22. Chapter 22

Chapter twenty-two

I feel like shit. I don’t think I slept a wink last night. Underground bunkers are noisy. Clangs, bangs, pipes and fans. Buzzing lights. It was a cacophony. Add in the uncomfy bed and the scratchy blanket, and it was a horrible night.

The disgusting dinner I ate in the mess hall with Amanda, didn’t seem to digest at all. It sat low and heavy in my gut. For hours.

Worrying about Mabon didn’t help. My stupid mind wouldn’t shut up about it even though I know he is fine. He is a royal hostage. A bargaining chip. Valuable beyond measure. And last time I saw him, he was treating it like a grand adventure.

There was no need at all for my stupid mind to replay how well Mabon hides things. I didn’t need to think about how, if I hadn’t felt my leash trembling, I never in a thousand years would have known he was scared of Duke Carian.

My fists clench. I’m being absurd. Mabon isn’t scared now, and even if he is, he doesn’t need to be. He is safe here. That was a big reason why I decided to do this. To protect him.

I’m not an evil traitor. I haven’t betrayed him.

Not that you can betray your captor and enemy. I’m getting confused again. Mabon is gorgeous and hot in bed, and sometimes sweet. But he is still a conquering invader.

Pretty doesn’t equal good. I know this. Just as I know damn well that Mabon isn’t as daft as he appears. He is not all flighty and superficial. In fact, I’m convinced his crazy, spoilt, pleasure-loving prince act, is just that. Mostly an act. Underneath, he is smart and cunning. Deadly and ruthless.

He doesn’t need me.

Everything is fine.

Damn this nervous energy and my whirling thoughts. I’m driving myself to insanity and I cannot stand it. I jump up and fling open the door. A huge wave of relief washes over me. It’s not locked. That’s one fear laid to rest, at least.

I’m not locked in, but there is a startled young man standing just outside. I think it is the same guy who brought me a shitty breakfast on a plastic tray.

“Is there an exercise yard?” I ask.

Some fresh air and natural light would make me feel so much better. I just know it. It is my only chance of finding any peace.

He looks a little taken aback by my question, but then he shakes his head. “No, but there is a gym?”

“Sounds great,” I smile.

He looks surprised for a moment, but then he pulls himself together.

“Cool. I’ll go see if I can find you some gym clothes.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” he waves as he wanders off.

I watch him disappear around the corner. Okay, so is he guarding me or not? Or was he told to lurk outside my door in case I needed anything?

Come to think of it, why doesn’t he have a radio? I cast my mind back. Actually, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone with a radio here. Is it a radio silence rule or something about the design of the bunker that blocks signals?

I sigh and go sit back on the bunk to wait. I don’t need to worry about radios. I don’t need to worry about anything. My only duties now are telling the Resistance everything I can remember about the fey and their court.

It doesn’t take long for the young guy to come back. He knocks briskly and gives me an armful of clothes, a towel, and a keycard. He also gives me directions to the gym. I thank him and head off.

It feels good to be moving, even if it is simply walking down a hallway. I shouldn’t be surprised that I’m not being treated like a prisoner. Because I’m not one. Clearly I’m just paranoid.

I’m the man that brought them a fey prince. I’m a hero. It’s all good.

My feet suddenly stop. On my right is another featureless door. This one has a small narrow window of thick glass, at eye level. Through it I can see Mabon, and now my heart is hammering.

He looks fine. His horns are gone, but otherwise he seems his normal dazzling self. He is sitting on the edge of a medical exam table, swinging his legs. He is talking, but this glass is soundproof and I can’t hear a thing.

He must be speaking English, I suddenly realise. My hand drifts up to my feathered earring. I forgot to tell them about the translator. I should probably do that.

My stomach rolls. I don’t want to, and that makes no sense at all. The whole reason I’m here is to tell the Resistance everything I know. Handing them a piece of fey tech or magic or whatever it is, has got to be priceless.

Besides, it would help Mabon. He wouldn’t have to speak English. There’d be no language barrier. And he told me on the day we met, that he finds English tiresome.

I sigh and force myself to walk away. I’ll think about it after I’ve worked out. Exercise always clears my head and makes me feel better.

I find the gym with no problem and am pleased to discover it is both well equipped and free of people. Perfect. Normally I love being around others, but at the moment I just want to be alone. Never thought I’d turn into a grumpy old man, but look at me now.

As I start with some warm-ups, it hits me that I haven’t had a proper work out since I was taken. Some sit-ups and pushups were all I was able to manage. Strangely, it seems I have got away with it. I don’t seem to have lost any definition. If anything, I’ve gained some. Which doesn’t make any sense at all.

It’s not like my sex sessions with Mabon were that frequent or energetic. Heat spreads across my cheeks. And I quickly jump onto a treadmill. Time to work out all my stress and tension. And to stop bloody thinking.

A couple of hours later, I have to stop. I’m a sweaty, panting, trembling mess. I attacked all the gym equipment as if it was personally responsible for all my problems. But I’m still stressed. Working out has solved nothing.

I stick my head under the water fountain and the cold water feels good. I shake it off and then dip my head again. This time for a long drink.

Okay. There is nothing else to do here. It’s time to head back to my bunk. They will probably want to ask more questions soon, because they did say it would take a few days.

Then I guess I will go home. And see if I still have a market stall or if my place has been given to someone on the waiting list. A heavy groan escapes me. For fuck’s sake.

At least my flat will be alright. The rent payments go out of my account automatically and I have a reasonable amount of money in there. Not that it will last long if my stall has gone. Lord, real life really sucks.

Despondently, I start trudging back towards my room. My spine tingles as I approach the door I saw Mabon through. I’m not going to look. I’m not. The best thing to do is to march forward, keeping my eyes facing front.

My feet stop. My head swivels. I look through the tiny slit of a window.

The room beyond is empty.

My heart and stomach flutter strangely. It feels an awful lot like disappointment. But that can’t be right.

My gaze despondently flicks around the abandoned room as if I think I’m going to find him hiding in a corner. But there is nothing in there apart from a ton of medical equipment.

My attention snaps back to the table I saw him sitting on. There are cuffs. And leg restraints.

My stomach heaves. It’s fine. He looked fine. He was swinging his legs and chattering away. They were just giving him a medical or something.

Because they are bound to be curious about fey physiology. As far as I know, Mabon is the first fey that humans have got their hands on.

My heart is beating like crazy now. My legs feel weak. It’s probably from the intense workout.

There is a dark blob of something on the floor under the table. I stare at it in horror. It’s not blood. It can’t be. Well, maybe it is, but it is a damn medical room, so blood happens. And it is right under the table, so probably just missed by whoever was on mop duty.

It could be anyone’s blood. It is not necessarily Mabon’s. The fact it looks slightly purple is just a trick of the light. I don’t even know if Mabon has purple blood. I mean, that’s quite a leap for me to make, assuming that because he has purple hair and eyes that his blood is purple.

A memory flashes. Mabon panting and sweaty beneath me. Looking up at me and grinning with sparkling eyes. Smears of cum on his taut belly. Cum that’s tinged purple.

I whirl away from the window and bend over. I retch, but nothing comes up. My head is spinning. I need to breathe. Deep, calm breaths. I’m still making conclusions. My rather dirty memory doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It’s not evidence. I don’t know jack shit.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Okay. I know what I need to do. I need to find someone in authority and I need to yell at them.

No. I need to ask them questions. Calmly. Like a sane person. So they answer me. I need to know.

Is Mabon a hostage, or an experiment? Did I trick him and lead him down to the bottom of the garden for him to be tortured?

Is this all my fault?