by J P Sayle
Greg watched Aaden give him a once-over. A smile simmered, lighting his eyes. A look of pure desire had Greg stepping back. Raising his hand, he pointed. “Not a cat in hell’s chance. My arse isn’t quite ready for round two. And we have somewhere important to be. Don’t ask me why, but we need to go to the castle—now.” The look of disappointment that crossed Aaden’s face didn’t hurt his ego one little bit. But the sense that Aaden didn’t want to go to the castle grew as they headed downstairs to grab his car keys.
He let it go, offering to drive as Aaden locked the front door. They stepped into the icy night air. Greg never felt more grateful for Aaden’s jacket. His breath turned white as he scurried to the car and unlocked it. Aaden lagged behind, seemingly unconcerned about the bitter cold.
Greg started the engine, hoping the car would heat quickly as his hands froze on the perishing cold steering wheel. He wanted to groan in frustration as Aaden took his bloody time getting in the car. “What is going on with you? I thought you’d be on board with the whole helping these souls get together. I’m getting the impression that is not what you want at all.” Greg felt the words hang between them when Aaden looked anywhere but at him.
Aaden
Aaden looked out the window, taking several deep, icy breaths, hoping that would settle the feeling of despair that kept rising up. He knew Greg was disappointed at his lack of response, but since Greg had woken him, Óláfr’s fear had grown to impressive amounts. He felt it was going to bury him alive, and he could sense Óláfr’s reluctance about going to the castle.
“Max. Max, we’re on our way to the castle. Do you need to be with us?” The sudden thought had him sending a shout to Max.
Greg’s sudden jerk had the car veer towards the other side of the road. Aaden gripped the door handle, hanging on for dear life.
“I’ve told you before. Stop doing that without warning me.” Greg’s disgruntled voice filled the empty silence sitting between them.
“Sorry, I just had a thought that he may need to be with us.” Aaden waited a beat but didn’t get a response from Max. He felt for their link, only to find it blocked again. “What the fuck now?” His angry growl had Greg’s head whip towards him before he cast his worried eyes back to the dark road. His brow bunched. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, but he said nothing.
Aaden wanted to sigh but resisted. Instead he apologised, explaining. “Sorry. Max has blocked me, and I don’t know why. Well, unless it was because of the sex? Though he never did that before when I had sex.”
“Wow. Are you really gonna mention your past conquests after what just happened in your bedroom? The whole soulmate connection thing that we have going on. Yeah, you really gonna piss on that with your stupid mouth, right now?” Greg’s snarl had Aaden shut up.
He sat back in the leather seat. Gritting his teeth, Aaden prayed that he would get through whatever was coming. Because if he couldn’t stop the stupid shit from coming out of his mouth, how was he going to stop Óláfr’s?
And that begged the question why wasn’t he talking to Aaden, like Magnus was with Greg?
“I’m unsure what to say, Aaden. I have waited for centuries for my Svass. Enduring failure after failure, and now the chance is within my grasp. But what if he won’t forgive me? Won’t understand how I have suffered for my own stupidness? This night is when it happened all those moons ago.”
Aaden attempted to keep still as the low-rumbling voice spoke inside his head.
Holy crap, holy crap, holy crapola!
Seriously, you’re only telling me this now, Óláfr!
He clamped his lips together. The urge to ask questions had him straining to sit still, but he was not sure if he should speak. The last thing he wanted to do was alert Greg to Óláfr’s concerns in case it interfered with what was to happen.
Years he’d watched and listened to the crap that Óláfr had done to Magnus. He kinda got why Óláfr was cacking his pants right about now. The problem as he saw it was, what if Magnus wouldn’t forgive Óláfr and let him honour his promise. What would that mean to Greg and him? Greg didn’t seem to be considering that, and Aaden wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing for all of them.
He was distracted from his worries by the stars and the full moon. The sparkling brightness lit up the crisp night sky. It lit the way as they drove down the coast road, approaching Peel. Aaden observed the light of the moon highlight the castle and the surrounding dark sea, turning it silver. The calmness that radiated from the scene was at odds with the jittery feelings jumping around inside him.
Emotions swirled in his stomach, rising into his chest and taking his ability to breathe when Greg pulled in at the base of the castle next to the small cafe.
The car headlights illuminated the dark foreboding walls guarding the castle for a second before Greg switched off the engine and pulled the keys out of the ignition. The darkness illuminated by only the stars and moon.
“Come on, Magnus wants me to walk to the castle. We have to go to the right, past the old dungeons around the back.” Greg’s whispered words tumbled past his trembling lips.
Aaden could see the fear in the depth of his eyes as he turned towards him. Needing contact, Aaden pulled Greg to him. “Whatever happens out here tonight, it’s between them and not us, okay? I need you to understand what I feel for you is yours and yours alone.” Aaden sealed his mouth to Greg’s, not giving him a chance to argue.
He inhaled his scent. He let it surround him as he deepened the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of Greg’s soft swollen mouth before he opened up for him. He gentled his urge to take but instead loved on his mouth with gentle swipes. His tongue danced with Greg’s, sliding sensuously together, showing Greg with his mouth how he truly felt, even if he struggled to convey them with words.
Breathless, Aaden pulled back. Cupping Greg’s bristly cheeks, he bumped his nose to Greg’s and looked him directly in the eye. “It’s their time now. Let’s go.” Aaden held on for a second longer before releasing Greg. He opened the door and stepped out, letting Óláfr come to the forefront. He felt Greg do the same for Magnus.
Óláfr & Magnus
Óláfr tentatively felt the world around him shift as Aaden allowed him to materialise. He looked around at the familiar yet different surroundings. The feel of the place was the same, along with the rich scent of the sea. But now there were other scents, scents he couldn’t name. He let the crisp night air fill his lungs, enjoying the bite as his chest swallowed the icy air. He let himself settle for a moment before he searched for what was missing.
Óláfr struggled to stand tall as he watched the shift in the other man as Magnus’s spirit came to life, allowing him the first glimpse of his Svass since his death.
Óláfr shifted. His heart stuttered inside his chest. Emotions never far away whelmed up, causing him to choke back the ball of tears.
His dark eyes shimmered in the moonlit night as he tentatively offered his large hand to Magnus.
Waiting.
Magnus eyed Óláfr’s outstretched hand with uncertainty.
What was he offering this time?
The question lingered between them unspoken.
He had felt the long-lost part of himself return when the soul that carried him had joined with his own soulmate. The part that had been lost to the pyre eased back into his soul. It filled him with a sense of purpose.
But is that forgiveness?
His sky-blue eyes automatically sought out Óláfr’s. He needed to see if he felt these overwhelming sensations that seemed to float on the crisp night air between them. He was not sure what to say, or even if he should speak first.
His position in the chain of command in the castle had never allowed him the choice before. The centuries he’d endured trapped inside Maximillian had given him time to observe the changes in humankind. He knew he was stronger for it, better able to cope with Óláfr if there was a need.
Magnus remained silent, allowing his mixed emotions
to shift around inside him.
The centuries of waiting for this moment with Óláfr felt surreal somehow. Now that he was finally free, he was almost too scared to believe he could have what he’d dreamed of for centuries.
Óláfr let his impatience show. Unable to keep quiet any longer, he spoke. He watched while Magnus chewed on his pretty plump lips.
“Magnus. My Svass. My beloved. I have waited so many centuries for this. To be able to touch you, hold you in my arms.” Óláfr stepped closer, his hand still lifted. He offered it again. The inches between them felt like miles as Magnus’s eyes darkened into the stormy blue of the angry seas that had surrounded them on that fateful night.
The reality of the date had his hand waver.
This very night.
He could feel the impact of the significance of the date reverberate through his body as if struck by a heavy axe. Óláfr shuddered under the torment he’d had to endure to get back to the place, to this time. This time, it would seem, was when the fates would decide, along with Magnus, if he’d endured enough to allow for forgiveness.
The sobering thought was enough for him to lower his hand back to his side. “Walk with me, Svass?” Not sure what compelled him to move, Óláfr took several steps and felt his feet shift in the contraptions attached to him. The comfort and warmth were something he’d never experienced. Unsure if he liked it, he stomped his feet a couple of times. The loud clatter had his head swing up to Magnus, and a grin spread across his cheeks. “I think I could get used to this new way of dressing.” The silliness of the moment had a returning small smile gracing Magnus’s flushed cheeks.
Óláfr sent a silent prayer to the Goddess Freyja that it was a positive sign.
Magnus followed Óláfr’s retreating back. The flowing mane caught on the dark night air, reminding him of his thoughts of raven’s wings. His gaze never wavered from Óláfr when he felt understanding gather inside him. The significance of the place, the time, had his breath catch at what was to come, of where they were headed.
Magnus halted, his feet glued to the strange substance that was neither rock nor hard soil. He breathed through his nose and let the salt air calm the rioting blood that pounded through his veins.
The sight before him felt familiar yet different as the landscape was covered in greyness along with rocks and grassy banks. Yet he could still sense the exact spot where he’d been butchered for his feelings, for his love.
So lost to the past was he that he didn’t initially hear Óláfr as he spoke again.
“Can you feel it, Magnus? The air, the land, it speaks to me. It talks of the crimes of my past. Of what I have to atone for. Can you accept me, my word, and my love? In this time? In this place? Where it all began?” Óláfr wet his dry lips.
He needed a moment when he felt the slide of his tears track down his cold cheeks. The chilly breeze froze them against his skin. He could see the love he’d held so briefly stand tall on the very rocks he’d spilled his blood. Watching the fire make the flesh flee from Magnus’s body as the fates took his soul from Óláfr.
The night sky hid Magnus’s face in shadows, not allowing Óláfr to see his reaction to his promise.
“You left my soul bleeding in the darkness, in the bowels of the castle, so you could be king. Would you forgive yourself for what you have done?” The words burst out past his frozen lips. His breath frosted by the night air glowed. His chest heaved as the accusation sat between them. He saw Óláfr flinch when his words struck home.
Shocked by his outburst, Magnus clenched his small fists when the urge to pound something, anything, grew.
Memories flooded him of all the times Óláfr had been set free, while he had remained inside Maximillian. Each time Maximillian’s new charge died or denied Óláfr’s soul, stopping him from his search for Magnus, the pain had grown. The suffering Óláfr had endured, Magnus sensed, was part of the Goddess Freyja’s punishment for his betrayal. It had been Óláfr’s constant companion and his as he had waited to be freed and reunited with his lost love.
Yet the remembrance of the rejection, of the purgatory that had been inflicted on him, on his body and soul, had him falter. The disloyalty to their soulmate connection had wounded more than the traumatic death he’d endured at Arngrim’s and Óláfr’s hands.
He could see it now as he stood on the rocks. Still feel the heat, the pain as the fire seared his torn and bloody back, his lungs exposed to the sizzling flames. All the while his blood seeped from his soul on to the rocks and soil, marking this place eternally with his death.
Magnus let go of his dark thoughts, searching Óláfr’s face. He could see honesty shine from his sorrowful expression. The pain and suffering he himself had endured were etched into the essence of his being.
Magnus could sense it now as it rippled out.
Óláfr’s dark eyes bravely showed his fear of rejection.
Magnus knew his beloved had no idea that he had been nestled inside of Maximillian. The thought sobered him. It reminded him of the years that had turned into decades and then centuries, of his own growing acceptance that their time was predestined and had not been meant for their century but meant for another time.
Why he believed this, he did not know. It was this understanding that kept his soul from withering and dying while it lay trapped, waiting.
So, can I accept what is offered now?
Would Óláfr have the courage to take all that he wanted and desired with me this time around?
Would he really love me?
He’d loved and he’d lost, but Magnus felt it now, the chance his soul had been yearning for.
Magnus focused his attention on the soul that carried him. The soul he’d connected with inside the man called Greg. He had pulled him ever closer to Óláfr’s promise so it could be upheld. Yet he had felt his own angst stop Greg for a moment, holding him from taking that final step.
He knew he’d caused Greg and the other soul, Aaden, pain. But he’d needed a moment to reconcile the past with the present. Allowing Óláfr’s promise to come to fruition through Aaden and Greg.
They had endured for him, for Óláfr, and now for their own love. He could see it pulsing with light between them as the two men stepped aside to allow them to, what? Reconcile or start anew?
The layer of love and devotion between Greg and Aaden, their true soulmates connection, had him yearn to honour the bond he felt pulse back to life with renewed energy and light.
Magnus felt tears gather and slide down his face with the need to accept the love offered.
The acquiescence of his heart, his soul, had the last of his fears sliding away. His tears turned to joy as he opened his arms to the waiting Óláfr.
“Svass, you have always been this, and you always will. We were meant, and though you never honoured what was given the first time, I will expect that honour now. Will you permit the Goddess Freyja to bless us along with King of the otherworld, Manannán? Will you cherish my soul?” Magnus’s breath left his lungs as heavily muscled arms gathered him close, lifting him into the warmth of his beloved’s embrace. His feet dangled off the ground. His arms clung on.
“I have watched you search for a soul to love, my beloved. Are you ready for me now, to love, to honour? Here in this time and in this place?” Magnus felt the sob choke him when Óláfr’s dark eyes swirled with emotions so bold they hurt. The love and devotion bathed his battered soul.
Clutching Magnus closer, Óláfr struggled with the confusion at Magnus’s understanding of his enduring search.
He asked the questions requiring answers. “How can you accept me so readily? How did you know I was searching for you?”
His knees weakened as Magnus spoke.
“Maximillian carried us both, Svass. He was not permitted to advise you of this. The fates had deemed it as part of his penance for interfering. I was permitted to feel your presence, your suffering, your pain at not finding my soul. I sat beside you, Svass, held inside Maximillian. I was nev
er far from you all those years you were tortured.”
Óláfr sucked in the crisp salty air, feeling his world fall apart and reform. Óláfr felt his soul throb inside his ribcage. Love swelling, it suffocated at the light of acceptance that brightened his Svass’s face. Acceptance he’d prayed for, while his heart, his soul, had lain in the misery of his own making.
Emotions had Óláfr do what he had wanted to do for centuries, taste his Svass. His bulging arms flexed as he lifted him closer to his broad chest. He needed to know this moment was real, that his search was finally over.
The air hissed past his lips as it wheezed out of his body. White heat surged through his thrumming veins, coating him in a golden glow. The words of love that left Magnus’s lips as they joined had his soul soaring, lifting with Magnus’s.
They danced on the moonlit night air. The castle shimmered behind them as the moon shone down, offering them its light as it guided them home.
A home sheltered inside their connected souls and the souls of those they had become one with.
Aaden
Aaden roused, his mind clearing. His head throbbed along with his chest. The cold night air made him shiver into his thick, leather jacket. His uncertainty made it hard to adjust his head to what just happened.
Aaden caught the dazed expression on Greg’s face. His body swayed in the cold moonlit night, making reality return.
“Greg, you okay, my red-headed beauty?” Aaden rushed forward, tucked Greg’s trembling body into the crook of his arm, and walked them back to the car.
“What a total fucking blast. Oh my God, Aaden, did you feel that? I could feel and hear it all. God, Magnus’s uncertainty, but also his enduring love for Óláfr.” Greg’s excited, chittering teeth made the words hard to grasp.
