Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
CLAYTON
It didn’t matter how many times Clayton stared at the mark on his leg; it didn’t go away. It sat planted in the middle of his inner thigh, surrounded by freckles, freckles, and even more freckles, but no other injuries.
Clayton should be aching in every direction, but that royal asshole had decided to heal him after violating him and… claiming him?
Was that what the bite on his leg was? A claim?
Clayton’s dick leapt at the thought, and he glared at it angrily. “This is what got us into this mess in the first place,” he hissed. Since his body didn’t seem to be getting the brief, he added, “Knock it off before he gives us another kid and ditches us again.”
Still nothing. Did he have time to rub one out before he went to deal with the monster on his boat?
Was Mal a monster? Clayton didn’t have the first clue what the man was, and that was saying something.
Clayton was a research nerd beyond the telling.
It probably had something to do with overcompensating for a lack of magic ability, but whatever it was, it had left Clayton with a ton of knowledge about the world, both Other and norm.
So if Clayton couldn’t tell what Mal was, it was a sure bet that no one other than a high-level dreamwalker would be able to, either. Where was Marshall when you needed him?
Probably teaching Cym how to walk or use a spoon or something equally simple that the boy should have learned ages ago instead of taking up the valuable time of the most talented dreamwalkers in more than a century.
Could Mal be a dreamwalker? Most creatures were one or two-trick ponies.
Some of them, like the elemental sprites, could manipulate air, fire, water, and so on.
They could be incredibly powerful at it, but they were stuck to only one element.
Other races were less skilled than elementals, but still held an affinity with a specific thing, like how kirians were exceptionally talented with stone.
The fact that Clayton had two living on his boat was pretty unique. They must really like his kids in order for them to live on the water rather than underground.
Mal, however, seemed to be able to do anything he wanted without lifting a finger. That meant Mal probably wasn’t a witch.
Witches were more varied in what they could do than most races, but they relied heavily on spells and hand gestures. Otherwise, their magic could go horribly wrong, like when Cym destroyed an entire cemetery a few months ago after he tried to use magic without training.
As far as Clayton knew, only dreamwalkers could perform magic as easily as breathing, but Mal wasn’t a dreamwalker.
He couldn’t be. The Guard would have known about him if he were.
Dreamwalkers formed the Guard to regulate their powers, so anyone as powerful as Mal wouldn’t have been allowed to walk around as freely as he did unless he was a member of the Guard.
Not to mention all of Mal’s extra features. Dreamwalkers could look however they wanted, but none of them strayed beyond what was normal unless they were in the ‘Scape. It was all part of fitting in and not freaking people out.
The Guard was strict about how dreamwalkers behaved in the Real. It had something to do with how sentient beings with godlike powers needed to keep a low profile except during an emergency in order to not scare the less powerful members of the Other.
In Clayton’s opinion, Other society wasn’t as smart as one could hope for, but as long as their leaders appeared normal and kept things running smoothly, the people didn’t kick up a fuss.
The Other was going to love Marshall when he finally stepped into the role of praetor. He was handsome, powerful, and kind. It seemed as though every project he touched turned to gold and succeeded beyond expectations.
However, if the future praetor of the Other was someone like Marshall’s teammate Jack, they would revolt. It wouldn’t matter if he were equally handsome, kind, and powerful. His rainbow eyes were a dead giveaway that he was something more than a dreamwalker.
Something different. Something they couldn’t quantify. Something they couldn’t control. And the Guard was all about control.
Honestly, Clayton was surprised Jack was even allowed to be a guardian at all. If it weren’t for his friendship with Marshall and Marshall’s late father, he’d probably be labeled as Benighted and bundled off to Boston Below.
So, no. Mal probably wasn’t a dreamwalker.
Those razor-sharp teeth, coal-black eyes, and black-tipped claws would never fly with the Guard, and if Mal was a rogue dreamwalker, he’d be on every wanted list in the Real because he was too powerful to be left to roam free.
So what in the ever-loving fuck was he?
Clayton snatched off his robe and threw on a knobbly jumper and an old, time-worn pair of jeans before stomping back out to find Mal.
Clayton was going to get to the bottom of this. He wasn’t fucking a criminal. What would Marshall think?
Not that Clayton was planning on doing whatever they’d just done in the kitchen again, but still.
He ducked his head to avoid the low door frame of his bedroom, but he still banged it anyway. By all the gods, Clayton was positive the thing adjusted its height daily just to mess with him.
He rubbed his aching forehead, planning on going up the stairs to the main deck to find Mal, but stopped when he saw the man in question standing by the newest hole in the boat.
Mal seemed to be talking to it in a low, menacing tone, and when he saw Clayton, he gave it a harsh glare. Clayton saw a water sprite swim away like its life depended on it.
“Don’t be mean to them,” Clayton said loftily. “They’re doing me a favor by keeping us afloat. If you piss them off, I won’t have a home.”
Mal shrugged in an infuriating manner and said, “That was fast. I thought you’d hide in your room all night just to avoid me.”
Clayton snorted. “I was afraid that if I left you alone for too long, you’d stick me with another kid.”
A short teen with a towel around their neck popped their head out of the room next to Clayton’s, and snapped, “Hey, roomies, can you keep it down? I’d like to sleep sometime tonight, and you’re not making it easy.”
“Wh.. wha…” Clayton’s mouth worked as he tried and failed to find words.
“That’s Holly,” Mal stated blandly. “She’s a girl.”
Holly flipped Mal off, ducked back into Clayton’s spare room, and slammed the door.
“You actually brought me another kid?! Are you serious?” Clayton was going to go bankrupt soon if Mal didn’t start to pay child support.
“What can I say? She followed me home.” Mal proved himself to be an utter bastard by giving Clayton a mocking smile.
“Home? This is not your home. It’s mine.”
Mal ignored that comment and asked, “Are you going to kick her out? I’m pretty sure she’s homeless.”
“I… I… I hate you. I hate you so, so, SO much. Why are you in my life? I didn’t ask for this. I’m a nice person,”—Mal interrupted him with an incredulous snort, but Clayton kept going—“and I have enough on my plate without being inflicted with you.”
Mal stepped into Clayton’s personal space, halting his tirade in its tracks.
He pressed his face against Clayton’s neck and took a deep breath.
For a second, he thought Mal was going to kiss his neck, but when he felt pinpoints on his skin, he shivered.
Mal had his teeth placed against his jugular and was showing Clayton that he could tear it out right then and there if he wanted to.
Clayton’s blood went straight to his dick, otherwise, he would have done something more threatening than tilting his head and baring his vulnerable neck fully to the infuriating monster.
Mal huffed and licked him before backing away. “I can see how much you hate me. Very intimidating.”
“Fuck you,” Clayton whispered, but there was no heat behind it. They both knew that Mal had some kind of weird power over him, and they both knew that whatever was going on between them was only getting started.
Something deep and long-ignored inside Clayton sang happily like it knew it was finally going to be acknowledged and get to play.
Clayton did his best to stuff it down, but he was only partially successful.
It was still there, stretching itself toward the monster looming over him, and it was only a matter of time before it was free again.
Clayton put a hand on Mal’s chest and shoved. “I hope you weren’t planning on staying here tonight. You just gave the last free room away to your kid.”
“She’s not my kid.”
“I’m not a kid!” Holly’s muffled voice sounded through the thin wall.
Clayton’s face went hot when he realized Holly was listening to everything. He grabbed Mal by the arm, dragged him to his room, and closed the door.
“Whether she’s yours or not, she’s still got dibs, and I’m not kicking her out tonight.
Only a monster would kick out a homeless girl at night.
That means you have to go.” Clayton folded his arms across his chest in satisfaction.
“And don’t think about sleeping on the couch; it’s broken.
You should probably get going if you want to find a hotel. It’s getting late.”
Instead of leaving, Mal made a show of looking at Clayton’s tiny bed.
“You’re joking, right? Even if I went completely insane and let you stay, you’re not fitting in that with me. Hell, even I barely fit.”
Clayton did live on a boat, after all. It may have started life as a rich man’s toy, but space was still at a premium, and Merry and Tommy had been given the biggest room so they could stay together.
They also needed more room in order to fit the ever-growing hoard of toys everyone in the chapter house kept foisting on Clayton every chance they got. Half of the loot they got was from Jack, because the big man was practically a child himself.
Clayton’s boat had four other sleeping spaces of varying sizes, and Grampy got the second biggest because he was old and needed enough room to move around without banging into things.
Eira’s room was the same size as Clayton’s but had a lower ceiling since he needed the headroom, and she didn’t.
And the space they’d stuffed Holly in was more like a glorified closet.
Clayton almost wished it was available because he’d love to see Mal try to cram himself inside. Clayton couldn’t fit, so Mal definitely wouldn’t.
“We’ll fit on your bed,” Mal said, leaning against the wall and buffing his claws against his shirt.
“We’re not doing anything. You’re leaving, and I’m going to bed.” Clayton turned his back like he was going to hop right into bed in his day clothes like a barbarian, hoping Mal would get the hint.
He didn’t. Mal should have looked awkward and unwanted like Clayton would have felt in his situation, but Mal just grinned, showing off the pointy reasons why Clayton’s thigh was throbbing like a bitch.
Then he leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, and pressed his hands against the wall palms down.
When he opened his eyes, they seemed enormous, like Clayton would fall into them if he got too close.
Clayton stepped back involuntarily when he realized the area where Mal’s hands were touching the wall was turning black and spreading out across the room.
Within seconds, the entire room had transformed into a dark and cozy cocoon. Not completely black, though. There was some kind of indirect light source Clayton couldn’t see that was illuminating the space.
At first, Clayton thought Mal had teleported them somewhere, but when he examined his surroundings, he realized they were still in his room. Sort of.
His bed was still there, but it was larger, more comfortable, and appeared a lot more like a nest than it used to.
If Clayton hadn’t seen the notch on the side where he’d accidentally gouged a hole out of it while putting his shoes on, he wouldn’t have recognized it.
His wardrobe was also there, but it seemed closer to a living, organic thing than a piece of furniture.
The handle on his door was no longer a fixture, but part of the object itself.
“What did you do to my room?” Clayton whispered.
“I made it our room.”
The tingle of fear running down Clayton’s spine made its way right to his dick, but Clayton was legitimately scared now. Mal was so incredibly powerful and beyond anything he was capable of defending himself from.
Mal could do anything he wanted to Clayton, and no one on the boat could stop him. He’d proven his power to Clayton over and over again, and suddenly, it had gone from an annoying but amusing game to something real in the blink of an eye.
What had Clayton brought into his home? Would he be able to get rid of the man if he tried?
When Mal took a step toward him, Clayton held out a shaking hand to stop him.
“I… I don’t want this right now. This is too much.”
Mal stopped the moment Clayton’s fingers touched his chest and cocked his head to the side like a curious predator. He appeared to be listening to something.
“No… You don’t, do you?” Mal didn't seem to be upset. It was more like he was hearing or seeing something Clayton couldn’t, and deciding his course of action from whatever information he was getting. “You should sleep.”
“Alone?”
“No. I’m sleeping here too.” When Clayton opened his mouth to protest, Mal added, “Only sleep. It’s only fun to torment you when you want it.”
“I don’t…” Clayton trailed off weakly at Mal’s knowing look. Clayton did want whatever was happening between them. He just didn’t know if he wanted to want it.
What kind of person wanted to be teased, humiliated, and chewed on like a toy?
“Sleep,” Mal ordered.
Clayton’s eyes began to close without his permission, and he fell forward into Mal’s chest. His last conscious thought was, Just like a bloody dreamwalker…