by Willa Okati
“I could ask you the same.” Nathaniel shrugged. “Went to a party with Cade last night. Or rather, he went to a party with me. You’ve heard enough about Cade to know he mostly goes where he wants and does what he likes. And every time he gets himself in trouble, he gets right back out again.”
“Charming guy, your brother.”
“Isn’t he?” Nathaniel shook his head, his smile becoming more private—and cuter, Abram couldn’t help but notice, before it faded altogether. “I sent you a couple of texts last night. Did you get them?”
The correct answer would be that yes, he had. And he’d barely read them before deleting each one.
“Nope,” Abram said. The lie tasted bitter and lingered unpleasantly on his tongue, but he had to start somewhere with cruelty for the sake of kindness. Didn’t he? “I had other things to do.”
Nathaniel stiffened, clearly as hurt by that as Abram had intended—but then narrowed his eyes, his gaze roving far too insightfully over him for Abram’s taste just then. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Abram said. If they were going to do this now, he might as well go at it with guns blazing, and save the softer letdown for his memories. “Nothing at all, little boy. Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m not an idiot,” Nathaniel said. Abram looked exhausted—like he hadn’t slept in days, or maybe longer—or like he’d tried to rest and had had nightmares so awful he hadn’t been able to bear trying again. “Because I may not know you too well yet, but I know you’re not the kind of man who’s cruel purely for the hell of it. So why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
Abram folded his arms and gave Nathaniel a stony stare that backed him up almost before he knew he’d started moving. Nearly sent him to the far side of the room.
“Abram?” Nathaniel asked again, trying to make sense. “I know there is a reason. Tell me.”
Abram scoffed. “Tell you what? You don’t know me half as well as you think you do,” he said, flat as frozen water. “But then, you wouldn’t know much about anything, as young as you are. God, you’re green. Thinking you understand the world from everything you’ve read about it in a book. Grow up.”
That stung. As, Nathaniel was sure, Abram had meant for it to do. “You thought I was plenty grown up when you were fucking me,” he retorted.
Abram’s expression didn’t change. Not a whit. “Which I shouldn’t have done.”
The shot landed in Nathaniel’s gut. He covered his soulmark, which burned beneath his palm with the slow smolder of chili powder and tattoo needles. “I’m sorry? No, not apologizing-sorry. Say that again?”
“What do you want me to say? It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have encouraged you.” Abram looked as impenetrable as the sheer side of a cliff, and he sat as stolidly as a mountain that refused to be moved. It probably worked wonders when he interviewed suspects. Only the faint flex and tightening of his fingers gave him away. “You aren’t my mate, Nathaniel, and I’m done playing. Is that clear enough, or should I go back to the beginning and use smaller words?”
Nathaniel drove his teeth into his lip, almost hard enough to break the skin. The shock of pain didn’t work as well as he’d hoped to steady him. “Why are you being like this?”
“Because apparently, you don’t have enough sense to listen to subtext,” Abram said. “You need it spelled out loud and clear. Fine. Suits me. Go away, Nathaniel. Be glad I don’t arrest you for breaking and entering. We’re done here.”
“No.” Nathaniel lifted his chin, and squared his stance. “I entered, but I didn’t break. I won’t break. I want to know what’s gotten into you, because this isn’t you. Come on. Ivan wouldn’t tell all these stories about ‘his friend Abram’ if you really were this much of an asshole.”
“Maybe Ivan’s a bit of an asshole too. Ever think of that?”
“Oh yes. Plenty of times, after he and Robbie split up.” Nathaniel made his feet move. One step then another, carrying him closer to Abram, betting that Abram wouldn’t budge from his place. That was fine. Nathaniel didn’t mind being the one to do the heavy lifting.
Abram raised one shoulder in a rough, meant-to-be-careless shrug. “There you have it, then.”
“No. I don’t.” Nathaniel kept coming. “You wouldn’t have set up your bed facing a picture window if you didn’t have an imagination. And if you truly didn’t want me, you could have said no. You didn’t. I have two brothers, Abram, and I might be young but trust me, I’ve seen just about every stunt a guy can pull when it comes to fucking up their love life. You’re trying to pick a fight, because you want me to hate you.”
“Am I really?”
“Yes.” Nathaniel stopped two inches from Abram’s nose. “And even if it was all a joke to you from the start—which I know it wasn’t—I’ve earned an honest answer when I ask you why. Talk.”
Abram barely blinked. “Look at you, thinking you can give me orders. I’ve been yelled at by so much tougher. Why don’t we turn it around, Nathaniel? Why don’t you tell me why you came? Looking for a second helping? Don’t give me those calf eyes. You knew you weren’t my mate.” He worked the jet bead from his ear and let it drop on the table with a loud, accusing click. “I’ve had a mate. A good one. And he wasn’t you, thank God.”
The jet bead rolled off Abram’s table, disappearing on the far side. Nathaniel couldn’t tell where it’d gone.
“You talk now,” Abram said. “And for God’s sake, would you stop gripping that mark of yours like a set of pearls?”
He made a grab for Nathaniel before Nathaniel could stop him or even think of trying. So fast for such a big man and defter than one would think. Easy to forget how quickly the mountain could move when Mohammed had a burr under his saddle. He had Nathaniel’s elbow in his hand and had jostled Nathaniel’s hand off his marked shoulder before Nathaniel could blink, and—
And there wasn’t very much left to say at all. At least it put a zip on Abram’s lips. If nothing else, Nathaniel had that much.
Weighed up against his bleeding pride and the gnawed hole in his chest where his heart usually rested, it wasn’t worth the tradeoff.
“You want to know why I came?” Nathaniel asked when he couldn’t bear another second of Abram staring in silence. He jerked free of Abram’s now-gentler hold, and turned his arm to show the mark and how it had changed, was still changing, lines spreading out in lush petals and curves. “For this.”
Abram shook his head. He covered his mouth with his hand, his breathing loud and gruff behind it. “Nathaniel…”
“I came to tell you I know now you’re not my mate.” Nathaniel told himself he could take pride in the steadiness of his voice, but he didn’t really believe that. “And that I was sorry. That you were right, and I was wrong, but I hoped we could still be friends. That would have been nice.”
Abram stared at him with a sort of blank stillness, as if he were shocked for some reason, and Nathaniel had had enough.
“But so much for that,” he said, letting his sleeve slide back down. “Don’t bother getting up. I’ll see myself out. Have a nice life, Abram. I hope you enjoy it.”
He turned his back, not looking over his shoulder once, as he made for the door and knocked it open with his hip. As he left Abram behind.
Abram waited for the door to slam shut before he dropped his head to the table with a heavy thud and a blast of pain from the impact that, in his opinion, he richly deserved—for a start.
Dear God. He’d expected it would be bad. He hadn’t realized what a particular shade of fucking awful reality would turn out to be.
The look on his face. Like I’d thrust a knife right into his heart. Which he had, hadn’t he?
And in the end it’d been for nothing. That mark on his shoulder…
Abram gave a frustrated growl. If he’d seen that mark on anyone else, out of the blue, he’d have thought it the masterpiece of a tattoo artist. Gorgeous radial arches and sinuous, sensual curves. Whole schools of philosophers argued
over how to interpret the meaning of shapes and designs, but Abram preferred to see them as art. Nathaniel’s developing mark made him think of an iris in full bloom, with a chambered nautilus as its center. Beautiful.
As lovely as its owner. Sure left his skinny design in the dust, didn’t it? He would have liked to be friends with Nathaniel.
No, be honest. You would have liked to be his lover. And even if it wasn’t possible, deep down you liked the idea of being his mate or you wouldn’t have let it go as far as it did.
“And for what?” Abram asked himself out loud.
“You’re an idiot,” Callum said. Also out loud.
“Son of a—” Abram shouted in surprise. He flinched and barked his knees against the underside of the dining table. At least he knew what this was—the fucking DVD player gone back to its old tricks. Whatever peculiar alchemy made it jump to life and start running had turned the volume up to maximum, making the sides of the television shake and rattle.
He’d left a home video in the player. Figured. Must have skipped ahead to the next track on the disc—the screen Callum now looked triumphantly grumpy in the light of a late afternoon at least ten years gone.
Abram shot the television a baleful glower as he stood. His heart couldn’t take much more of this.
On the screen, Callum glowered right back at him. Abram recognized the footage as having been filmed after a camping trip they’d taken to the Appalachians. He’d pitched their tent in a patch of poison ivy and the results had been nothing short of spectacular the morning after. His skin crawled with a sympathetic, remembered itch.
“Well? What are you going to do about it?” DVD-Callum demanded.
The camera angle dipped left and right. “What should I do?” his long-ago self asked of Callum. Teasing him.
Callum rolled his eyes to the heavens, but at the same time he was fighting back a smile. The louder he got, the more affectionate he was, and the more he shouted, the easier it was to hear his way of saying I love you. “ Ugh, you gigantic ass, ” DVD-Callum scolded him. “Why are you asking me? ”
Abram stopped in front of the set. He’d meant to turn it down, but something didn’t seem right about not letting Callum express himself at top decibel. “Because you usually have better answers than I do,” he answered, a beat off sync with his video-self.
His soulmark itched dully, nettles beneath the skin. Irritated, he gave it a good rub…and stopped.
“I’m not making it easy on you this time, ” said DVD-Callum. “Nope. But I will give you a hint for the next time you decide we need an adventure. If a thing itches? Stop scratching and use your eyes. Truth can’t be worse than the things you imagine, and for fuck’s sake, sometimes it’s better. Or at the very least, it needs to be taken care of, so stop dicking around and look. ”
Abram didn’t want to. He couldn’t. If Nathaniel had been wrong…then did it necessarily follow that he, Abram, had been right?
What if…? Oh God, what if?
DVD-Callum softened, rueful lines crinkling on his face, familiar love in his gaze. “It’s not the end of the world. Just take care of it, all right? ”
Abram swallowed, a hard knot going down his throat. Ridiculous for a man his size to start shaking, but he couldn’t stop it as he pushed up his sleeve and did what Callum ordered one more time.
He shut his eyes and exhaled, a long shudder.
Then, with the military precision he’d never quite lost in times of trial, squared his shoulders and swung about on his heel.
“It’ll be all right in the end,” the DVD-Callum said as Abram marched out of the door, letting it bang back on its hinges. “Good luck, love.”
Chapter Seven
Sun broke through the cloud cover, dappling Nathaniel in variegated patches of light and shadow as he trudged forward, head down, hoping he’d picked the right direction that would lead him to a bus stop. He tucked his hands in his pockets, cold both inside and out.
He’d been so wrong, and so sure he was right. Cade would laugh himself sick.
No, strike that. If Cade ever found out, he’d pound Abram into a greasy stain on the floor. Nathaniel made a face. God, no. Cade could never be told. Nor Robbie. They’d want to defend him. Their hearts would be in the right place.
Only, what did that matter when he’d made the bed himself and had to lie in it anyway?
The low, distant grumbling of a diesel engine made Nathaniel prick up his ears. He’d taken the right path after all. Small mercies. He lifted his head, meaning to scan the street for the oncoming bus. The sooner he put some distance between himself and Abram, the quicker he’d… Well, Nathaniel didn’t know what would happen next. He started to raise his hand, meaning to wave down the driver.
It didn’t quite work out as he’d planned. A strong, dark hand took his wrist, startling him into turning.
“Abram?” Nathaniel blinked up at the big man and tried to free himself. Not easy. Abram brought all his strength to bear in both holding on and holding still. “Stop it. What do you want?”
Abram opened his mouth, closed it, and looked almost helpless—and dear, still. So very dear that Nathaniel wanted to put his arms around the man, hug him, and promise everything would be all right. Maybe that was part of being a soulmate, but Nathaniel had his doubts. That might be part of Abram’s charm, working its magic.
Nathaniel sighed. Even if he was the kind of guy who could hold a grudge, he wouldn’t have wanted to. “Abram,” he tried again. “What is it? I left the key inside your house.”
Abram shook his head. He rubbed one broad palm over his goatee, exhaling behind his hand then held up a finger. Give me a second.
Nathaniel frowned. The bus he’d heard was getting close, from the sound of the engine. “Spit it out, Abram. Just tell me.”
The ghost of a smile flickered across Abram’s face. “You were right all along.”
And of all the things Nathaniel might have expected to hear, that was not one of them. His lips parted in surprise. “What?”
“I said it once, and God knows I should say it again. I’m an ass, and I’m a bad, bad man. No, hush. Pretty, hush.” Abram touched the tip of Nathaniel’s chin lightly, so lightly, barely a brush of skin against skin—but oh, the hunger it woke—like a wildcat unfurling from a nap with a proud roar, ready for the chase.
Nathaniel didn’t understand. Not at first. But when Abram’s hand went to his sleeve, he began to hope. “Abram…”
An inch at a time—no, half an inch, a quarter-inch—Abram rolled up his sleeve, and turned his arm to show Nathaniel the mark on his shoulder. His beautiful mark, not merely an iris on the verge of opening anymore—a full, glorious bloom with a chambered center, covering nearly the full width of his shoulder like an epaulette. Drawn in a larger scale for a larger limb, but the same.
Exactly the same as Nathaniel’s, now.
Nathaniel pressed his hands to his mouth.
“We both still had some changes to make,” Abram said. With the sun behind him, he shaded Nathaniel from the brightness and blaze, a solid tower of strength and wishful hope. “It isn’t possible—and yet. And yet. But that’s what you are, I think. Like Callum, only new. Making the impossible into reality. God, Nathaniel. I swear I’ll never do that again. Only… Look, I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t forgive me. But I’m going to ask all the same.”
He could have said no, Nathaniel knew. He could have made Abram work for his absolution.
But Nathaniel didn’t quite trust himself to speak. He let his body do the talking for him. His arms fitted around Abram’s neck, just long enough to reach and lace his fingers together behind Abram’s nape, and he was just tall enough to stand on his tiptoes and touch a kiss to Abram’s lips.
That was good, indeed.
When Abram bent his head and returned the kiss, with interest—that was better than anything else could ever be.
* * * *
When Abram had come home from work the night before, he’d st
ripped his bed down to the mattress and put on clean, new sheets. Everything had been changed out, from the pillowcases to the duvet. He’d told himself it would help his cause if he didn’t catch a whiff of Nathaniel’s personal scent every time he turned his head, trying to sleep.
Which hadn’t worked—but that didn’t matter now. He breathed deep, drinking in the heady mix of pheromones and warm skin.
Heaven.
Abram lay on his side, comfort less important than watching Nathaniel properly. Nathaniel didn’t seem to mind. Far from it. He lay on his side too, letting Abram look all he wanted as he teased his way down from waist to hip, then curving inward to drag his fingernail over Abram’s zipper. He molded his palm over Abram’s cock and kneaded him exactly right, not too hard but nowhere near gentle.
“Do you like that?” Nathaniel murmured, sliding closer, close enough to speak softly near Abram’s ear. “Tell me.”
Abram’s lips parted. “God. Don’t I just?” He lifted his hips and nudged, gently. “You don’t have to ask. As long as you don’t stop.”
“Not planning on it. Ever.” Nathaniel rolled his hips, nudging his way ever more firmly into Abram’s hand. He nuzzled beneath Abram’s chin, nipping at the points of his cheekbones and chin. “Say it again?”
“Don’t stop.” Abram licked his lips and let out a rough and ragged breath that dried them again. “Please.”
The little butterfly laughed at him. “And you call me pretty. Do you have any idea what you look like right now?”
“Apoplectic?” Abram snorted. “If you like it, I’ll take your word for it.”
“As you should,” Nathaniel said. Almost primly. Though there was nothing prudish or proper at all in the way he moved, pushing Abram onto his back and sliding one leg nimbly over. He eased himself into place with a small, mewling moan. “I love the way I have to stretch to do that. I’ll feel it in my thighs tomorrow. So good.”
