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

9. Everil

Chapter nine

Everil

River wild. Flush with power and joyous, unchecked freedom. When Everil wore his stallion shape, there were no questions. No shoulds. No regrets.

There was the river and the moon. The light press of a hand to his neck. Laughter. There was magic, set loose between himself and the man before him. Barriers he’d carefully erected as a man broken by the stallion’s recklessness.

Condensation on glass, cold lemonade and warm, heavy air. The drone of bees by the riverbank. Wildflower honey, dripping from the comb. Vanilla ice cream, melting over fingers and licked away by laughing mouths.

Everil came back to himself with his forehead pressed to Bo’s shoulder and the man’s fingers tangled in his hair. Changing shape was simple. The rest, less so. It was always a fight, grasping the reins of his own behavior. Bringing himself to heel. Those hidden pieces of himself, the deepest parts of his nature, resisted. The river knew nothing about Protocol. It only knew about rocks worn to sand and flesh eaten away to bone.

Everil clutched at Bo, incautious of his strength. But he didn’t press the man down onto the waiting moss or capture his lips with the river’s ceaseless hunger, drinking his breath. For the moment, that was all the control he could manage.

“You’re fucking awesome,” Bo whispered, with a tug at Everil’s hair, a sure, drawn-out pressure that only tempted him further. “Fuck, Everil. Did good. Everything’s okay.”

Ridiculous, this human’s myriad expressions of rough kindness. The way he seemed unaware that the bond was a whip, one he could easily use to punish Everil for his greed and nature and pathetic grasping. Instead, he soothed with gentle reassurances, letting Everil’s control return slowly, instead of slamming into place like a cage door .

“I begin to fear you might have a somewhat skewed view of appropriate behavior.” The faintest hint of wild laughter lingered in his voice. “ ‘Awesome’ not being a generally accepted interpretation of an attempted drowning.” And now he’d made a joke of it, which was certainly worse. “That was ill said. I–” He pressed his forehead more firmly against Bo’s shoulder, the noise in his throat somewhere between a laugh and a curse. “I may yet need to collect myself.”

“Take all the time you need. We’re good. That was funny,” Bo replied, laughing in turn. Like he meant it. “And you were fucking awesome, Everil. Nothing ill said or done.” His lips brushed Everil’s temple, a kindness that threatened to draw a whimper from him. “You splashed at me twice, and I told you I wasn’t going near the river. Called you a cheeky fuck.”

“I believe your sense of humor matches your survival instinct,” Everil murmured the words into Bo’s shirt, his bare skin aching for further touch. He should dress, but the stallion of him had no respect for propriety. “Call it intended if not attempted, then. I’m grateful you stayed out of the water.”

“No shit, you were intending to drown me if I went splashing about. You shouldn’t have to apologize for that. Certainly not to me.” Bo’s fingers stroked down Everil’s neck, so very gently. “You’re a kelpie . Huge. Fangs. Fucking ink black. Dangerous. Playful shithead. The most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” Wonder in his words and that continued, tempting touch. “How much do you remember? Because if two splashes and a noise is an attempted drowning, I’m going to start doubting the ‘murderous’ part of your murderous, flesh-eating stallion claim.”

When had Everil last been subject to such soothing attentions? Lawrence, perhaps. But in so many ways, the man Lawrence had loved hadn’t been Everil. He’d kept himself locked down. Presented a version of himself that a delicate, soft-spoken human wouldn’t run from.

Bo stroked his neck and called him kelpie without the least recrimination in his voice. And it felt so good and so very, very strange. He didn’t deserve this.

“Remembering isn’t the same as understanding. The stallion is me, but a different … pattern, one that’s hard to hold onto once I’ve left it. I grasp it in pieces. You were too amusing to eat.” He absolutely shouldn’t have said that. “It may be best that I shut up now.”

But Bo still refused to reach for the whip, petting Everil’s neck with a light, intoxicating tenderness.

“I’ll tell you what I told you before. In case you didn’t get a grasp on it.” Bo’s words were murmured, close. So very close. “I hope you know this fulfills any fucking obligation you have toward me. I’ll say whatever words need saying. Pulling me from the brink wouldn’t come close to measuring up to this. That’s just a life.”

“Perhaps.” Everil wouldn’t argue. Couldn’t if he tried. Instead, he forced his fingers open, stepping back despite his desire to hold on and on and on. “For now, I’m clear-headed enough to recognize that I’m in no state to discuss obligation. If I might have my clothes?”

“Cat free.” Bo’s eyes were red, his voice rough. “And in case you’re the sort to spend loads of time between now and the obligation discussion building your case, do me a favor and don’t? Not until you hear my reasons?”

“Declan would appreciate your skills. He tells me he’s having trouble with cats.” Everil stepped back into his pants, then slipped on his shoes. “And I will grant your favor.”

It would go ill between them when the conversation happened. Others might intuit and offer conversation off the cuff. Everil tripped and stumbled and embarrassed himself. But perhaps it was better that way. The river had made him foolish. It always did.

Sometime around midnight, Everil found himself in the lobby of a hotel, his head pounding from hours spent in the hellish prison of Bo’s iron car. Talia, who’d hardly noticed, wandered the lobby like it was an art exhibit while Bo made disappointed noises at the woman attempting to assist him.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” the woman said with chirpy enthusiasm. “There’s a cheerleading competition going on at the convention center. We’ve a double, but it’s on a separate floor from the other rooms.”

“Cheerleaders?” Talia looked up from the faded posters she’d been studying, hurrying to Bo’s side. “Like in the movies? Oh, Everil, please? I’ve never met one before.”

“They’re not toys.” The sigh was more for his headache than the request. It wasn’t Talia’s fault she thought the human realm more like a stage play than a place. “Leave them be.”

“They actually have competitions?” Bo asked, reaching into his wallet and handing the woman a rectangular piece of plastic. “Like in the movies. ”

“Cheerleaders like in the movies,” the woman agreed. “Two adjoining rooms it is.” To Talia, she added, “They’ll be down here in the morning for breakfast, dear, if you’re curious to see them. The convention center lets them in at seven, so we open the breakfast area early at five.”

“Five,” Talia echoed with a quick nod.

Everil made a mental note to keep her in her room until at least seven. He didn’t need her, insisting that she wanted one as a pet. For one thing, that would mean a companion in the back seat.

“You should be here the weekends we have comic conventions and the cheerleading competitions in the same building. It’s a riot. They don’t know what to make of each other. Sir?”

Fresh plastic rectangles exchanged hands, one of which Bo immediately offered to Talia. Everil, apparently, wasn’t to have a rectangle of his own.

“Thanks,” Bo said as he scrawled his signature on the bill.

“Third floor, the first two doors on the right out of the elevator.”

“C’mon,” Bo said, picking up his backpack. “We’re taking the stairs. Stretch our legs and all that.”

As Everil could think of few ideas less appealing than entering the elevator, he nodded, following Bo and Talia up the stairs.

“I hope no one dies,” Talia said as they reached the third floor. “People are always dying in hotels in the movies.”

“I, too, hold out that hope,” Everil murmured, too tired to even apologize for the jest. Besides, they’d reached their doors. Cheap wood and beige walls. “No magic, Talia. Not even just to look. We’ll be harder to locate if we refrain.”

“Hotels have TVs. Unlike someone’s house. I’ll be too busy for magic.” She turned away from him, bouncing a bit in place after pressing the card Bo had given her to the door and pushing it open.

“No magic, even if you run out of TV to watch and unlock the door between the rooms when you get in,” Bo said as he pushed the other door open.

“Is there room service? With the carts and the food under little silver hats? Can I keep the hat?”

“This isn’t the kind of place with room service like you’re thinking.” Bo sounded exhausted. “ Are you hungry?”

“I just wanted the hats. And maybe the cart. It’s no fun without.” Despite the complaint, Talia’s tone was all pleased enthusiasm. “Tomorrow, I want breakfast at a diner. The type with pancakes and ladies who call you honey. With the pink uniforms and they’re raising a kid all by themselves.”

Out of his depth, Everil looked to Bo. “Is that achievable? I fear I’m not familiar.”

Bo grinned in response, clearly fighting the urge to laugh.

“We can do a diner with pancakes. It’s the South, so big chances on you being called honey. No promises on the uniforms. Or single motherhood. For the love of everything, please don’t ask them.”

“I don’t need to ask,” Talia replied. “I’ll be able to tell. They’ll be world-weary but strong.”

“Alright. But first, I gotta sleep. Otherwise, I’m going to pass out in your pancakes, and we won’t go anywhere.” Bo nodded toward Talia’s door. “We’ll unlock our side of the connecting door, too. Then pancakes at the diner tomorrow. Deal?”

“I want there to be a man too. He’s on the corner stool, and he’s in love with her, but he’s not saying anything, because he’s so stoic and sad. The guys at the diner are always stoic. And they drink their coffee black.”

“Talia,” Everil prompted softly, “The man said he was tired.”

“Pancakes, and if no one calls me honey, you have to.”

“Very well,” Everil pointed at her open door. “Now go to bed. Honey.”

“Fine. Fine . Don’t stay up too late!“ Talia stepped into her room at last, turning to smile back over her shoulder.

“Night, honey,” Bo called as her door swung shut on the sound of her giggling.

“She watches a significant amount of television,” Everil explained. “I suggest you rest in case she has some new impulse by morning.”

“At least it’s teaching her not to shit on single moms.” Bo shrugged, then stepped inside the second room, holding the door until Everil followed after. “I vote we both get some sleep. You want right or left side?”

The room felt strange. Empty. For the past century, Everil had rattled around Brookhaven. It might not have been Faerie, but it still knew him. This room smelled of cleaner and had a bland, impersonal aesthetic, all tan and white. It knew no one, not in any way that mattered. It was a place defined by a sense of absence.

An absence with two chairs, an open closet, and a single bed .

Everil glanced sideways at Bo, remembering the river. Bo’s fingers in his hair, and Everil breathing him in. Lust caught in a recursive pattern: reflected and amplified. He hadn’t expected it, the way Bo’s closeness awakened appetites best buried. But then, he’d never shifted around a soulbond before. Nimai had no patience for his stallion form.

Had he given the man the impression that he had some expectation of his attention? Surely not. He’d been clear. At least, he thought he’d been clear. No. He could feel Bo through the bond. The man was tired. No resentment. No lust.

Everil was overthinking things. The bed was merely a bed. This, apparently, was how it was done in hotels. It likely worked in most cases. Everil couldn’t imagine that they often catered to the recently bonded.

“You’re tired,” he said, after too long spent quiet. “You may have the bed. The floor will serve me fine. I’ve no wish to crowd you.”

The hurt that radiated through their bond, bitter as chewing orange rind, was instantaneous. Bo shifted away from him, shoulders set.

“Everil,” he started, sounding worn and frustrated and, yes, hurt. “Can we please just both sleep on the fucking bed? I’m not asking because of the soulbond. There’s no magic manipulation or whatever going on. It’s common hotel courtesy, and I would feel like an asshole if you slept on the floor. Please.”

Everil wanted to flinch from Bo, but he knew better. He went still, instead.

How did he always manage to get it wrong? Even with Bo, who was hardly the most subtle individual of Everil’s acquaintances. One would think it easy to please a man who laughed so readily with Talia. But no, Everil got it wrong, twisted the man’s amusement into hurt.

“Forgive me. I’m afraid I lack experience with ‘hotel courtesy.’ ” Everil’s words came out stilted and awkward. Just as he was. He didn’t know the rules. Perhaps he should have simply awaited Nimai. At least, that was a known experience. “It’s also been some time since I’ve shared a bed. Please know it’s not my intention to upset you.”

“I know it’s not.” Bo simply sounded tired. And perhaps more careful than Everil deserved. “There’s nothing to forgive. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re right. Sorry. I don’t want to fight. I’m just– I’m going to brush my teeth and sleep.”

“You needn’t apologize,” Everil offered, not wishing to touch further raw nerves. “I will, of course, use the bed if that’s your preference.”

“Wherever you’ll be the least uncomfortable.” Bo crouched by his backpack, unzipping it to remove what Everil assumed to be his toothbrush. He didn’t look at Everil. “Either way, top blanket and half the pillows are yours. I’ll get a reservation in the morning to make sure we get a double tomorrow night.”

And that, it seemed, was to be the end of the conversation. Everil nodded, tightly, and strode over to the window. A full parking lot. Glowing streetlights. The mostly empty road.

A few hours ago, Bo had stroked his neck, murmuring reassurances and flattery, while Everil clung to him, still half lost to the river. It’d felt, then, like they understood each other. But it turned out it’d only been the river, wearing rough edges smooth.

There was no bridging this gap between them. Everil was too broken and pathetic to please anyone. Bo included.