“Leave, and I kill him,” Nimai snarled, reaching again for Everil’s arm.
“And how would that be crueler?” Everil glanced back over his shoulder and met Nimai’s furious gaze. “Eat a bag of spiked dicks. My bond needs me.”
From wood to marble.From marble to vines. Faerie shifted with dizzying speed as Everil rushed forward.
Andtherewas Bo. Sitting in the corner of a white room, dull-eyed and still. Breathing, each exhale clouding the air, but not moving, his body wrapped in dying vines. A gross inversion of his sacrifice.
Everil ran to him, dropping to his knees at Bo’s side. He dragged the man into his arms, unmindful of any damage to the dying ivy, though he kept his touch gentle. His skin and soul sang in relief, just to have Bo close again, but Everil didn’tcare.
All that mattered was Bo.
“Bo. Sweet. My Bo.” The words came out frantic. “My soulbond. I’m here. I’m here, sweet Bo. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what they intended.”
“You came for me?” Bo’s voice was rough with disuse. But he threw his arms around Everil, held onto him like he would never let go. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t– He said you– I’m sorry.”
Everil wrapped himself around Bo, as possessive as the vines he’d supplanted. They needed to leave. Nimai was likely already informing Kesk of Everil’s trespass. Where could they go? Where was safe?
“I’d wondered why the fruit went sharp.”
Yes. There. There was one place to run to. Everil stood with Bo in his arms. Kissed his hair and breathed him in. His Bo, shaken but whole. Still recognizing him.
“You’re safe, sweet Bo,” he murmured as Faerie once again gave way for him, vines turning to moss. “No one will touch your mind.”
A guest room, elegantly appointed, with walls of dying citrus. Leana might object to their intrusion, but within the shelter of their citrus grove, Everil suspected even she would have difficulty harming Bo.
Still carrying Bo, Everil sat on the bed. Held him as tightly as he dared, while the branches that curtained them turned from brown to green, the smell of rot giving way to the brightness of citrus.
“Stay? Please stay?” Bo clutched at him, his emotions a tangle of desperation and hurt and relief. “You– I know you made a deal. Just don’t leave yet?”
Rage rose like a current in Everil’s blood as he stroked his soulbond’s hair. At Nimai. At Kesk and Veroni. At himself. Everyone but Bo.
Fierce, irrepressible Bo, broken voiced and holding on like Everil might disappear if he let go.
Days, since he’d made his bargain with Nimai. Days during which Bo was meant to be safe, unharmed, with his family. Days Bo had spent in the hands of enemies while they attempted to strip his mind. The mind of a man who had already survived one such twisting, rebuilt himself from the wreckage of belief.
“Please, Ever.”
The last time Bo had begged in this room, it’d been with pleasure and glory. Now– Everil very much feared he would be sick.
Or kill someone.
Or kill someone and then be sick.
“I’ve no intention of going anywhere.” He pulled Bo closer still, for all there was no distance between them. “Never again. The deal is broken. You were harmed. I won’t leave you, sweet Bo.”
They’d hide in one of Talia’s pocket universes if they must. Talia, who was meant to be with Bo. He would need to find her. Soon.
Bo first.
“Okay,” Bo spoke the words against Everil’s neck, his breath shaky. “Okay. Good.”
Good, but it wasn’t. Bo’s emotions remained muted: a grayscale palette. Relief, yes. But also a knot of regret and disbelief.
Everil needed to apologize. Any words he considered seemed unworthy. Selfish. Where was the line between explanation and excuse? But he wouldn’t hide in his own shame, not this time.
“I handled our separation poorly.” Everil ran his fingers through Bo’s hair, then down his arm, and back again. “I’m not accustomed to my thoughts being welcome, and I feared angering you further. I should have told you that I intended to return to you if you wished it. That I wished, more than anything, to remain with you. I should have confessed that I love you, and I couldn’t bear the thought of what might happen to you. I never should have left, but in the leaving, I could have at least offered hope. I am sorry, Bo.”
His voice shook by the end. Bo might not forgive him. Not want him. It would be his right. And still, Everil would love him. How could he not?
