Chapter 23 #2
A beautiful calm washed over him. The demon settled: Death curling up in him like a drowsy cat now that he had blood on his hands. Yves drew a lacy handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the blood from his chin. It was soaked too.
“Tsk.” He tucked it back into his coat, then lifted the dead man’s arm and wiped his mouth on a clean patch of sleeve.
Yves’s shoulder wound tingled as it closed.
It would be gone before tomorrow. If Yves’s body had still been capable of retaining such wounds, he’d be all scar and no flesh by now.
His fingers moved to the scratch Rowan had left on his wrist in the alley a few days ago, then to the remains of the wound Rowan’s knife had left against his neck.
Any other wound would have healed with no trace by now.
But these remained livid against the whiteness of his skin where it had peeled away beneath Rowan’s nails and parted for his knife.
Any mark Rowan’s hands or mouth left on him stayed. Healed as mortal flesh would. Slow. Itchy. Human.
And Yves—both parts of him—had no idea why.
It was as if Yves’s body wanted to hold onto the touch of his beloved.
To bear the marks of him. Rowan didn’t know.
He’d never seen Yves injured by any hand but his own, and therefore had never seen the rapid healing of any wound that wasn’t immediately fatal.
Yves let him believe it was normal. Rowan liked marking him.
Leaving bruises and scratches on Yves’s too perfect skin like a signature.
He delighted in that small power. That claim.
Yves would not dissuade him of it. He cherished it as well.
Every small ache reminded him that Rowan loved him.
They were bound together. Inseparable but for the inevitability of Rowan’s eventual death.
Not even their current anger could keep them apart.
Perhaps this was punishment for Yves’s hubris in releasing the demon from its underwater prison by taking it into his body.
Fate had given him one weakness in the man he loved.
One person who could harm him. One person he was human for.
Perhaps one day Rowan could kill him, and he wouldn’t come back.
The paralyzed man still clung to life by the time Yves retraced his steps, gasping in a small pool of blood that trickled sluggishly from Yves’s bite mark.
He’d gotten carried away and used teeth after all.
He entertained the idea of cutting away the flesh to hide the bite, but some part of him whispered that was cruel, and Rowan would want him to put the man out of his misery quickly.
Yves sighed and turned the man over with the toe of his boot, only to be met with pure terror.
The face of a man who knew death stood over him, and was unable to do a thing about it.
Yves supposed he could still cut away the bite after he’d killed him, but at this point it seemed more trouble than it was worth.
Rowan was leaving with the tide at dawn; he’d never learn of this one way or the other.
Unless…Yves’s gaze flicked over the carnage on the street, and he sighed with relief. The painter was not among the victims. Perhaps he’d stayed on to be close to his brother despite his hatred of all of them.
Yves drew his saber across the man’s throat.
Yves’s steps slowed as he neared the docks. The Siren sat far removed from the legitimate ships, but it was bright as a beacon in the dark. Figures moved on the deck, too far away for him to tell who they were, and faint strains of music filtered through the night.
Everything in him pulled him toward the little ship. All he wanted was to go to Rowan’s cozy room and fall into bed with him. But his feet didn’t move. Anger still overwhelmed whatever longing lived in him.
On the surface, he understood why Rowan resisted his control so strongly, even if it put him in danger.
Freedom lived in his precious heart. It was what had drawn both Yves’s ire and interest from the time they first met.
And it was one of the things Yves loved most about him.
But damn if it wasn’t infuriating. All Yves was trying to do was protect him.
To keep him from making a fatal mistake.
To keep them together. But Rowan had a problem with that word, ‘keep.’ He wasn’t something that could be caged.
Yves knew that well by now, but it did nothing to soothe the incessant itch to be near Rowan always, to protect him from the world.
Rowan was the only person in the world who mattered.
And Yves didn’t understand Rowan’s attachments to his friends.
Least of all that woman he’d almost slept with while they were separated, and now insisted on maintaining a friendship with.
None of them were worthy of Rowan. To Yves, the only purpose they served was to keep Rowan happy and alive when Yves couldn’t be near him.
Yves turned away from the bright spot that was the Siren Song, a beacon of warmth while Yves walked all alone in the dark.
Movement caught his eye, and he retreated into the shadows.
A man and a woman stood talking in the shadow of a ship a few berths away.
The ship hadn’t been there when Yves left to stalk the sailors; it must have arrived only recently.
By the profile of the hull, he’d guess it to be Kefryean built, and recently damaged by what looked like cannon fire.
The woman put a hand on the man’s shoulder, and Yves rolled his eyes. He’d been half hoping for some plot he could sink his teeth into, but it was likely some sailor negotiating personal entertainment for his first night in port. How disappointing.
But it was the woman who held out a small bag heavy with coin.
The man shook his head, but with a few more cajoling words Yves couldn’t hear, he pocketed it.
The woman returned to the ship, and the man retreated up the dock.
When he stepped into the light, Yves was surprised to find he recognized him.
Robin Beckett. The man who’d bargained away his freedom to Yves in order to escape his family.
The man who’d fruitlessly tended Yves’s wounds for nearly a year.
Robin loped uneasily up the dock, glancing around to ensure no one saw him. His gaze passed unseeing over the spot Yves waited in the shadows, and the torchlight caught Robin’s face more fully.
No. Not Robin at all, but his brother, Master Painter David Beckett.
The demon flared up, eager to kill again. David knew of Yves’s and Rowan’s relationship, and moreover, despised them. Had Rowan freed him after all? Had he sold the information to that woman? Now that he was free, he’d go singing their secrets like a hungry gull the first chance he got.
Yves drew his dagger, jeweled pommel glinting.
Rowan wouldn’t like this if he found out.
Robin was his friend, a valuable part of his crew, and Rowan couldn’t stand to see his friends hurt.
But better to ask forgiveness than permission.
Yves couldn’t risk letting David live. He’d do it quickly, with minimal pain.
Maybe that would mollify Rowan’s inevitable anger.
The toes of Yves’s boots touched the light on the dock boards, shadow tentacles questing ahead of his steps into the light.
He looked back, wondering whether he’d need to kill the woman too, even though he hadn’t gotten a good look at her.
It would be harder to kill her on her ship, but Yves would be careful to leave no witnesses.
Rowan and Robin need not find out about this at all.
But instead of heading toward the city, David loped back to the Siren. Yves paused. David mounted the gangplank and disappeared belowdecks.