Static crackled along his skin, energy dancing between Martin and his lover. Yes, his lover. Then. Now. No time to think of the future at the moment.
That was… That was…
Martin collapsed onto the narrow bed. Stars danced behind his closed eyelids. Aftershocks shook his body. What had just happened? He’d never lost control before. Lovemaking, like everything else, required precision and skillful motions.
Yet this man, this simple man, bypassed all Martin’s experience. He lay on his back, panting, trying to reassert control over his body.
Petra… No. Peter. Peter didn’t move. Oh. Poor fellow likely didn’t know what to do now. On a whim, Martin rolled over, nestling against Peter’s firm side.
Peter relaxed and exhaled. “That was good.”
Martin chuckled. Not the usual sweet praise, but any word in Peter’s voice made Martin’s heart soar. The words were spoken on a surprised laugh, not by rote, and with just the two of them, sated after sex, Peter’s tension eased, making him sound more like his old self.
The boy Martin now realized he’d fallen in love with seasons upon seasons ago.
And loved still.
He really should redress and get back to his own rooms. Yet the modest bed offered comfort his much larger bed in his much larger bedroom did not.
Here on Peter’s small cot, Martin could freely recall the rocking ship, the two of them tangled together, treasuring every moment, knowing they had so few remaining before they’d part for good.
Rain pattered against the roof. He had no desire to be soaked through out on the streets nor draw undue attention by hiring a carriage if he managed to find one this late.
Shifting into a more comfortable position allowed him to capture more of Peter’s warmth. Martin might as well admit the truth: it wasn’t the rain or fear of discovery keeping him in this bed.
Peter tightened an arm around him. “It’s pouring outside. Stay the night?”
Martin shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.
Peter kissed him again. Umm… Why did he need to leave again?
They wriggled free from the rest of their clothing and cleaned themselves at the basin in the corner of the room. A moment after Peter doused the lantern, what Martin saw registered in his mind.
The scar on Peter’s shoulder.
From a wound healed by magic. A wound Martin healed by magic. Had their healing each other tied them together in some way?
With Peter in his arms, Martin slipped into sleep.
He woke early, drinking his fill of the man sleeping peacefully on the bed, imagining the tangled blond strands and deeply tanned skin of Petran’s—no, Peter’s—youth.
The name change might take some getting used to.
Here comfort reigned. Martin could gladly give up all responsibility and stay in this tiny room forever, now that he’d found his heart again. Outside the door lurked horrors few knew of, magic, and sinister beings.
Martin’s world, which waited for him outside this safe haven. Leaving now might be the hardest thing he’d ever done since parting from the pirate’s son seasons ago.
Chapter Twenty-seven
TheFather’sgreathallpaled in comparison to the Lady’s. Instead of huge, airy windows, only gas lamps and candles illuminated the severe interior, devoid of ornate furnishings, music, or laughter. Yet, the cool stone walls offered a refuge, a sense of peace lacking at the opulent temple across the way.
The outward façade showed a simple wooden building. In reality, the temple stretched far underground.
Sweet herbs smoldered in lanterns around the room, chasing back the expected mustiness from a chamber cut off from fresh air.
The chairs Martin and Dmitri sat upon amounted to little more than cushionless boxes, functional, if not necessarily comfortable. No rugs covered the floor. Still, sitting allowed for greater concentration on the matter at hand. Moreover, no one stood a chance of sneaking into this place, as every footfall echoed off stone.
“Mage fire has no effect on their living flesh, yet can completely consume a dead demon.” Green-tinged flames licked at Father Dmitri’s gloved fingers, dying when he closed his fist.
