The Light Within (Shadow and Light Duology #2)

5. Cinn

five

Cinn

“ G ood morning, mon amour .”

The lack of bright light creeping through his paisley curtains told Cinn it was nowhere near enough morning for his liking. Making a noise of clear dissent, he pulled the covers up over his face, only to have them ripped away from him.

An onslaught of wet, squelchy kisses assaulted Cinn’s face.

This was it. The final straw of their incompatibility. Because Cinn wouldn’t compromise when it came to sleep. He groaned loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as if it would magic Julien back to sleep at this ungodly hour.

More peppering of kisses followed, with Julien undoubtedly making deliberately ridiculous lip-smacking noises to accompany them. Shoving Julien off him with all his might only prompted him to cackle.

“You’ve got awful morning breath.”

“Liar. I just brushed my teeth.”

Cinn peeled his eyes open. Julien lay sprawled across the bed, smirking, one hand resting on his jeans, the dark denim ones that did great things for his ass. But why was he fully dressed so early? In fact, why was he up so early? Cinn squinted at him. Julien rarely looked anything but infuriatingly perfect, but today a purple tinge coloured faint bags under his eyes. Was it Cinn’s imagination, or was his hair slightly damp, the tips clumped together in tiny spikes ?

“Wh—”

His question was knocked out of him by Julien climbing on top of him while simultaneously throwing the duvet off the bed in a rather melodramatic way. Cinn wore only his pyjamas, a pair of ancient tracksuit bottoms featuring several stylish holes, and the chill of the air caused a cascade of goosebumps to prickle his skin.

Cinn brought out his best scowl. “I’m cold.”

“Don’t worry.” Julien pressed gentle lips to just shy of Cinn’s Adam’s apple, sending his pulse skyrocketing in anticipation. He trailed soft butterfly kisses up the column of his neck to finally meet his mouth. “I’ll keep you warm.”

Julien ground himself into Cinn as their mouths connected in another long, languid kiss.

Cinn broke away to smirk at Julien, saying, “I’m too tired.” Then he gave an exaggerated yawn.

Julien pouted. “What if I spoke French to you?”

“Won’t make the blindest bit of difference.”

A slow grin arranged itself on Julien’s face, dimples deepening threateningly. “Oh, really?” Julien dropped his low tone down to a seductive purr. “Have I told you how much j’aime la courbe de ton cou ?” Julien’s lips brushed against his neck, and the electrifying tingles he elicited had Cinn closing his eyes. The next press of Julien’s mouth came against the tattoo on his rib. “ Tes tatouages si séduisants? ”

Cinn had to bite back a moan. For fuck’s sake. How was he succumbing to Julien so damned easily?

“ Ton menton? ” Julien kissed the very tip of his chin, drawing a small laugh out of Cinn against his will. “ Comme j’aime tes joues? ” Julien drew the flesh of his cheek into his mouth with his teeth. For a tantalising second, Cinn prepared for him to bite down hard. But Julien only scraped along the skin before releasing him, to place his mouth over the silver bar through Cinn’s eyebrow. “ Ton piercing de mec rebelle? ”

Why did Cinn get the feeling Julien had just insulted him?

“Nope. This isn’t doing anything to me,” Cinn got out, on a gasp, as Julien flicked his tongue over the metal bar. “Nothing at all.” His cock twitched in angry protest of the lie.

“Not even if I tell you…” Julien shuffled down the bed to press his mouth against the tip of Cinn’s cock, the pressure so glorious he could cry. “ Combien j’aime… ca? ”

Although Cinn wanted to keep the game up for a bit longer—because really, he shouldn’t make it too easy for Julien—he couldn’t help the low rumble of approval that hummed out of him when Julien mouthed along the length of his dick, then followed that up with a firm squeeze from his hand.

And if Cinn had something important he had wanted to ask Julien, it had long since left his head, forced out by the heavy weight of him pressing Cinn deep into his soft mattress. Cinn ran his hands up Julien’s back, then down again, landing on his ass to pull Julien further into him, relishing the feel of his hard cock against his own, albeit through too many layers of clothing.

Julien must’ve had a similar thought, as his fingers came up to hook around the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms, running the back of his hand all the way across his stomach. Left, right—a slow, tantalising trace that had Cinn’s back arching up, desperate for his hand to slip lower.

Heat already pooled in the pit of his stomach—there was no way Cinn had the patience for Julien’s teasing this morning, especially after all of that sultry French. He made to yank his trousers off himself, and succeeded in tugging them down an inch or two before his hands were captured by long, strong piano fingers closing over them.

Julien tutted.

Releasing Cinn’s hands, Julien pulled the bottoms back up, allowing his hand to brush against his poor cock, now straining against the material, creating an impressive tent that Julien was somehow able to resist. Rude .

“For fuck’s sake, Julien!”

“ Pardon , do I hear a complaint?” Julien shuffled down the bed, before crawling between Cinn’s legs and trailing teasing light touches around to cup the back of his knees. His fingers found a hole in the cotton, and Julien kneaded his fingertips into the soft flesh, flashing Cinn an infuriating grin that he ought to punch from his face. Shame Cinn needed his mouth intact.

“I think you need new pyjamas.”

Cinn opened his mouth to tell him to jog on—

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip

Julien had torn the thinning material in two, all the way from his knee to the waistband. He completed his mission by using both hands to continue to split the grey cotton, fisting two handfuls in opposite directions and yanking hard, completely ruining the garment.

“ Oui . You definitely need new ones.” Julien blinked at him, the picture of innocence.

“You little shit.”

They were Cinn’s only sleepwear, and they had seen him through thick and thin over the years, but he had no time to mourn their loss. Julien’s hands, done with ruining perfectly good items of clothing, soon found Cinn’s thick trail of hair, his fingers threading through it.

Cinn’s neglected dick, now bare to the world thanks to his refusal to wear underwear to bed, now throbbed. Ached . Cinn just managed to swallow down a stream of pleading demands that threatened to slip out of him. He wouldn’t give Julien the satisfaction. Not yet, anyway.

But then Julien tested that resolve in earnest—kissing up one raised thigh and swiping his tongue against the hollow of his hip, flicking it again and again, so close yet never close enough.

“Well?”

Cinn groaned. If Julien didn’t take his tortured dick into his mouth right now he might perish. “Urg, I hate you so much,” he spat.

“Just keep telling yourself that, mon joli .”

But Julien must have decided to take pity on him, as finally— fucking finally —his hot tongue found the base of his cock, and began a slow, wet, savouring slide all the way to its head, mapping his length.

The shaky exhale of Cinn’s breath was met by a small hum from Julien, as he licked a bead of precum waiting for him as if it was the most delicious dessert, swirling the tip of Cinn’s dick around his tongue with exquisite pressure.

Then, enveloping Cinn with his mouth, Julien lightly squeezed the base of Cinn’s cock. The brightening morning sun fought its way through the gap in the curtains, hitting Julien’s face and lighting up flinty grey eyes, alight with hunger.

God, how Cinn could drown in those eyes.

Julien allowed a beat of stillness between them. Then, gripping Cinn’s hips with both hands, Julien wrapped tight lips around Cinn, gliding his mouth downwards to take most of his cock into his mouth in one fell swoop.

It only took seconds for Julien to turn him into a writhing mess.

Cinn’s hips snapped up to meet the rhythmic pace Julien set, and both of his hands shot straight to Julien’s head, communicating his pleasure with the force with which he pulled Julien’s hair, instead of the babble of praise that circled around his head like a turntable: you’re a fucking god, nobody else’s mouth could ever compare, you make me come undone with just the way you look at me.

But Julien’s name slipped out of Cinn’s mouth regardless, and he knew its cadence spoke volumes, a breathy neediness that almost certainly gave any game away.

“Julien,” he whimpered again, his entire body a shaking mess, and Julien’s free hand grabbed his, squeezing their fingers together, hard , hard to the point of pain.

Julien swallowed around his head .

Every muscle tensed as one for a dizzying moment as Cinn’s orgasm crashed into him, flooding through him in a flash, and he erupted into Julien. His lover drank him down, swallowing three times more, and Cinn continued to thrust into Julien’s deliciously warm mouth, riding wave after wave of pleasure.

Cinn only had time to see two dots of pink flush on Julien’s pale cheeks before he melted into the mattress, eyes rolling straight back into his head. As Julien finished him off with the tiniest of gentle kitten licks, he shut his eyes and surrendered to the fuzziness around the edge of his consciousness.

He came around to the sound of Julien spitting.

Propping himself up, he blinked rapidly at the sight of Julien, who’d shed his jeans and underwear, leaving him only in his simple loose white shirt. He kneeled above Cinn, his glorious, long, slender cock in one hand, furiously stroking himself with a glistening mix of cum and saliva.

Julien stared down at Cinn, fierce, primal, possessive.

Cinn made one weak attempt to reach for Julien’s dick, but found his hand being batted away with force.

The sight of Julien towering above him, fisting himself with such vigour, was intoxicating to the point of feeling drugged.

As dawn broke, light further filled the room, throwing a spotlight onto Julien, who shimmered in Cinn’s dreamy haze.

Dressed in white, his golden-haired boy became an angel. A beautiful angel, who became more and more beautiful every time Cinn pulled a layer off him. Each one exposed new depths, a gradual unveiling of a masterpiece hidden beneath layers of paint.

Yes, his princeling was an angel, and this was Cinn’s baptism.

Each wave of his pleasure was a prayer, each cry a hymn of devotion.

“Look at you,” his angel said. “So perfect for me.”

Then, although it was Julien who was bathing his body with thick ropes of warm cum, it was Cinn who unleashed a series of breathy moans and cries as each one hit his torso. Every place Julien’s glory touched his skin anointed him with ecstasy, holy water purifying him.

The bed shifted as Julien climbed up his body, hovering an inch above him to smile at him, smug but softly so. Cinn only had time to blink before Julien swiped his thumb across the sticky mess of Cinn’s chest, then brought it to his mouth, caressing his bottom lip with it. Cinn darted his tongue out to trace its path, then brought Julien’s thumb into his mouth, sucking it once, then reached for Julien’s head, wanting to kiss him again, needing to kiss him again.

The kiss was a frenzy—a smash of mouths, tongues enacting a desperate dance, hands seizing hair. Once they were breathless, Julien pulled away, draping his weight over Cinn, blanketing him.

“I think… you just took me to heaven,” Cinn may have muttered into a pillow, or may have not.

A pause. “What?”

Yes, definitely out loud.

He took a moment to ride out the last of the blissful high, listening to the sound of his breathing calming. Then, he required a different sort of high.

Wrapping a blanket around him, he hopped over several trip hazards on the way to throw open the window. A flick of a lighter later, he was inhaling his first sweet drag, savouring the familiar rush.

He gestured the cigarette towards Julien, who wrinkled his nose. From his position starfishing on the bed, he eyed Cinn with disdain. “Must you smoke inside?”

The cheek!

To make a point, Cinn turned himself away from the window, cigarette in one hand, allowing the smoke to curl around him. “I’m sorry, whose house is this?”

“Auri’s, the last time I checked. Unless it’s Eleanor’s, but I doubt that with those curtains. ”

Cinn scoffed, but because he wasn’t a totally inconsiderate ass, resumed his position of leaning over the windowsill. Drizzle dampened his hand. Another rainy day ahead. “So, what’s the plan today?” he asked, because there was no possibility that his agenda—of spending the day alone together, preferably predominantly in this very room—could be manifested.

“Breakfast. Coffee. Darcy’s. I’ve got something to share.”

Of course you do.

Cinn opened his mouth, but Julien raised his hand. “ Non . First, I have some more very important things to do, involving your lips.” He leaned up on one side, patting the empty space next to him on the bed. “So get that cute butt of yours back over here…”

The suspense over Julien’s ‘announcement’—or whatever it was—grew to infuriating levels by the time they’d reached Darcy’s cottage, and began the wait for Elliot to arrive. A mere fifty minutes later, the creak of the front door preceded a cold draft sweeping through Darcy’s living room, flickering the flames of her fire.

Darcy sat cross-legged on the rug, because Cinn had snagged the armchair that was surely his now, anyway. She greeted Elliot with a wave. “Your tea is cold, and you’re not getting another.”

In response, Elliot shook his hair like a dog wet from the rain spraying Darcy with water.

She shrieked.

Elliot stretched himself across Darcy’s sofa, looking at Cinn with hopeful eyes. “Got any cookies, at least?”

“Sorry mate, no time. ”

“Anyway,” said Julien loudly, then trailed off, mouth slightly parting as he stared into the corridor.

Béatrice lingered near the door, tail undulating like a wisp of smoke. The shadow cat glanced tentatively between them, bobbing its eyeless head, before scampering past Elliot, Darcy, and Julien without a second thought. The oddly weightless creature jumped onto Cinn’s lap, curling up on it with a demanding squeak.

“You know what? I’m getting less and less convinced that is Béatrice, you know.”

Cinn shot Julien his most smug smirk as he scratched the cat’s ears. Funnily enough, he’d never been one for animals, but it was hard to resist this one when she liked him the best.

“Well, Julien? What is it?” Darcy said. “I have other stuff to do today.”

“I present…” Julien slammed a pile of creased, battered-looking papers onto the coffee table. “A file documenting Béatrice’s every move. Found in none other than our friend Madame Sinclair’s office.”

Cinn’s hand stilled its movements across the cat’s knobbly spine. What ?

“How on earth did you get that?” Darcy echoed Cinn’s thoughts. She snatched the papers from Julien, laying the collection flat across the surface. The first page had Béatrice Montaigne printed at the top in big bold letters, and a professional photo of her attached to it, her blonde hair tied up. A quick scan of the first page offered a list of her basic information—birthday, birthplace, et cetera.

“These are her university transcripts.” Elliot thumbed through documents, frowning. “And this one… a bank statement? Is it all random crap?”

Cinn grabbed another sheet from the pile, brushing his hand over the crinkled paper. “Why do these all look like they’ve been fished out of a puddle?”

The slight side-eye Elliot gave Julien did not escape Cinn’s notice .

“What’s that one there, Cinn?” asked Darcy.

“Addresses.” Cinn trailed his finger down the list. “This address, listed as her home address. A Paris address… Julien’s father’s? Then the next one is Julien’s flat in Talwacht, I think.”

“Places she frequented?”

“And… I don’t recognise this last one.”

Darcy plucked the paper from Cinn’s grasp. Her eyes narrowed. “Some other address in France. I don’t know it either.”

“France? I didn’t see that earlier.” Julien yanked it away before studying it, frown lines across his forehead slowly deepening. Recognition flashed across his face, then a sudden burst of shock that was swiftly replaced by a mask of controlled calm.

“Where is it then?” Cinn asked.

Julien pretended not to hear him, placing it down on the table.

Darcy drummed her fingers against it. “Well, this is all riveting stuff so far.”

“God, you’re impatient. Keep going.” Julien pushed the final few unread sheets towards her.

It was only a second later that she gasped. Elliot leaned over her shoulder and Cinn copied him, dragging himself onto the rug next to Darcy—the large block of text looked daunting.

Béatrice Montaigne (BM) is a verified member of the Arcane Purifier organisation. While it is indicated that she holds a relatively low rank within the group, BM remains on our high-priority watch list. This status stems from substantial evidence suggesting she was personally recruited by L (Category A), a founding member and the chief coordinator of recent lobbying efforts. It is believed that BM’s recruitment is linked to her familial connections, particularly her father, Lucien étienne Montaigne. Lucien Montaigne is the CEO of HorizonTech Enterprises and a prominent member of the AAIoES consortium.

Over the past decade, Lucien Montaigne has faced increasing scrutiny due to HorizonTech’s acquisition of an estimated ninety per cent of new motetech patents. In addition to his role at HorizonTech, Montaigne holds board positions in six other companies. With HorizonTech’s annual turnover exceeding ten million F, Montaigne is often accused of monopolising the industry.

The exact objectives of the Arcane Purifier organisation in utilising BM to gain information about Montaigne remain unconfirmed. Consequently, a specialised team has been assigned to monitor and document BM’s activities.

-██████

Cinn touched the mysterious blacked-out sign off. Underneath, another lengthy paragraph awaited him.

Darcy tapped her finger next to it. “This one is dated a week or so after she died.”

Béatrice Montaigne’s central personnel file records that she died in Cagayan Valley, Philippines, while serving voluntarily for AAIoES’s branch of WorldAid. At the time of her death, she was allegedly alone, her body discovered five hours later. The autopsy report indicated unusual tissue damage, suggesting her flesh had been exposed to extremely high temperatures. The remaining skin exhibited evidence of umbraphage lacerations. Additionally, a silver necklace found attached to her neck bore tiny traces of mote residue, indicating the object functioned as an amplifier.

Elliot unleashed a long, low hiss. “Fuck. You said, Cinn, that Béatrice told you there was an umbraphage there, before her locket amplified her mote channelling or whatever. But I didn’t want to believe you.”

Cinn leaned away from the table, folding his arms uncomfortably. I told you so seemed inappropriate.

Across his shirt, Elliot’s fingers traced the path of the wound on his chest, gifted to him by a single strike of umbraphage tentacles when he’d stepped in to save Cinn. Guilt burrowed through Cinn. He’d never even properly thanked Elliot.

“I hope she went quickly,” Elliot said, voice thick with emotion. “Because if she felt double the pain I did…”

The sick feeling in the pit of Cinn’s stomach grew. When he was attacked at the lantern parade, the umbraphage picked him up and shook him like a doll. But it hadn’t actually hurt him…

Aside from rendering him unconscious and locking him in the shadowrealm, of course.

“There are another couple of lines on the other side,” said Julien.

Due to BM’s suspected homicide, an investigation has been commissioned to determine her death’s connection to the Arcane Purifiers.

“So…” Cinn turned to Julien. “Everyone told you her death was an accident, even though some people at least knew it wasn’t?”

Julien didn’t look away from staring into the fire. “Eleanor lied to my face. Multiple times.”

Julien’s voice shook with so much tightly wound rage, Cinn’s breath caught in his throat. He gripped the edge of his armchair, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile tension hanging in the air.

After an age, Darcy coughed. “Is there any more, Julien? The results of the investigation?”

“No. ”

“Nothing?”

“ Non .”

With a single sweep of his arm, Julien collected every sheet of paper, then flicked through them like a flipbook, staring at them like he could force them to reveal more secrets.

The haunted look on Julien’s face made Cinn ache for him. If the other two weren’t there, he’d cross the room, scoop him up against his chest and hold him close. Press kisses against his neck until he put the paper down and walked away from it all. However, Cinn wasn’t quite sure what the rules were in front of his friends— their friends—and this certainly wasn’t the time to test anything.

“But, if Madame Sinclair prepared this file, and was, for some unknown reason, responsible for her murder, why would she write evidence of a suspected homicide?” Darcy waved a hysterical hand in the air. “This makes little sense. Who did she prepare it for, anyway? The consortium? But it doesn’t talk favourably about your father…”

“I don’t know, Darcy,” Julien replied through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry. But months later we’re still going round in circles and I’m sick of it!” He threw the papers to the floor, where they scattered dramatically across the rug.

Darcy raised one expectant eyebrow, looking between Julien and the mess he’d made.

Julien picked them up.

After a tired stretch, Elliot leaned back, throwing his feet up onto the sofa. “We also don’t know she wrote any of this, Julien, before you march up to her shaking your fist. This could easily have been prepared by someone else and given to her.”

“Regardless, she still lied.”

“I just can’t see Madame Sinclair being involved in all this. I really can’t,” said Darcy.

Julien gave her a vicious shake of his head. “Stop being na?ve, Darce.”

It was clear Julien was reaching his limit. “Didn’t you say in the car you had two things to share, Julien?” Cinn asked.

For some reason, Cinn’s attempt at saving Julien only caused deeper crevices across his forehead.

“ Oui . On to other matters.” He slid another bunch of papers out of his shoulder bag. Then Julien’s gaze seared into Cinn, whose skin immediately prickled. Behind him, Elliot wore a slightly guilty look, glancing down at the floor. Odd . “Or should I say, other files.”

An unpleasant rush of heat surged through Cinn. He removed his beanie, fanning his face with it.

Julien placed the documents on the coffee table.

Cinn made no attempt to stop his jaw from dropping as he openly gaped at Julien. “What… what’s that?” he heard himself say distantly, though he knew full well what Julien was holding—his own mug shot was glaring at him from across the room. He sucked in a deep breath, forcing his voice steady. “Why do you have that?”

Darcy leaned over the papers, wearing a confused frown.

Though she certainly wasn’t as confused as Cinn was.

That morning they’d spent a lazy hour together—Cinn cooking spectacular mushroom omelettes for breakfast, Julien whining about his instant coffee—and all the while Julien had some sort of top secret file on him waiting in his pocket? Why the fuck had he waited until now? Because of the misguided notion that Cinn wouldn’t explode at him in front of the others?

If so, he was in for a shock.

Cinn glared at Julien. “How did you say you got these files again?”

Come to think of it, Julien hadn’t actually answered Darcy’s same question earlier.

Before Julien could reply—taking his sweet time deciding what to say, sipping from a mug Cinn wasn’t convinced still had tea in it—Cinn added, “And why do you have it? ”

Julien set his cup down. His gaze turned tender, contemplative.

“After you mentioned your mother, I thought it might be a good place to start. Just to see what Eleanor had, if anything. And it does have information!” He fanned out the papers across the table. “A bit. There’s an address, and a work address—she’s employed at a hospital.” The words tumbled out of Julien as if the faster he got them out, the sooner Cinn would move past his annoyance. “Good to know, oui ?”

For fuck’s sake.

Cinn tilted his head back as every drop of energy drained out of him like water through a sieve. How could he explain to Julien that he had no desire to reconnect with his mother? Especially as he was sure Julien would do anything to spend one more day with his. But it was better to hold on to the few positive memories he had of his mum without risking the pain of opening old wounds that he’d just finished stitching up.

“Look Julien, I’m sure you had… good intentions or whatever, but I think you misunderstood me the other day.”

“But that’s not all.”

Cinn pressed two fingers to his temple. “Julien.”

“There’s information about—”

“I don’t want to know!”

“—your father.”