A Flicker to a Flame (Mosley Coven)

Nine

NINE

XAVIER

Broken heart turned to stone

C ato holds my face in his hands, tilting my head back so he can deepen our kiss. Our tongues caress one another and my heart pounds against my ribcage, reaching out for his. I’ve had men pour their passion into me in a loud nightclub, passion they’d never let see the light of day. I’ve had men pull me into dark alleys, brushing their mouths against mine quickly, terrified someone might see.

Cato kisses me in the moonlight like he’s been searching for me his entire life. And I kiss him back because I’ve been doing the same.

I whimper when he pulls away. It’s only a fraction of an inch, our lips still touching, but anything less than all of Cato isn’t enough, even if I can only have it tonight.

He smiles against my mouth and puckers his lips to kiss me softly. His thumbs caress the high points of my cheeks. “I’m not in a rush,” he whispers. “Unless you are.”

I swallow a fresh wave of pain and shake my head. “Nothing to rush toward,” I say.

Cato leans back and stares down at me. I blink up at his shadowed face, the outline of the moon framing his head. He opens his mouth to say something but I step out of his hold, cutting off whatever question I saw in his eyes.

The bar’s back door crashes open. He jumps and we turn together as two figures stumble out into the night, hanging onto one another and laughing. I laugh right along with them and find Cato smiling and shaking his head.

A bright light flashes in the corner of my vision and I turn away from the bar.

“What?” Cato asks, turning with me.

I search the clearing thoroughly before shaking my head. “Nothing. Probably just a firefly.”

Cato laughs softly. “Nothing? Or a firefly?” he teases.

I roll my eyes and smile up at him. “Probably nothing. Where do you think this path goes?” I nod at a dirt walkway I hadn’t noticed before.

“Looks like it goes into the trees,” he says. “Can you… Do you wanna see where it leads?”

I start shaking my head, but then Cato’s left hand brushes against my right. He doesn’t grab onto me, but the light touch of his skin against mine makes me change my mind. “Alright,” I whisper.

Now his palm slides against mine and our fingers lace together. He pulls me forward, across the gravel parking lot, but we’re side by side when we step onto that dirt path and walk into the woods.

* * *

CATO

T hese woods are full of strong magic, and the closer we get to it, the more alive I feel. It’s not the same magic as the woods in Mossville, but it’s very close. I half-expect — maybe even hope — that once we step into the tree line, I’ll see Mossville in the distance, but it doesn’t happen.

“It’s beautiful in here,” Xavier whispers and then laughs. “When I was little, I used to dream about woods like these.” He bunches his face up and shakes his head. “Not exactly like these, but similar. Dark and spooky but…peaceful.”

Dozens of questions fill my mouth but I swallow them all and squeeze Xavier’s hand, encouraging him to continue.

The trees block off the moonlight, but I can still see Xavier clearly — the slope of his wide nose, the curves of his chin, and every contour of his elegant brow. I know all the families in Mossville, and as I watch Xavier’s face light up in these woods, I try to find pieces of the people I’ve known all my life in his features. I can feel his power, but that magic is nothing without the kin to ground it.

“I used to think I was remembering something,” he says gently. “A real place.”

“Maybe you were,” I say before I can stop myself.

His laughter is etched with a pain he can’t hide. I squeeze his hand, knowing it’ll never be enough.

“I wasn’t,” he breathes. “I wish I was, but I wasn’t.”

There are too many things I want to say, too many things I want Xavier to know, but none of those secrets are mine to share.

Let the Lost Ones stay lost. It’s easier that way.

We walk for a few moments more before the path brings us to a natural clearing in the wood. In the middle of the clearing is a tree split in half.

“Wow,” Xavier breathes. “What happened here?”

“Probably lightning,” I reply, tilting my head back to look at the sky again even though it’s clear.

“Split it clean in half,” he says.

“Looks like. Why don’t we stop here?” It’s not a question, but I gesture toward the fallen tree, giving Xavier the chance to leave even though I wish he wouldn’t.

He moves toward the tree and climbs up to sit while my eyes shift back up to the night sky. The treetops frame the Moon perfectly. Xavier might not be able to see the signs, but I am.

“I like the way you talk,” he says, snatching my attention away from the sky.

“Huh?” My mind goes blank at his words and how beautiful he looks in moonlight.

He smiles softly and ducks his head. “I said I like the way you talk?”

“How do I talk?”

“Your accent,” Xavier laughs, lifting his head again.

“I don’t got an accent.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, you do. Of course, you do. So do I.”

I can’t help but to screw up my face as I walk toward him. “You don’t either.”

“Oh, brother. You’re living in La La Land.”

“Where’s that?” I ask, stopping just close enough that I’ve gotta blink down at him.

And he’s gotta look up at me. He laughs softly around his words. “Never mind.”

I move to sit next to him on the tree trunk. “I sound like I got an accent to you?”

“Yes.”

“What does it sound like?”

Xavier closes his eyes for a second and licks his lips. I wish I could stop time and stay right here in this moment. “You sound like…” He licks his lips again, but then his smile falls and he takes a deep breath. I follow his lead, breathing in with him and exhaling slowly.

I know ritual when I see it.

“You sound like you ain’t in a rush to say the next word. No need to sprint to the end.”

“And do you like it?”

Xavier opened his eyes slowly. “I do. What do I sound like to you?”

If I start talking now, I think I could finish up about mid-morning. I have a good vocabulary but only so much time, so I gently nudge Xavier in another direction.

“I think you sound like today’s been hard.”

Xavier laughs, but it’s not a delicious peal of joy. “I’ve had two lifetimes of bad days,” he says in a voice that already sounds like it’s fraying at the edges. “Today wasn’t a bad day, it was a…rupture. Like everything I thought I knew before was a lie. Like I’m never going to be the same man again.” His voice is strong, as if fed by the sadness coming off his body in waves, and I think that’s the worst part of it all.

I clench my teeth together to keep my mouth shut, but there’s a tickle at the back of my neck, like all my Ancestors right on back to Fiba are turning in our direction.

“What happened?”

He shakes his head in a sharp, jerking motion. “I…I can’t. I don’t?—”

I’ve been desperate to touch him again and I take the opportunity, even though it’s under the worst circumstances. His shoulder is tight under my fingers and he flinches at my touch. I pull back just a little bit and meet his gaze. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want.” It goes without saying it wouldn’t be right to ask Xavier to bare his soul to me while every other word from my mouth feels like a lie.

He laughs bitterly. “No one’s ever been this kind to me.” His eyes shift away, and I can see the shame in the set of his mouth.

I squeeze his shoulder, wishing I had the right words for this moment. Wishing any of the things I could tell him would ease his hurt. I turn my hand over and brush the back of my knuckles along the side of his neck, caressing his soft skin and coarse stubble. Xavier closes his eyes and his body relaxes, so I give him this instead. If nothing else, I can offer Xavier all the tenderness I’ve been saving for someone who deserves it.

* * *

XAVIER

I remember my mother once telling me that life doesn’t owe us blessings. Knowing her, I’m sure it was to explain away one of her many failings, but she was right. Life ain’t fair. If it was, I would have met Xavier years ago.

When it could have mattered.

“This okay?” he asks in that thick honey voice.

“Yes.”

He turns his hand and grips the back of my neck, caressing my cheek with the pad of his thumb. Cato touches me like he sees the fragility I’ve been trying all my life to hide.

But then he pulls away.

My skin feels cold without his touch, but Cato’s smile is molten. “Let me show you something,” he says. He stands and offers me the same hand he just used to caress me, and I take it gratefully.

Cato walks me across the clearing to a tree that looks like all the others as far as I can tell. “There are woods like these where I’m from,” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

He nods. “These are old woods. Been here before either of us was born and’ll be here long after we’re gone.”

My hand twitches, but he squeezes my palm in his hold.

He extends his arm toward the tree in front of us, placing his palm flat against the bark. He looks back at me and urges me to do the same, but I shake my head.

Cato smiles at me while he starts to speak again. “Trees this old remember,” he says. “Every rabbit that hops through this grass, every bird that rests on its branches, the trees remember.” He nods his head, and this time I do as he asks, inching closer to him as I do.

It’s lust.

When my palm meets the bark, I’m surprised at the way it feels against my skin, rough but soft at the same time, not too hot, not too cool, but alive. My mouth falls open on a sigh, which seems to please Cato.

And pleasing Cato pleases me.

“So, in two years, this tree is going to remember us? That we were here together?”

Cato laughs gently, shaking his head. “Two years is nothing.” He moves me with his body, inching me closer to the tree, our hands still side by side. “In fifty years, this tree’s gonna remember this night. It’s gonna remember us.”

I feel the pressure of tears at the back of my eyes and try to blink them away to no avail. “Nobody’s gonna remember me for that long,” I say, the last word swallowed up by a sob.

Cato peels his fingers from mine and grabs me behind the neck again. “You might be right,” he says carefully, pushing me back against the tree.

I swear I can still feel the bark on my skin, but I replace the sensation with the steady beat of Cato’s heart when I press my palm against his chest. And when his other hand does the same, I feel something like electricity from his body to mine. From the tree to us.

“I might be right?” There’s laughter in my voice but something heavy and hot in my gut.

Cato smiles and steps forward. “And you might be wrong. But…”

His thumb skims over my lips. “But?” I ask, tasting the tip of his finger.

“If you’re worried about being forgotten, we can give the tree something to really consider.”

I’m already reaching for him before he finishes speaking. I’ve been waiting for this since he appeared on the barstool next to me. I think I’ve been waiting for this my entire life.

I reach for Cato’s face and pull him close. Our smiles touch and I open my mouth, greedily pulling his tongue between my lips. His hands are like a whirlwind, moving all over my body, caressing my chest, my stomach, and under my shirt. I inhale sharply when his fingers touch my bare stomach and he splays his palm over my skin.

My head falls back against the tree, but Cato doesn’t miss a beat, leaning forward to kiss me through these next few moments of him touching me, caressing me, and then finally slipping a hand inside my pants.

I groan aloud and that sound fills this clearing, maybe even this section of the woods. And maybe it’s just because Cato’s words are lingering in the air around us, but for a second, I mistake my own excitement for the tree’s.

And I laugh.

And Cato kisses me harder as his fingers search for my shaft.

“Spread your legs.” Those words are a hot whisper against my mouth.

I do as he commands. There’s so much pleasure in letting Cato take the lead.

He slips a hand into my briefs and my eyes shoot open. We watch one another, holding our breaths, the quiet night closing in on us.

“I’ll remember,” he whispers, bringing tears to my eyes.

“You might be the only good thing I’ll remember when it ends,” I whisper back as a tear slides down my right cheek.

His fist wraps around my shaft in a firm hold that pushes the air from my lungs in one long, relieved gust. He starts to stroke me slowly from root to tip and back again and I let pleasure wash over me while I release the horrors of this day — of all the days before this.

His hand is dry at first, and he gentles his touch. When my tip starts to leak precome, he gathers it on his fingertips, squeezing me gently, patiently, expertly before stroking me again. My own excitement eases the path of Cato’s eager hold.

Every other time a man has touched me has been hurried, exciting but filled with shame. Most of them have known my name, but not much more. Not that I like to sing gospel songs while cleaning my kitchen on Sunday mornings even though my mother never took me to church more than a handful of times as a child. They don’t know that my favorite smell is rain on concrete or that I used to dream about having a big family. They don’t know me at all, and they surely won’t remember me when I’m gone.

I want Cato to know all those things and more.

He kisses a path to my left ear while he tugs at me, pulling my zipper down to make room for his arm. “That feel good?” He moans the question against my skin.

“Yes,” I moan back, hardly recognizing my own voice.

His palm moves over the head of my dick and I jerk against his body.

“I can’t wait to be inside you,” he whispers. Those words make my heart stop, like ice water injected straight into my veins.

“I can’t,” I whisper, breaking my own heart.

I wrap a hand around Cato’s arm, but it takes a second for him to realize what I’ve said and what I haven’t.

He places a soft kiss on my throat just over my racing pulse. His body freezes against mine and I look toward the sky, terrified of what I’ll see in his eyes.

The moon is so clear and bright it seems closer somehow.

Eventually, he pulls his arm from my pants but presses that palm against my skin, the cool, sticky remnants of my own desire sinking into our skin. His other hand moves to the side of my face, brushing away the tears I hadn’t realized were falling.

I wait for him to pull away, for the gentle veneer this must have been to slip. I prepare myself for a rejection I know all too well.

It doesn’t come.

Once again, Cato and I sit in silence for long moments. I don’t know what time it is, but I’m grateful for the length of this night. Grateful for Cato’s tenderness. Grateful when Cato caresses my wet skin with his fingers and then his lips.

“It’s okay,” he whispers onto my tongue. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I turn my head and engulf his mouth with mine. I expect to taste the lie, but all I taste is my own tears on his tongue and lips.

* * *

CATO

X avier cries softly into my mouth and I accept it. I cherish every tear. No one should ever be alone in their grief.

And when his tears subside, I let him lead the way, mirroring his movements. Wherever Xavier touches me, I touch him in return. We smooth our hands over one another’s shoulders and chests. My breath hitches when he digs his fingers into my skin, and when I do the same, he moans onto my tongue. His fingers shake as he unbuttons my pants, and I wait until his fist is wrapped around my length before I do the same. If this is all he can handle, I can give him this.

He already has all of me.

“Are you sure?” I ask, holding his length, as desperate to bring him to release as I am not to hurt him. He leans back and looks at me with pure need in his eyes. My heart freezes for the length of two beats before it starts to pound against my chest.

David only touched me through his fear. He thought I couldn’t feel it — that I wouldn’t know he was ashamed of wanting me — but I could feel it all, even when shame obliterated desire.

But Xavier touches me like he’s been waiting his entire life for this — for me. He strokes my length with enthusiasm and a tiny riot of emotions fills all the empty spaces in my soul.

Something I never felt with David.

But it’s joy that pushes to the fore while Xavier and I pleasure one another.

And when we reach our climaxes at the same time, I feel the woods around us surge with magic, gratefully accepting our offering.