Chapter 10

CHAPTER10

It would be a long walk to Bresson. It would be even longer alone, but Myth knew he’d done the right thing. Lore still had a future ahead of him, and he hadn’t found his one true, shining love yet. Myth refused to be the reason why Lore’s life went up in flames.

As Myth took one step after another, with his injured foot still throbbing, he was grateful for the boots Lore had given him. They’d been broken in, at least, so it wasn’t like wearing a brand new pair of shoes that would pinch and give him blisters.

If only he hadn’t forgotten his damn coin purse at his mother’s, Myth could’ve gotten passage on a cart or something heading to the city. But no. He could only be grateful she didn’t have to worry about debt collectors while they were split up. If she was hiding from the guard, who apparently knew about Kiara’s gambling habit, she wouldn’t go to the gambling houses, surely…

Myth wished he believed his own lies.

He was already exhausted. He’d woken early after going to bed late, and all he wanted to do was find a nice patch of grass to lie down in. But the amulet thrummed in his pocket, reminding him over and over again that he had to do something about it. It drove him on, a constant presence that rubbed away at his weak-willed self.

The words had hurt when Callan had said them.

They’d hurt even more when Lore had.

Was Myth really so weak? He’d never thought he was, but he kept falling into Callan’s shadows, and gods, had he really let himself be held down by the shade’s tentacles or whatever it was that he used in the dark? No wonder he’d talked about secrets in darkness. That was one large secret, but now… Now Myth knew what he was.

But that didn’t mean anything.

So now what?

By the time the sun started to set, Myth was exhausted and hungry. He’d miscalculated, and the rest house he expected to find on the road was still a good hour’s walk away. Setting up camp on the side of the road was not appealing though, especially since he knew exactly what kind of people tended to wander the roads at night. Never mind bandits; he didn’t trust any guards he encountered to not attack him on sight.

“What a lovely night for a walk,” a voice said from just behind him.

Callan.

For fuck’s sake.

“I don’t want anything to do with you,” Myth said, tensing but not turning around to face him. His fingers itched to retrieve the blade he knew was in the emergency satchel Lore had prepared, but he’d seen before how little a sword could affect a shade. A dagger was hardly going to do more damage, even if it was enchanted.

Though maybe…

No.

It wasn’t worth it.

“I don’t think that’s true.” Callan stepped closer—no, Myth could see that he slid closer from the corner of his eye, and now that Myth knew what to look for, he noticed how Callan wasn’t taking proper steps. Callan stopped directly in front of Myth, smiling like he hadn’t revealed all his cards already. “Does your foot still hurt?”

Maybe he hadn’t shown all his cards. Maybe he still had more things up his sleeve that Myth didn’t know about.

Myth nearly tripped as he missed a step. How did Callan know his foot was hurting? He scowled. “It is true. You’re a shade, and I’m not some weak-willed prey.” His pride was hurt, though, because at every turn, he acted like just that. First a fucking piece of metal, now a creature of darkness. This was just great. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Prey?” Callan kept sliding backwards, always staying on the shady parts of the road. “Why would you think I wanted to devour you?” Amusement twinkled in his impossibly dark eyes.

“Because you’re a shade. And that’s what shades do. And they corrupt people. And… all sorts of terrible things. Like kill people with a touch,” Myth pointed out with a shudder. “And… and… all the tentacles. Tentacles!” He shook his head fervently. “I can’t believe you touched me with those… those things. I can’t believe I let you!”

Callan held up his two very human looking hands. “No tentacles here.” He swung around to walk—slide—at Myth’s side. “And what’s a bit of fun between consenting adults? Some people fuck dragons or phoenixes or orcs. I’m hardly any worse.”

“But you are worse,” Myth said, his scowl deepening as he tried to quicken his step. It didn’t seem to bother Callan, though, who just moved quicker while Myth tired even more. Myth slowed back down before long, muttering a curse beneath his breath. “Your kind trick humans. Change them. Betray them. At least dragons and phoenixes and orcs aren’t evil.” Because that was pretty much what Lore had said, right? Shades were evil creatures who wanted to betray humans?

Or maybe he was being a little dramatic. That was possible, too.

Callan had the decency to look thoughtful. “Is it a trick to help a human get what they want? And should I generalize all humans based on a few individuals? In that case, humans are all murderers and rapists and thieves. The things humans do to each other!”

Myth glared at Callan. “We aren’t demons. Demons are by definition evil. It’s part of the description. Shade, demon. See also, evil. You might help humans get what they want, but what kind of price do they have to pay? They lose themselves along the way.” Wasn’t that what was happening to Myth? Wasn’t he losing himself? Doubting everything, wanting and yearning for things that simply weren’t his to have?

“Studied a lot of magic, have you?” Callan smirked at Myth. “If you know so much about shades, I assume you’ve read the Theories on Transformational Magics? Or Valerius’s Codex of Demons? I do recommend the Histories of the Arcane. Very riveting, if you manage not to fall asleep within the first five pages.”

Myth glared harder, if that was even possible. “I have my… sources,” he informed Callan loftily. “And I’m going to be reading those things soon. Once I get to the university, I’ll read all the books, even the boring ones, and I’ll learn how to defeat you.” Maybe one of the light spells that should’ve been contained in the satchel? But Myth didn’t want to use those so soon, not when the moon already shone overhead. What if he had a night where he desperately needed to see for other reasons? Callan wasn’t doing anything except being annoying right now.

“You probably need to start with the basics before you work your way up to Theories on Transformational Magics,” Callan said, nodding to himself. “Your own magical ability is a bit… limited, but you should be able to work with Light Spells for Light Work. It does teach the foundations better than some of the denser tomes.”

“Did your shade powers tell you about my magic?” Myth asked, remembering that Callan had brought it up during their first night together. He sighed, hating himself a little for being so forthcoming. He should’ve been secretive and difficult to read. He was a fucking thief, and a good one, and here he was spilling everything to Callan anyway. “What are you doing to me? Why am I talking to you? You’re not that fucking charming.”

But he sort of was.

“Sensing magic does come easily to me,” Callan said, completely unapologetic. “As for the other question… I suppose you simply want to talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Myth grumbled. But he did. Callan was easy to talk to, and he didn’t judge Myth like Lore did.

“Whatever else your source told you about me, I will say one thing.” Callan draped an arm over Myth’s shoulder. “I truly can’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to do. Now, would you like me to take us to the next closest rest stop, or would you prefer to keep walking with your wounded foot?”

Myth tried to shake Callan’s arm off his shoulder, but Callan didn’t budge. “I can walk just fine. It only hurts a little,” he lied. It was amazing how a few thick shards of glass from a fucking vial could hurt so much, but he supposed all the walking and the sweat hadn’t helped at all. But he paused, curious despite himself. “How… would you do that though? You can teleport?”

Callan tapped Myth’s chin. “Do you remember, how I was inside of you? Touching all of those soft, vulnerable corners of yours? I would take you inside of me instead, and take the shadows to the rest stop.” After a pause, he added with a scoff, “That’s at least close enough.”

“That sounds… disturbing,” Myth said, shuddering. But he didn’t particularly want to walk all that way. If Callan could take him to the nearest traveler’s rest area, where there would be places to sleep that were safe from bandits—and hopefully king’s guards—that would save a lot of time. He could get some much welcome rest.

“It’s up to you. Walking won’t tire me out.” Callan abruptly let go of Myth. “If all we’re doing is walking in the dark, though, I might go and research a few things. I’ll be back when you make camp.”

“Oh, fine,” Myth said, exasperated. “I’ll let you take me through the shadows, where you can probably wring me inside out and figure out a way to take the amulet, and deposit me somewhere that’s probably close to the abyss.” Well, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with the amulet anymore. Maybe it would be a relief!

Callan laughed and took Myth’s hands into his own. “See? I always wait for permission first.” Then he leaned down to kiss Myth.

Myth started to regret his decision, but before he could say anything, the floor dropped out from underneath them. He opened his mouth to cry out, and was met only by an icy cold like nothing he’d ever encountered before.

His vision blurred, and his mind couldn’t decide what was up and what was down. His stomach heaved.

Myth wanted to throw up.

A sudden warmth blanketed him, driving away the chill and the nausea and helping him right his body. When he opened his eyes, he saw Callan staring back at him, the orange glow of fire reflected in those dark pupils.

In the next instant, Callan pulled away, and they were standing in the shadow of a tavern.

What the fuck had just happened?

Callan cursed and took a strangely unsteady step away from Myth. “Fucking—” Callan snarled and leaned against the tavern wall. “Anyway. We’re here.” He gestured behind him, where a small oil lamp hung from a doorway. The sign next to it showed two mugs clinking against each other.

“Gods,” Myth mumbled. “All right, that was useful. Terrifying, but useful. Now what do you want? Because I hear you don’t give anything for free.”

Callan laughed darkly, a sound that made Myth shiver. “You shouldn’t offer before I’ve asked. You’ll end up giving away more than you need to.” He started heading toward the entrance. “I’m sure I’ll extract payment, of a sort, later.”

“Great. Thanks for the warning.” Myth groaned as he followed. At least he wouldn’t have to sleep outside. It was a little chilly, and sleeping inside would be a lot more comfortable. He would really have to figure out how to thank Lore for this one day, because he had a lot more than he would have alone.

He had a pang in his chest at the memory and the knowledge that he owed his friend more than he could ever possibly pay back.

You’re the worst, Lore had said, and he was right. Here Myth was, walking into a tavern with a shade he knew wanted the amulet Myth had for reasons he didn’t even know.

It was bright and cheery and loud on the inside, and Myth breathed a sigh of relief.

On his way to the bar, he passed a table with five orcs sitting together, being loud and rowdy. Their ears and noses glinted with piercings, and the largest of them even had decorations on his tusks. Myth ducked his head so they wouldn’t notice him and decide to pick on the scrawny thief.

Once at the bar, he hailed the bartender. “What’s your best price for a teeny tiny room I can sleep in?” he asked.

The bartender, a wiry young man with tufts of hair sticking up in every direction, eyed him. The price he named was far too high even considering how far away they still were from the large city, and Myth scoffed.

He glanced behind him, but Callan hadn’t followed this close. He slid one of the shade’s other rings over to the man. It might be fake, but this man wouldn’t know it. It would take Callan long enough to realize Myth had managed to slip one of them off his finger when he’d entwined their fingers during the strange trip through the dark.

The man’s eyes lit up. “Upstairs,” he said. “Straight through to the back, all the way down on the right. That’ll get you a warm meal, too.”

“Oh, gods,” Myth sighed. “Thank you. I’ll take the meal to my room, then.” It didn’t take long for the bartender to send for a bowl of stew and some bread, and Myth grabbed them both as he headed for the stairs.

Either Callan would follow or he wouldn’t, but it would probably be best if he didn’t, considering the whole ring situation.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when he opened the door and found Callan already laying across the bed.

“Are you going to keep doing that now that you don’t have to pretend you’re human?” Myth asked, setting his food down on the small table. There was only one chair, at least, so Callan couldn’t harass him while he ate.

Callan didn’t move from the bed. “It’s a lot more fun like this, it’s true.” He turned onto his side to stare at Myth. “Did you notice the band of orcs downstairs? You don’t often see them traveling in large groups like that.”

Myth shrugged. “There are festivals this time of year. They’re curiosities, so sometimes they can get paid for doing… things…” he said vaguely before he took a bite of food. “Mostly heavy work.”

“Orcs can eat magic,” Callan said, raising up a hand in front of himself and looking at his fingers. Myth pretended not to notice. “Although they have to catch it, first. And before you ask, no, they wouldn’t be able to handle the amulet. It’s too complex for their crude… everything.”

Myth started to scarf down his food, realizing how hungry he was. Gods, it had been a long day, and he was grateful for the meal and the bed—though he’d have to make Callan move.

“Huh.” He hadn’t known that about orcs, but he was too tired to care all that much now that he knew they couldn’t help him. “Go sleep in the shadows,” he grumbled. “I want the bed.”

Callan shifted to the side and patted the empty space on the bed. “I’ll sleep in your shadow and watch your nightmares.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re seriously creepy?” Myth asked as he finished chewing the last bit of bread. “Because that’s pretty horrifying. Go get your own room.” He shuddered. Could Callan do that, or was he just playing up the shadow demon angle a bit too strongly?

“How am I supposed to pay for a room?” Callan asked, wiggling his fingers. “You took my ring to pay for this one. In fact, wouldn’t you say this is more my room than yours?”

“I took it fair and square,” Myth said unabashedly. “It was in my possession, and I used it to get a room. You try to tell the guy downstairs that I took your ring and paid for a room that you now want to use…” He snorted. “Now get out of the bed and go be creepy somewhere else. I want to sleep.”

He really, truly did not want to share a bed with Callan after what he’d seen. Flippant as he was trying to be, Callan was still terrifying.

Callan smiled at him. “Do you?”

Myth had a response on the tip of his tongue, when he felt something cold wrap around his neck. It squeezed lightly, not enough to constrict his air, but the implication of the threat was very clear.

His cock throbbed.

His mind balked.

He didn’t know what the fuck to do.

So he whimpered, and he squirmed, but other than that, he remained still in his chair. Fuck. Callan could kill him. Why didn’t Callan just kill him? He could trick another human into picking up the amulet, surely. He was grateful that Callan wasn’t just murdering him, but he didn’t understand why, and now was not exactly the time to ask.

Callan sat up in the bed and leaned against the wall. “Are you sure you want me to leave? You aren’t convincing me.”

The thing around Myth’s neck loosened and traveled down his chest, slithering over Myth’s nipples. Myth looked down to see what it was, but his eyes couldn’t catch on anything more than a suggestion of shadow. He felt it though, the way it wound its way farther down and underneath his shirt, into his trousers.

He whimpered when it squeezed his cock lightly… and moved on, twining all around his legs, forcing them directly against the chair. He tried to get up, but whatever it was kept him firmly in place.

Gods help him, but he didn’t want this to stop.

He could hear Lore’s accusing words in his ears, and he could only imagine what his friend would say if he knew Myth was yet again falling prey to Callan even after finding out what he was.

“Can you just kill me quickly and get it over with?” Myth asked, though his voice was a little breathless and he couldn’t stop squirming in his seat.

“Why do you think I want to kill you?” Callan asked, dropping his hand down to his own pants. “You’re much more interesting as you are now.” He licked his lips suggestively.

The shadow—the tentacle, whatever it was—kept moving, or growing. Myth reached down for his cock, hoping to squeeze it and get it to calm down, but something wrapped around his wrist and forced it down onto the arm of the chair. He cursed.

“This is cheating in ways I can’t even—” Myth started to say, but the tentacle that had wrapped around his cock “stroked” it almost gently, and fuck! He didn’t know what to make of that. “Okay, that’s enough. Let me go,” he demanded, because he couldn’t just sit there and let this happen.

“I’ll let go when you want me to let go.” Callan undid the laces of his trousers and pulled out his cock.

For some reason Myth had expected it to look different, now that he knew what Callan was, but it was still simply a very large, human cock, dark with blood and leaking a bit at the tip.

Fuck. Okay. He had to get a hold of himself. He very, very much had to, but there he was, and Callan’s cock looked like it needed a good lick.

And maybe he’ll call you pet, or good boy, a smug, insidious little voice in the back of his mind purred.

Great, now his own mind was working against him.

The tentacles—because there were more now—continued to touch his body, even beneath his clothes. A few trailed over his lips, threatening to part them and push inside his mouth; a few others teased his nipples and kept them hardened buds. He hissed when they squeezed, but that was nothing compared to the larger tentacle-shadow-thing that had wrapped around his cock. A thin tendril was pressed against the head of his cock, threatening to slip inside, and he sat bolt upright.

“Oh, no. Not that. No. Not inside there,” Myth protested.

“No?” Callan continued to stroke himself. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment. “I could fill all of you, pet.”

The tendril rubbed around the slit, spreading the few beads of cum, before dipping inside just the tiniest bit.

It felt strange in a way Myth didn’t even know how to describe, and he let out a little noise. As though encouraged by the sound, the tendril slowly started to snake inside of him, and he moaned helplessly.

Another few tentacles spread his ass cheeks apart before one more started to slip into him. He tried to cry out, but the tentacles around his lips thrust inside when he opened his mouth.

“Suck,” Callan commanded, groaning. “You really are so pretty like this. Open and vulnerable to me. You’re always hiding. Except now. There’s no hiding from me.”

Myth wanted to protest, but he couldn’t. Not when those tentacles were filling each of his holes—thin and thick, but inevitable, something he knew he couldn’t fight.

Something he didn’t want to fight.

A strangled moan spilled past his lips, and he shook his head slightly instead of sucking on the tangible shadow in his mouth.

The tentacle sliding into his ass felt glossy, like it had been oiled up, and it entered him more and more until it curled up to nudge his prostate, pressing hard against it. Myth shook with the sheer pleasure of it. Was he always hiding? Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he? But this was only his body laid bare, not his mind. He still had that.

Except he didn’t, because he craved Callan’s approval, his words, his… everything.

The tentacle in his ass expanded, and it should have terrified Myth but all he could think was that he wanted more.

The tentacle in his cock—inside it—wriggled and vibrated, reaching his prostate from the other side, and the dual onslaught was so much that Myth thought he couldn’t last another second.

Except that same tentacle was keeping him from coming at all.

Myth groaned and sucked harder on the tentacles in his mouth. Please, he begged wordlessly.

Callan huffed a small sound. “That’s good, pet. So good. You’re drawing me in. I can feel all your soft parts. Everything you don’t want anybody to see. You’d crawl for me, if I asked. Beg to lick the drops from my cock and be grateful when I choked you.”

No, Myth wanted to protest, but he couldn’t get the word out. It came out as a garbled sound, his mouth spread too wide by the tentacles forcing their way into his mouth and back to his throat, threatening to trigger his gag reflex.

But all he could focus on was Callan’s words. Would he do those things? Would he crawl for the shade? Beg for his cock? Enjoy being choked?

So help him, the answer was yes. Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes, and he hated himself for it.

No wonder Lore had said he was the worst; no wonder Callan had said he was weak-willed.

But if being the worst and being weak-willed led to so much pleasure… What the fuck was wrong with it?

“Tell me again.” Callan’s hand moved faster over his own cock. “Tell me you want me to leave. Mean it. And I will.”

Myth couldn’t speak even if he wanted to, but he knew he couldn’t say it. Even if his mouth had been utterly empty—his cock, his ass, everything—he wouldn’t be able to tell Callan to leave and mean it. Instead he moaned, thrusting his hips against those tentacles, and watched Callan stroke the cock he so desperately wanted to lick and suck instead of these damn things.

Myth sucked harder on the tentacles in his mouth, licking them like he would have Callan’s cock, and Callan groaned in turn.

“Very… very good,” Callan said. “Do you want to come? Shall I let you? As soon as my shadow retreats, you won’t be able to hold back.”

The tendril inside his cock vibrated again, as if to remind Myth exactly what Callan was talking about.

He nodded fervently, unable to care about the idea of coming in his pants like a teenager. He’d rather come in Callan’s mouth, or spend onto their chests as he was being fucked by something other than tentacles and shadow-magic, but given the choice between this and nothing… He’d choose this.

He swallowed, letting the tentacles in his mouth creep down his throat, gagging him, choking him, and he thrust his hips out as he whined out a desperate plea.

The tentacle inside of his cock retreated, humming on its way back up through his cock, and Myth screamed as his orgasm ripped through him. The only consolation was that the tentacles in his mouth muffled his shout, but he was still left wrung out, exhausted.

Peaceful.

It was better than any orgasm he’d ever had before, and Myth’s head rolled back as he let himself drown in the sensations, drooling and coming into his pants and not caring in the slightest.

He made a contented noise that turned into disappointment when the tentacles retreated. Without them, he was boneless, weak. He could barely even look up.

He managed to force himself up enough to glance over at Callan. He could still suck him, or—

But Callan came right then with a low groan, seed splattering over his shirt.

Myth felt a small pang of disappointment. He’d wanted to be the cause of that.

Callan smiled at him. “Satisfied?”

The answer should’ve been yes, because his body was sated. But his mind wasn’t. He’d wanted to… to crawl, to beg, to suck and taste and drink down every drop of Callan’s climax. He nodded anyway, though, unwilling to put those thoughts into words.

But Callan would know.

Callan always knew anyway, and Myth didn’t even know how.

Shades gave people what they wanted. But how had he figured out so flawlessly what Myth wanted when he’d never even gone after it himself?

Callan patted the mattress next to him. “Ready for bed now?”

Myth yawned, finding that he was able to move his hands and feet then. He was a little dizzy as he stumbled up to his feet, nodding. He made his way to the bed and collapsed down next to Callan. “Don’t be creepy,” he mumbled, his voice a little raspy from how those tentacles had gone down his throat.

If Callan replied, Myth didn’t hear it as he fell quickly into sleep.