12. Cym

Chapter 12

Cym

W hen Fourteen began stripping off his jacket, Cym blushed and turned toward the kitchen, busying himself with making food. He heard the jacket hit the bed with a loud thud.

"What are you carrying in that thing, bricks?" Cym focused hard on the meager amount of food Fourteen had in his utilitarian kitchen, so he wouldn't be tempted to turn around. Macaroni and cheese wouldn't work without butter or milk, so he discarded that as an option.

"It's armored. It's lighter and more flexible than anything else you'll find out there with more than three times the stopping power." A hint of personality colored Fourteen's words, and he sounded more like himself. Maybe Fourteen didn't need Cym's magic to fix him after all. "It's also undetectable by body scans or metal detectors. I can go anywhere in it, and no one notices unless I tell them about it."

"Is this armor standard issue from The Company?" Cym poked a can of peaches dubiously. Fruit was a good start, but they were going to need more food than that if they weren't going to starve to death.

A rustling sound came from behind Cym as Fourteen said, "No one else has anything like it. I'm the only one."

Cym was standing on tiptoe looking for more options on the top shelf when he heard what sounded like the rest of Fourteen's clothes hitting the bed. Apparently body modesty was not something The Company worried about.

"Are the rest of your clothes"—Cym's voice squeaked on the last word, and he cleared his throat—"armored as well?"

"My pants are to a lesser degree, but only my jacket has plates in it. I left them out of the pants. It inhibits movement too much."

"You made it yourself?"

"It's a hobby." Fourteen's tone was so deadpan, Cym couldn't tell if it was a joke or not.

"What makes your armor so special?" Something about Fourteen's armor was bugging Cym, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why.

"During a mission deep in the desert, I was pinned down by a group that had more RPGs than sense. I had taken cover behind a formation of rocks, but they were barely more than a foot thick and didn't give much protection. I didn't expect them to hold up, but they did. They took dozens of hits before my partner showed up to lay down cover fire. I inspected the rocks after we cleaned up, and they were untouched, not even a scorch mark to show for the beating they took. I took some of the pieces scattered around the base back to Storage with me."

"Storage?"

"It's the place they keep us when we're off-duty or injured. I don't usually like to spend much time there because I'd rather be in the field, but it has the resources I need to indulge my hobby."

"Ooookay." It didn't sound even the smallest bit okay. If Fourteen would rather go out and get shot at then stay in Storage, it probably wasn't a very nice place to be.

"I experimented with the pieces using sound and heat and managed to melt them down enough to work with. It took a long time, but I was able to combine the ore with graphene to make an incredibly resilient, lightweight material. It's saved my life more times than I can count." Pride was clear in Fourteen's tone.

Cym felt easier about his hands-off decision. If Fourteen was getting his personality back so quickly, he didn't need Cym.

As Cym fished around on the top shelf, his hand closed around something he could only see the edge of. With a little tugging, he got it off the shelf without knocking everything else over. He examined his prize and was puzzled—it was a flat-ish brown bag with the letters MRE printed on the front.

He turned around to ask Fourteen about it and then kept on turning until he'd made a full circle—Cym had forgotten Fourteen was sans clothing.

Cym's ears felt like they were going to catch on fire as he processed the visual information that had been presented to him.

His mind stuttered as he pondered how it was possible for anyone to be so fit. His hands fluttered uselessly as he bounced between the perfection he had glimpsed and the scars peppering the landscape of Fourteen's body.

Cym grabbed bowls he didn't need and put them in places they didn't belong. As his thoughts flashed from the large scar that puckered the left side of Fourteen's torso to the eight pack now permanently seared into his brain, dinner preparation ground to a complete halt.

How could anyone be so covered in scars and still be alive? It made Fourteen's hobby of perfecting his armor less amusing and more a grim necessity.

And how wrong was it for Cym to still be so turned on by what he'd seen?

Fuck. If there was a bad place after death, Cym was probably going there. The healed gunshot wounds, burn scars, and knife marks covering every inch of Fourteen's body had done nothing to calm Cym's desire to find out what Fourteen's dick would feel like inside him.

Cym braced both hands on the counter and focused on breathing. He had no clue what was going on inside Fourteen's head, and he doubted Fourteen did either.

So as much as Cym wanted to turn around and kiss every single one of Fourteen's scars to make them better, he didn't. Instead, he focused on the meditation techniques he'd learned to get his shit together.

Cym was so busy focusing on his own issues that he hadn't noticed how silent the room had gone until the sound of a door opening shook him from his reverie. He turned his head without thinking, and he caught a glimpse of movement as Fourteen vanished down the stairs. Cym imagined him walking naked down the stairs and through the massive warehouse all the way to the tiny bathroom to take a shower and barely resisted the urge to sneak over to the stairs and watch.

Instead, he forced himself to turn back to the mystery package he'd found.

The label claimed that there was an entire meal right in the bag—beef stew if the label could be believed.

Cym opened it up and discovered several smaller packages: hot sauce, jelly, pretzels, a brownie, and peanut butter, among other things. It even had utensils! He couldn't believe how much had fit into such a small space and instantly wanted a dozen for his backpack. When he read the instructions claiming they could be eaten cold or thrown in boiling water, he nearly ascended.

Fourteen was a genius.

Cym put a pan of water on the hotplate and found another package labeled Beef and Black Beans. Maybe he and Fourteen could share, and Cym could try both, though he didn't actually give a shit what the food tasted like at the moment because he was hungry enough to eat the packaging it came in.

Somewhere along the way from being a spoiled prince to a desperate runaway, Cym had stopped being picky about anything.

All he wanted now was enough to survive.

When the water began to bubble, he put the two entrees in the pot and turned down the heat so it wouldn't boil over.

While he was waiting for the food to heat up, he explored the room. The brick walls were bare, save for the shelves containing essentials. Other than the desk and the bed, the only other furniture was a large chest of weapons he'd seen Fourteen rifle though when packing his bag.

Cym was intelligent enough to know snooping through it was likely to get him a missing hand or a hole in the foot for his trouble, so he left it alone.

He sat down on the bed and noticed a hum of energy singing against his ass. He scooted over and pulled Fourteen's jacket out from under him and examined it. There was no reason he couldn't try to figure out the mystery it presented while he waited for the water to boil. His fingers tingled as he explored the leather. In some areas, the tingling grew stronger. Fourteen had said there were plates in his jacket. It was possible the mystery rock was the source of the hum of energy Cym kept sensing from Fourteen, which meant…

The door opened, and Fourteen entered the room in a towel.

"Put these on right now!" Cym shoved the jacket and pants at him, struggling with the weight as his still tender feet protested their current activity.

"I'm not naked. I'm wearing briefs underneath." Bewildered, Fourteen dropped the towel and accepted the bundle. Cym's eyes immediately decided they needed to confirm the existence of said briefs. Yep. There they were. Covering stuff. Stuff Cym wanted to see more of… What were they doing?

"From your reaction earlier, I assumed it would make you feel more comfortable?—"

Cym shook himself out of hornyland and forcefully brought his attention back to the urgent matter at hand and shouted, "Just do it!"

A quick survey of the room had him hobbling over to the hot plate and turning off the heat. Being scalded while running wasn't his idea of fun, so he abandoned the contents of the pot and grabbed all the packets that came with it. Then he grabbed his bag and stuffed the packets and a few other nonperishables inside. "I don't know how much time we have, so this will have to tide you over until we find somewhere safe." He shoved a brownie at Fourteen and stuffed the other one into his own mouth, nearly swallowing it whole in his haste.

Fourteen treated his in similar fashion, if more gracefully, and was mostly dressed before Cym was done. His jacket hung open, but it was on his body, and Cym hoped that would be enough. When Cym finished packing, he looked up to see Fourteen hefting a massive gun from the chest.

"What happened?" Fourteen asked as he slung his equipment bag over one shoulder and began the complicated process of fastening his armor. His eyes were colder than they'd been a moment earlier, thus furthering Cym's suspicions.

Cym threw a pack of crackers at his chest, and Fourteen caught it without pausing in his task or looking up. "I'll explain once we're on the road, we have to go, now." He ran toward the door leading to the stairs when Fourteen's phone chimed.

Fourteen checked it and reported, "Multiple breaches. We have incoming."

Cym stopped so quickly he slammed into the doorframe. "Where?"

Fourteen pulled him away from the door. "Every window, every door. They have us surrounded."

"What do we do?"

Fourteen's expression was neutral, but for a split-second, his eyes flashed with life. "We hope whatever is shielding us holds out long enough for us to break through their defenses." Fourteen's full mouth tipped up at the corners the smallest bit. Was he enjoying this?

Cym needed more to go on than hope. "How did you feel when you were naked?" There were faint shouts coming from downstairs.

"How did I… what? Do you really think this is the right time for this conversation?"

"Just shut up and answer the question." Cym knew he was triggering Fourteen's conditioning with the command and hated it, but they didn't have time for his fluffy-bunny feelings. The sound of feet thundering in the stairs made him feel justified.

Fourteen gave him a look but complied immediately. "I felt like I needed a shower."

Cym gave him a glare and impatiently motioned for him to continue.

"I felt normal." Fourteen paused, looking thoughtful before he continued and said, "I felt completely normal until I got to the stairs. Then I felt cold again. Like now."

"And when you came back in the room just now?"

"I felt good."

"And then you put the armor on."

Comprehension flashed on Fourteen's face as the door slammed open, revealing a cowled man surrounded by green fire. In a fluid motion, Fourteen grabbed Cym by the the shirt and jerked him behind him while swinging his gun up to bear on the intruder. The air rippled around them as a spell broke over Fourteen's shield, and he opened fire.

It took seconds to tear through the intruder's shield, telling Cym the witch was more proficient at offensive magic. His aunt Stella was an exception in the magic community and had become skilled in more than one form of magic. She could shield as well as she could strike and was a terrifying opponent.

Cym smirked to himself. Not against Fourteen, though.

"Follow me." Fourteen stepped over the lifeless body in front of them and made a waving motion to Cym with his free hand. Cym saw him pulling a smaller gun out of his bag as he went through the door.

Gingerly, Cym tiptoed around the dead man and tried not to think about what he was doing. He definitely didn't think about the fact that his soldier had ended the man's life without a thought, because if he did, he'd have to think about how it had made his dick perk up a little, and that wasn't something he was prepared to deal with.

Once around the corpse, Cym had to run to catch up to Fourteen. He knew his best hope was to stay inside Fourteen's shielding until they could get to safety, so when he caught up to him, he twined his fingers in the leather of his jacket and hung on.

It didn't take long before their assailants began bombarding the stairs with spells instead of them directly. Someone must have taken notes from Stella's methods.

A horrific shriek of metal pealed behind them, and Cym looked back to see that the landing above had been crushed against the wall as if a giant's hand had punched it. Then with a loud crunch, the steps under them tilted and threw Cym fully against Fourteen.

Cym clutched desperately at Fourteen's jacket as the man fought to gain a handhold on the wall next to them before the stairs disintegrated completely. Only one of Fourteen's hands managed to gain purchase before the stairs dropped out from under them, but it was enough to halt their progress, leaving at least two dozen feet of air between them and the ground.

Something black and tar-like splattered inches from Cym's face, and he let out a small cry. Cym tried to get closer to Fourteen and the protection of his shield, but the gun Fourteen had slung over one shoulder hit Cym in the face. He yelped and his grasp on Fourteen's jacket loosened, causing him to slip several inches. His overly abused head throbbed in time with his racing heart.

Even with the sudden pain, it wouldn't have been as difficult for him to hang on if they both hadn't been doing their best to avoid skin-on-skin contact. The last thing they needed was that kind of distraction, but it seemed everywhere Cym looked was exposed skin—both of theirs.

Cym's tank top hadn't seemed skimpy when he first put it on, but now, when he least wanted exposed skin, it seemed like a glorified crop top. Compounded with that, Fourteen hadn't had time to pull on a shirt or buckle his jacket all the way closed, and it had gotten rucked up during the fall, now displaying an impressive set of highly sculpted abs and his equally toned lower back.

Fourteen's jacket slid through Cym's fingers, dropping him even further. He fought to keep his face from rubbing against Fourteen's exposed hip. If the situation had been different, Cym would have delighted in the view.

The gods were a bunch of fucking dicks.

Another spell went off, pain shot through Cym's foot, and he bit back on yet another cry of pain. Scratch that, the gods were one great big heaving bag of dicks. He scrunched his legs up as high as he could, but he continued to slide down.

Cym was considering wrapping his arms around Fourteen's waistband and hoping for the continued structural integrity of the man's pants when a gloved hand grabbed his arm and pulled him up.

Fourteen held Cym away from his body at arms-length while holding on to a broken bit of rebar with his other hand, one foot jammed into a small dent in the wall. Cym saw that one of Fourteen's pockets had a glove hanging out precariously and realized he must have found gloves in one of the nine hundred pockets he had on his jacket and managed to put one on while saving their butts.

How was this man real?

Their only issue now was that with Cym's porn-tastic tank top and Fourteen's mostly open jacket, there was no way for Cym to hang on to him and stay within the protection of his shield without some skin contact. If Fourteen was going to get them out of there, he was going to need both of his hands free to do it.

Cym felt Fourteen heave a deep sigh, then he pulled Cym against his body. "Put your arms around my neck." Fourteen's breath was hot on his neck and it made him shiver.

A spell struck the wall a few feet over their heads, raining down bits of brick into their hair, and Fourteen wrapped Cym's body around him monkey-style. He tried to limit their skin exposure, but Cym's arm brushed Fourteen's neck, and their chests pressed together. Fourteen shifted so his body was between Cym and their attackers, pressing him against the wall.

Fourteen closed his eyes and took in a shaky breath. A bullet struck the wall inches from his face, and his eyes flew open again, his pupils so wide his eyes appeared black. "Hold on," he said through gritted teeth and pushed off from the wall.

There was only enough time for Cym to make a short squawking sound in protest before they landed on a pile of unfolded boxes. Fourteen rolled as they landed, making a cage with his arms to protect Cym, and they came to a collective stop as they hit a wall behind a collection of crates.

Every part of Cym's body was yelling obscenities at him.

"Stay down," Fourteen hissed in Cym's ear, and he was on his feet before Cym's eyes could track the movement. It was as if he hadn't just taken the full brunt of a fall that could have killed a normal person.

Like hell Cym was staying down.

"You may be trained for this, but this is my family we're dealing with," he snapped.

Cym tried to sit up, regardless of what his aching flesh was telling him, but he was hampered by the foot Fourteen planted on his ass to pin him down. What the fuck? Was he just a toy to the man? Just because he was small didn't mean he couldn't contribute to the situation.

Cym hissed, "They aren't just using magic anymore—they've got guns now too! Just because they're grossly incompetent with that sort of thing, doesn't mean they aren't dangerous."

"We can hear you, you know." A male voice came from the other side of the crate. "We also have feelings."

Fourteen lobbed a grenade in the direction of the voice. "Which is why you should stay down. And whatever happens, don't tell me to do anything. The outcome would be questionable at best." His voice was painfully calm.

Cym's face went white, and ice water filled his veins. Somewhere between the loft and their adventure down the stairs, he'd forgotten the crux of their relationship. "Okay, no giving orders. Got it."

The male voice called out, "Your toy didn't do anything. Was it supposed to—" Cym missed the rest because the guy was cut off by a loud explosion. He doubted it was important, so he didn't waste energy worrying about it. He'd be better off using said energy repressing thoughts about their growing body count.

"That guy wasn't near our ride, was he?" Cym tried to wiggle free from Fourteen's foot but stopped when the pressure on his posterior intensified enough to become painful.

"Negative." Fourteen began shooting at targets Cym couldn't see. From his perspective, it was impossible to tell if Fourteen's shots were getting through anyone's shields, but there was a break in the spellfire that had been pelting them. "We're not leaving that way anyway."

Another bullet twanged against a ventilation shaft high overhead, telling Cym the idiot with the gun was still on the loose.

"Do you mind filling me in on your plan?" Cym asked in a sickeningly sweet voice.

If Fourteen knew Cym better—or had better social skills—he would be wary right now. If Fourteen wasn't a vital part of getting out of here alive, Cym would seriously consider hitting him somewhere tender. There was a broken bit of pallet he could just reach that would do the trick. Cym should have known when Fourteen locked him in that monstrosity of a vehicle of his that Fourteen was going to be hard to work with.

A fresh volley of spellfire caused what was left of the stairs to come crashing down. Most of it fell harmlessly to the floor, but a mangled piece of metal struck Fourteen on the shoulder, slamming him to the ground.

Fourteen's gun hit Cym on its journey to the floor, and it hurt . Cym was lucky his back had taken most of the impact, but it hit his poor abused head hard enough to make Cym see stars.

He forced himself to shake it off and got unsteadily to his feet. If he didn't do something right now, they would be toast. All Cym's family needed was an opening to rush in for the kill, and they'd just gotten one. Fourteen's shield wouldn't do them any good if someone put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

Now that Cym was up, he could see over the crate and saw three witches lying motionless on the ground and several faces peeking around their respective hiding spots. Stella was edging around the corner of a forklift, and a few yards away he saw his cousin Helen covered in bruises and spellpatches and looking murderous.

Relief swept through Cym. Regardless of whether or not Helen had deserved it, Cym had been afraid he'd killed his cousin back at the cemetery.

"I'm going to burn your stupid champion alive while you watch, boy!" Helen screamed, her face a twisted mask of rage.

Or maybe Helen would have been better off at the bottom of that hole after all.

Cym would just have to find a way to live without her.

He spied a grenade that had fallen from Fourteen's pack and was reasonably confident he could use one now that he'd seen Fourteen do it. Right now he had nothing to lose.

He pulled the pin and chucked it with all his might.

Everyone turned their heads when they heard a clunk followed by a faint tinkling sound as it hit the ground. A dozen sets of eyes followed the progress of the grenade rolling merrily toward the forklift.

Cym ducked back behind the crates and crawled over to Fourteen where he was stoically digging through his bag, tucking various items into pockets and reloading the gun he'd dropped on Cym.

Fourteen was dirty and one arm looked like it wasn't obeying his commands as well the other one was, but he was alive.

The warehouse shook on its foundations, and Cym winced as screams filled the air.

"That was close to my SUV," Fourteen commented.

"And that thing is really heavy," Cym retorted, pointing at the gun.

Fourteen studied him with unreadable eyes before saying, "Sorry. Are you okay?" He had the clip in and placed the gun within easy reach. He then pulled out a smaller gun that was still bigger than it had any right to be.

"Yes. Mostly." Cym's eyes burned and filled with tears, and he blinked them away. They didn't have time for it right now, but sometime soon he was going to have a nice little meltdown, complete with screaming and hyperventilating. "Can we go now?"

Fourteen turned around to look at the wall behind them. "I think one more hit will do the job. Right over… there, I think."

"One more hit?" Cym echoed.

"Here." Fourteen shoved the smaller gun at Cym.

Cym shoved it right back. "Yeah, no."

Fourteen held up a hand in a hold on just a second gesture and popped around the corner to fire a few shots with it. He offered it again, this time wrapping Cym's fingers around it.

"Keep your hands like this, and you should be able to control it. The safety is off so keep it low when you aren't firing. Don't point it at me; don't shoot if you don't know what's behind your target." He looked at Cym's bare arms and frowned. "If a casing hits your skin it's going to hurt; just power through it. It won't burn you badly enough to cause serious damage."

The impact of Fourteen's words hit Cym. Why would Fourteen be arming him if he wasn't worried about their chances? "Are we going to make it?"

"Yes." Fourteen reached for him, his bare hand curving around the base of Cym's neck. Cym felt Fourteen's thumb caress his skin, and he shivered. He blinked slowly and stared into storm-cloud eyes, entranced by the blatant need and hunger he saw there. Fourteen's gaze made Cym feel like he would destroy the world if it meant keeping Cym safe. "I'll get you out of this, I swear it."

Fierce desire and longing pierced Cym to the core. Somewhere in the past twenty-four hours, Cym had gone from wanting to get as far away from Fourteen as possible to never wanting to let him go. If only he could be certain that what Fourteen felt was real, but the possibility he was only echoing Cym's own feelings back at him was too strong to be ignored.

Fourteen turned to observe the witch-filled warehouse through a crack in the crates, freeing Cym from his trance. "When I say now, we're both going to come out and do the best we can to piss them off. Stay close to me and take cover if I tell you to. Got it?" He took his hand away from Cym's neck and his eyes went cold, all traces of personality melting from his face.

Before Cym's eyes, he had transformed from a concerned potential lover to an emotionless killing machine. It was all Cym could do not to reach out to him. Instead, Cym suppressed his reaction and nodded. Pissing off his family was something he excelled at.

He looked at the gun in his hands, fighting the urge to hold it out at arms length like he would a muddy puppy and asked, "I trust that at some point I'll understand what's going on?"

The corners of Fourteen's mouth tilted up ever so slightly. "I believe in your deductive abilities."

Thank the gods. Cym's Fourteen was still kicking around in there somewhere.

Fourteen peered between the crates again and said, "Okay, now."

When they stood up, he noticed Fourteen was moving slower than before. Apparently even he had limits on how much abuse his body could take.

As soon as Cym could see over the crates, he searched the room for his cousin. The moment his eyes locked on to Helen, he took aim and proceeded to unload the entire clip at her. That should piss her off.

As he fired, his arms and chest stung as spent casings bounced off, and he prayed none ended up inside his shirt. Getting one of those to the nipple would fucking suck.

Cym forgot about his sensitive areas as Helen's shield flashed brightly and evaporated. And of course that was when his gun chose to run out of bullets.

Now Cym would never know if he had it in him to kill his own cousin, though he did feel a dark satisfaction when one of Fourteen's shots tore through Helen's leg as she dove for cover.

Fourteen had been more generous with his attack and had spread it out among their opponents. He knocked out three more shields and dropped the casters inside them. When he ran out of bullets, he simply pulled out another gun and kept going.

Cym noticed Fourteen focused slightly more attention on the idiot with the gun. Unlike the others, he wasn't ducking madly when bullets flew his way. His shield must have been as strong as Stella's, which wasn't a surprise. If he had been more proficient at offensive magic, he wouldn't have needed the gun.

Cym laughed when Gun Guy ran out of ammunition. He shook his gun, looked at it, and then shook it again. After yelling something Cym couldn't hear, he turned and ran out of the warehouse.

"That should do it. Take cover!" Fourteen shoved Cym's head down—unnecessarily—and they both hit the dusty floor with Fourteen's body covering his.

The wall behind them shook with the full force of all the myriad of spells it received, and Cym noticed that Fourteen, still hunched over him protectively, was busy pulling out a small arsenal of grenades. A few of the grenades looked funny to him, making Cym think of tin cans with rings attached.

"Get ready to run," Fourteen warned.

"Run where?" Cym shouted to be heard over the din of splats, hisses, crunches, and small explosions that heralded the sound of various spells doing what they were designed to do.

When the noise died down, Fourteen pointed to the brand new massive hole in the wall three yards to their right. "There. Now go!" He hauled Cym off the floor and pushed him toward the hole. "I'll be right behind you."

Cym crawled over the rubble as fast as he could and turned around halfway through the hole to make sure Fourteen was right behind him. He saw him lob a half-dozen grenades—including at least two of the ones that looked like tin cans.

When Fourteen turned to follow and saw Cym standing there like an idiot, he shouted, "Move!" and ran toward the hole, bounding easily up the rubble—making Cym's clumsy efforts look sad and pathetic.

Cym blamed his sore feet and throbbing head, but he also silently vowed to start working out once things died down a bit. Maybe Fourteen could give him some tips. If this was what his life was going to be like, he needed to step up his game. "What were the not-grenade things?"

"Tear gas. In a second or two it should be very unpleasant in there, and it will make it hard for anyone still alive to see where we went. Remind me to teach you how to use one." Fourteen made it to the top of the rubble, nudged past Cym, and jumped off the four-foot wall, landing lightly on his feet. He reached his gloved hand toward Cym and helped him down.

Several explosions shook the ground, and caustic smoke drifted out of the hole they'd climbed out of. When the wind shifted, it brought a tendril of it past Cym's face, causing his throat to try and strangle itself.

"Some of them… might have shields that… ack… keep that stuff out." Cym managed to choke out as Fourteen led him away, tucking him under his arm.

"Noted." Fourteen kept Cym between him and the wall as they crept toward what looked like a trash heap. "I have a bike under that tarp if we can just?—"

Fourteen broke off when a buttload of gun-wielding men wearing body armor surrounded them.

"Friends of yours?" Cym was trying for glib, but he broke into a fit of coughing caused by the tear gas.

"No." Fourteen nudged Cym against the wall—his large form completely obstructing Cym's view of the situation. "Stay behind me."

Cym's face went numb as adrenaline spiked, and his fingers felt fuzzy and tingly. Had his family hired norms to do their dirty work in case using magic failed them? It was an unthinkable thing for a member of the Other to do. They didn't involve norms in their problems. But then Cym had dragged Fourteen into the situation, so if they did, he only had himself to blame.

What they fuck were they going to do?

Fourteen's armor could shield them both from magic, but norm weaponry and physical combat? Even Fourteen couldn't protect them from that many soldiers.

"Sunny, dear, I think it's time to admit defeat." Stella's voice came from behind the wall of men separating them. "I don't know what the fuss is all about. We're just trying to bring you home where you belong. No one needs to get hurt over this."

"Tell that to the people who were in that building you blew up," Cym shouted with a voice hoarse from tear gas and smoke.

He peeked around Fourteen and saw with dread that the soldiers' faces were becoming less impassive. The men standing closest to Cym were frowning and shifting restlessly. As he watched, the effect of his wild magic began to spread, and all the men began acting antsy. At any moment the situation was going to spiral out of control, and someone was going to get shot. What had his aunt been thinking?

"That was an accident, sweetheart," Stella said airily. Cym's hands balled into fists at the endearment and her casual attitude. "The whole thing is just a big misunderstanding. If you and your champion will come with us, I'm sure we can all sort it out." The words may have been sweet, but Stella's tone was laced with venom.

Now they wanted Fourteen too? Well, they couldn't fucking have him.

Once they figured out about Fourteen's armor, the Blaike family would no longer need to tiptoe around the magical community. They would roll over it like a bulldozer. And after they pried Fourteen out of it, they could do anything they wanted to him.

Over Cym's dead body.

He began to shake with anger.

Fourteen still had him pressed against the wall with his body, so he felt his reaction. "Don't worry, I can get us out of this."

"Are you out of your mind?" Cym hissed. Had Fourteen's sense of self-preservation been completely snuffed out by his conditioning? "They have guns. They have all the guns."

"I have guns." Was there a trace of wounded pride in Fourteen's response?

"They. Have. More." Should Cym try magic again? After what he had done earlier, he had pretty much decided to never try magic again, but the thought of letting a bunch of monsters get their hands on Fourteen after everything he'd suffered made Cym's tortured throat sting with bile.

His eyes fell on the gigantic gas tank dominating the space behind their assailants and his half-formed plans collapsed. He had no aim or control. If he tried anything, he'd probably take out the whole marina.

Two of the soldiers in front of them began to shove at each other, jockeying for the front position. It hadn't turned into outright fighting, but it was moments away. Cym saw his aunt's eyes narrow as Stella realized her hired guns were falling under Cym's unintentional spell.

"Everyone back up right now!" Stella tugged at the soldier closest to her.

Fourteen tensed, and Cym knew he was about to take the opportunity presented to them to do something incredibly stupid and self-sacrificing. Cym decided to beat him to the punch.

"Agent Fourteen, retreat!" Cym shouted in as much of a commanding voice as he could muster.

He heard a guttural sound come from Fourteen, and he whipped his head around to look at Cym, betrayal in his eyes.

"That's an order, Agent. Get yourself somewhere safe, now!"

Cym was almost grateful when the emptiness of compliance reached Fourteen's eyes so Cym didn't have to see what his order had cost him. Fortunately Cym wouldn't have to live with the memory of what he'd just done for much longer.

Trying to give Fourteen as much of a chance to escape as he could, he took the empty gun he'd tucked in his waistband and lobbed it directly at his aunt. He didn't want to watch Fourteen go, but the sounds of his escape were punctuated with grunts and choked off screams. Cym couldn't stop his traitorous eyes— he needed to make sure none of those sounds were coming from Fourteen.

They weren't. As Cym turned to watch his soldier's progress, someone grabbed him roughly, bound his arms, and shoved him into the back of a van with a dog crate bolted down inside.

Through the back window, Cym saw a surprisingly large number of incapacitated soldiers lying scattered about the parking lot while a much smaller group of soldiers chased after Fourteen as he sped away on his motorcycle.

Satisfied that he had done his best to protect Fourteen, Cym turned to the occupants of the van—huddling as far from him as they could get—and he saw his brother Sterling. Before his brother looked away, Cym could have sworn he saw sorrow in Sterling's eyes. The peaceful blue of a sleep spell tinted his vision, and he knew no more.