by May Peterson
“That you are not.” A wicked impulse came over me. Snickering, I slid up, lifting him by his back and legs. His gasp pleased me. I could sit and experience all of his tiny reactions, the way he shivered and moved. In seconds he was on my lap, back-to-chest. All right, this was a bit mean. From behind, I had a lot more control, and he had to trust me to hold him. Time for more kisses, arms wrapped around his slim shoulders. Here he was. Completely naked in my lap, everything accessible. Gently, I went for the prize.
His whole body stiffened when I clasped his genitals, warm and supple in my palm. Mm. He felt so good. I supported him under the arm, letting him relax into the sensation. A thought emerged with shocking force—Mio may never have been touched here before. His story of his past suggested he’d avoided intimacy. The thought that he didn’t want or need to avoid it with me seared a path to my belly, my groin, hardening me against his smooth buttocks. I rolled his soft parts in my palm, letting him rock on my lap. My breath began to climb in time with his gasps. Such tiny, meek sounds. The closest I could get to hearing his true voice.
The next few moments were a smear of breath, contact and grinding skin. Tight bottom rubbing my crotch, my tongue on his earlobe, the shudders he yielded as I fondled his belly and chest. The most encompassing part was the heat. Immortality made things so cold. But Mio throbbed with warmth, nearly left sear marks on my thighs and palm. It made me feel joined with his vitality, as if a new system was born passing life force between us. He responded to my lightest touch, and each shiver dusted my senses with sparks.
What I really wanted was to penetrate him completely. There on my lap, my cock aching for it, I could slip right in. Get lost in his softness, find the hidden spot he probably didn’t know existed. And then spend the next hour tangling his pleasure breathlessly around mine until they could only be separated by a united explosion. Dammit, I hadn’t even done that with Piero.
But Mio would be much too tight for that yet. “Mio,” I whispered damply into his ear, nipping to keep it playful. “I want to try something. Just relax, and we can stop whenever you need to.”
He didn’t ask what it would be, only signing yes.
With care, I turned him around so we interlocked face-to-face. His arms slid around my neck, leaning into me with such urgency it made my cock stand on end. Our groins touched now, all that energy colliding and leaving wet traces on our bellies. “There. There, just like that.” Fingers resting on one buttock, I gave him a moment to adjust. Damn near perfect fit.
Then, tilting his hips just so, I began rocking him into my groin. He visibly registered what I was doing, eyes going wide. Mm, that reaction was titillating. I sucked on his lip, easing him into the flow. I was getting close already. It wasn’t as intense as a full-on fucking, but with Mio, in front of the fireplace, it felt natural and erotic. And he was adorable, biting his upper lip while concentrating on hitting against my hot spot.
Rubbing his pert ass with each grind was pleasure enough on its own, and let me lead a bit. But it wasn’t the finale. Mio kissed me with vigor now, panting on the edge of an approaching climax. We were almost there. I felt like a criminal mastermind, but my wicked plan would be a sweet one.
“Good?” My voice wasn’t the controlled growl I had wanted. I hadn’t thought this would bring me so near so fast. Mio nodded, squeezing tighter. The way he let himself enjoy it made me dizzy. Like he was telling me that I had become safe enough, earned his trust.
“Then brace yourself.” I was going to pop if I didn’t do it now. Cupping his cleft, I bent two fingers to slip in between. Finding his tight ring, I pushed.
His gasp was brilliant. Full body and overpowering, a bright proceed signal. Gently biting his lip, I pushed again. Not enough to penetrate, just to hit that sensitive band of flesh. Our pace quickened.
Now for the coup de grâce. I squeezed his left nipple. At the same moment, I shoved him into my groin, pressing on his quivering hole with as much force as I dared.
“Ah!” There. His voice, only for a split second. Damp heat spattered my thighs. Everything lit into a blaze of tingles, his weight on my cock sending me over the edge. I came hard, all wetness and fury spilling out of me like I was dissolving from the bottom up. I grabbed him furiously, clamping down while we rode the pulse together.
The aftermath of our lovemaking was sloppy and perfect. I hadn’t exactly plucked his maiden flower with the ceremony such an act suggested. But there was something matrimonial about rubbing our sweaty bodies together, the sticky mess on our bellies. Something lawless and clean. Every other time had been emotional treason with Piero, or my warped moral politic with Eirlys. With Mio it practically glowed.
I waited for the wave of embarrassment, compelling me to get up, clean up, and get some space from what I’d just done. It didn’t come. Not like that, anyway. Maybe a little at the liberty I’d taken. But Mio, heaving and safe and relaxed on my chest, seemed all the better for wear.
“I trust that you’ll take this opportunity to make an honest bear of me.” I pawed through his hair, combing down the cowlicks I’d made. All that got was a silent, sleepy laugh.
“I’d make any vow, if it meant I’d be able to stay.”
He signed it on my chest, like a surgical stab through to my heart. It was the kind of thing I should have said something reassuring and wise to—but he was already drifting off to sleep.
* * *
Turned out sex with Mio didn’t quite compare to actually sleeping with him.
He fit snugly in my arms, everything comfortable and easy. Dawn approached, and I bore down to share the bed with Mio and my insomnia. Seemed a good morning to listen to my sense of doom, to set all the pieces in my mind back up and knock them down all over again.
But sleep arrived, quiet and unexpected, and took these thoughts from me like a parent might remove a dangerous object from a child. I’d spent so long in a twilight haze with my demons, with unconsciousness instead of relief, that there was a mystery to this kind of rest. Those few hours with him did more to heal me than any power of the Deep could have. When I woke to Mio’s bleary-eyed attention on me, there was a second when the curse and all its ravages could have been the delirium dream of a disease. A disease I was finally starting to fight off.
If I could only survive the recovery.
Those first few moments of waking up with him were so sweet. He blinked slowly, watching me rouse, and yawned. It was a wide-mouth yawn that made him look young and bright and untouched. He squirmed a few times, each shift a pleasant jolt across my skin. Then, with quiet, grumbling sounds, he nestled into me, tucked under my arms.
A chuckle rolled from me. I ran my fingers through his hair, tousling it and cupping the back of his head. “Sleep well?”
One of his eyes opened. My hand found its way down his neck, his back, until I had him entangled, caressing his smooth backside. It felt, strangely, like I could touch him anywhere, enjoy all the softness of his body. And it would be all right. He accepted my roaming hands, wriggling arms around me.
It was amusing to feel his signs stroke my back. “No one would need a stuffed bear with you around.”
I laughed. “I’d be your stuffed bear forever. Just remember to brush me now and then, I take some damn pride in my coat.”
Both eyes opened. Sliding back in my embrace so he could face me, he tilted his head. “Do you think Tibario will hate this? Being a cat-soul?”
“Well. Hairballs can be serious business.” But his expression didn’t change. I knew what he was really asking. I sighed. “It seems likely that given how much he cares for you, he won’t blame you for any hardship that comes of it. And there will be hardship. But I think ginger snap is smart enough to tell the difference between that and being dead. Especially dead and chained by an incubus.”
Grief and worry roamed like lights over his sensitive features. I fondled the hair above his ears.
His brow crinkled. “If there was a way to solve this without you dying—a way that didn’t risk any more than is already being risked, that really was an answer...would you take it?”
Fuck. Hadn’t that been the entire question? I rubbed my eyes, thinking. “Hell, I don’t know. It’s not that I haven’t prayed for answers. Prayed that—” That we didn’t have to part. “But there’s probably a reason nothing like that has fallen out of the sky. To me, an outcome where I survive this just doesn’t make sense.”
His frown became bitter. “Why?”
A headache was forming. Not because of Mio. Because I had to remember. “I wish I could explain it. Rationally, I know that this is not all my fault. It probably is not even mostly my fault, if we’re being exacting. It makes sense to my intellect that Piero has been the one wreaking the real harm. I just helped him, which—again, I’m pretending to be rational here—makes me less bad, at least. But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like I am the worst person on earth. These are souls trapped in a literal hell, and in my mind, I put them there. Who carried out the details doesn’t matter.” I shook my head. “I can’t imagine anyone deserving to die more than me.”
For the twisted edge of a second, I thought he was going to argue with me. Tell me to listen to the logic and not the conviction. Instead, his palm closed gingerly over my knuckles. “I understand that. I feel that way about all the people I’ve violated. I’m able to see that really, my mother is the one who did it. But so many would have been safe from her if not for me.” The anguish in his smile was palpable. “I understand feeling like you don’t deserve forgiveness.”
I sighed, leaned in so our foreheads touched. That was good. It was good to just have someone understand.
“But.” Mio lifted his eyebrows. “There is another way. Maybe. One I hadn’t thought of. Will you consider it?”
Oh, God. I didn’t think I could survive any more distant hopes. “I’m listening.”
He paused. Then, the sign was as precise as a spell. “My mother.”
A chill feathered over me.
He waited, as if to see if I understood before elaborating. “Piero has to have secrets. And there is nobody in the world who is better able to take advantage of that than her.”
She could control him. The idea descended with dizzying force. Fucking hell. Even Piero couldn’t stand up to the sheer immensity of her power.
“If,” I said, trying to steady my pulse. “If she will help you.”
Mio watched me for what felt like a long time. Like he may have been trying to decide how to tell me what came next.
“You heard Tibario,” he signed. “She wants us both back. This is just what she’ll have to do to get that.”
I could have kissed him again. But it would be a kiss that tasted like acid.
Because this would still be goodbye.
Chapter Fifteen
MIO
I never thought I’d be writing this letter to my mother.
The blank page seemed infinite, until I touched the pen to it. Then it was so small; I knew what had to go on it. I simply had to tell half the truth.
Mother. I regret everything that has happened between us. I miss you.
I did miss her. But I did not regret running. I did not regret Rhodry.
I hurt you by leaving, and I’m sorry for it. I understand you may not trust what I say. But there is something important you must know.
Tibario is alive.
I want to come back. But first I need your help. There’s something that must be laid to rest.
If anyone can solve this, you can. Please, come to His Lordship’s house. No soldiers, no traps. You’re too powerful for an ambush, anyway. Please. Mother. I’m asking you.
Love. Mio.
Love. I couldn’t tell which half that was anymore.
So I sent the letter off, the first bullet in the final battle of a war, the long-standing feud between secrets and songs. This would decide the version of me that would finally emerge. I sensed that the city would bring it to her, in collusion with her will. Her decision would be swift.
To mend, or to cut in two.
Before breakfast, when I was alone in the hall, Rhodry came to put his arms around me freely, not saying a word. He touched me like it was all that maintained his immortality. I closed my hand in his and let him hold me.
The stars would wait until we were finished, and only then bring the red sun down on me. I held on to him as long as I could. Even in victory, this would be goodbye.
I had run out of salvations to pray for.
By sunset, the reply had come. An unarmed boy at the gate with a card; she wrote to Rhodry, and not me.
My dearest Lord Bedefyr. I cordially accept your invitation.
I will arrive at midnight. Evening is my best light. A trait I gather we share in common.
The preparations were simple. We’d meet in the sitting room off the foyer, with a single bottle of twenty-year-old rosé Avonchoie, on ice. Mamma’s favorite. Naturally, in an era when white wine meant tradition and red wine meant hope, she had to be gauche.
My mind’s eye had her appearing in a thundercloud—instead, her shawled figure appeared at the gate, and took the leisurely walk to the door on Cecilio’s arm.
She wore black, shoes to bag, which might mean a show of solidarity with Rhodry. Or it might mean she was still mourning Tibario. Everything was layer upon layer of irony.
The only flashes of color were a fuchsia scarf, which Cecilio took with her gloves, and the ruby glasses she removed, unfolded, and put in her pocket. Not a ring, not a brooch, not a periapt, no boast of her magical hoard anywhere. Hair down, unguarded eyes—one blue, one red. She’d come either in peace, or in pride. I read neither in her smile as it cut me from across the room.
“Hello, Mio.”
Hello, mine.
I wanted to shrivel and die, even with all the cold grandeur of Rhodry’s manor separating us.
Rhodry leaned against the sofa, hands in pockets. “Nice night for necromancy and sorcery, wouldn’t you say, signora?”
Rosemary, one arm behind her back, flanked the sofa, where I took center and Rhodry towered over me. Cecilio obstructed the door. Every feature of the room communicated bravado to the greatest witch in Vermagna’s recent history. The strength of my silence shielded Rhodry, and me, from her most fearsome power. No mage but me had ever neutralized it for this long. She knew it. Rhodry knew it. And it didn’t need to be said.
But it did let Rhodry made jokes.
The curve of her lips lifted into an amused sneer. She took the seat Cecilio offered, accepting the glass of sparkling wine. A swirl, a sniff, and she downed half the glass in one gulp. “Indeed. It seems we have much to talk about.”
As often as I had sung in her presence, the content of her heart still eluded me. I wished I had a note, a chord, signifying the spirit in which she’d come. But her serene expression was one I had seen dozens of times, before she quite literally stared her victim into submission.
I willed my hands to move. “Thank you for coming alone, Mamma. I couldn’t be happier to see you.”
“Anything for you, my love.” She winked, and produced my letter from her bag. “But you cannot begrudge your Mamma for business that remains...unfinished.”
Rhodry began pacing. “Right. You tried to possess me. No
t that I can fully blame you, my body such as it is. And I—well. As far as I know, all I did was let your son stay in my very dirty, and very haunted, house, cruelly forcing him to learn sign language. But I think he’s willing to be big about it if you are.”
A grin broke over my face. I let her see it. I let them all see it when I reached out and touched Rhodry’s hand. Just for a moment before letting go.
Oh, Rhodry. I would miss him.
Mamma did not blink. “First things first. I want to see my son.”
The door to the library creaked, and he slipped in—hair disheveled, the pall of the moon alive in his eyes. His entry would have been meek had he not seemed so ghostly.
“Mamma. You’re here.” He sounded a little embarrassed.
The look on her face changed everything. No pride, no righteous fury. Only her cutthroat calm fracturing down the middle. She stared for a few moments, heartbreak wrestling its way toward relief in the red and blue fields of her eyes. Her bottom lip shook until she bit it. “Baby boy.”
Shame rushed through me at the sight of her grief. She’d taken control of my mind, and his, and that perhaps more than anything else had led to Tibario’s death. Yet all I could think sitting there was that of course she’d been devastated when he died.
In a step, they were running toward each other. The way she threw her arms around him made my jaw clench.
A small region of me confessed something. I would never have asked it of Tibario. But if he hadn’t embraced her back, hadn’t been willing to show forgiveness—it would have made a difference.
She stepped back, face damp and voice brusque. “I felt you die. Very little else could have driven me out.”
“Oh, he was dead.” Rhodry, not to be outdrank, poured himself a glass of pink bubbly and tossed it back like a shot of whiskey. “Dead as Portian fashion. Right through the middle.” He made a shink noise and drew a line across his own chest. “Pity the carpet will never be the same, but c’est la vie.”
