Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
MAL
Mal snarled and shouted into the void, “Don’t you dare spit me out again. Bring me to him right now, or I’ll tear this entire place apart.”
Mal could do it too. When he focused, he could see the vague outline of the framework that the illusion magic was resting on. The pocket dimension had to be somewhat sentient in order to create the zones it had, which meant Mal could scare the shit out of it and drain its power dry.
He wouldn’t unless he had no other option, though. He didn’t know what would happen to the inhabitants of the realm if he destroyed it, so for the moment, Mal had to play nice.
There was a subtle tremor from the space around him, and an image appeared, projected onto the mist of the void.
In it, Elena and Naerith were playing with a chubby, redheaded toddler. They were walking through a forest, each holding one of the child’s hands. They would lift him in unison and swing him between them, making the toddler squeal with delight.
“I said take me to him, not show him to me,” Mal snarled.
“Can’t… can’t… can’t…” It was less of a voice and more like a concept as insubstantial as the mist that drifted to Mal’s ears.
“Why not?”
“Can’t control… control… control…”
“Fucking useless.” Mal conjured a rock and kicked it into the void. It wasn’t an attack, just something to make himself feel better. “If anything happens to him, I will eat you slowly. It will hurt, and you’ll be screaming the entire time.”
Mal would relish every moment of it. He would wallow in the dimension’s cries for mercy, and there would be none. Mal wasn’t created to be merciful.
This time, the void trembled violently, but its response was the same. “Can’t control… control… control…”
“Then I won’t bother controlling myself if he’s harmed,” Mal said simply.
There was another violent tremor, but the void said nothing more.
Mal watched as baby Clayton—or Carwyn, as his parents called him—lived an idyllic life as a toddler. Neither Elena nor Naerith had bothered to mention they were fae royalty. Considering the situation and time crunch, Mal didn’t blame them.
Mal utterly failed to notice the soft smile on his face as he watched baby Clayton charm everyone around him. Clayton was the center of attention everywhere he went because his awe-filled curiosity and kindness were evident even at a young age.
Mal conjured a comfortable chair out of the mist and took out a bag of Grampy’s charbroiled graham crackers to munch on as he enjoyed the show.
“Speed up the time inside this spell. I don’t want the kids to wait forever for us to come and pick them up,” Mal ordered.
As much as he wanted to know everything there was to learn about his lover, he didn’t relish the thought of Marshall’s shield failing while they were stuck and helpless to do anything about it.
“Yes… yes… yes…”
Mal stopped enjoying himself when the day of the ambush occurred. He was on his feet, pacing and growling as he watched a tiny, terrified Clayton crying for his mother in the flame-touched darkness and chaos.
Elena scooped him up in a grip so tight that a mother bear would have been proud. Naerith was firing off ever-weakening spell blasts from a broken sword. Both of Clayton’s parents kept stumbling as they attempted to find safety for their small family.
Naerith’s face was sickly pale, and his hands shook as more and more of his blasts went wide and scorched the area around them more than their attackers.
Elena focused on herding a small band of children toward an outcropping of rocks on top of a hill while Naerith did his best to secure their retreat.
One of the children tripped and fell, but instead of falling on their face, there was a shimmer of green and gold in the air around them, and they were on steady feet running at a swift pace once more.
Mal caught a glimpse of the green and gold magic surrounding baby Clayton’s small, dirty hands.
Even through the terror, Clayton’s tiny face was a mask of resolve.
Even though he knew there was nothing he could do, Mal wanted nothing more than to storm into the scene and destroy anything that dared to threaten Clayton and his family.
There would be no mercy. No quarter. Mal would torture every last creature responsible for this tragedy.
Once the group reached the rocks, they were joined by three other fae warriors—a male and two females.
Together with Naerith and Elena, they fought to protect their tiny sanctuary, but it didn’t take long to realize they’d all been poisoned and were suffering from the effects.
Their spells and attacks were either underpowered or missed their targets more often than not, and after Elena had a shot blow up in her face, she was out of the fight.
In the darkness, white flashes were dotting the battle as portals opened and closed, ambushing fae and snatching children away. White essence meant demon magic was at play.
It was no surprise to him, considering the demons he’d seen earlier. Maybe if Mal was lucky, there would be more than two demons to eat when he got out of this zone.
Despite their erratic attacks, Clayton’s group was enough of a force to be reckoned with that they kept their attackers at bay far longer than the rest of their caravan.
At first, Mal didn’t understand why they weren’t being targeted by the portals, but then he realized there were tiny flashes of white that sparked to life around the children, but they were snuffed out over and over again by green and gold sparkles.
Mal also saw a familiar mop of curls belonging to Merry and grinned when a burst of red shot from the girl’s hands, darted between Elena and Naerith, lifted two attackers into the air, and flung them backward.
The resulting crunch of breaking bones as they bounced all the way down the hilltop was delicious.
The children were just as useful in a fight as their parents were. How interesting.
Beside Merry, Tommy clutched Baby Clayton in his arms and promised over and over to keep him safe. He stroked the toddler’s hair while smiling through the tears streaming down his face.
The air around Mal became superheated as he stewed in impotent rage.
“Hurts… hurts… hurts…”
“Good,” Mal snapped, eyes glued to the scene before him.
Two of the fae fell to their attackers as the poison consumed them and rendered their magic skills useless. Naerith and the remaining female held off the onslaught the best they could as Elena drew herself up, bloodied and covered in burns from her failed spell.
“We can’t hold them, my love,” she shouted to Naerith.
Naerith didn’t turn from the battle and shouted back, “We’ll hold as long as we need to.” It was all bravado, though. He was missing three fingers from his right hand, and there was a cut on his face that had gone to the bone.
Elena took in the scene with a grim expression, and Mal saw resolve form in her eyes. She crouched down in front of the children and said, “I’m sending you somewhere safe, my loves. The bad men won’t be able to find you, and I’ll come and get you when this is over, okay?”
“Wynwyn stay,” Baby Clayton said, struggling to get free from Tommy.
“Oh my precious boy…” Elena’s face was covered with tears, and she bit her lip. “You’ll see me again soon, I promise. Watch after each other until I come for you.” She kissed each child on the head, finishing with her son. “Mommy and Daddy love you, Carwyn. We’ll see you soon.”
Baby Clayton clearly didn’t understand what was happening, and he fought Tommy harder as he tried to reach his mother.
Magic formed between Elena’s hands as she chanted. The spell was quick and dirty, and Mal was only able to get the gist of what she was saying as she chanted. “Send them somewhere safe, Great Mother. Keep our babies safe.”
There was a blinding flash, and the scene switched to a murky forest filled with gnarled, ancient trees.
Mal recognized the flora and fauna and realized it was likely where Clayton had landed in England.
On the forest floor, protected from the pounding rain by trees, was a small, redheaded child lying on a bed of moss.
Baby Clayton sniffled and cried softly for his mother and father, growing louder and more frantic as time went by, but it was nighttime, and the area was deserted.
There was no one around to hear his cries.
Mal was out of his mind as he was forced to watch the toddler version of his lover cry himself hoarse for hours, first for his parents and then for Tommy and Merry, before falling into an exhausted sleep.
The air around Mal was in danger of becoming plasma, and the void cried over and over, “Hurts… hurts… hurts…” but Mal ignored it. It was good that it hurt. Everyone and everything should be hurting right now. Mal would rectify that as soon as he was free.
He was forced to watch as Clayton was found and rescued by a rich young woman with too much time on her hands.
She took him home and watched over him with obsessive care.
Clayton needed it, though, because he’d grown dangerously sick during his time in the forest. After he recovered, Clayton lost all memory of his life before meeting Sharon, his foster mother.
At first, Clayton’s life was relatively normal, but as time went on, he became an oddity among his peers. His luck grew worse and worse until it had gone from something amusing and endearing to something dangerously unstable to himself and everyone around him.
When his friend Samantha had offered Clayton a job at the Boston chapter house, it had been a godsend, because he’d been reduced to living life like a hermit because his mother had stuffed him into a golden cage, too afraid of his death to allow him to live.
Leaving England had been an escape for Clayton.
No matter how influential she was, Sharon couldn’t terrorize the Guard into full compliance in a different country.
Her connections could only take her so far.
Samantha had offered Clayton a place to work in relative safety due to the powerful magic of the chapter house, and Clayton had taken her up on it in an instant.
He went from a shy, awkward shut-in to a shy, awkward assistant to a powerful woman. Samantha encouraged Clayton to come out of his shell and experience the world, but Clayton’s unstable luck was a challenge even she was unable to mitigate fully.
It grew worse as Clayton aged, and by the time Mal had found Clayton, he knew that his lover had been living on borrowed time.
All Clayton needed was an accident so large it killed him instantly, or to be a second too far from help after slicing open an artery—something Clayton did on a bi-weekly basis.
Through it all, Clayton bravely slogged his way past every challenge. He never gave up, never allowed his heart to grow bitter and broken. He always tried to take joy where he could and continued to find new things about the world to marvel at.
“Give him back to me,” Mal ordered. “Now.”
“Soon… soon… soon…”
Mal let out a growl and threw himself back into his chair, which was currently on fire from the heat of his rage. Mal could have made it fireproof, but it suited his mood, so he left it alone, other than to tell it not to burn to ashes. Mal still needed to sit in it, after all.
Clayton was more of a gift than Mal ever could have imagined. If Mal could spend the rest of his eternal life protecting, teasing, and loving him, it wouldn’t be enough.
This was love, the ever-elusive feeling that all sentient creatures were constantly going on about. Something he’d considered a glorified myth.
Mal had found love.
Mal loved Clayton.
The universe must surely be shaking in its boots. Giving something like Mal such a fragile thing to love and protect was a terrible idea. What would happen if he ever lost Clayton?
He hoped he never found out.