An Embrace of Citrus & Snow (Fallen for a Fae #1)

7. Everil

Chapter seven

Everil

Everil stepped to one side, allowing Declan to precede him into the sitting room. Politeness, surely. Not an aching reluctance to part from Bo.

It shouldn’t be so difficult to leave Bo’s side. The desire to cling at the start had been embarrassing but understandable. But the time where such clinging might be forgiven had passed. A little self-control was called for. (And allowing himself to brush his fingers over Bo’s neck as he departed indicated a disgraceful lack.)

Only, Everil had always liked the way humans felt. Textured and warm, a landscape that changed with the passage of years, showed scars like memories. Bo’s closeness presented a temptation that transcended the bond alone. And Everil was failing shamefully at resisting it.

Best to focus on other matters. And, for better or worse, Declan’s presence did require his attention.

Settling on a chair, Everil summoned two cups of steaming tea. A magic he’d not be able to manage were it not for his recent theft from Bo.

“Have you been well?” he asked as he reached for a cup.

Declan took his own seat before answering, studying Everil through eyes that burned like blue fire. It’d been some time since he’d last sat under that intense gaze.

“He gets points for letting you leave the room without a fuss. Doors closed, even.” Declan’s dry tones were comforting in their almost forgotten familiarity. The reminder of how Nimai had come between them, less so. “How novel.”

“Bo, I think, would be appalled at the suggestion it might be otherwise. He has very peculiar sensibilities. ”

“Not that peculiar,” Declan answered. He smiled then, that impossibly wide, sluagh smile. Everil had missed it. “I’ve been well, yes. Mother has a cat now. Bloody thing hates me.”

“A feline with taste, from the sound of it. My compliments to your mother.” Looking up from his tea, he offered his own faint smile. “As you’ve encountered Bo, I believe you’re abreast in my own recent news. There was a Hollow here just before you arrived. I had to persuade him to depart.”

“Oh?”

“He was upsetting Bo. I didn’t eat him.”

“Well, Hollow are rare. Too bad I wasn’t there. Would’ve given him a proper fright.” Declan offered the words lightly enough, but his unglamoured appearance always had been a complicated topic. Sluagh were not always the most welcome of fae.

“I believe I managed.”

Silence then, but they were fae. It was pleasant, falling into those unhurried rhythms.

“Talia says you don’t want the human,” Declan said at last, watching Everil over his cup.

Blunt, but Everil had always appreciated that about Declan. His lack of propriety was freeing. Not that he had Bo’s rough-hewn brashness, but they had their similarities. Declan deliberately crossed lines, while Bo crashed blindly through them.

“Did she?” Everil shook his head, just slightly. “Talia is less perceptive than she imagines herself to be. What I might want is immaterial. Bo needs to be gone before midnight.”

“Is he truly that objectionable? I’m afraid I may be missing a stanza of this particular poem.” Declan frowned at him, lowering his cup. “It seems poor treatment, Everil. Bonded, oathsworn, and abandoned within a day?”

“Objectionable? He’s a human, Declan.” Everil hated the emphasis he put on the word, too like how Nimai would have said it. “Foul-mouthed and temperamental and kind. Stubborn, too.”

“You always did give the most interesting compliments. I’m not sure any of that justifies breaking the man.”

“It justifies attempting to save him.” Everil studied his hands, one clenched into a nervous fist. Like a child. “I need you to convince him, Declan. He refuses to consider breaking what we accidentally set in place. You, of all people, know he isn’t safe with me.”

Declan’s expression didn’t shift, that same frown. But it hardened .

“We found a sixth bond for me while you were away,” he said conversationally. “They declined to hear me out. Politely, mind, but refused, nevertheless. Don’t ask me to spin my words at your human as if we were in high society, Everil. Not on this.”

Everil looked away, jaw tightening with a sudden flare of anger. At himself. At Faerie. Declan had been seeking a bond for centuries, but his every option had turned him away. If kelpie were a poor option, sluagh were worse. No one wished to risk a bond who couldn’t help but show them the deaths of their loved ones. Not even if that bond was clever, loyal, amusing Declan.

And Everil was no better. Hadn’t he spent the last century avoiding Declan for a vision the man had no control over?

“That was wrong of me. I apologize.” Everil forced himself to meet Declan’s piercing look.

“ Aye. It was .” Declan sipped his tea and said nothing further.

Well, he deserved that. Everil let a moment pass in silence, before trying to speak again.

“It was a vain hope, anyway. Humans seem to take to a bond rather intensely. Bo sees me as half tyrant, half waif, and still refuses to sever it.”

“Does he now?” Declan, generous as he was, chuckled. “He did come across as the blunt sort, though some humans are rather partial to tyrant waifs.”

“He accused me of depriving both him and Talia of their say in matters. Which I have not done.” The last came out brittle. Why everyone but him seemed perfectly fine with allowing Bo to die, he couldn’t say. At least Bo should have some objection. “I’m only trying to protect him.”

“Really? And if Bo agrees to dissolve the bond, what of Nimai? Those are tender mercies I’d not leave many to.”

“Nimai is no barghest. He won’t smell the human on me.”

“True. The only barghest who might lower themselves to stalking you works with Mother. He’s not likely to take up against a family friend. And what of the bits of Bo that will be left on your soul?”

“I intend to cut things in such a way that I take none of Bo in the division. Nimai won’t sense him, either.” To his ear, he sounded level and reasonable, as he wished to. It would be damaging, of course. But Everil was already damaged.

It was hard to miss the incredulity in Declan’s glance. The way his lips tightened before he spoke.

“Everil,” he said, low and intent, in that much-missed rasp. “Hear me. You’d leave a human to wander this world with your magic on him. Do you think you would be in any shape to sidestep the whole of it, hours after you do this thing? If he asks you if you have had any others, or perhaps, do you have any human pets you wish to bring along, so you won’t have to go off on your own? Will Talia keep her peace indefinitely? She’s young, as you said.

“When Nimai finds out, he will hunt Bo. Nimai will take your human to you on the estate once he finds him. He’ll claim Bo as his. You will be his bonded, and thus your mortal his by rights.”

Gently said, but it hardly mattered. He may as well have carved the words into Everil’s flesh with his talons, for how they cut. Worse, for the unavoidable truth of them. And when last spoken about a human’s fate, Everil had lost his temper and refused to see reason. It was so tempting to do it again.

But it wouldn’t help, and Bo would feel it. Talia might well already be spying.

“So that’s it then?” he asked, shoulders falling in defeat. He wanted to bury his face in his hands. He wanted to scream. He drank tea. “Nimai finds him, regardless?” Everil could taste him, orange and vanilla. Summer nights. “It would be far kinder if I handled it myself.”

It wouldn’t be difficult, holding Bo under until those tired blue eyes saw nothing. Everil would be able to feel it, that first breath of water, mouth parting as if for a kiss. It would go quickly. He could keep him close, while it happened. Bo liked being close.

“That’s certainly a choice you could make, aye. An understandable option. I’d not judge.” Declan shrugged, his gaze measuring. “Or if you want to not drown your wee foulmouthed, temperamental, kind human, perhaps instead of ‘Bo must be gone by midnight,’ you change it to ‘ we must be gone by midnight.’ As you say, Nimai is no barghest. The ways to find you are limited, once you are no longer in the place the whole of Faerie thinks you are.”

Declan’s suggestion was tempting. More tempting, certainly, than drowning Bo. Kindness or no, the idea wasn’t a pleasant one. That fool who’d trespassed earlier, he’d gladly take for a walk down to the river. But Bo, with his old hurts and his half-buried wonder, was another matter.

“Nimai would only follow. I left him with a piece of my soul.”

“It would delay things,” Declan replied. “Take your oaths. Leave here before midnight. If Nimai is informed prior to the anointed hour by a credible witness such as a certain sluagh, he’ll have a dreadful go of it to come up with a socially acceptable reason he ought to pursue. It will give you all time. Or you could kill Nimai for threatening your bondmate. Can brownies breathe underwater?”

Entirely inappropriate. And Everil had missed him.

“It would be murder, Declan. No one will recognize a human as a legitimate bond. And Nimai’s friends are people of consequence.” Everil smiled, the expression as tired as he felt. “He’s always been good at getting along with the right sorts.”

Everil had spent far too many evenings in the company of Nimai’s friends, listening to them opine about the right sort of fae and uncomfortably aware of how miserably he met that standard.

“You’ve at least one fae recognizing it as legitimate. And as I am now a person of moderate consequence, it means you’re not in the negatives. Though I’ve not the pull of Nimai’s collective, I’ll grant you.”

“You would do this for me?” Even if it wouldn’t fix things, it would buy time. A chance to think. “It would be your reputation at risk.”

Declan raised his cup a few inches in a toast, his smile wry.

“I would not have offered it if unwilling. No matter how Nimai spins it, you are currently unavailable to bond. He’ll need to get creative.” There was a beat of hesitation, rare for Declan. “We both acted rashly, the last we spoke. I’m glad you sent for me.”

This was a terrible idea. At best, it would delay Nimai by a few days. And Nimai wouldn’t be pleased with such defiance.

He’d hoped it might be better this time. But he always hoped that, didn’t he?

Everil set down his cup, which obligingly returned to wherever it’d come from.

“Who else would I call, when setting out to offend the sensibilities of all of Faerie? You’re the worst of influences, Declan.” He reached out to the sluagh, offering of a hand up. “And I’ve missed you terribly.”

With Declan insisting on speaking further with Talia, Everil was left to entertain himself. Well, if running down an ever-diminishing list of excuses for avoiding Bo could be called entertainment.

One could only stare wistfully out a window for so long.

Finally, Everil found himself standing just within the entryway, knowing full well that Bo was just beyond the door. He did need to speak with him. It wouldn’t be long now, before they would have to take their oaths to Talia.

The last ridiculous action in a ridiculous day. The first step in an equally ridiculous plan. More of a rough sketch, if he were being honest. But it was a decided improvement over drowning Bo.

A point he would be sure not to raise with the human.

Everil pushed open the door at last, finding Bo just where he expected him to be. The man’s back was to the house, and his attention seemed to be entirely taken by the play of golden light through red and orange leaves. Trees. Humans. Endlessly changing and lovely.

Everil allowed himself the indulgence of studying the man, memorizing the lines of him. He could just picture him, crowned in oak leaves, a king in the old style.

Of course, Summer’s Lord always fell to Winter. A sacrifice to please Faerie and sweeten the turning of the year. Sacrifice. When it came to the old magics, there was more to spill than blood.

The stress and exhaustion were going to his head. Or perhaps it was only the scent of vanilla, that haunting sweetness, which grew stronger when Bo was near.

“Am I interrupting?” Everil asked, letting the door close behind him. “I was hoping we might speak.”

“Usually, I’d make a wiseass joke about talking to the trees,” Bo said, a smile fading from his lips as he turned. “I get the feeling they’d tell you I was a fucking liar, though. We probably should, yeah.”

“For the best you haven’t been. The birch are foul-mouthed enough without your influence.” Everil flinched, clasping his hands behind his back. “A poor joke. Apologies.”

He knew better than this. Better than stupid jests and unseemly fantasies. Bo, crowned in leaves. Green, of course, not the autumnal colors the man had been admiring. But it all became difficult to remember with Bo nearby.

“You and Declan get shit sorted?”

“In a manner of speaking. He’ll act as witness, should you still wish to stand as Talia’s guardian.” Everil studied the trees, as if they might start speaking after all. “He also made it clear that I have behaved foolishly toward you. If you’ll allow me, I’ll attempt to do better. ”

Bo’s gaze was skeptical, and whatever brief relief there’d been between them turned into a sour spike of unease, like unsweetened lemonade. “Am I like the ex?”

The question left Everil at sea, unsure of what he might have done or said to inspire the asking. He took half a step forward, only the grip he maintained on his own wrist keeping him from reaching for the man.

“Pardon?”

“Like, to you. ’cause you– I know you like me enough to be worried about me dying. But you want to be here.” Bo gestured vaguely at Everil, then to his side. “Except you don’t. And I’m a stranger, I get it. I just, fuck, I don’t know. We do this, stay bonded, would that make me like him? A bitter existence and fucking everything else you said.”

Everil stared, overwhelmed by the sudden outpouring of words and emotions. How had Bo gotten it so wrong?

Well, that had a clear answer. Explanations had never been Everil’s gift. This wouldn’t do. He had to correct Bo’s misapprehensions. Somehow.

“Bo, the only way you and Nimai are alike is your unusual affinity for me. I would say that I couldn’t imagine anyone less like him, but Declan would be hurt not to make the top of the list.” His grip tightened further, vicelike and white-knuckled. This would be so much easier without the intolerable urge to pet the man. “You presume Nimai is my ex, and you happen to be correct in that. Bonds are– It’s easy to mistake intensity of one kind for another. You aren’t like Nimai. But if I were to use the bond between us to manipulate the situation, I would be.”

“He’s a prick,” Bo replied, voice flat. The words came paired with an unexpected wave of anger. Molten honey. “And the absolute fucking worst.”

“Nimai is a fae. We are not, by and large, known for our honesty and kindness. Sometimes, I suspect the soul rots with age.”

Bo ran his hand through his hair and left it resting on the back of his own neck. Everil’s fingers itched to be the ones doing the touching.

“Right. Fuck. Right.” Bo heaved a sigh, his head tipped back against his hand, while his gaze remained on Everil. “Not mad at you. That wasn’t fucking at you. Look, I’m not saying, ‘Everil, why won’t you fuck me,’ okay? Or expecting that, despite the, uh, hand thing, when we first bonded.”

“Touch isn’t unusual with new bonds,” Everil said, hoping to sound reassuring.

Bo nodded, distracted, but kept talking as if Everil hadn’t interrupted. “Maybe something like: Everil, if you are comfortable with it, will you please come the fuck over here and try some non-groping, no-fucking-intended physical contact, maybe even cuddling because, no matter what the reason, we both want to and not doing so really sucks.’ Does that work?“ Bo paused and added, “Also, I’m really forward when I want to fuck, and bossy in general, so don’t worry, you don’t have to try and puzzle out what I mean. I tend to just fucking say it. I will absolutely punch you in the face if you try to get handsy or manipulate the situation, and I am very good at spotting manipulation tactics.”

Bo did have a way with words, and a way of leaving Everil without them. At least, one couldn’t say he didn’t get the point across. Should he explain that he hadn’t thought Bo was inviting sex? Or would that come across as an attempt to press in that direction? Soulbonds were not definitionally intimate, but it wasn’t unusual for a fresh bond to be celebrated with … consummation.

Apparently, he’d left it too long, because Bo dropped his hand and shrugged, “With zero fucking hard feelings if the answer is no.”

The man really was clear as to his desires. Bossy. Everil’s lips twitched upward, if only slightly. A smile gone before it fully formed.

“I can’t say I have much experience with cuddling. But if you wish it, I’m not opposed to ‘non-groping, no-fucking-intended physical contact,’ as you put it.” Indeed, he hurt with the effort of keeping his distance, wrist aching from the force of his grip as he let his hands fall to his sides.

“Well shit, look at you. Not even a full day and you’re already turning into a foulmouthed son of a birch.”

“I believe you’re thinking of dryads. I’m a kelpie.”

“I’ll take river curses over revenge tree transmutation any day, thanks.”

Everil might almost have laughed, but Bo was close, and he didn’t know what he was meant to do. He wavered backward, then stilled.

“It’s not my intention to push you away,” he murmured. “But human mores are different, and I’m not particularly conversant in the rules.”

And Bo, Bo grinned at him as he leaned in, his fingers hooking around Everil’s recently abused wrist. The brush of skin over skin. The cool sweetness of honey and orange, easing the parched, hollow thirst of the past nine days. Everil licked his lips and swallowed, grateful for the control that kept him from sighing and leaning in.

“Time for a crash course in possible cuddling, because that’s fucking tragic.” Bo tugged lightly on Everil’s wrist. “Alright, come here. We’re going to awkwardly lean together and talk about how foolish you were, now that I know I’ll not be a prick by any other name. ”

“Try not to raise your expectations too high.” Everil followed the subtle pressure of Bo’s grip, stepping closer. “Until Talia arrived last week, it’d been decades since I so much as shook someone’s hand.”

“Fucking tragic ,” Bo repeated, leaning in on an exhale. His forehead found Everil’s shoulder and rested there. His breath was warm through Everil’s shirt, fingers rough where they held him. “That why you grab your wrist? I’d‘ve gone fucking batshit if it were decades.”

The ache and hollowness faded, vanilla and citrus overwhelming the memory of warming spices. Everil nearly trembled with relief, wanting nothing more than to curl in closer. Instead, he went rigid with the effort of stillness. An effort that failed, as he bowed his head, resting his cheek against Bo’s hair.

Weak.

“The solitude was preferable to the alternative.” Not an answer, but what was there to say? He couldn’t tell Bo the truth, that the habit was his pathetic attempt to control his own behavior. “Penance is best paid in private.”

This close, he could breathe Bo in, the human scents of salt and skin mingling with vanilla and honey.

“Got it,” Bo answered, still so close, so Everil could feel the words. “Said you weren’t super familiar with what humans are good with. Keep things above the waist and don’t try to pierce my nipples with your horse fangs, and we’re fine. Or I can pull out the bossy card in a no-fucking-intended way.”

Everil drew a sharp breath, anxiety washing out relief, cinnamon and bile burning the back of his throat. There was too much space in Bo’s words. Too many ways to get it wrong.

“If you would have me move, I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me.” Everil forced the words out through a throat gone tight. “My ability to intuit another’s needs is less than adequate. Even, I fear, with the bond as a guide.”

“Hey, that’s fine.” Bo squeezed Everil’s wrist. Gentle pressure and so ridiculously pleasant. “No one’s expecting you to read my mind.”

Nimai had.

“I–” He didn’t know what to do.

“Be glad you’re not in my head. I go off on goddamn tangents about leaves.” No sudden sharpness in Bo’s voice. No wave of irritation. “I want you to put your hand on the back of my neck. Use the hand I’m not holding. ”

Everil waited for anger. For the all-consuming drag on their shared energies, leaving him dizzy and faded. It didn’t come.

“I, too, am given to tangents about leaves.” Best they couldn’t read each other’s thoughts. Everil’s had been less than pure.

Taking a breath to steel himself, Everil lifted his hand, resting his fingertips lightly against the back of Bo’s neck. He could feel the late autumn chill on the human’s skin, and after a moment’s hesitation, he settled his hand more soundly, arm resting almost weightlessly against Bo’s back. The man relaxed further against him.

“Just like that, yeah.” There was a weight to Bo’s words, to his emotions, that Everil didn’t know how to read. “You’re fucking warm, too. Added bonus. You good to be like this for a bit?”

“So long as you’re comfortable.” Everil could help him be comfortable. A simple thing, to raise his body temperature. The evening was cold, and humans were delicate. It would be inhospitable to leave Bo shivering.

Yes. Hospitality. Not pleasure at the contented noise Bo made. Not the selfish desire to coax him to linger near, where his presence eased both the bond’s persistent seeking and the constant bleeding ache that’d begun the day he’d torn himself from Nimai.

Damaged , he’d warned Bo. The man had taken it for the metaphor it wasn’t. Though, he supposed, the emotional descriptor also applied. After all, he was clinging to a human after cringing in anticipation of his displeasure.

“Plenty comfortable.”

Clinging, and desperately grateful for the man’s casually offered approval. This wasn’t why he’d come.

“I did wish to speak to you. There are some complexities of bonds I’ve not yet mentioned. Not mind reading. Your opinions on leaves are your own.”

“My opinion is that the leaves here are fucking gorgeous right now,” Bo said, his words a ticklish whisper against Everil’s skin. “We really have to do another round of shitty warnings right now?”

“Not this time.” Everil might have tried if he thought it’d make the least bit of difference. “Declan reminded me that my perspective is somewhat specific. It isn’t all discomfort and oaths to unexpected wards.”

“Declan sounds damned good at reminding. What else, besides discomfort, wards, and makeup hugs after bickering? ”

It was a strange thing, having a conversation with Bo tucked close against him. Strange and distracting, the usual ache gone, but the hollow hunger it left behind still very real, and Bo’s energy so ready to flow into those empty spaces.

Summer nights. Drowsy heat and starlight. Orange segments drizzled with honey, the sweetness licked from sugared fingers.

Very, very distracting.

“The whole intent of an affinity bond is power. An ability to exceed one’s natural limitations by drawing on the energy of another.” Everil allowed his thumb to trace the side of Bo’s neck as he spoke, just once. A selfish indulgence. “Put simply, you should be able to manage some basic glamour, even now. Though perhaps not more complicated work.”

“There go my dreams of making it big as a street magician.” Bo’s tone was light, as was his touch, his thumb running over Everil’s wrist, slow. “I think I’ll cope.”

Everil drew in a sharp breath as Bo repeated the gesture. It had been a very long time since someone had been so close. Longer still since that closeness hadn’t involved some element of lack or pain.

“Street magic should be well within your grasp. Transformation, creation, and the like would be more challenging. I–” Best to confess it and get it over with. “I fear it requires a certain level of generosity that I am not particularly adept at.”

The memory of Nimai’s words, as close to his skin as Bo’s were now. “Why must you fight so, my love? You make me hurt you, then play the victim. I know it’s in your nature to be selfish, but I ask so little of you.”

“You’re not obligated to share jack shit.” And it was odd, how Bo sounded like he meant it. “Besides, if it wasn’t ‘yours to take’ earlier, don’t see how it’s mine to expect from you. Which I’m not fucking mad about, by the way. I get worse as jet lag. A heads up next time would be appreciated is all.”

“I’m entirely obligated. Bo, you seem to know the fae. The old stories. Remember them. Our people are defined by oaths and debts and laws of courtesy. When I say I am indebted to you, that isn’t pretty words or kindness. I am not kind. I’m bound to the obligation, whether or not you choose to acknowledge or collect.”

“I never told you I know the old stories.” That old, still raw hurt flared through the bond. “I can’t fucking acknowledge something I don’t understand.”

Everil allowed his arm to rest more solidly against Bo’s back. There was history and pain and guilt there, and if they survived the day, perhaps he’d eventually learn its source. Now was not the time to argue, to dissect Bo’s every obscure reference to the fae.

“My mistake. I apologize for the presumption.” Everil allowed himself another hesitant trace of his thumb down Bo’s neck, hoping it might offer some comfort. “You healed me when I was injured. And I took what wasn’t mine to take.”

Bo calmed, relaxing further into Everil’s touch, and Everil could barely breathe for wanting him to remain there. He kept still, his arm a careful weight against Bo’s back, not holding him close so much as offering support. Or, at least, that was the intent. Everil’s intentions rarely carried well.

“We bonded.” Bo’s tone was no less confused. “I– Fuck. Okay. Let’s say we met on the street and decided to bond. No one was injured. No one took anything without asking. Would you, me, or both be obligated to share energy?”

“If we met in the street, and I recklessly went against ages of Protocol and bonded to a human, we would establish an understanding prior to fixing the bond in place. There’s generally an oath and obligations are nested within it. The specifics vary.”

The list, with Nimai, had been a long one. Everil’s family had been so desperate to see him bonded, to hold what they had. They’d been willing to give much, to have Everil give much, in return for Nimai’s willingness.

“And instead we had you trying to stop me from pawing at that music thing, and me catching you.” Bo spoke, slowly, the puzzlement still in his voice. “Since you were … injured, you took stuff we didn’t negotiate on. So you’re indebted to me, with an obligation to share your energy if I want it?”

“I am indebted to you,” Everil confirmed. He could have left it at that, allowing Bo his misapprehension of the situation. Fae didn’t lie. Nor did they have any obligation to tell the truth. “That’s the whole of it. The nature of the obligation is fluid.”

“Not just energy then.” Clarity breaking through that confusion.

“Fluid, but not limitless.” He eased the weight of his arm against Bo’s back, his touch once again becoming the barest graze of fingertips. There was no proper way to hold someone while saying you could kill them at any time. “I’m not bound against doing you harm.”

“That’d probably be frightening if I’d assumed you couldn’t at any point before this. I just figured you didn’t want me dead,” Bo said. “Fine. I acknowledge the obligation and that you can cause me harm. What about the fact I was probably going to poke at something magical and we only bonded because you tried to stop me? Or did stop me, actually.” He paused, then, and Everil could feel the discomfort that prefaced his next words. “Could you put your hand and arm back how they were? It felt nice.”

Everil didn’t deserve this human’s persistent generosity. Still, he had told Bo he would follow his lead. He did so, arm and hand settling back as they had been.

“I hope it’s clear by this point that I don’t want you dead.” Not that he hadn’t considered the solution. “Your actions are immaterial. I set no conditions on your entry.” He hesitated a moment, turning Bo’s questions over in his thoughts. “You needn’t worry, Bo. I’m not seeking some counter to hold against you.”

“Yeah, no. I’m the one looking for an out,” Bo answered, then fell into silence. A long beat in which they only stood, feeling each other’s breath. “All got our damage, right? I get in my head sometimes. Robin calls it my inability to accept a fucking thank you.”

Robin. Friend? Lover? Someone who knew Bo well, certainly. Though perhaps not, as Everil could have made the same observation, and he and Bo were nearly strangers, for all that the man was leaning against him. Tucked close and his skin warm under Everil’s fingers.

Everil would visit the river. Yes. He would shift and let the waters fill in the hollows where his essence had bled away. Perhaps that would further ease Bo’s desire to be near him. Everil was bitterly aware that there was no banishing it entirely. But he could save Bo the indignity of clinging to a man he didn’t even like.

“I’m afraid I must tip the scales between us yet further. Declan will witness your oath to Talia if you still wish to give it. After which, I have an errand to attend to. But then we must depart. This is a known place. Leaving it should grant us a little more time.”

Everil braced himself for irritation. Instead, hope welled through their bond, golden as honey and so very sweet.

“Do you need us to go anywhere specific?” Bo’s hand was tight on Everil’s wrist, and the other reached to grip Everil’s shoulder. “If it can be anywhere, that would actually help me out a lot. Like, a ridiculously stupid amount.”

Everil froze, unsure if he felt more like a rabbit in the shadow of a hawk or a cat watching a mouse wander unknowingly closer.

“Nowhere specific.”

“Sorry I shouldn’t have–” Bo’s grip loosened with that abortive sentence, his hand falling from Everil’s shoulder .

“No. My apologies. I was only startled.” Startled, unsure. Terrified by the rush of pleasure being held brought. “You have somewhere you wish to visit, then?”

“I’m supposed to be in Florida in a few days. Aunt’s birthday. I’d promised my brother I’d be there. Robin’s– I had to work really fucking hard to get him to trust me again.” Bo gave a one-shouldered shrug, his voice tight with emotion. “Figured, if I didn’t die tonight, I’d talk to you about it tomorrow. But if we need to peace the fuck out anyway, it’s seventeen hours away and it’d mean a fucking lot, Everil. Genuinely.”

The words came with a rush of apprehension and fragility from Bo. Tied to guilt but not of it, and Everil felt the growl in his throat, a desire to threaten someone, to offer some protection to the man in his arms. His bond.

But there was no one here but Everil himself to fight. So he would have to find another way.

“You’re about to give an oath to Talia. I’m sure she’ll insist on a promise of seeing more of humanity than I’ve offered her. Florida would be as appropriate a destination as any.” He hesitated, his thumb twitching as he repressed the urge to stroke the man’s neck again. “Whatever you may think of me, I intend you no ill, Bo. You need only tell me what you wish or require, and I’ll see to it.”

“You’re doing fine,” Bo said, pressing into Everil’s shoulder. Warm and so very close. “I like how it feels when you do that. I’m not worried you’ve got some dastardly fucked up plans for me. And you’re secretly hilarious.” Gentle pressure at Everil’s wrist, and Everil’s fingers answering it with a curl against Bo’s neck, all unbidden. “You’re already ‘seeing to it.’ I wish to go to Florida after the oaths and your errand. I want to see my ridiculous family.”

Nimai would kill this sweet, reckless, rough-edged human.

Whether Everil parted from Bo now or not, Nimai would kill him. Even if he severed things to ensure he held not the slightest scrap of Bo’s soul, Nimai would surely sense this moment. The breath Everil took at Bo’s murmured reassurances. The way he let the rigid line of his spine relax, so he could curl slightly closer.

“Then let’s see it done.” He took his hand from Bo’s neck then, to allow the man to step away. “Declan would speak with you, first. And Bo? You’ll not come to injury by Nimai’s hand. You have my word on it.”

Even if that meant Everil had to bring Bo to the river and end things himself.