming it not at the guards themselves this time but at the ground in front of the front line.
Molten sands sprayed into them, cutting through their lighter clothes, and they fell back with screams of pain, leaving a clear path to the prince and princesses.
Deyvid, still sprinting, managed to get in front of the man just in time to take the brunt of his next spell. Sharp edged and silvery, it darted through the air like a dozen arrows, only to fizzle harmlessly into nothing against his chest.
“Move them,” he shouted behind him. He could hear Petur grabbing up the girls. “Arven, come with me,” he shouted.
“That filthy mongrel’s not going anywhere,” the mage snarled. He tried to use magic again, but again, it had no effect on Deyvid, who pulled his sword.
“I won’t run like a coward,” he heard Arven shout at his uncle even as the mage tried to dart around Deyvid, an ominously dripping dagger in hand. Deyvid didn’t let him, smoothly cutting a line across his arm that left him gasping in pain.
“What the fuck are you?” the assassin snarled at him.
Deyvid didn’t reply, just raised his blade to the man’s throat. “Surrender now,” he said, “or else.”
“There is no surrender to filth like them,” he screamed and switched the dagger to his good hand. It took only a moment for Deyvid to realize that he intended to throw it at the prince, who had stubbornly remained behind.
There was no guarantee he could get it from the mage in time.
Deyvid took the second option; he turned and threw himself at Arven, knocking the prince back onto the sand.
A second later, he felt the dagger embed itself in his right thigh.
He grunted with pain but managed to turn and raise his blade again, ready to defend against another attack.
Only there was no time for another attack to be made. Petur was back in his warrior form, and he was not in the mood for questions. He proceeded to murder the absolute hell out of the would-be killer, staining the sand bright red with the man’s blood.
Arven watched it all with wide eyes, then looked at Deyvid. “You saved me,” he said wonderingly.
“Yes,” Deyvid said. Easing off the prince and onto his side, he looked at the dagger. Three inches long—bad enough to be bothersome—but it had missed all of the major arteries, it seemed. Nicked one of his tendons, though. Deyvid grimaced as he pulled the blade out.
“But you don’t like me,” Arven protested.
“I like you fine,” Deyvid said through gritted teeth as he used one of his sleeves to put pressure on the wound. “And now, I’d like you to get help for the rest of your guards.” Several of them were still on the ground, groaning in pain from where the fireball’s detritus had struck them.
“Yes, I—you’re right. I should.” Arven looked around, then focused on Deyvid again. “I just … thank you.”
Deyvid gave him a little smile. “You’re welcome,” he said.
***
There were no thanks from the queen or her consort for saving their son’s life, but Deyvid hadn’t done it for thanks. It did, however, lead to Prince Arven’s full acceptance of him, which was pleasant.
The prince was actually very good company—a bit of a shy boy, in fact, but a gifted shifter, much like his uncle. He was already promised in marriage to the princess and heir apparent of Mersaighe, a country that valued magic over all else.
As the negotiations around their engagement continued, however, it became clear that there were numerous factions within Mersaighe that would rather see Arven dead than their princess engaged to a shifter.
The prejudices ran quite deep, and although Arven and his wife-to-be actually seemed quite fond of each other, the assassination attempts didn’t stop. If anything, they only got worse.
“They’re going to try something tonight,” Petur said as he and Deyvid readied themselves to receive ambassadors from Mersaighe in the palace.
Tonight was when the betrothal would become official, an occasion that should be a matter of great joy but that both of them already knew would be anything but.
“You’re right,” Deyvid agreed. Five years in, he had to use both hands to count the number of attempts made on the lives of the royal family.
He had stopped a good four of them himself, one on each of the princesses in addition to Arven’s and one that had been intended for the queen.
Again, no thanks had been received. “We’ll have to look sharp. ”
“You always look sharp,” Petur said with a smirk.
“Take this seriously,” Deyvid replied. “Your family is in danger.”
“My family puts themselves in danger. If it’s not mages from Mersaighe, it’s killers hired by our own court.
” Tania was still smarting after an attempt on her life by one of her own courtiers the month before.
Surprisingly, it had been enough to bring her and Petur closer for the first time since Deyvid’s arrival five years earlier, after Petur had been the one to save her life.
In her relief, she had embraced him publicly in front of the entire court.
They had shared a meal on a weekly basis since then, and according to Petur, she hadn’t had one bad thing to say about Deyvid, which was truly shocking.
He hoped it was the start of a true reconciliation between the siblings.
“No matter how the attempt comes,” he said, trying to steer them back on subject, “the important thing is that we foil it.”
“Of course, we’ll foil it,” Petur said with the nonchalance that Deyvid found, frankly, a bit insulting. “With you on the case, how could we not?”
“I’ll do my best,” Deyvid said, “but—”
“Your best is worth five times what anyone else in this entire damn palace could produce. My sister will be fine. Her son will be fine. Everyone’s going to be fine.”
“Would that I could be as confident as you,” Deyvid said dryly. Petur just laughed.
No one was laughing an hour later as Petur began to rampage in his warrior form through the ballroom where the celebration had been underway.
Deyvid still wasn’t sure what had set him off—it wasn’t magic.
They’d taken particular care against mages.
He didn’t know what it could be until he got close enough to see the unnatural wideness of Petur’s pupils.
Deyvid realized he must have been drugged. The compounds that could force someone into their most potent shifted form even as they lost control were rare and incredibly expensive, but Deyvid still cursed himself for overlooking the risk.
“Brother, please.” Tania extended her arms toward him in a placating manner. “It’s all right. You’re all right with us. You’re safe. Stop this.” She was trying to be reassuring, to be what he needed, and any other time it might have worked, but right then—
She drew back with a cry as her brother’s claws slashed her arm.
Blood poured from the wound, but as her consort began to run over, Petur whirled on him like he was going to attack.
Jemal faltered and stopped in his tracks, and the scent of the queen’s blood thickened in the air.
Deyvid saw an order to strike Petur down trembling just behind her lips.
He saw her try to steel herself to do it and knew that if he didn’t intervene, Petur was going to die that night.
Deyvid knew that he himself would die before he let that happen.
He sprinted over, throwing off his jacket and ripping his shirt open to bare his skin, and do what he could to fill the air with the scent he knew Petur craved when he was in shifted form.
“Petur,” he shouted. The hulking beast turned toward him, madness in his face, drool dripping from his open maw.
Deyvid got down onto his knees immediately, lowering his eyes so as not to appear threatening. “Petur, please,” he said, keeping his voice soothing. “Please, you’re all right. You’re going to be all right. I know it hurts, but—”
Huge hands found his shoulders and jerked him to his feet. One of the little princesses screamed, but Deyvid ignored it. The grip was tight, but not punishingly so. Some part of Petur knew who he was and was fighting the drug’s influence.
“Sweetheart,” Deyvid murmured. “Sweetheart, listen to me. Listen to the sound of my voice. You have to calm yourself. Relax for me, my love.” The low growl that had been continuous for the past three rampaging minutes slowly softened to something more like a purr.
“That’s it,” Deyvid praised him. “That’s it, my darling, yes.
Calm down. Come back to me. I need you to be with me right now.
Don’t you need me in return? Come back.”
With a sudden groan, Petur shifted forms once more. He stood naked but for the tattered remnants of boots on his feet, his pupils still blown but firmly fixed on Deyvid. “Love,” he whispered. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell to the ground.
As Deyvid went to tend to him, he looked up at Tania, hoping to see an ally there. Instead, he saw a hatred on her face so fierce that it made his heart skip a beat.
Of course. She had tried to comfort her brother and failed while Deyvid had succeeded. He knew there could be no hope for an alliance between them after this, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it.