Chapter
Nineteen
CLAYTON
Mal was smarter than he looked and had only left a small scratch on Clayton’s chest after healing him. He’d even healed the bite on Clayton’s thigh. Well, mostly. It was now more of a livid bruise than a series of puncture wounds.
It was kind of sweet, actually.
Clayton tripped over his own feet and fell to his knees.
Sweet?
Sweet???
What idiot in their right mind would think that bloody menace of a man was sweet?
Mal had stormed into Clayton’s life, molested him in his own kitchen, brought along another kid for Clayton to take care of, and then terrorized Clayton into having the best orgasm of his life.
How was any of that sweet?
Clayton’s mind reeled as he stayed on his hands and knees in the hallway, wondering how this could possibly be his life.
It took quite a while before he realized Mal had crouched down in front of him, head cocked to the side quizzically in a decidedly inhuman fashion. His black eyes were fathomless, and if Clayton stared too long, he was certain he’d fall inside them and vanish forever.
If Mal was a dreamwalker, he was the oddest one in the history of the Guard. He did have a lot of similar powers, though. If Clayton didn’t know any better, he’d think Mal was far more likely to be a… a…
…
…
What had he been thinking about? His mind had gone slow and shimmery around the edges, like he’d been invaded by rainbow sparkles.
He blinked rapidly, and the rainbows slipped away.
Since a little dizziness wasn’t beyond normal, every day Clayton-esque weirdness, he straightened until he was on his knees. No point in not continuing about his day—especially if the dizziness didn’t return.
“You do this a lot, don’t you?” Mal asked, taking Clayton’s hands in his and inspecting them.
Clayton wasn’t surprised to see angry-looking red scrapes on his palms. He hadn’t noticed them because he’d long gotten used to such things. He shrugged and made to get up, but Mal held his wrists firmly, keeping him still.
He bowed low over Clayton’s hands and blew on them like he was warming them up. Clayton felt the tingle of healing magic ghost across his palms, and the sting of the scraps faded away.
“Here,” Mal said, and he moved his grip from Clayton’s wrists to his hands, then slowly pulled him to his feet. “Let’s get breakfast.”
Clayton’s face was tilted up toward Mal’s as he stared at him like an idiot. There was something about Mal’s alien features that drew him in. Mal met his gaze evenly, and for a split-second, Clayton thought Mal was going to kiss him. However, Mal merely quirked his mouth in a half-grin and booped Clayton on the nose like a puppy.
“Do you think Grampy made breakfast?” Mal asked, shifting to holding only one of Clayton’s hands and starting to pull him up the narrow stairs to the main deck.
“Vis, I hope not,” Clayton muttered. “Honestly, how you survived his cooking last night is beyond all rational explanation. Thank the gods that the children are clever enough to avoid his food; otherwise, they would have been poisoned weeks ago.”
Mal only released Clayton’s hand when they reached the main floor and Clayton had reached ‘safety’. If Mal even thought about such things, that is. He could have simply forgotten to let go once he’d hauled Clayton off the floor.
If he had done it for Clayton, he needn’t have bothered. There was no safe zone for Clayton. When his affliction acted up, it could wreak havoc whether he was perched precariously on top of a skyscraper or bundled safely in a padded cell.
Besides, Clayton was a proper man, not some princess to be pampered and coddled.
A mildly disgruntled, “There they are!” from Eira was all the warning Clayton got before being tackle-hugged by two smiling, chattering, cuddle bugs.
