Akid. Fuck.
“Fucking Protocol,” Bo muttered, instead of talking about bloodthirsty fae when you’d met them as achild. He forced himself to sound less like an asshole when he spoke next. “Going to be honest, I’m shocked you haven’t gone out of your mind. Fucks sake.”
“Did for a little, more or less.” Antonio drummed his fingers on something metallic from his side of the line. “Gets boring. And the food’s shit. Hell, I ate better in prison. Thing is, a dragon’s a dragon. You can sit through all the group therapy they tell you to, take any pill you’re given, no matter where you get it, shrink or dealer. Dragon’s still a fucking dragon.”
And he still came to help Bo. Antonio could say he had to because of guilt all he fucking wanted, but the fact remained that the bastard had brass.
“Dragon’s still a dragon,” Bo echoed, his own fingers still tapping quietly. “Yeah. Pretty good argument for not hallucinating something, when however many pills can’t change a dragon into something else. That what you see? Like, was Everil an actual fucking horse yesterday?”
“Nah,” Antonio said shortly. “I see through glamour. Skin-shifting’s different. The bast– Your guy is, dunno, sharp without his. Lots of teeth.”
Bo didn’t know what to say to that. Declan talked about his aspect being scary. The fuck did a kelpie aspect look like, if not the stallion? Probably something beautiful. But he said, “That’s fucked.”
“That’s the fae.” Antonio didn’t bother to mask the dislike in his voice, hard and unforgiving. “But never mind my bullshit. Old news. I grew up. Stopped being cute. He– They didn’t come around anymore. You’re the one swimming in those waters now. You ever find yourself wanting dry land, you know how to reach me.”
‘That’s the fucking fae,’indeed. Bo made a quiet noise, a vague acknowledgement or approval. Talia’s familiar voice rang out from near the entry, and an even more welcome curl of awareness pinged with Everil’s closeness.
“I do, yeah.” Bo raised his hand to catch Talia’s attention. Everil looked as well, relief and something not unlike fondness tucked in his expression somewhere. The kelpie was a mess of tangles and leaves. “Thanks for talking about everything. With me. All that. I’m– look, they’re back. I’ve got to go talk about human-sized hermit crabs with our… ward… kid person.”
“That’s a new one,” Antonio said after a pause while Bo got to his feet. “Surprised my nieces haven’t thought of it. I’d say have fun, but their idea of fun is usually shit. Be careful.”
“I’ll try.”
Before getting into the car, three hats and far too much money later, Bo texted Antonio his actual number. Only a handful of people had it, that shit being too easy to set free on the internet. He didn’t think Antonio would.
That was something to mull over later, maybe. While he was curled up alone, trying not to think about the man in the other bed that’d saved his life and still didn’t want to touch him. The man who’d held him by the river, then again in the forest, like he never wanted to let go.
Curved lips and strong hands, hair loose and dark and soft.
Fuck.
Chapter thirteen
Everil
In keeping with Bo’spromise, the new hotel room included individual beds. Everil did his best to ignore the sinking disappointment in his stomach at the sight. After so nearly losing Bo, he longed for the man’s closeness.
Better to think of other things. The room made a decent distraction. Walls of robin’s egg blue and pale green, brown carpet, and a rather unsettling profusion of palm frond decor. Talia had proclaimed it ‘groovy’ before shutting herself away in her adjoining room. Everil, accustomed to the dark wood and faded colors of Brookhaven, wondered if this was a new human norm.
“I think Talia’s going to riot if we don’t take her to a place with proper room service soon,” Bo said as he set down his things.
Everil, selfish and weak, drank in the sight of unbroken skin through rent fabric. He had so nearly been too late. He’d smelled Bo’s blood. Tasted his fear, all bitter orange and rhododendron honey.
“I believe she’ll forgive us, provided you locate another diner for her to terrorize.”
“Yeah,” Bo said, flashing Everil a smile he didn’t deserve. “Think I can manage that.”
Everil nodded, silent. There was nothing to be said that would make it right. He wanted to touch Bo, feel for himself that the damage was healed. Kiss every place the dryad had cut.
Instead, he crossed to sit on the bed furthest from Bo and the door. He wanted closeness, but he knew how ill his instincts led him. Lowering his eyes, he saw the brush Talia had pressed on him, still held loosely in one hand. Apparently, he looked like he’d lost a fight with a tree.
He hadwona fight with a tree.
“We should be safe here. Suire won’t move against you again. Now she’s forsworn, she has no easy path to finding me. Besides, she knows I would kill her.” Head down, he returned his gaze to Bo, unable to resist the gravity of his presence. “I can ward our rooms, but it may be best to abstain from magic. Whatever you wish.”
“I’m good without. What about you? It’s your magic.”
“Ours,” Everil corrected, as he gathered his hair over one shoulder. That was how Nimai had put it. ‘Ours.’ But from Bo, there was a curl of something like distaste. Everil’s hand tightened on the brush, and his gaze fell to his lap. “Yours to call on, as you did today. It helped me find you.”
