21. Arit

Chapter twenty-one

Arit

T he image of The Owner slashing Nixon’s hand, coupled with the feeling of incompetence to keep my mate safe, will stay with me for years to come. I know the wound is a means to an end, but seeing Nixon hurt while in my care goes against everything in my nature where he is concerned. While he hasn’t had any major accidents in a few days, the welling of the ruby-red blood in his palm, along with his hiss of pain, makes my life force throb with the need to protect.

I’ve been a guardian of souls for millions of years, and now that the most important soul I’ve ever encountered is in jeopardy, I loathe the fact that the one way to help it is to cause Nixon’s body harm. Why would Fate see him suffer so? Is this the price She demands for his survival?

“Relax,” Nixon whispers, handing me a small greenish bottle of some kind. “Help me spread this tincture on the cut, and it’ll heal in a few minutes.”

Narrowing my eyes, I do as he asks. “You’ll be healed in a few minutes?”

“Yes, sorry. I should have told you that. I didn’t have a gaping wound the last time I found you, did I?”

“No, thankfully.” I dip my fingers into the bottle and smooth the salve over his wound, mixing his blood with whatever is in the whitish substance. I turn a quick glance toward The Owner, who is now grinding the collected ingredients in a bowl. “Thank you for this,” I say and wave the bottle a bit until the man looks up.

“No thanks necessary,” he says earnestly. “If we could gain our offering another way, that would be ideal. But I do think the willingness of an individual to allow the sacrifice helps in creating a stronger potion. There is intent and commitment behind the offer. That goes a long way toward achieving one’s goals. Especially when the path is unclear.”

My approval of this surprising ally ratchets up a notch. I nod but turn my attention back to Nixon’s hand, relieved and impressed to see the bleeding has nearly stopped. “Doing okay?” I ask my mate, gently grasping his shoulder to give it a squeeze.

“Not really, but I’m trying to fake it until I make it,” he replies, a smile that looks more like a grimace appearing on his handsome face. “Hopefully this potion works because my energy is fading fast.”

Unsettled, my life force urges me to act. I turn just in time to see The Owner lighting my offered hair on fire and blowing the smoke into the potion he’s crafting. He stirs the mixture one more time. “That should do it.”

Nixon wraps his arm behind my back, leaning his weight against me. “Help me over to the portal? I assume we’ll both have to drink the potion, even though you don’t usually eat or drink anything.”

“That would be my advice, unless you can think of another way to ingest the potion,” The Owner says, gathering the bowl, a bundle of leaves, a lighter, and some chalk.

“I’ll drink it,” I say. “Whatever is fastest. A little potion is certainly not going to kill me.”

I feel Nixon chuckle against my side, and I pull him closer, needing his warmth and vitality to soothe my ruffled state. Having him near me is becoming an addiction I know I can never give up.

The Owner hands the bowl to Nixon and turns back to his work. He pulls aside a dark red curtain, which reveals his spelled portal. He lights the leaves on fire, touching the burning tips to the crystals embedded in the portal’s structure, and then draws runes on the floor around us, all the while murmuring words to some long-remembered spell. Leaving him be, I return my attention to Nixon.

“Ready? Do we have to do anything?” I ask him.

“Just drink and focus on the outcome you desire. Then, when everything is ready, we’ll walk through together.”

I nod and watch as Nixon holds the bowl up to his lips and takes a small sip, cringing at the smell and taste. While he is probably disgusted at having to drink his own blood, the idea is strangely appealing to me. Having some of Nixon’s very essence—his life-sustaining marrow—inside me, binding and fusing with my own life force, is not only brilliant, the notion is arousingly sensual and dark.

If we survive this ordeal and manage to save Nixon’s soul, I’ll have to revisit these thoughts and see how Nixon feels about sharing himself that way. I’ve already consumed his seed, but the thought of consuming his blood is making my dick swell.

As if sensing my thoughts, Nixon’s cheeks, which have been dully lacking in color, pinken, and I can hear his breathing change. Is he just as aroused at the thought of consuming a part of me?

He passes me the bowl, never breaking eye contact, and I take a hearty swallow, ignoring the fact that I don’t taste anything at all. When I finish, my cock is half hard, and I lean in, nosing around Nixon’s neck and breathing deeply. Now that I’ve had a sample of his blood, I can practically smell how turned on he is. His blood is pumping hard and traveling south to pool in his groin.

Nixon reaches out with his injured hand and pulls me against him more firmly, his hard cock already digging into my thigh. “I feel you. I love you. I need you,” he breathes. “I’ll do anything to keep you.”

“I’ll do anything to keep you too. Anything.” I wrap my arm tighter around him.

“Gentlemen, if you will,” The Owner murmurs nearby, his presence all but forgotten as he takes the bowl from me. “The potion is working. All you need to do is step through the portal. I bid you both farewell and wish you luck.”

Closing my eyes, I press a kiss to Nixon’s neck. “On three.”

He counts us down, and every moment I’ve ever felt alone, every time I longed for someone to love, every time I never understood what it meant to be loved flashes through my mind, and I project my need to keep this man, to find Fate and save Nixon so I can love him until the end of time.

Then together, we step through the portal.

A rush of wind greets us, so forceful it threatens to rip Nixon from my arms, but I’m never letting him go and only tighten my hold on his body. I hear him grunt, but I’m not sure if the sound is because of me or the thrashing we’re getting as we’re lifted off the ground and tumbled around.

“Hold on to me,” I call over the noise, and maybe I’m only imagining what I want to hear, but I swear I feel Nixon’s reply of Always in my mind. Either way, I bury my face in his neck and wrap a protective arm around his head, trying to block any potential hazards from causing him harm.

Lights flash, or maybe we’re just traveling between light and shadow, but the air changes, the pressure heavy and then lifting, thickening again, and turning damp. I smell the unmistakable scent of ozone and exhaust, but deeper, mixing in around the edges, is brine and salt.

Our tumbling calms gradually, and we’re ever so gently set to rights, our feet touching down on what feels like sand. Nixon’s heavy breathing fills my ears, but slowly other sounds penetrate—the hushing sway of leaves in the breeze, possible engine noise from a distant airplane, and the call of gulls overhead.

I have no idea where we are or if we’ve even gone anywhere other than leaving The Magic Shop, but just when I open my mouth to ask Nixon if he’s okay, his knees give out, and I rush to firm my grip around his torso, my eyes popping open in response. “Love?” I call shakily. “Are you all right?”

Nixon’s groan is not encouraging.

When he still doesn’t answer, I gently maneuver him, lowering him down to the soft white sand under our feet. A quick glance shows we’re on a pristine empty beach lined with palm trees and a series of thatched huts up a small bluff to my left. The sky is crystal clear and the air is warm, but I have no idea what part of the world we’re in.

When I look down, Nixon’s eyes are pinched shut as he attempts to curl himself into a ball. With nothing available to use to help him, I pull my shirt off and wad it up under his head. I stroke a hand down the side of his face and then back into his hair. “Doing okay?”

He groans again and turns his nose into my shirt. “Hurts” is all he manages, but at least he’s talking.

I’m no expert on the human condition, so I have no idea what might make him feel better. “Do you want me to stay with you, or should I go look around and see where we are? When you used the portal last time it spat you out on my doorstep. There are some huts over there, so hopefully we won’t have to go far to get answers.”

“Go. I’ll just be here dying a slow death.” But he reaches out in search of my hand.

I take his hand in mine and give it a squeeze. “Not funny.” I lean down and press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be right back. Just rest.”

He squeezes my hand in acknowledgement. “Love you.”

“I love you too.” With one more kiss, I stand, making sure Nixon is as comfortable as he can be, and then I summon my chariot and am almost instantly at the door to the nearest and largest hut.

“Come in, my darling. I’ve been waiting for you” calls a tinkling voice from inside.

I suppose I should be surprised, but frankly, I’m just not. If this really is Fate, then of course She knew I would be coming.

Reaching out, I grasp the doorknob and let myself in. I don’t know what I was expecting other than a nautical-themed beach hut, but the modern room decked out with sleek sofas and a big screen TV was not it. There’s a woman with a book in her lap sitting cross-legged in a wicker papasan chair next to an open window, the white curtain billowing in the delicate breeze.

“Arit,” she chirps, setting her book aside and rising to greet me in one fluid movement. From what I can tell, she looks to be middle aged, with bare feet, a flowing white skirt, a floral blouse, and long, silvery-gray hair worn straight down her back. Before she reaches me, she peers around my frame with a quizzical look. “Where’s Nixon? He should be here too. I’m eager to meet him.”

I’m not sure what to say to that, or what to think of this meeting so far, so I simply say, “He’s outside. He’s unwell. The portal was too distressing for him in his condition.”

She frowns but still comes up to give me a once-over, complete with her hands on my shoulders as she looks me up and down. “You should have brought him inside. I have a bed waiting downstairs.” Then she smiles, little wrinkles popping at the corners of her ice-blue eyes. “It is good to see you, though. Made me wait long enough. Practically had to twist your arm to get you to come visit.”

She lets me go and vanishes into thin air. When I spin around to see where she went, I hear her tinkling call from outside. “Come help your mate, darling. He’s far too fair for all this sunshine.”

I just about fly out the door, racing to see what’s going on only to see the woman kneeling next to Nixon, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. I rush over and she moves aside, allowing me to check on Nixon myself. I take his hand and press a kiss to the back. “You okay?” I ask, not liking the fact that he hasn’t opened his eyes.

When he doesn’t answer, my life force pulses a jolt of energy through me unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I’m momentarily stunned and look up to see the woman watching us with a frown.

“He’s farther along than I’d expected. Why don’t you help him inside, and we’ll get him some of my special tea. That should rouse him long enough for us to have a conversation about how you’d like to proceed.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about or who she is, for that matter, but I carefully get Nixon into my arms and follow her back to the house. I am gratified to note that Nixon’s head is resting on my shoulder and not lolling listlessly to the side. That has to be a good thing, right?

“We’ll get him settled in your room. You’re off duty until further notice, by the way. Six million years is a long time without a break, don’t you think?” the woman asks offhandedly, turning to glance at me over her shoulder once we enter the house. Her kind eyes hold too many mysteries for me to decipher. But she turns her attention back to leading me along, through the small room and into a hallway I wouldn’t have guessed was there based on the size of the house from the outside.

“Here we are. Just down these stairs,” she explains as I follow her down a wide staircase into a semiformal sitting area. There are three hallways leading off in different directions, but she takes us down the one farthest to the left. “I like to keep the upper floor more welcoming, so all business matters and guests stay downstairs. The island is at your disposal, however, so feel free to explore whatever you’d like. Once Nixon is feeling better, you’re more than welcome to move to one of our guest huts as well.”

That catches me off guard as she stops outside the third door. “ Is Nixon going to be feeling better?”

Her smile is as enigmatic as it is sheepish. “Of course, darling. No need to worry.”

But I get the feeling there’s a lot she’s not saying. Obviously we’ve both been worried sick over Nixon’s condition. Why else would we have sought Fate out? “Who are you?” I ask, needing to clear up that part of this mystery at least.

Now the woman puts a hand on her hip, and her sigh of frustration is borderline comical. “You know, you wouldn’t have to ask that if you came around more often. The lengths I’ve had to go to just to get you to come home are ridiculous.”

“Home?” I ask, my eyes the size of saucers and my eyebrows in my hairline.

“Yes, home.” She scrunches her brow but still ushers me into the nicely appointed bedroom. “I’ll admit it’s changed a bit over the years, and we’ve had to relocate a few times, but for all intents and purposes, this is your home. And no, I may not be your creator, but I am a direct descendant. Now come, Nixon is waiting on us. The rest of your questions can be answered in time.”

And boy do I have questions.