Chapter 3 Barely Breathing
Cecil examined his face in the dingy mirror—courtesy of the crappy motel he was currently staying in. After three days, all of the bruises and cuts had healed—except one. The dark purple bruise on his right side hadn’t gone away. In fact, it had spread, and Cecil now had a matching one on his back.
Leaving the bathroom, he sat carefully on the bed.
His breathing hadn’t improved. Whatever had broken—one of his ribs, probably—was preventing something inside him from healing. And because Cecil wasn’t an idiot, it was obvious to him that the ‘something’ was his right lung.
On top of that, he was almost out of money. The motel may have been terrible, but it was more expensive than the others because they had better security. Still cheaper than an actual hotel, of course.
So, right now, his options were limited.
Either go to a hospital to have whatever was broken fixed, or make some money and then go.
Considering he would need a place to stay after being released, getting money first was the best option.
Thank fuck healthcare was free—well, unless you wanted special shit.
A soft chirping and a small nudge against his hand had him glancing down. Drop was acting like the pet Cecil had programmed it to be. It wanted his attention—his touch.
It wouldn't for long though. Arcanids could only keep their form for a limited amount of time.
The power Cecil had used to create Drop would dissipate.
Feeding Drop his blood would prolong its existence, but even then, it would begin to lose its purpose—its fluidity.
At most, the thing would last two more days.
Cecil gently rubbed the top of Drop's head. Its wings fluttered and it let out a satisfied tweet.
“Sadly, your days are numbered, little buddy.” His words had no effect on it, Drop just stared up at him dumbly.
“You can't comprehend life or death, can you?
Then again, you can't really understand anything.
You listen but can't follow. You can move, mimic life, yet you aren't really alive. But you are all I have, so I guess I just have to accept that.”
Drop’s wings fluttered a few more times before it flew to his shoulder, scrunched up, and nuzzled into his neck.
Snorting, he said, “You know, it's possible that if I go out, I will come back to a puddle of blood. Which is why you get to wait in the bathtub while I'm gone. Because I can't afford to replace whatever you fall apart on.”
After placing Drop into the bathtub—with the order to stay—Cecil changed into the sexiest outfit he owned; a skin-tight, long sleeve shirt that was the color of his eyes, and black skinny jeans that molded to his legs and ass. The jeans took some painful maneuvering, but at least they looked good.
Grabbing the key to the door, Cecil left his backpack and the suitcase he recently purchased behind. The motel was secure enough that he trusted they would be there when he got back.
Cecil walked out. Locking the door behind him, he wandered off down the sidewalk in the direction of where the rich roamed.
It was time to make some money.
Sin had to fight back the urge to roll his eyes at the nonsensical lies and blatant bribery coming from the man sitting in front of him. Lundgren must know nothing about him to think that Sin would ever tarnish his dignity or his honor by accepting a bribe.
“Mr. Lundgren,” Sin drawled, cutting the man off.
“I feel I must stop you there. From what I have heard so far, continuing this meeting would be a waste of my time. I came here under the assumption that you had proof of your innocence, so we could possibly avoid a pointless trial. What I have found are only lies.”
Dozens of immortals were missing, yet for some reason, he had made the choice this morning to grace this fool with his presence.
“Mr. Draven, I—”
“Enough. I do not need or want to hear more. The trial will go on as planned, and you will lose. Your mind has not even been searched and we already have enough to bury you. The abuses of authority you carried while Mayor of the city of Binds are almost too well documented. Your misappropriation of public funding, not to mention all the workers you have refused to pay, will put you away for years.” Standing, Sin buttoned and smoothed down his suit jacket.
“I suggest you put your affairs in order, your time as a free man is coming to an end.”
Mr. Lundgren lunged and grabbed the front of Sin’s jacket, while bellowing, “You can't do this to me! Do you know who my family is?”
Glaring down at the man, Sin fought to control his anger. Yes, the man was filth. Yes, his touch made Sin’s skin crawl. But Mr. Lundgren was not worth falling to the ever-present rage prowling at the back of his mind—too many consequences.
Sin encircled Mr. Lundgren’s wrists and slowly began to squeeze, tightening his grip until the man let go.
“I will say this only once. Do not touch me again,” Sin growled before he released him, and once again smoothed down his clothes.
He would definitely be changing when he returned home.
A wash was always required after brushing with such garbage.
“And I am not doing anything to you. You did it to yourself with your uncontrolled greed. Who your family is, does not matter. This is not the First Realm, where money pardons all crimes. This is the Second Realm. Your money and family cannot save you here.”
The man appeared too baffled to speak, which suited Sin just fine. Sin gave the man a snide smirk and left.
Striding quickly through the hotel, Sin couldn't help but wonder in amazement at the arrogance of some criminals.
The ones with money tended to be more so.
They were less moral and unrepentant of their actions than those who had nothing.
It was not always the case, but it was true more often than not.
Sin personally blamed the influx of news and movies coming from the human realm.
So many horrible crimes were left unpunished, some committed by the very individuals meant to hand down judgment.
With a world so unjust, Sin could not fathom how anyone could trust that they would get the retribution they were due.
Foolishly, some immortals had begun to believe that the realities of the First Realm applied to them—that justice would only be wrought on the poor.
The doorman tipped his hat and opened the door for him.
Nodding politely, Sin stepped through it.
He found himself pausing right outside, peering vacantly at the street and the large park beyond it as he remembered that he sent his car away.
Sin hadn't known at the time how long he would be.
Had he known the meeting would only last ten minutes, he would have told his driver to wait.
Shoulders sagging, Sin sat on the bench in front of the bakery next door. He pulled out his cell phone, but a voice had his finger freezing above the call button.
“Hey,” that soft voice called out again.
Glancing back, Sin saw a beautiful young man with curly white hair and long pointed ears leaning against the building behind him.
The man’s eyes were a glowing teal. His jawline was sharp, but that sharpness was softened by his bow-shaped lips and his slightly upturned nose.
If Sin were to guess, he would say the man was about five foot four.
Sin slid his phone back into his pocket and stood to face him. “Is there something I can do for you, young man?”
“Hmm. It's more what I can do for you,” the stranger purred with a kittenish smile.
His eyebrows rose at the blatant come on. While part of him was flattered, the other part noticed the emptiness in the young man's smile. It was well-practiced, no doubt, and would have fooled many.
Of course, most would probably be too focused on the arcadian's body. The tightness of his clothes would not be easy to ignore. But, the boy had no interest in him—that he was sure of. Sin would bet his left arm that he was after money, and had no intention of sleeping with him to get it.
Sin crossed his arms. “What you’re offering does not interest me.”
“Is that so? Well, I think you’re wrong. In fact, I guarantee you’ll be very, very pleased with what I have to offer.” Gliding forward gracefully, the young man brushed against him, his right hand gripping and massaging Sin’s left bicep.
He would admit, the boy lied very well. With that skill, combined with his good looks, Sin was sure many had fallen for the ploy.
But Sin was not so easily fooled. He also had an underlying suspicion that the young man was underage, which begged the question of whether he was stealing to survive or for fun.
Sin was about to rebuke him when a scent tickled his nose—blood.
It was not the pungent scent of blood that flowed from torn skin.
It was the smell of blood when it pooled underneath the skin, gathering in large quantities to damage what surrounded it.
The arcadian in front of him was bleeding internally.
Inspecting the man closely, Sin began to notice other things. The shallowness of his breathing, the stiffness of his body—the child was in pain. The word ‘child’ seemed to fit the more he examined him—a teen, at most. And that alone had him changing his mind.
Smirking, Sin lied, “You may be right. Why don't you show me?”
Cecil worked the man’s suit jacket off his broad shoulders and tossed it on the bed. Just from touch, he could tell it was made of quality material.
“Why don't you freshen up?” Cecil suggested with a fake smile.
The man peered back at him and he felt a nervous fluttering in his stomach.
Cecil was always pretty hyped up when alone with one of his ‘benefactors’.
The chance of getting caught or beaten was always there.
And for some reason, Cecil felt that this particular man saw more than he should.
He was calm, his expression neutral, but it seemed off.
Usually, Cecil would have left rather than risk finding out why. Something was holding him back though. He didn’t know what. Just some feeling that he shouldn’t leave. It was completely idiotic.
Well, if things went to hell, Cecil supposed he could always blame it on his lightheadedness. Because he was seriously having trouble breathing at the moment. So he would be pretty fucked if he had to fight Mr. Expensive Suit off—or run…
A smile slid onto the guy’s face and he said, “What a wonderful idea. I think I will, thank you.”
Cecil had to say, the man was a hell of a lot more polite than any of the others he’d stolen from. To be honest, it was kind of creepy. His smile looked genuine, though, which had him wondering why he was having trouble believing it was real.
As the man walked to the bathroom, Cecil’s gaze slid to the stranger’s ass. Only when the bathroom door blocked his view did Cecil realize what he had been doing.
Well, the guy was nice to look at.
Cecil rolled his eyes—okay, he was fucking hot.
The man’s scent said vampire, and he had to be, what?
Six foot something? His face was diamond shaped, he had a strong jaw, high cheeks, baby-blue eyes, and eyebrows that were way too perfect to be natural.
And damn did the man’s body look good in his, no doubt, tailored suit.
Oh, and his hair, it was black and short, but the way he swept it back…
Cecil was thinking…gangster or businessman with dangerous ties. Though, the polite way he spoke didn’t really fit. And that ass…
Oh my Gods, he needed to get his mind out of the gutter.
There was definitely something wrong about drooling over a man you were about to rob.
Speaking of robbing, he should be getting to it.
The longer Cecil waited, the more likely he would get caught.
And he’d had some close calls that he never wanted to repeat.
Rummaging through the man’s jacket, Cecil almost cried in relief when he found the guy’s wallet. There was always a chance that he kept it in his pocket. Wallet in hand, he turned to leave, and found himself looking at the owner of said wallet.
Cecil gasped in surprise, and then almost doubled over in pain at the pressure it put on his damaged lung. Fuck—how hadn’t he heard him?
“You know, stealing is very illegal, young man.” With a smirk, the guy plucked the wallet out of Cecil’s hand.
“I…”
Despite knowing he would fail, Cecil tried to flee. And he was grabbed like he knew he would be. Except Cecil hadn’t prepared himself for the pain he would feel when the vampire's arm wrapped around his stomach to pull him back. His body spasmed on impact, and Cecil lost the struggle to breathe.
On a strangled cry, his vision spun for a second before darkening to nothing.
Sin stared down in dismay at the man who was collapsed against him. He knew his reappearance would frighten him, but he hadn’t imagined this outcome. Sin had heard the breathless cry of pain the boy released before losing consciousness.
Taking him into his arms, Sin gently laid him on the bed. His hand reached toward the edge of the arcadian’s shirt, but he found himself hesitating. Part of him felt that what he was about to do was a violation of sorts. The young man would not likely allow it if awake.
Right or wrong, it was necessary, Sin decided. Closing the distance, Sin slowly lifted up the shirt. The dark bruises marring his pale skin had him hissing.
“It seems I was right to worry,” Sin murmured.
All he felt was fury when he took in every unnatural dip and lightened spot on the young man’s skin—scars. There were scars everywhere, old scars. For them to still be this noticeable, it meant the wounds had been deep enough that it would take decades before they faded away to nothing.
“Who has been hurting you?” Sin brushed his fingertips over the bruises. Even though he knew it wasn't right for him to do so, he tried to enter his mind.
‘Tried’ being the operative word—he failed.
It was surprising, yet not, at the same time.
It was not the first time he had met an individual that was simply unreadable.
As he considered those who came before the young man, he saw a pattern that he had previously missed.
The majority of them had been arcadians.
Maybe he should mention it to the kings, and suggest that research be done on the phenomenon.
“I promise, whoever has been hurting you will face the justice they so rightly deserve,” Sin whispered sadly.
Righting the man’s clothes, Sin pulled out his phone and called an ambulance. It was five in the afternoon, so they would arrive faster than his driver.
Sin’s brow wrinkled, his gaze following the staggered rise and fall of the young man’s chest. Not to mention, the emergency healers that would come with it would be needed—the boy was barely breathing.