by Parker Foye
“Give or take.”
“But the will…. You said you wanted to inherit. I don’t understand.”
Pushing away from the desk, Julian spun in his chair and pulled his feet up to sit cross-legged. He rested his elbows on his knees like an imp. The soft light made his eyes glow.
“Did I mention Mage Matilda was my mother?”
At first, the name didn’t mean anything to West, since mages were outside of his interest. But then he remembered his first meeting with Julian, and how fiercely Julian had refused to believe West’s cabin had some famous mage’s protection spells. Learning the mage and Julian’s mother were the same helped West understand Julian better, in the way he carried the weight of grief and a legacy at once.
West took a step closer. “How does that fit with everything?”
“Mage Matilda’s greatest work, aside from yours truly, was the Spell of Undoing. I can’t undo the effects of Rabid, but I can destroy the base formula. Wipe it from the universe like it never was. The spell is locked in her library, which will remain locked until someone inherits.” Julian shrugged with one shoulder. “I wanted it to be me, but I suppose I can steal her books when Philip gets access. No one knows it’s there but me. And you, now.”
“So Rabid was—was a mistake?”
“God, West.” Julian ran his fingers through his long hair. “I was a damn mess after my mother died. I couldn’t sleep. I spent weeks in my lab, and Lyle—he was a distraction. Invention was a distraction. If I’d been more myself, I might have—it doesn’t matter. I did what I did, and I’ve spent every sober moment since trying to fix it. But I can’t without the spell.”
“And you need me for that.”
“I thought I did.”
The bond ached in West’s chest, but sweetly, like his tattoos had ached when they were fresh. A reminder that pain had happened but he’d recover, and what he had undergone would be beautiful when the healing was done.
West knew about grief. Not for someone as close to him as Julian seemed to have been with his mother, but for a place and time he sometimes doubted were real. He’d lost everything he knew when Lyle turned on him, and the actions of the Hargreaves pack since made West wonder if the home he’d known had ever existed. Grief poisoned by doubt sat in his heart like a canker.
Those first few months on his own, West had struggled to put one foot in front of the other. He’d fought anything that stood still long enough, animal and human predators and his own reflection alike. He’d used his strengths for ill, and only good luck prevented those actions from haunting him.
Bad luck led to Julian being used by Lyle. West knew what that was like.
And West knew, a little more, what Julian was like. Professor Wylie’s warm guidance, Mage Colquhoun’s fast mouth, and Julian’s soft voice—the magic linked each facet to make the whole—the man at the other side of the bedroom—shine like a diamond. Julian couldn’t be held responsible for what Lyle did, and West didn’t want to hold the past above their heads like a sword.
The future held far more promise than any sharp edge.
West crossed the room and crouched by Julian’s chair. He pressed a hand to where he felt the bond strongest in his chest and reached up for the same place on Julian, holding his hand close enough to feel heat rising through Julian’s thin T-shirt.
“You feel that? The bond?” Julian nodded, but slowly, as if unsure he should admit it. West glanced at the back of his hand, finding it difficult to meet Julian’s eyes. “Me too. And it hasn’t gone away. I don’t want it to go away. I want to stay. I want to help you make things right.”
Julian laced his fingers with West’s and rested his chin on their joined hands. “Are you sure? It means another six months of me, at least. Do you really want that?”
West grinned. “I can’t think of anything I want more.”
West could never be sure which of them moved first, but with a lapful of Julian, he didn’t care to check. Julian slid down from his chair and pushed West flat to the floor, making West thankful for the plush carpeting, and straddled his hips. Deceptively powerful thighs pinned West in place as Julian loomed over him, his actions slowing to a stop as he leaned close enough that West had to cross his eyes to focus.
“Should we—Did you want to kiss? Me?” West asked, heat rushing to his face. He sounded stupid.
Julian brushed their noses together. He smelled like fresh coffee. “I’d like that, yes. Kissing. You.”
Julian’s smart mouth tasted of mint, and West tasked himself to chase out each sliver of flavor. He cupped Julian’s sharp shoulder blades to draw him closer, abs burning as he hungrily followed Julian’s teasing nips, until he sat up with Julian still in his lap. The proximity brought his stirring erection into stark relief, and West broke away from the kiss, trailing his fingers down Julian’s back.
“I have to tell you something before we go any further,” West said, though he couldn’t resist darting in for another kiss, stealing it from the corner of Julian’s full lips.
Worry trembled down the bond, but Julian nodded. He stroked his thumbs along West’s bare collarbones. “Okay. What is it?”
“You have a student. Nolan.”
“How do you—” rapidly became “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“I am not—” West pressed a kiss to Julian’s temple, nosing under his hair. “—shitting you.”
Julian’s cackle brightened the room. “You’re unbelievable.”
Before West could wonder if belief was a desirable quality, Julian kissed him again, combing his long fingers through West’s damp hair and tracing cool shapes over his shoulders as he bore West once more to the ground. They lay chest to chest, Julian’s weight grounding West and chasing worry from his mind. After a garbage fire of a day, he needed to know Julian’s exploring touches and welcoming kisses weren’t a dream. Julian seemed instinctively to understand, or perhaps the bond told him.
Though West’s cock stirred and the hot line of Julian’s pressed against his thigh, they continued to trade kisses until they turned lazy and the sun pressed more insistently through the drapes. With a grunt of effort, West scooped Julian into his arms like a bride—or groom—on their wedding day, coiled his legs beneath him, and got to his feet.
Yelping at the movement, Julian swatted West’s arm playfully. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Taking you to bed. To sleep,” West tacked on, not wanting to give the wrong impression.
Julian rested his head against West’s biceps, his hair tickling West’s skin. He pressed a kiss to West’s shoulder, his smile sweeter than any he’d yet worn. The spot where his lips brushed felt like a brand.
After lowering Julian carefully to the bed, West turned to leave. Julian snagged the pocket of his sweatpants, tugging him back.
“Stay. Please.”
West couldn’t refuse the invitation. It would’ve been rude.
WEST started awake in a strange room with light filtering through the drapes and casting long shadows over the heavy quilt. His heart beat rapidly in his chest as he tried to identify the noise that had woken him, and he flinched when someone snuffled beside him until Julian’s scent filtered through his sleepy brain. He looked to his left and saw Julian blink open his golden eyes. Pillow creases scarred Julian’s face, and the scrunch of his nose as he squinted at West was almost too cute to bear.
“What’s going on? Why are we awake?” Julian asked, swallowing half his words with a yawn.
“We” because the bond in West’s chest had fed his panic to Julian. They’d have to work on that. West looked forward to the research.
“I thought I heard something. Somewhere in the house.”
Julian shoved to a sitting position, the sheets pooling around his waist. “Someone’s here?”
“I can’t smell anyone,” West reassured him, touching his elbow. “But I thought I heard a door creak. Maybe it was my—”
“The library.”
Nearly tu
mbling from the bed, Julian stole from the room like a pack chased him. Blinking at the unexpected display of speed, it took West a moment to get to his feet and follow. He glanced back at the rumpled bedsheets as he went, committing the sight to memory.
When he found him, Julian stood in front of a door West had noticed in passing, the ornate frame making it stick in his mind. He hadn’t tried the handle; Julian’s home wasn’t his, and West didn’t have much curiosity as a matter of course. But a library? If he’d known there was a library, he’d have lost hours in there for sure. Maybe it was for the better that he hadn’t known.
As he stood beside Julian, a jumble of emotions rose from the bond like vapors from tarmac on a hot day. West couldn’t parse them, but he didn’t need to. He brushed Julian’s hand with his, relieved when Julian tangled their fingers together.
“Should we go inside?”
“It’s locked,” Julian said. His mouth twisted. “It’s supposed to be locked.”
West squeezed Julian’s hand and thought about kissing him. West suspected he’d be thinking about kissing Julian a lot.
Not the time, Westley.
Corralling his thoughts from the memory of Julian’s clever lips on his, West realized the source of Julian’s distress. The library was the one locked by his mother’s will, the one containing the spell Julian wanted so badly. Trepidation rolled in West’s gut. If Julian had the spell, he wouldn’t need West.
He shoved the selfish worry aside. There were things more important than his feelings.
“Did you try to get in?” West asked, pleased when his voice sounded steady.
“Not yet. The will locked it. I think—I think the bond might have released it. That had been in the will too. Bond partners. Seems that part beats the time stipulation.”
The words made West shiver. He licked his lips and looked sidelong at Julian.
“You should try and get in.”
“But what if it doesn’t open?”
“What if it does?”
Instead of replying, Julian raised their joined hands to the door. West thought he might knock, but instead Julian drew a question mark on the surface, rapping lightly for the dot. West’s skin tingled from the grain of the wood. He could feel his heartbeat in his thumb, hear Julian’s steady breaths. The bond ached sweetly in his chest.
Slowly, so slow that West thought he imagined things, words stained the surface of the wood, flowing in old-fashioned handwriting.
I suppose so.
West exchanged a wide-eyed look with Julian, glancing back in time to see the writing seep into the wood, at first a shadow, then a smudge, and finally disappearing completely. If Julian hadn’t squeezed his hand, his scent curling around them both, West would’ve thought he was dreaming.
The door opened with the same creak that had woken West, and a floral aroma seeped through the crack, making West think briefly of the forest in Hargreaves territory, before dissipating in the air like words not spoken. Julian held West’s hand hard enough that their knuckles were white.
“That’s as good as it’s going to get,” Julian said, shakily. He shoved his hair off his face with his free hand and touched his chest briefly before pushing open the door with his fingertips. The door didn’t creak again, and West had the strange feeling the noise had been a joke. The kind of thing a mother might do to make her son laugh.
West liked the thought. Julian seemed quick to laugh, and West liked to imagine he’d shared the sound with his mother. Maybe he’d ask, one day.
If he got to stick around.
“Holy cow.” West stumbled to a halt inside the door to the library, mouth dropping open as he tilted his head back, trying to see everything at once. “I’ve never seen so many books in one place!”
Julian tugged his hand. “It’s a library, West. I’ll give you the tour later.”
It didn’t occur to either of them to stop holding hands as Julian led West past aisles of books and under an archway into a high-domed alcove, turned left to a staircase, and took the marble steps two at a time. West twisted to look over his shoulder as they climbed, spotting a huge window that showed a view of a mountain, though there were no mountains near the cottage. Another window showed a city he thought might be Toronto, but they all looked the same to West. When they reached the top of the staircase, he saw a swimming pool in the room below. There definitely hadn’t been a swimming pool when they walked in.
Magic.
Julian didn’t seem to notice the strange sights, or perhaps he’d expected as much, but either way, he didn’t divert his course from the wrought iron balustrade. Curlicues formed shelves in the iron, each holding a dozen or so books with cracked spines and loose sheaves sticking out. Julian released West’s hand to select a slim volume with a purple cover. West felt strangely cold. He folded his arms, tucking his hands in his armpits.
“It’s in here. Mage Matilda’s Spell of Undoing.” Julian hugged the book like West hugged himself. “I can unmake the formula for Rabid. I’d—I would undo it in my head, now, but it’s risky.” Julian chewed his lower lip, glancing sidelong at West. “Do you want me to?”
“That’s really not my decision to make,” West rushed to say. The thought made him feel greasy. “And I wouldn’t even if I could. I don’t understand magic, Julian. If it… if it matters at all, I don’t want you to chance hurting yourself. I kind of like you.”
Some of the color returned to Julian’s cheeks. “Only kind of?”
“I’m sure we could work on that. If you wanted to, I mean.”
West had meant to sound flirty, to match Julian’s teasing tone, but his answer came out like a declaration. As Julian fell silent, hugging the book more tightly, West shifted in place. He’d never wished to be a book before.
“Can I kiss you, please?” Julian asked.
West answered by cupping Julian’s cheek and drawing him close, letting their mouths meet. Calmer than their earlier kisses and more confident, they explored each other with teasing touches of tongue. Julian caught West’s lips with his teeth, making West groan into the kiss. Julian laughed, and West immediately decided his favorite thing was kissing and laughing at the same time.
When it became impossible to continue to do both, they rested their foreheads together. Julian’s expression blurred with proximity, but West knew he smiled. He could smell it.
“I like you quite a bit,” Julian said. “In case you were wondering.”
West grinned. “You’re okay. I guess.”
Whatever Julian had been about to say was lost under the shriek of alarms.
Chapter Twelve
A LONG day followed by a fraught night and wonderful morning had left Julian physically and emotionally drained. He staggered outside to find Emily and Philip on the lawn, waiting at the edge of the scores scarred into the earth, wincing from the noise; the idiots had tripped the alarms. Julian felt his face contort with anger his body didn’t have the energy to fuel. He twisted his hand impatiently, and both siren and spells shut off, leaving his ears ringing in the sudden silence.
A smirking kind of feeling shivered along the bond, and he glanced over his shoulder. West had followed him from the library and stood at Julian’s side like a guardian. At Julian’s questioning look, he shrugged.
“I like magic.”
Julian barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Putting aside the matter of his magic-obsessed meta betrothed—though the entire notion made his toes want to curl with joy—Julian stalked across the grass toward his cousins. Dew soaked his bare feet, and leftover aches from the foundry protested more exercise, but Julian refused to show weakness. Weakness was how they got you. Whoever “they” were. However “got” happened.
He needed a lot more sleep than he’d managed to snatch, evidently.
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing here? Didn’t you get arrested?” Julian yelled. His hand flexed around his mother’s spell book. They’d distracted him from important work, and for what?
>
Philip looked paler than usual, his mouth opening and closing like a particularly dimwitted fish. He didn’t seem able to focus. Dismissing him, though not without wariness, Julian turned his question to Emily. He flinched as he realized the darkness following her had swollen in size, trailing from both her feet and Philip’s like an oil spill. Curious. And dangerous.
“We got out,” Emily said. She twirled a lock of her hair around her finger.
No. Not her hair. A tendril of darkness.
Julian hadn’t known such a thing was possible. Watching the darkness, he readied a shield and reached for West to tug him closer. Julian’s protection spells worked better over a small surface area, and he wanted West to be covered as surely as he was. West stood at Julian’s shoulder, a silent and comforting presence.
“Did the police release you?” Julian asked.
Emily snorted, petting her darkness. “Not hardly. Philip couldn’t stay in prison. Could you, Philip?”
“No, Ems,” Philip replied, swallowing hard. He eyed the shadow dubiously. “You got us out. She got us out.” He glared at Julian. “Little help you gave us, magician.”
At least Philip had recovered enough from his ordeal to start name-calling. Julian relaxed his shoulders. The darkness made his teeth ache, but Emily seemed to have it under control and hadn’t sent it after Julian or West. But they’d still arrived at his house uninvited and interrupted his discovery. Julian drummed his fingers against the spell book. Sparks flicked on contact, biting his skin like cold kisses.
“You blew up my yacht, you fucking imbecile. Why should I have given you any help?”
Philip pulled a face. “What? I keep telling people, I don’t know nothing about no yacht.”
“Then why’d the Law arrest you? Why are you here?”
Raising her hand to shush her brother, Emily draped the darkness around her neck. In the brightness of the afternoon, she swallowed light like a void. Julian remembered wondering if Emily knew about the darkness following her. Seemed she’d learned some things since they’d last spoken.
