by Plum Pascal
Compared to Cambion in his forest sanctuary, my life isn’t exactly a fairy tale story. For a time, I took solace in the misery. It was retribution for my sins—my atonement. Even if pleasures of the flesh had been at my disposal, I wouldn’t have indulged them. After the war, I was no longer a king. I was no longer the man deserving of those rewards. Slowly, arduously, that time passed. And then, more time still—until I’d more than paid the price for my failure.
My imprisonment turned my immortality into a sentence of unending torture. And yet, for Cambion and me, our imprisonments were blessedly only physical. Our constraints were tied to our locations, not to our minds.
To lose our identities, entirely?
Most times, my memories feel like a curse, but at least I have them. To be unaware of the bounds of my immortality, unaware of my purpose or my past, unaware of the reason for my fears or my anguish or my need for revenge? I’d take another century of celibacy over that.
Yes, I thought I had it bad. But Baron’s hell is much worse than anything I could imagine.
Then my thoughts turn to Eilish and the pull I feel towards her. Maybe I would have felt this way even if she weren’t physical perfection. My body, so desperate for sexual release, might have reacted this way to any woman within view. But somehow, I doubt it. There’s something about Eilish that’s different; I still can’t put my finger on just what that something is.
There were times before the war—and I’m not proud of these times—when I took many women to fulfill my own desires. But once I’d failed in my duty to protect the realms and was banished to the Gorge, my desire for female company died along with my freedom. Until now.
Many of my doomed gargoyles had bought affection wherever they could find it, but I’d never stoop so low, even in my most desperate hours. I understood their need, though. Opting to take the time to earn a woman’s trust would leave them with loins wanting.
And then, I remember the promise I made to myself—that once I entered Grimreap and found the time, I would pay to visit a woman. Even though I haven’t had any time to myself, it doesn’t matter; the idea of finding solace inside another woman leaves me feeling cold and empty. I would rather watch Eilish sleep than spend the next however long in the arms of a woman I don’t know or care about.
Something is desperately wrong with me.
I turn to look at Eilish and find her already the subject of Baron’s direct gaze. Despite my relief at his return, I can’t help but feel threatened by his presence. The way he looks at Eilish rouses me; the sense of need behind his eyes is greater than the need I feel for her, that much I can tell. It unseats me. Not out of something so immature as jealousy, though. His need seems deeper than merely sexual. I can tell Cambion desires her sexually, but I believe that’s the extent of his interest. Baron, on the other hand, seems to desire her. As if he would consume her, were he given the chance. And, as a vampire, he could very easily kill her if he chose to.
It’s part of the reason I don’t trust him. I don’t know him anymore. It’s been over one hundred years since his death and, in that time, he’s been reborn into a different man. Who’s to say he’s still the same, virtuous man he was in the past? We’d be foolish to assume such is the case.
And Eilish…
She isn’t just the first woman I’ve spent time with since my exile—she’s also the key to my future, to everyone’s future. Protecting her means protecting the three realms, something I wasn’t able to do before. But something I’ve sworn to right this time around.
TWENTY-ONE
Eilish
Grimreap
Shadow Realm
I glance down and notice my veins no longer glow green; instead, the pale skin is smooth and devoid of color. I’m not sure if the Atacomite has finally left my body from Cambion’s healing or if it’s because Baron touched me. But I’m whole and pure again.
“Then we’ve solved the riddle of why Bar—er, Revenant can’t access his memories,” Cambion starts.
“But we haven’t solved the riddle of why I can’t access mine,” I finish for him.
I glance at Baron, only to find him studying me in that detached, curious way of his. I’m sure he’s wondering why I didn’t mention the woman’s voice I heard, the woman’s voice we both heard. I haven’t mentioned it because I’m still in shock. The woman’s voice was the same one I keep hearing in my own head, and I’m not really sure what to make of it.
Baron’s eyes darken, “It’s a question I, too, would very much like the answer to.”
“It could be a block of some kind,” Dragan announces, looking at me, and I remember we’re still trying to solve the question of my own missing memory. “Whoever falsely branded you obviously opposed Variant, otherwise they wouldn’t have made the effort to make you appear legal…”
“If you are, in fact, falsely branded,” Cambion adds. No one responds, which is just as well because I’m sure everyone is tired of this line of reasoning.
“May I see the markings?” Baron asks me.
“Why?” Dragan growls and immediately steps forward, between Baron and me.
I’d thought he was tense before, but for a moment I worry he’s turned entirely to stone. I look up at him, trying to silently reassure him it’s okay. Everyone else in the room has seen me in various stages of undress, so what’s one more? Besides, I feel like I should do anything I can to convince Baron I need him and I’m not his enemy. If he wants to see my markings, he can see them.
I sit up and rotate the front of my body away from the rest of the group as I shrug out of my cloak. It’s warmer inside, but the cold of the air still surprises me and I feel my body tighten against the change in temperature.
The bed shifts as Baron sits down beside me. I look over my shoulder at him.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Dragan growls again.
Baron glances up at him and frowns but says nothing. Then, he turns his attention back to me. I can feel him studying my back, and I flinch at the coldness of his finger as he traces the markings. He’s not afraid to touch me, and I’m surprised. After that vision, I would think he’d want to avoid touching me at all costs but that doesn’t seem to be the case.
Goosebumps erupt over my skin as he glides his fingertip along the shapes. The movement of his finger paints them, in my mind, as spirals.
My brain flashes at his touch, just a few non-sensical images. The graveyard scene again, a woman’s voice… the same one I hear in my own head. I’m too tired to lean into them. The images alone make me feel even more fatigued than I already am and my head aches in response.
“Fascinating,” he murmurs under his breath before removing his hand. Then I feel it on my shoulder.
“What’s fascinating?” asks Dragan, his jaw clenched so tightly I imagine his teeth breaking in half.
“If what the sprite says is true, and Eilish really does possess her wings, then these markings are the most realistic copies I’ve ever seen. I know Variant’s marks and I know forgeries. Whoever did this to the ang… to Eilish… knew what they were doing.”
“Who do you imagine did them?” Cambion asks.
Baron shrugs. “I have no idea. But they’re identical to Variant’s seal, which would lead me to believe that whoever did them has done many before.”
“As in, the person who marked Eilish marked all the other angels?” asks Dragan.
Baron shrugs. “It would not surprise me.”
“But why would someone working for Variant want to betray him? We all know first-hand how dangerous he is,” Cambion points out.
“And yet, here you are,” says Baron as he gives Cambion the once-over and looks away, as if unimpressed. “You aren’t the only ones wanting to see Variant destroyed.”
Cambion nods somberly, “You would certainly have more cause than most.”
Baron raises an eyebrow at that. “I admit I hate him, but not for personal reasons,” he clarifies. It’s Cambion’s turn to look confused.
“You really ha
ve no memory of who you are or who we are?” Dragan asks, shaking his head as his eyebrows meet in the middle of his forehead. He appears… both concerned and touched.
“No,” responds Baron, his voice has an edge to it. I can still feel his hand on my shoulder, the tips of his fingers begin to shake.
“We watched you die,” Cambion says. His eyes are far away and haunted; I can see him replaying the scene of Baron’s death in his mind.
“How—” Baron begins but Dragan interrupts him.
“Before Variant took power, there were four of us,” Dragan says. “We controlled the balance between dark and light. Variant, Cambion, you, and me.”
Baron swallows hard but doesn’t say anything.
“Variant attempted to take power and the three of us fought him,” Dragan continues.
“The Great War?” Baron asks.
Dragan nods before continuing. “And… Variant plunged a dagger into your heart.”
Baron looks at Cambion, who simply nods as if to confirm that what Dragan relates is the truth. But Baron’s jaw is tight, and I can tell he doesn’t want to believe them.
“It’s true,” I whisper as I reach up and touch his arm. He glances at me and we hold each other’s gaze for a few moments. He doesn’t pull away. “You can trust them. You can trust me.”
“I trust no one,” he says acidly.
“I’m sorry, brother, for not standing with you then,” Cambion says. His voice is weighted with an apology that has likely sat on his tongue for the last hundred years.
“They’re telling the truth,” I repeat. “They wouldn’t lie to you.”
“We wouldn’t lie to you,” Dragan repeats.
Baron is quiet for a long few seconds before he nods. I’m not sure if he believes us fully, though, and wonder if the nod is just to move the conversation along.
“But someone brought you back.” Dragan’s low timber cuts through the heavy air.
Baron looks at me, and in his eyes, I can see he doesn’t want me to mention the woman’s voice we both heard in the vision. I just nod with a clipped smile to let him know his secret is safe with me. I remain quiet, not wanting to explain the voice I hear in my own head. I don’t understand why but the very thought of telling my… friends that this woman speaks to me is met with resistance as soon as I think of it. I’m not sure if it’s my resistance or hers.
Assuming we’re finished, I weakly pull my cloak back over my shoulders. I turn around and find all four of the men looking at me, their expressions illegible. Baron’s is the hardest to read—he’s looking at me intently, as if trying to decide who I really am. His closeness makes me nervous, and I’m so aware of the space between us that it feels as though it comes alive.
He still looks like he’s searching for something.
###
Cambion
Baron is alive.
The thought keeps playing through my mind, over and over again.
Baron is alive.
I pair this knowledge with the scene of his death, a day I’ll never forget. The day that ended the war and changed all of our lives forever.
In the beginning, there were four: Myself, Variant, Baron, and Dragan. Two kings of darkness and two of light. Appointed by the Midnight Queen, we were marked as the most powerful men in the three realms, destined to rule over balanced and fair lands. And for centuries, we did just that. Of course, there were disagreements—land disputes, childish bickering, conflicting opinions. However, despite our frequent annoyances with one another, we ruled together, steady and fair. The realms thrived, the people were fed, balance held.
But Variant was hungry for more. The disagreements became more recurrent and his desire (or ability) to relent vanished. He held that he was the most powerful of the kings, that the realms would do better with one leader instead of four. That all the talk of balance was antiquated, our constant bickering prevented prosperity, and he was the most fit to rule.
We opposed him, of course. Many did. His council of angels conspired in secret to appoint a new leader, a new King Of Light, someone to restore the balance that Variant was so intent on destroying. But they were too late. Variant discovered their plot to overthrow him and, in an explosion, that destroyed half the capitol, he murdered every last one of them.
I remember the rage I felt that day, the sickened sense of disbelief. Baron wanted him dead immediately. Dragan and I urged Baron to wait for the council of the Midnight Queen, but, although we called on her, she didn’t respond quickly enough for Baron’s liking. Instead, he took matters into his own hands. Dragan and I followed him to Variant’s castle in the sky, but we entered the throne room with only enough time to see Variant stab our friend through the chest with a dagger bearing a blade made of ice.
I watched him die.
I watched his blood become a blossoming stain against the marble floor.
And, now, as much as I want to deny the truth, I know my eyes aren’t deceiving me.
Baron lives.
###
Dragan
Watching Baron, the intensity of his gaze as he looks at Eilish while his hands trail along her spine, I feel a vulnerability that hasn’t touched my hardened, stone heart in longer than I can remember.
I haven’t had a chance to discuss it with Cambion, but Revenant isn’t the Baron we remember. We still don’t know if we can trust him, and after the way he looked at Eilish, I’m afraid for what he’d do to her.
After Cambion, Thoradin, Flumph, and Baron exit the room, I turn to Eilish. She really is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. With Cambion’s illusions gone, her hair is once again a pale blonde, her skin returned to a near-translucent white. Even draped in her cloak, it’s impossible not to notice the subtle curves of her small frame. Her eyes shine, even in the absence of light, and her lips remain upturned, as though she’s amused by something, as though she knows something the rest of us don’t. It’s difficult to see her as powerful, even though I know she is.
“Do you need anything?” I ask her.
She yawns behind her hand. Even now, when her skin is pale and waxen, when the bags beneath her eyes give clues to the trials of her last few days, she’s stunning. I want to wrap her in my arms, shield her from anyone who would harm her. I want to taste the sweetness of her mouth and trace the lines of her perfect body. I don’t even notice my mind wandering until the tug between my legs alerts me to my excitement.
“Will you stay with me?” she asks again, her eyes hopeful. “I don’t want to be alone.”
I nod, and take my post on the bench resting at the foot of the bed.
“How’s your leg?” she asks.
When I glance down, I realize I haven’t felt the pain of my wound in over thirty minutes. The angry, red gash is now reduced to a white scar, which looks as though it’s been there for years. “It’s healed,” I answer.
She smiles before standing up, then leans over the bed to pull the blankets down.
“Do you plan to sleep on that bench?” she asks with a smirk.
I swallow. Hard. “Yes.”
“No,” she nearly interrupts and taps the bed beside her. “I wouldn’t have asked you to stay if I expected you to sleep there.”
I don’t make any motion to move closer to her.
“Dragan?” she asks, seemingly confused.
I clear my throat. “I can’t be that… close to you,” I say in a scratchy voice.
Her expression falls. “Why not?”
“Because…” Words fail me. I’m not certain how I’m supposed to tell her that being so close to her, I won’t be able to control myself. Fuck, I sound ridiculous. I’m a grown man, for Chrissakes.
“Why?” she repeats.
“Because…” I look away.
“Dragan?”
“Because I want you,” I admit as my eyes meet hers and I hold her gaze. Her eyes go wide, her expression one of surprise. “And, if I’m lying next to you, I won’t be able to control myself.”
I want to break this hold she has on me, but I realize I can’t. It’s impossible. I can’t even look away from her. My eyes, starved for rest, can’t leave her face. I take in the tendrils of hair that frame her delicate features, the soft rise and fall of her chest, and her skin, pearly in the dim room.
I want her. So badly.
I have to force myself to look away. I gaze instead into the fire, my back resting against one of the posts near the bed. I’m afraid of what she must think of me—that I’m some kind of pervert who can’t control himself. Which, I guess, is basically what I am when it comes to her.
I stare at the blaze for several moments, watching the shapes that flicker in and out of the flames.
“Dragan,” she whispers.
I look up to find her standing in front of me. She says nothing but reaches up to her cloak and unties it from around her neck. It falls to the ground. Surprise ricochets through me, because I’m not expecting this. I was expecting her to tell me to leave.
“What are you doing?” I ask. I can’t keep my eyes from following the motion of her hands as she reaches down, grips the dress right above her breasts and, in one fluid motion, pulls it down to her waist. Her large breasts bounce, and I stare at them. Unabashedly. Her nipples are hard, alert. My pants immediately begin to tighten as my cock strains against them.
“I want you just as much as you want me,” she says.
“Eilish,” I start and my body yells at me to stop stalling. I’m ready to take her. I’ve been ready. I want nothing more than to thrust myself into her tight wetness and lose myself inside her. “I won’t be able to control myself much longer.”
“I don’t want you to control yourself.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
She doesn’t understand the darkness within you, I tell myself. She has no idea what she’s getting into.
It doesn’t matter, I argue back. She wants this and I want to give it to her.
She slides the dress down the length of her legs, allowing it to pool at her feet. Then she faces me, completely naked. My eyes roam her face and then drop, again, to her breasts. My cock is harder than I can remember it ever being. When my gaze settles on the mound between her legs, my wings blast out of my back and arch out on either side of me. I’m already breathing hard and my heart is pounding.
