7. Colt

Colt

Waking up with Owen was a dream come true. One Colt knew, by now, he wanted all the time. The man sleeping so soundly against him was also a man who wielded fire. Strange fire, and strange power. One Colt didn't fully understand, and when they had first started their journey, Owen didn't seem to understand it either.

But now he did.

This was not the same man who had needed protecting on his way out of Milarc. No, Owen knew how to take care of himself now. Beyond his Essence, Owen had a will to survive, and that alone was stronger than any strength Colt could ever possess.

He tightened his arm around Owen as he looked out the window to see the blue tint of morning. As much as he wanted to stay in bed with Owen, they needed to get up and keep moving. They had to find Brom.

"Hey," Colt started, rubbing Owen's arm. He didn't want to wake him, knowing how exhausted he was, but when those brown eyes opened and looked up at him, Colt's heart skipped a beat.

Owen looked around, then he rubbed his face. "It felt as if I only slept for an hour or so."

When Owen leaned in to kiss him, Colt closed his eyes, indulging in the warmth of his mouth. Their kiss was sweet, their lips connecting in a way that felt so damn good and right, each tender touch a wave that rippled down to his stomach.

Owen broke away and brushed his lips along Colt's neck, which made Colt's body tingle with desire. His lover sucked gently against his skin, making it sting lightly. It was a pleasurable sort of pain, one Colt loved feeling so much, it made him thrust his hips. He couldn't help himself, as the stir of butterflies fluttered deep, especially when Owen moved to suck another part of his neck.

Letting out a breath, Colt grabbed Owen's hair gently and pulled his head back so he could dip down and do the same. His lips caught on the leather cord of Owen's shark tooth necklace—how incredibly alluring it was.

Owen tensed, wincing slightly, and at first Colt thought he had hurt him, but then he remembered how ticklish he was. Colt wouldn't tickle or tease Owen this morning, though. He'd only indulge by giving him the same treatment. As he gently sucked on Owen's neck, he relished the coppery taste that rose to the surface of his skin. Breaking away, he moved his mouth up to Owen's cheek and kissed him lightly, over and over, until he came to his mouth.

Colt's hand moved along Owen's face and down his arm to his hip, groping areas he knew were sore but needed touching, and Owen's skin pebbled in response. When their lips found each other again, moving deeply, Colt tasted salt. He pulled away to see tears on Owen's cheeks.

"Owen, what's wrong?" he asked, brow creased with concern.

"Nothing, just keep kissing me," Owen muttered against him.

Colt blinked at him, then shook his head. "You're crying. "

When Owen grabbed the band of Colt's trousers, heat seared Colt's chest. But as good as it felt, he grabbed Owen's wrist and held it still.

"Owen, I don't want to do this with you upset."

"I'm not, I need this… just to forget for a little while."

Despite being unsure of his mood, Colt allowed him to continue, but when the tears still spilled down Owen's cheeks, Colt halted him again.

"Just talk to me," he said.

"I'm fine, Colt." Owen's fingers were shaking as he fumbled with the button on Colt's shirt.

Colt grabbed his arms and pulled Owen away, looking him in the eyes. "I'm not doing this while you're upset."

"I'm not upset," Owen choked out. He moved to sit on his knees. "I'm not… fucking upset!"

Colt blinked at him, his heart constricting in pain. He'd never seen Owen have such an outburst, at least not at him. The anger and sadness both flowed around him so strongly that Colt could feel it.

"I'm not upset…" Owen whispered again. When he hung his head and let out a sob, Colt sat up and grabbed him. As soon as he pulled him close, Owen cried painfully into Colt's shirt, and the tears soaked him through the fabric.

The loss of Gilda and Brom, the burdens Owen carried so heavily on his shoulders, dug deeply into his heart. Colt didn't know what to do besides hold him and allow him to let it out. But as Owen wept, the shroud of sadness pulled over Colt too, and he couldn't help the tears that sprang from his own eyes as he rocked Owen in his arms, being the safety and comfort he needed, and Owen being his. In such sorrow, Colt found a tenderness he'd never experienced. It filled a part of him in a way he never knew he needed.

After a while, Owen's cries quieted, but Colt still held him close as he ran his nails lightly up and down his back. Then Owen took Colt's hand and traced each of his fingers.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you," Owen said, sniffing. "I've done it a few times."

"You've done nothing wrong. You have a right to be angry and sad. I am too…" He pulled away and looked Owen over, admiring his dark eyebrows, brown hair, and the nose he loved so much. "You hear me?"

"Yes… If I didn't have you, I don't know if I'd have gotten this far. I might have died already. I know I would have."

Colt tucked a strand of hair behind Owen's ear. "You give me too much credit, and you underestimate yourself. So far, you've been the one covering my ass."

Owen gave a faint smile, then he looked over at the window. "You tell me that, and yet I couldn't even look past my own cowardice to save Gilda." His eyes grew distant. "Now she's dead, and I hate that I wasn't strong enough to fight Rem."

There was nothing Colt could say to him that would take away Owen's sadness, as he knew the remorse of feeling responsible for someone's death.

Taking Owen's hand, Colt looked down and said, "When I was twelve, me and Rowan got into some trouble." Owen blinked, but remained quiet. "We left the orphanage together, and we both became street rats. One day, we got desperate for food, and we stole a loaf of bread from the market." Colt's jaw tightened as the memory came back to him. "A guard saw us. A young recruit, new and eager to prove himself. He came after us, but we went up to the rooftops. To me and Rowan, it was a game, and we laughed as we crossed over the buildings."

Owen squeezed his hand, as if he knew what was coming next.

"The buildings got higher, and the guard was on us. The last gap I jumped across should have made him turn away and leave. It had been too wide. But he did it anyway, and he fell to his death. Want to know the worst part of it all?" Colt stared at a button on Owen's shirt, feeling numb as he ventured back. "We never told anyone, and no one ever found out what happened. After that day, we vowed never to steal bread again, but a week later, we were right back at it. I always felt so sick when we did it, and eventually I started going to gambling houses to win money so we could eat."

Owen was looking at him now, at that vulnerable part of himself he never intended to open up. He hadn't brought it up, even to himself, for fifteen years.

"You didn't have to tell me," Owen said.

"I wanted to." Colt smoothed his thumb across Owen's knuckles. "You make me want to expose all the things I've held in for so long that have haunted me. I've never met anyone like that."

Owen smiled tenderly. "It wasn't your fault."

Nodding, Colt said, "If I hadn't stolen the bread, the man wouldn't have chased me, but I also know he chose to make that jump after me, even knowing it was too wide. I try to see it that way now because… you opened that Gate, but you did so because you didn't want to see me or Brom killed. And Gilda took the leap to fight Rem. That was her choice. So what happened wasn't your fault either. Got it? "

Owen searched Colt's eyes, then his face relaxed, and he gave a painful smile and said, "Yes. Thank you for telling me." He kissed Colt's lips, and at the moment, it was the only thing Colt needed. The contentment at simply being beside Owen brought him more joy than anything else.

They lay together for a long while, and Colt treasured the warmth between them. He didn't want to leave this moment, but he knew they needed to get up and keep moving.

"We should get going," he said, and Owen responded by hugging his middle tightly before rousing himself up off the bed. While Owen grabbed his things to put into his bag, Colt went into Bridge's room to see if there were any clean clothes for them. He found a couple of trousers and shirts for them both to wear, then he went into the kitchen. He grabbed the last two jars of peaches and placed them into a leather sling he'd found in the cellar. Then he packed a sack of oats and an extra waterskin.

When Colt came back into the room, he found Owen sitting on the bed, holding his father's journal. Colt peered at him as he put the food items down. He made his way to the hearth and poked out any remaining embers. As he made his way over to the bed to pack his bag, he glanced at Owen again, seeing how he seemed to be debating whether to open the journal or not.

"Are you gonna read it?" he asked.

Owen looked up at him, then shrugged. "I want to, but when I read some of it before, it mentioned sacrifice. I don't know what my father meant by it. It was a little unnerving."

"Well, maybe there's something in there that can help us with what's happening. It's worth finding out."

Owen opened the journal. As Colt prepared their things, Owen read in silence. After everything was ready to go, Colt brought in the last jar of peaches for them to eat before they set out. He sat on the bed and shared them with Owen, glancing often at the journal.

"My father talks a lot about Essence," Owen said, as he chewed on a peach slice.

"Like what?" Colt asked.

"He describes it as being one with the earth. He recorded many of his travels and drew pictures of artifacts he thought were connected to the gods and the Gate."

"Looks like your father was good at drawing, like you." Colt leaned over to glance at the drawings of people. He was amazed at how realistic they looked. Owen's own artistic skill was as good as his father's, and it was clear where he'd gotten it from. Colt noticed how Owen's long slender fingers flipped the pages, and he cut his eyes up to his face to admire him. His neck suddenly flushed with a thrilling heat seeing his lover's soft lips and intense eyes as they focused on the words in the journal.

Gods… everything about him is appealing.

When Owen frowned and closed his eyes, Colt asked, "What's wrong?"

"‘I spoke with the dormant one, who uttered strange words: All souls bleed back to me, and in turn, they will be one with the Soul Sacrament. Those who give up their souls are bound to me, and so they will inherit great power.'"

"What's that mean?"

"My father spoke with Mordren, and Mordren knew about my father. He knew… but my father never opened the Gate. Rem said something similar when I killed Quinnby. All souls bleed back to me…" Owen narrowed his eyes, thinking. "I wonder if this has anything to do with the riddle Grutwyr told me." He turned the page to read further, and spoke aloud, "‘I have spoken with the dead, and they have told me the channels of the Unseen Vale are closed. The only way to open them back up is to kill Mordren. But while I possess the blade of embers, I refuse to use it to open the Gate. And I know of people who would have me do such a thing. Which is why, if I am captured by the Legion, I must let them find out the truth and kill me. I cannot allow Mordren to breach this world.'"

Owen slammed the book closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I went and did the very thing my father intended not to do. And in the end…"

A pang went through Colt. Owen's father had given himself up to the Legion. Not because he couldn't free himself or because he was afraid, but because he didn't want anyone to force him to open the Gate. He wondered how many men over the centuries had held an interest in opening the thing.

Colt picked up the book and flipped through the pages. When he picked out a few words about emberstone, he said, "What's all this?" Colt passed the journal back to Owen.

Owen took the book and continued reading. "‘Emberstone…" he flipped a page, "is imbued into the dagger somehow. I tried to gather information about what it can do from two spirits at different times in my life. No matter how much I pressed, they never would tell me its secret. I think Mordren might have done something to ensure the spirits of the Vale don't talk.'"

"Blade of embers…" Colt trailed off, then looked at Owen with wide eyes. "That's it. That's the riddle. Or some part of it. Seek the burning embers. They will shatter the heart and halt the three made whole."

The revelation seemed to dawn on Owen's face. "The blade can… shatter the heart. Mordren's heart?"

"It seems our best bet. We may not have the blade, but there's emberstone below our feet here. We can—"

"Create a weapon out of it and kill him." Owen ran his hand through his hair, letting out a breath of surprise.

"You make it sound so easy."

"Using a weapon against him sure sounds better than going against him with my Essence."

Colt hesitated before he pulled out the emberstone charm hanging around his neck. The raw crystal glowed a dim yellowish-orange in reaction to Owen's Essence. It was the energy that powered the Legion's advanced Cores, making them glow when they neared an Astran. Owen wasn't a god, but Mordren's blood did flow through his veins, according to legend. It made Colt wonder if the crystal could harm him in any way.

"How much emberstone do you think we need to kill a god?" Colt raised an eyebrow.

Owen tilted his head thoughtfully. "Likely more than you have there."

"Do you remember the way to the cave?" Colt asked.

"Yes. Let's stock up on emberstone. Then we can find Brom."

For the first time since they had reunited, Owen gave a glowing smile that reached Colt's heart. As much as he hated the maddening idea of Owen facing Mordren, he couldn't deny the feeling it gave him to see him look so confident.

"Alright," Colt said. "Let's go down to the cave."