18. Bodin
Chapter 18
Bodin
S tyx meets us in the snow-encrusted front courtyard dressed in only threadbare breeches. No shirt. No shoes. His hair is tousled, fingers stained with charcoal. A smoking cigarillo of something decidedly not tobacco dangles from his mouth, its sweet, cloying scent making my eyes water. Judging by his half-mast eyelids, it’s not his first indulgence of the night. A flash of irritation sparks through me. We need him alert, not lost in a haze of artificial bliss, especially considering our Shadow’s penchant for calamity.
I shouldn’t have challenged her during the training session. Now, I have to deal with distractions.
I pluck the offending item from Styx’s lips and stomp on the embers, watching them die with grim satisfaction.
“Why did you do that?” his thoughts slur into my mind.
“You need your wits tonight,” I return, my tone brooking no argument.
Calamity’s voice cuts through the tension. “Aren’t you cold, Styx?” she asks, rubbing her arms vigorously before blowing on her hands. A puff of breath escapes her lips, arousing the air into a misty cloud.
She adamantly refused Legion’s third attempt to have her don something less revealing. Now, she clearly regrets her decision but is too stubborn to admit it.
“Nope,” Styx answers, his speech a poor imitation of mortal cadence. He’s likely been eavesdropping on the thoughts of old-worlders all day. Goosebumps break out on his flesh as we speak. “I’m just your transport. Don’t need a coat.”
“Or clothes, apparently,” Willow snorts.
“You can talk.” Styx prowls around her, his gaze a physical thing as it assesses her revealing attire. “Not much left to the imagination, is there?”
His steps falter as he circles behind her, his gaze sweeping down to her shapely behind. Sensing his pause, she glances over her shoulder. He quickly scowls, but not before I glimpse the raw need in his eyes.
Those two are more alike than they care to admit. They’ll be thick as thieves once he overcomes his distrust. Trouble loves company, after all.
Legion shares a derisive look with me, no doubt sharing my sentiment.
“Let’s go,” I growl, stepping closer to Styx. His skin is like ice as I take hold of his closest arm. Maintaining an excellent grip is imperative to avoid being thrown when flickering . Legion does the same, standing behind Styx on the opposite side.
Styx smirks at Willow’s dubious stare and beckons her with two hands. “Time for a hug, fangs.”
She hesitates.
He drops his arms. “What now?”
“Just wondering where I should—ahem—hold on?”
“Anywhere you want,” he purrs. “I’m not precious.”
Her snort of amusement confuses him. I’m about to bark for them to hurry, my patience wearing thin, but then she steps forward. Willow encircles her arms around his waist and presses her body flush to his front.
He’s not the only one taking a hitched breath at her scent, at her maddening nearness. My senses have been heightened all day since our sparring session. My cock grows hard until I feel it press against Styx’s thigh. If he notices, he doesn’t reveal it.
Remembering Legion’s warning from earlier today, I splay my hand on Willow’s lower back and tug her flush against Styx. Her suffering is the last thing we want. She squeaks in surprise.
“Hold onto her,” I growl to Styx. “Tight. And if you fuck this up because you’re stoned, then you know what will happen to your entrails.”
Styx’s face pales. Legion’s lips curve. Willow’s lips part, brows furrow. Before she can question my comment, Styx slips his hands around her waist, and the world flickers around us.
The scenery changes with every blink, a dizzying kaleidoscope of places and times. For a moment, I catch glimpses of unfamiliar landscapes, echoes of laughter, and flashes of golden feathers spattered with blood.
When we land, I am thoroughly disoriented. The heady air is humid and thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and exotic spices. A rhythmic beating of drums competes with my galloping heart, the primal rhythm sending vibrations through the soles of my feet. I step back, frowning at the familiar breezy curtains dangling between low-hanging branches, their gossamer fabric shimmering with an otherworldly radiance. Bonfires flicker in the distance, casting long shadows that dance and writhe like living things. A gathering crowd laughs and converses, their voices a melodic hum punctuated by occasional bursts of tinkling laughter. Some kind of grassed dais is being set up for dancing, its surface sprinkled with luminescent petals that glow softly in the fading light. A pole at each corner connects lanterns swinging on chains overhead.
“This isn’t the meeting spot,” I growl, suspicion coiling in my gut like a serpent.
“This is inside Burn After Reading.” Legion’s voice is tight as he scans the shadowy trees on the outskirts. The brass spectacles perched on his nose catch sparks of light from flying sprites nearby, momentarily transforming his stern visage into something otherworldly. My gaze snags on the tiny winged sprites, their wings leaving trails of glittering dust in the air, and I’m transported to another place for a heartbeat. But the memory slips away like smoke through my fingers.
I grip the back of Styx’s neck and squeeze hard, leaning in to whisper harshly in his ear, “Why did you flicker us straight inside?”
The other mortals and Radiants do not know this true location. It is a secret Fox imparted to us. Styx could have blown our cover if anyone noticed and then later evaded the memory-stealing enchantment on the exit.
“More importantly,” Legion adds, his eyes shrewd. “How did you know where to go? This place is spelled to be hidden. The meeting point I gave you was not.”
Styx flickers out of my hold, reappearing beside me with a disgruntled expression. “Relax, no one is watching.”
He glances around, searching. A gentle breeze carries the familiar sweet, cloying scent of magic-laced cigarillos, and realization dawns.
“You were already here,” I accuse.
He gives an infuriating shrug.
“Go home, Styx,” Legion orders, anger tightening his voice. “We’ll find our way back.”
“Nah. Think I’ll stay.” He lazily scratches his abdomen, a predatory glint entering his eyes as they land on Willow. “I’m feeling peckish.”
Before we can remind him of the incident with Fox and the dangers of feeding here, he’s gone, melting into the crowd of gaudy revelers like a shadow at noon.
“Is he always like this?” Willow asks.
“I don’t know,” I grind out.
Legion says, “Yes.”
“Okay, then.” She snorts. “Have you been here before, Legion? You weren’t clear earlier.”
His expression becomes a mask of inscrutability as he walks toward the crowd, his hands in his pockets, the picture of powerful nonchalance. Willow rolls her eyes at his back and mumbles something about being obtuse.
I ensure she follows him while I take the rear. A few steps in, she flicks her golden-eyed gaze over her shoulder and asks, “Do you remember coming here?”
I shrug. My mind can’t focus enough to think. She looks breathtaking beneath the sun’s dying light. It was midnight at home, but sunset here.
A rose gold glow lingers on her silver hair, cascading down her back like a waterfall of starlight. The same glow paints her curves with alluring highlights, deepening the shadows and accentuating every tantalizing line of her body. She’s a living masterpiece, and I’m torn between the desire to protect her and the urge to claim her as my own.
Willow huffs at my lack of response and continues walking ahead. The sway of her hips becomes a hypnotic dance, drawing my gaze like a moth to a flame. I’m so mesmerized that I fail to notice Legion dropping back to walk beside me until he murmurs, “Our queen is beautiful, is she not?”
“Mouthwatering.” The word escapes before I can stop it, raw and honest in a way that surprises even me.
He makes a sound of appreciative agreement.
My tension releases when we fall into silence, admiring the treasure ahead. Every step she takes is a temptation, every glimpse of smooth, bare flesh a siren call. She is a dichotomy—both the moon and the sun, night and day, two opposites that shouldn’t exist together but do.
“I don’t think she knows how alluring she is,” Legion mumbles darkly. “The dress is a problem.”
“I agree.” It is the epitome of trouble in that tantalizing body. “Do we order Peablossom to redesign her wardrobe?”
Legion’s jaw works. “That is the smart choice, however . . .”
“Hiding her beauty would be a crime,” I finish.
We share another gaze. Despite the lack of our hive connection, he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“We will have to think of another way to stake our claim,” Legion muses, eyes taking in the roaming gazes sent Willow’s way. “Without her magic, the mate bond will not be visible. And Puck will be a problem for a while.”
“The meeting did not go well?”
“It went as expected.”
“Hm.” So Legion voted Puck in as the next member of the Shining Host. “And now?”
“Now we let him do his thing while we do ours.”
Our gazes settle on Willow, walking and looking around with curiosity. I catch her hand snake out whip-fast and nab something dangling from a Radiant’s belt. It disappears into her fist so deftly I’d be forgiven into thinking my eyes deceived me.
“She should not be so brazen,” I growl.
“Let her enjoy the anonymity,” Legion says, “every eye in the kingdom and beneath will be watching her soon.”
“I will mark her somewhere all can see.” The surge of hot, possessiveness is sudden and brutal.
“Not yet,” he replies calmly, studying her with bright curiosity. “We have much to make amends for. Fox opened her fragile heart to us, but to keep her trust, we must take care of her, listen to her desires, and give her what she needs.”
“Then it is fortunate you have the spectacles,” I grumble begrudgingly. “You are the best for a job requiring patience.”
If it were up to me, I would eat her alive. I would start my meal between her legs, where that tantalizing scent is strongest, then?—
He grabs my arm. “Not I, brother. You.”
“Me what?”
“You will see to her desires.”
“I know nothing about her needs.” I only know what I hunger for.
“So ask her.” He cocks his head. “Listen. If necessary, I will fill in the gaps.”
“She is a distraction,” I remind him.
“A good one.”
“We don’t know the meaning of good.”
“You’ve simply forgotten.” His lips curve. “She will remind you.” His eyes deviate with a low warning growl. I follow his line of sight and realize that while we’ve been admiring Willow, so has every other hot-blooded male in the vicinity.
My fists clench at my sides. I should have noticed she was being watched. There is no such thing as a good distraction.
Flashes of gold from her sunkissed hair shine in my eyes.In the darkness of my blink, I see yellow feathers spattered with blood. An unbearable feeling of grief paralyzes me, and I don’t know why.
Legion’s attentive eyes search mine. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“We may not share minds, Bodin, but I know you well enough to see that is a lie.”
“I said I’m fine.” I sharpen my gaze on our surroundings. The burn of his attention paints the side of my face, but I keep walking. Our conversation has caused a gap between Calamity and us.
I may not have full access to my memories or gifts, but I can still do my job. I can still protect. I can instill fear into mortal minds with a single glare. And those leering at her? They’ve seen me in action on the battlefield. If not, they’ve heard about me. They’ll stay away from us if they know what’s good for them.
It’s been a while since I visited this place, but my vague memories always end in debauchery and trouble—the former for other patrons but the latter for me. At the time, I believed my lack of interest in sex was battle weariness. My emotions were too frayed.
My gaze inadvertently gravitates to Willow’s swinging hips. One whiff of her scent makes me hard. But her mouth, voice, and taste make me obsessed with wanting more. It seems irrational for a single person to affect me so viscerally so soon after meeting.
Despite what Legion believes, this is the danger I must contain, for once it is let out, there is no holding it back. She will be crushed, like the gold feathers I often see behind my eyelids. The thought sends a chill down my spine, a premonition of tragedy I cannot shake.
We approach the bar with the turquoise thatched roof. Willow pushes through imbalanced, intoxicated wastrels with practiced ease and walks inside. A male with an open shirt and lustful eyes tracks her passage. He smacks his hand on his companion’s chest, then jerks his chin toward her.
I pause beside them and stare down. Suddenly, Legion’s order to prioritize her safety isn’t so off-putting. The first male lifts his attention to me and curses, then lowers his gaze appropriately.
“Bodin,” Legion calls from somewhere in my periphery. The bar, perhaps.
“Look at her again,” I warn the men. “And I’ll pluck out your eyes with my teeth.”
The stench of urination fills me with satisfaction. Legion calls my name again, yet I keep my stare planted on my targets. One twitch in her direction, and I follow through with my promise.
“Sir, we’re so sorry, sir.” The sour, stinking one drops to his knees.
“Move,” I grunt.
They scramble out of my way, and I stalk to the bar, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension.
This place has been known to harbor outlaws amongst the shady dealing Radiants. My suspicions are confirmed when I lock eyes with a bulky, muscular mortal with buzzed hair and sharp eyes. His posture is relaxed, dwarfing the couch he sits on in Cait’s reserved area at the end of the bar. He holds an open book in his large hands, but I have no doubt he’s committed every corner of this grimy establishment to memory.
Another mortal reclines on the opposite couch, smoking a cigarillo and deftly flipping cards. His short blond hair is slicked back, and he wears a stylish silk shirt and buttoned vest. He reminds me of Fox. Not for his appearance but for the deft skill in his hands when he flips the cards and catches them. A distraction, so no one sees their death until it’s too late.
A third male with black hair and feathered wings arrives. Warning bells go off inside my gut. I don’t know why, but the wings—yes, the wings. They’re uncommon in Avorlorna. And yes, the tattoos. They wrap around his athletic, leather-covered figure. The skin markings and scars are outlawed according to the Old Code’s mandates on pristine appearance. Something in his psychotic blue eyes rattles my nerves.
Recognition flashes across his face with a dash of spite when he looks at me. He knows me. Or perhaps us—the Sluagh—because his gaze drops to the blue Guardian teardrop beneath my left eye, and that spite deepens to hate. He sits beside the big brute, and the two quarrel as the wings occupy too much space.
They’re no threat for now. But the nagging feeling that I’m missing something crucial lingers, an itch I can’t scratch.
I arrive at the bar in time to see Legion handing a small, heavy sack over the counter. Cait smiles warmly at Willow but levels narrow emerald eyes at him and ignores the sack. She rests her curvaceous behind against the rear shelf, raises wordless, dark brows at Legion, and purses her lips when he fails to respond.
Willow glances between the two with a frown. “What am I missing here?”
I am wondering the same thing. The petite barmaid is part cat, part soul stealer. Originating from the Subterranean, she cannot be trusted. The glowing jewels dangling from her nose chain and choker are entrapped souls she controls, a grim reminder of her power.
“One hundred wisps,” Legion jingles the sack. “As agreed upon with Fox.”
The pointed black ears poking through her auburn hair twitch, a telltale sign of her interest despite her feigned indifference. Legion places the sack down on the bar with a sigh.
“Anyway—” Willow bumps Legion aside, grins, and leans excitedly on the bar. “Hi, Cait! I brought two Tall, Dark, and Brooding friends.” She narrows her eyes at us and taps her lips, considering. “They both fit the descriptor, so I’m not sure which one you referred to last time I was here.”
“Good to have you back, O’Leary-Nightstalk. I see you didn’t need my help after all.” Cait’s emerald eyes take in Willow’s face with a flash of respect. “I knew you wouldn’t, but I hoped you would. A soul like yours is hard to come by.”