Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
His father was probably laughing, wherever he was.
Alone and shrouded in complete darkness with nothing but his own regrets and fears for company, Nelson wondered if his father was looking on in pity or disgust. Humiliation was keeping the panic at bay as Nelson searched his senses for any clue to where he was and what had happened.
His entire body throbbed and stung but Nelson couldn’t move, his wrists were tied to the arms of a chair and his feet bound to its legs.
That was merely an annoyance. The heavy, humid hood covering his head and making it hard to hold it upright was maddening.
He could breathe—barely—but everything else was muffled.
Whatever the hood was made of, it made it difficult to hear anything other than a soft metallic rustling.
Nelson guessed that the outer layer was possibly chainmail and whatever metals and materials the hood was made of made it impossible to hear or feel Nox.
As a result, Nelson had never felt this alone and was terrified that something similar had happened to Nox.
Me and my stupid inability to mind my own business.
Nelson had buried his father eighteen months earlier and the last thing he said was that he was surprised.
He didn’t think Nelson would make something of himself at the FBI but he had come through in the end, catching those responsible for the Moon Murders and saving six young women from a ruthless cult.
His father didn’t die believing Nelson was a complete failure and he seemed begrudgingly impressed with Nox.
“Should have known you were one of them. You always make everything as complicated as possible for yourself. You never take the straight and easy way. But at least he’s someone and not one of those hippie social justice warriors.”
If only his father knew…
For Nelson, that had been a positive response and as close to acceptance as he would ever get from his father.
Not that Nelson particularly cared about his father’s opinions about his personal life.
He had approved of very little about Nelson so one more disappointment wouldn’t have mattered.
But Nox had gently nudged Nelson into telling him and when the news had been received…
tepidly, they had agreed to invite him to dinner at the townhouse.
That he had accepted and appeared on time with a bottle of scotch had stunned Nelson and impressed the hell out of Nox.
Dinner had been catered and Merlin was banished from the house, allowing for a relatively normal evening.
Nelson was even more shocked when his father questioned Nox about past cases and documentaries he had been featured in.
The old man had cared enough to do some research and feign interest in Nox.
In the aftermath, Nelson had been baffled but pleased that his father had met Nox and had accepted their relationship. It was a nice thing to know but it wasn’t anything Nelson had ever expected or craved so he took the entire matter with a grain of salt.
Nox, on the other hand, thought it was huge and that Nelson had given himself and his father a lot of closure that neither were aware they needed.
For Nelson’s father, who was nearing the end of his life, he was finally able to see who and what his son had become as an adult.
Nelson had molded himself into a clone of his father and hidden anything that didn’t conform so it would have been huge for him to reveal something so wildly radical to his maker.
Nox had applauded the refreshing open-mindedness and curiosity, sensing that Nelson’s father was truly pleased that his son had found happiness and wouldn’t be alone.
That was probably what had surprised Nelson’s father the most. He would have expected Nelson to fail as miserably at relationships as he had at the FBI and that he’d always be an outcast. A loser.
But Nelson had proven him wrong and somehow managed to impress and win the heart of a brilliant, charismatic, highly-regarded Georgetown professor.
Of course, none of that had been a conscious decision on Nelson’s part and there was little he could do to stop it.
Not that he wanted to. For some unfathomable reason, Nelson had been blessed and given a place at Nox’s side for the rest of eternity.
Who was Nelson to question the universe and why would he run from that?
Especially when his destiny included Nox.
Why would anything else matter? Especially the opinion of a man who had never believed in Nelson. And his father wasn’t completely wrong in the end. Nelson had complicated matters for himself and Nox could be in danger at this very moment.
All it had taken was a spilled purse and a few fake tears to trap Nelson.
He had fallen for the oldest and laziest trick in the book and had let everyone down, not just his father.
Who told the fates that Nelson was cut out for this?
They had either been woefully misinformed or had a terrible sense of humor.
Nelson often wondered if his grandfather knew about their connection to the Dagda and if he had tried to prepare him.
“You’ve got a pretty decent brain and a strong heart, kiddo. They’ll get you in trouble but go ahead and listen to them. There are worse things than going hungry.”
Their hunting trips had been the highlights of Nelson’s childhood and the few occasions where he felt loved, albeit in his grandfather’s gruff, abrupt manner.
There was little affection because all of the Nelsons, and his mother, were cold people.
But every now and then, Nelson’s grandfather would give his hair a quick ruffle or his chin a playful punch.
His father didn’t have that kind of relationship with Nelson’s grandfather, from all Nelson had observed.
Had his grandfather known that Nelson’s father wasn’t able or worthy?
Their relationship had always been strained but his father never objected to weekend hunting trips for Nelson.
He was always busy with work and didn’t care what Nelson did as long as he stayed out of trouble.
His career had been exemplary and Nelson doubted his father would have let fate stand in the way of his aspirations.
He was on track to become the director of the FBI and would have likely gone onto a cabinet position but was forced to retire after a second stroke left him with some paresis and vision loss.
As far as the rest of the FBI was concerned, the current Nelson’s poor performance was an insult to injury and a tragic end of a noble family legacy at the bureau.
Nox had changed all of that for Nelson and had given him something bigger than the FBI to dedicate his life to. In hindsight, Nelson wondered if his grandfather had seen something more in him, something his own father had missed. Was he disappointed in Nelson too?
A faded fragment of a memory pulled Nelson back to the misty mountains of Northern Virginia and a hunting blind at the edge of a creek bed.
It was a gray, chilly October morning and the sun had yet to rise.
Nelson was drowsy, his cheek resting against his bow and an arrow, forgotten and dangling in his grasp as he waited.
His eyes were heavy and blurred when a buck leaped into the clearing.
The buck was the largest Nelson had ever seen, approximately six years old with eleven dagger-like points on its massive antlers.
He was graceful, yet bold as he strode to a fallen tree to scratch his antlers.
The young buck acted as if he owned the place, strutting and grazing without a hint of concern.
A gentle nudge from his grandfather snapped Nelson out of his reverie.
He barely moved, readjusting the quiver in his grip, smoothly and silently drawing it back.
Nelson stared at the spot on the buck, where death would come fastest and easiest, took a steadying breath, held it, and let the arrow fly.
It hit the fallen tree, lodging into the bark.
Just a slight adjustment of Nelson’s aim was all it had taken and had been enough to send the buck fleeing back into the woods.
Nelson ducked his head so his grandfather wouldn’t see the slight smile that had passed across his lips.
He could never bring himself to kill a deer.
He’d killed a duck once and a dangerous mountain lion, both with arrows, but Nelson had never enjoyed hunting.
He drew the line at anything with bullets and only used a bow and arrow, a knife, or his bare hands when he went out with his grandfather.
He would have preferred a camera and was more enamored with being present and quiet in nature.
His grandfather had simply laughed it off and said there would be other opportunities, that it had still been a hell of a shot.
Had he known that Nelson had aimed at the tree, and not the buck?
If so, he hadn’t let on and never scolded Nelson for all the times he had missed.
It never stopped him from teaching Nelson everything he knew about tracking, hunting, and surviving in the wilderness.
Perhaps he understood Nelson’s reverence for nature and wildlife, especially deer.
Where had those instincts gone? He’d come so far and had exceeded his forefathers’ legacies only to fall for the oldest trick in the book. And how much trouble had Nelson gotten himself into this time by being a gullible twit?
“You’re only an idiot if you don’t learn from your mistakes, kiddo. Keep your eyes and your ears open and the light will find you.”
That had seemed like a strange thing for his grandfather to say at the time, but Nelson didn’t dwell on it.
They were staring into a campfire when he had said it, both worn out after a long day of hiking and tracking.
Nelson was dwelling on a fight he had broken up on campus a few days earlier, that he had been blamed for after a professor swung on Nelson and broke his fist on a brick wall.
Nelson blamed himself for interfering and for having bizarrely quick reflexes.
Life would have been so much easier if he could look the other way.
Or shut his mouth and take an actual punch now and then.
Instead, Nelson’s career and reputation kept taking hits until he met Nox.
It appeared that Nelson was up to his old tricks but this was a particularly cheap and easy trick to have fallen for.
“Do you see those stars there?”
Nelson recalled what his grandfather said after he told Nelson to keep his eyes and his ears open. He turned from the fire and pointed overhead, and just off to their right.
“That bright star is Vega. Do you remember it?”
“I do.”
His grandfather had laughed fondly. “Of course, you do. You’re brighter than you let on, but that’s smart too. Never let them see you coming. Look at how the stars around Vega make up a shape. I think it looks like a necktie. See it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s actually a harp. The King’s Harp.”
Nelson was suddenly alert under the hood, shaken from his self-loathing stupor.
Where had that part of the memory been for all these years?
Nelson reeled under the hood, dizzy from the revelation and the stifling heat.
His hair clung to his brow and every hot breath made him more claustrophobic.
He had never done well with tight spaces and Nelson had no way of knowing if he was in a broom closet or an airplane hangar.
It might as well have been the former, for all he knew.
He ached to tell Nox about the King’s Harp and to hold him again.
His regret and bitterness rose and Nelson gave the armrests a hard jerk, testing the bindings and the chair.
The wood felt solid. Sturdy. Then, something cold and hard—like frozen twigs or claws—scraped along Nelson’s forearm, chilling his blood and stealing his breath.
“No!” He jumped when it slipped under the hood and stroked his skin. “What is that?” he asked, then lost his breath as his throat was squeezed and he was hit with blinding, searing pain. “No! Please… Stop!”