The Light Within (Shadow and Light Duology #2)

8. Cinn

eight

Cinn

F lying was never going to be Cinn’s favourite thing, but his journey to London was comparatively non traumatic.

What was traumatic was waiting for the bus to Darcy’s family’s holiday rental in a torrential downpour. The freezing rain pounded relentlessly, soaking through Cinn’s hoodie within seconds. Each gust of wind sent stabs of icy needles into his small patches of exposed skin. The final straw was the red bus that sped past, drenching them with a wave of grimy water as it splashed through a puddle.

So he didn’t get blamed if the four of them caught pneumonia, Cinn relented and allowed Julien to call a black cab. The drive was gloriously warm and dry all the way to Belgravia, a snobbish, posh area of London Cinn had never set foot in before. The pristine streets were lined with grand, white-stucco townhouses, and luxury cars were parked in front of undoubtedly overpriced boutiques and art galleries, which caught Julien’s attention.

Everyone arrived damp, but it was only Julien who arrived hungry, as he refused to eat the aeroplane food, despite it being the fanciest Beef Wellington Cinn had ever seen. It was way past midnight, but Alexander and Fiona Beaumont greeted them with an infectious festive cheer in their Scottish accents, far stronger than Darcy’s. The couple pulled them all in for unsolicited hugs one by one .

The townhouse the Beaumonts had rented was even more fancy on the inside. The living room, with its velvet drapes and meticulously arranged antique furniture, had the feel of a museum exhibit.

Cinn perched awkwardly on the edge of a plush, overstuffed sofa. Darcy’s mother immediately started bombarding him with questions that deepened his exhaustion, though he couldn’t be rude, not when her smile was so genuine and bright.

Darcy winked at him. “Cinn is tired, Mum. How’s Dad, anyway?” she said, dropping to a low voice, adding an extra layer of meaning to the question. Cinn subtly glanced towards the other half of the room, where Darcy’s dad appeared to be reeling off questions about Elliot’s motorcycle.

Fiona sighed. “I didn’t want to dampen the celebrations, but he keeled over again this mornin’.”

“Any luck bringing forward the final clinical trials?”

“I’m afraid not, my dear.”

Cinn shuffled slightly away from them to give them space, but Darcy turned to him.

“Do you remember that motetech pacemaker my parents are directing a medical trial of, Cinn?”

He hadn’t the foggiest what she was on about.

“We spoke a little about it at Lucien’s party?”

“Right.” Cinn nodded like he remembered.

“Well, my dad has ventricular fibrillation. The condition where the heart’s lower chambers don’t pump blood properly?” She inhaled one deep, shaky breath. “It’s life threatening.”

“Oh.” Cinn couldn’t help but look again at Alexander, who’d been so welcoming when he’d met him earlier that year. Though at first glance he hadn’t appeared ill, now Cinn noticed subtle weariness in his eyes, a slight shortness of breath to his jolly laugh .

“My parents have been developing medical mote-powered devices for many years, anyway. But for the past two years, they’ve been exploring how to improve treatment of cardiac conditions like Dad’s. They’re almost at the finish line of this enhanced pacemaker. It’s equipped with specialised receptors that capture and convert ambient mote energy to regulate and stabilise the heart’s electrical impulses. As it uses a motecell as a power source, it’ll mean continuous operation without the need for frequent replacements.”

It was all gibberish to him, but Darcy’s voice buzzed with pride that made Cinn smile. He settled back into the sofa to sit back and listen. Just when he’d worked up the courage to announce he was going to bed, Mr. Beaumont pressed mugs of hot chocolate into everyone’s hands. Rich, creamy, brimming with marshmallows. Julien gobbled his own down before fishing out Cinn’s with his fingers until Cinn told him to fuck off.

The conversation quickly turned, as usual, to the earthquake and the Arcane Purifiers. Cinn’s eyelids grew even heavier, each blink lasting a fraction longer as exhaustion seeped through him. When Cinn eventually gave up and slumped against Julien, he found himself ushered into a dimly lit bedroom.

The second they were alone, Julien started sending Cinn odd glances, opening and twisting his mouth as he fiddled about, unpacking a few bits from his suitcase.

The weighted pressure of the silence became too much.

“What is it?” Cinn said with a bite, then yawned loudly. He had no energy left for any massive dramas, like Julien having forgotten the cucumber moisturising cream he applied religiously every night.

“Are you going to see Tyler while we’re here?”

“What?” said Cinn, as his brain processed the question. “Oh. Right. Yeah, I should really. ”

Neither of them had mentioned Tyler in days, so it was jarring to suddenly hear his name on Julien’s lips. Cinn tensed as he awaited Julien’s delayed reaction. Well, if he got into a fuss about it, that was his issue. Cinn had made the situation crystal clear.

“Good,” said Julien, his voice just a touch too bright. He suddenly became very interested in inspecting the bristles of his toothbrush. “ Oui. That’s good.”

A bubble of laughter burst out of Cinn before he could contain it. Julien raised a confused eyebrow.

“Nice effort, there.”

If he did swing by to see Tyler, would he mention him and Julien? It felt dishonest to hide it, but he didn’t think Tyler needed to hear the words explicitly stated. Especially with the challenge of staying sober around Christmas. Especially while he was still recovering from his broken ribs.

A problem for tomorrow’s Cinn.

“Look,” Julien said brightly. He was pointing at some strangely coloured mistletoe balanced on the mantelpiece.

“Hmm?”

“I just put it there.” Julien was looking at him expectantly. “I brought it from Auri.”

“Oh.”

What did Julien want, a gold medal?

There was a stretched moment, then Julien slipped away into the en suite, just as Cinn was realising Julien might have wanted a kiss for his efforts.

Ah.

Cinn reached down to unzip his duffle bag. Hand outstretched, he froze.

The bag had moved . Just an inch. But it had nudged itself towards the wall .

A tiny electrical zip shot through him, similar to his body’s reaction to shadowmotes landing on him in the shadowrealm.

Something was in there.

Or… had he finally reached a new level of exhaustion?

Yes, that was it.

Cinn gripped the zip, unzipped it partway. He paused again. No, something was in there. The bag wasn’t moving. He couldn’t hear anything. But he could feel it. An invisible pressure was emanating from the bag. His skin prickled. Every hair on the back of his neck raised.

“What the fuck?” he mumbled. He opened his mouth again, to explain the sensation to Julien, but lacked the words.

Slowly, ever so slowly , he continued to unzip the duffle bag, the sound of the zipper teeth separating the only sound in the tense silence. His hands trembled slightly as the gap widened, revealing the contents.

Hoodies. Batteries. Three lighters. Christmas presents wrapped so badly, parts of them were poking out of the paper.

He untensed his shoulders. You bloody moron .

Cinn’s sea of grey hoodies shifted, a slow, unsettling ripple that sent a shiver down his spine. Fuck.

“Julien…”

“Hmm?” Julien emerged from the en-suite bathroom, toothbrush in mouth.

“There’s something moving… I can feel something…” Cinn pointed to the duffle.

Julien produced a confused scoff, gesturing ‘what?’ to the bag with his free hand.

Then, he kicked it.

The contents erupted in a chaotic burst. A flying lighter hit a crystal vase, sending a sharp clink reverberating through the air. A spare battery for his Walkman landed squarely in the middle of Julien’s forehead. Colourful Christmas present paper fluttered gently down around them like confetti.

“What the…?”

Because he had his priorities in order, Cinn quickly swept up all the unwrapped presents and stuffed them into a drawer while Julien was distracted with the bag.

“This must be a joke!” Julien said.

Cinn spun to see a pair of black, shadowy ears poking out of the duffle. His terror dissipated, heart rate slowing to a steady thud of cautious relief.

“Béatrice!”

The cat ignored Julien and went straight for Cinn, weaving through his legs repeatedly with a determined persistence. Her grizzly, demonic purr was oddly soothing. As Cinn ran his hands over the knobs of her spine, a strange warmth spread from her into him, starting at his fingertips and cascading throughout his limbs. Simultaneously, he became aware, for the very first time, of her heartbeat—a rapid, steady drumming, a primal rhythm far faster than his own. Though, as he narrowed his focus, the pace of his heartbeat gradually increased—or did the cat’s decrease?—until their heartbeats synchronised, aligning in a soothing, grounding rhythm.

“Hello,” he whispered, and Béatrice replied with a hum that he didn’t so much hear as feel.

“ Cinn ?!” Julien shouted, deafening him. He’d possibly been shouting Cinn’s name for a while.

He dragged his eyes away from the cat to Julien, sitting on the bed, arms crossed.

“I said, what the hell are you doing? You’ve been staring into each other’s eyes for the last five minutes.”

He sounded quite cross.

Cinn shrugged. “But she doesn’t even have eyes! ”

“Exactly!”

A ripple of energy shot through Béatrice, flowing seamlessly into Cinn like a gentle stream merging with a larger river.

It should have been terrifying. Instead, it was… invigorating. Whereas before he’d been so tired, he now possessed a surge of alertness. A thrum of power. Power he’d never felt outside the shadowrealm before.

“We’re like… connecting or some shit,” Cinn tried to explain. This wasn’t going to do Julien’s jealousy over Cinn’s relationship with his dead sister come demon cat any good, was it?

“Oh?” Julien unfolded, then refolded his arms. “Are you now?” He paused, shaking his head. “Of course you are. She won’t even sniff me and yet she’s happy to fawn all over you.”

At the sad look in Julien’s eyes he failed to hide, Cinn scooped up the shadow cat. The way she felt had changed—previously his hands glided through her like smoke, but now he could feel the tension in her muscles. “Here we go.” He placed her gently on Julien’s lap. “Be nice.”

The cat hissed lowly. She emitted a low, discontented growl, her form shifting. Before Cinn could react, the cat sprung off Julien, then darted into the shadows in the corner of the dark room, disappearing with a flicker of movement.

She was out of sight, but not out of presence; Cinn could still feel the subtle tether of their connection lingering.

What the fuck was that all about? He wasn’t convinced he needed some psychic cosmic connection with a cat made of shadows complicating his life.

“Well then,” said Julien. “I guess I shouldn’t interfere with your special bond again.”

Cinn gave him a playful push, nudging him further back onto the bed. “Don’t be sad. I’ll cuddle you instead. ”

Julien’s huff ghosted across his cheek as Cinn rested his weight on top of him, sliding his hand across Julien’s thighs through his pyjama bottoms, the silky ones Cinn loved feeling against his skin in bed.

“I suppose there’s significantly less risk of you scratching and biting me.” Julien’s playful grin was just evident in the dim light. His eyes roamed across Cinn’s face, landing on his lips.

Cinn let out a low laugh. “That’s normally your job. But anyway, we better put your nice mistletoe to use, right?”

In answer, Julien captured the skin of his neck with his teeth, teetering on that thin ledge between pleasure and pain that he knew how to navigate so well. Julien’s tongue pressed against his pulse point, and Cinn pushed himself down to grind against him, to let him know exactly how hard Julien had made him so easily. He wasn’t surprised by it—Cinn’s body was quickly becoming conditioned to Julien’s touch. Every time they fucked, the experience somehow grew with intensity. Intimacy with Julien was becoming a visceral need, an addiction he was all too happy to crave and feed.

Though, behind it was that tiny seed of doubt that sometimes reared its ugly head—what if their unlikely connection was nothing more than a fleeting spark destined to burn out?

The shred of fear ignited into a wildfire of panic, and Cinn brought Julien’s lips up to him to kiss him deeply, allowing the heat and passion behind it to overwhelm his senses, burn the negative thoughts away.

Julien’s tongue slowed, and he pushed up on Cinn’s chest. He stared up at Cinn, face a soft mask of affection.

“What?”

“I just wanted to see your beautiful eyes for a second, mon amour ,” he said, in the softest whisper of breath, mouth curving up into a gentle, vulnerable smile that nestled itself into Cinn’s mind, making a home there.

Cinn swallowed .

No, theirs was a flame that would endure the fiercest storm that tried to extinguish it. Cinn would make sure of it.

Because life without his infuriating princeling by his side would be very dull and very dim.

Abruptly, Julien’s muscles tensed.

He flicked his eyes to the left. “Is she still watching us?”

“No doubt about it,” Cinn replied.

Julien groaned, picking up a pillow and throwing it into the dark corner where Béatrice had intertwined herself with the shadows.

“Yep. That will do it.”