16. Declan

Chapter 16

Declan

C lasses were a blur.

Mages rambled, students answered questions, bells rang.

There was a test in one of our magical theory classes, but I barely remembered putting quill to parchment.

I was a complete disaster.

Everywhere I looked, I saw Rylan and Eamon.

Not literally. I checked every room before entering, scanned the walkways before stepping onto cobbles, grabbed my tray of food and raced out of the dining hall.

There was no way I wanted to run into either of them, not after what happened, after what they did—after what I did while they watched.

I didn’t just imagine them sitting a row ahead of me. I saw them holding hands. I watched them shove each other against a tree, lips smashing and tongues licking, hands roaming and cocks . . .

Dear Spirits, I couldn’t stop seeing them naked.

They were both lean, but Ry had muscle on his bones, the kind of muscle that begged to be kneaded and squeezed and rubbed and nibbled, the kind of muscle that needed me pressed against it or it pressed against—or into—me.

Every time I closed my eyes, desperate to escape the reality of the world, their faces flashed to the fore. Then their chests, sweaty and sticky, hot and red from friction, danced in my vision.

Just thinking about it made me sick.

I wanted to scream.

Worse, I wanted to do it again.

My heart raced at the thought of Rylan standing before me while I stroked myself. His manhood was so close I could’ve reached out and touched him. Hells, I could’ve leaned over and taken him in my mouth. I could’ve sucked him until he arched his back like he’d done to Eamon. I could have drained him, taken him, stolen everything he had and consumed him.

And Eamon.

Dammit.

Eamon’s quirk of a smile made me want to rip his clothes off and pour my soul into his body. He consumed my thoughts, my dreams, my every desire.

I wanted to wedge in between them and take everything they gave—both of them—at the same time. I wanted to wriggle and writhe with one of them inside me and the other taking me as deep as my cock would go. I wanted to fill one up while the other lost himself in me.

I wanted to sleep with men.

I’d never wanted to sleep with anyone before, not even girls in our class who leaned over at every opportunity to show me their goods. Spirits, the other boys had to point out when they’d done that. I hadn’t even noticed the attempts at flirtation. At least, I hadn’t recognized it for what it was.

I should have wanted them.

I should’ve begged to see their naked breasts.

Why had the sight of their unclothed skin done nothing to ignite my passions?

Why was I so fucking broken?

Breathing like I’d just run halfway across the city, I reached the edge of the compound where the Mages’ tower nested against the base of the Silver Mountains. Students weren’t allowed in the tower, which meant this corner of the grounds was quiet and uninhabited, exactly what I was looking for.

A lazy stream trickled down from the mountain, its crystal-clear waters bubbling and bouncing. Tiny silver fish darted around rocks, reminding me more of children at play than minnows avoiding larger predators. Despite the summer heat, the air at the edge of the woods felt crisp and cool, a promise of the autumn to come. The trill of birds echoed in the trees as a distant wolf howled.

Movement across the stream tugged at my vision.

I glanced up just in time to catch the back end of a deer as it leaped away, its fluffy white tail bounding higher than the rest of its body as it fled.

For the first time that day, I smiled.

The forest was peaceful.

No, the forest was peace.

There were no Mages or nobles, no Merchants or Guardsmen. No one wanted to give me homework or ask why there was no gold on my collar or cuffs. No boys taunted or teased, and no girls bared any parts of themselves in hopes I might return the favor.

It was just nature and me.

I could breathe.

I could think.

I could be .

Sucking in a lungful of the cooler air, I savored the forest, wrapping it about my shoulders, a cloak of safety and comfort and calm.

Why couldn’t the world be like this all the time?

Why couldn’t my life?

A mosquito dug its vicious little teeth into the skin of my neck. I smacked at it, my palm coming away with nothing but reddened skin to show for the effort. The collar of my shirt was smushed into my neck, itching worse than the bug bite. As I pried it free, my fingers lingered on the fabric—the green fabric.

I was sixteen, almost seventeen.

The Mages told me to be patient, to have faith that magic would touch me soon. Ninety-plus percent of people in Melucia manifested a Gift. To be without was rare. What they didn’t say was that being Mute was akin to being born without sight or an arm or with an addled mind.

Being Mute was to be a cripple. That’s how people looked at those without a Gift. Sympathy filled their eyes. Sadness. Pity.

“Your collar will glitter before long,” the Mages said. They still said that to me. Sitting in classrooms filled with boys and girls whose collars shone brightly, they told me my day would come.

When I was younger, my hopes hung on those words.

Now, they sounded as hollow and lifeless as the log on which I sat.

Magic had abandoned me.

Just like my parents.

Just like Keelan.

Just like everyone.

In my head, I knew Keelan hadn’t left or abandoned me or anything of the sort. Atikus certainly hadn’t. They loved me. I saw it in their eyes, felt it in their words. There was no more loving place in all the world than in Atikus’s arms. He exuded a father’s passion and compassion for his children unlike any man I’d ever known.

And Keelan . . . Spirits, when he didn’t frustrate me, I loved my brother.

More than love, I respected him.

Being around him lifted my spirits. It always had. His desire to protect everyone around had always annoyed me, but I knew, deep down, he would die before letting me get hurt. He was the brother others dreamed they could have, the hero kids viewed through widened eyes and willing hearts.

Keelan was strong and brave, everything I wanted to become—

Everything I doubted I would ever be.

Sitting on a log on the edge of a mountain, I was alone. Thoughts echoed through my head louder than shouts in a cavern.

Worse than sitting by myself, I felt more alone than I had at any point in my life.

How appropriate was that? How prophetic?

How pathetic.

Why did I keep trying? Why did I keep looking forward?

Why did I continue to hope?

I buried my head in my hands and fought back emotions I’d bottled up for so long. Tears began to fall. My shoulders began to shake. I couldn’t stop the storm once it began to rage, and I was soon doubled over on the cold ground.