Chapter 13

CHAPTER13

Myth woke with a profound mixture of shame and self-loathing. He hated how much he’d enjoyed it, how fucking good it felt. Sex with Callan was some of the best he’d ever had, and part of that was because the shade trampled his boundaries and gave him what he needed instead of what he said he wanted. Callan had been right. Myth had wanted it, even though he’d fought against the onslaught of pleasure.

It was still wrong.

Just like it had been wrong for Callan to do those other terrible things, but Myth couldn’t get the words that had followed out of his head. A guard had lost his hand because of what Myth had done. How many other people had suffered because something had gone missing? He’d chosen to steal, but he’d needed to. How else was he supposed to survive?

And what did it mean, that Callan had once slept in moth-ridden beds? Did shades have childhoods, or did they come into the world fully formed?

If Callan had been born, if he’d had parents… What had turned him into such a monster?

Myth tried to get some more sleep but couldn’t rest, his mind racing about what had been said, about what had been done. About the fact that he wasn’t sure he’d ever come that hard in his life, and—

With the morning sun beginning to warm the sky, Myth got out of bed instead of letting his thoughts continue to spiral. He took the book over to the single small table and stared down at the pages.

The amulet was a key to unleashing an ancient evil onto the world, an evil that was sealed under an altar. Why did magic always have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t the amulet just be melted in fire?

Myth set the amulet next to the book. Actually, had anyone tried melting it? Myth could start a fire over by the small fireplace, and just thrust the amulet in, and…

A shudder of revulsion went through him. No, he couldn’t melt the amulet. That was a bad idea. The amulet was way too valuable to be melted, or dinged, or… or, fuck, Myth really had to figure out how he could make his will stronger than a stupid magical trinket’s.

The demon devoured all it came into contact with. Forests and fields became nothing but swamps of tar. The skies grew dark in its approach. Men and women warped and changed as they were absorbed into the demon.

That sounded extremely nasty. Myth had only heard of the “dark times” in passing, a story some older people told that sounded more like a fairy tale than a real event. If it was so important to the history of the kingdom, why was it already forgotten?

Callan probably knew a lot more about this. The next time he stopped by, Myth would have to ask him.

No, wait. Myth didn’t want to see Callan again, and it wasn’t like any of Callan’s information could be trusted.

Myth kept studying the book, trying to find more useful information, but his mind wandered and wandered.

Even after lunch and a fitful nap, Myth felt like every shadow was about to reach out and drag him to the floor.

Gods, Myth had to get his mind off of the creature who kept haunting him, who kept bringing him to places he didn’t want to go but where he willingly drowned once he was there.

As soon as it was dark, Myth packed up his things and left the shitty inn, needing to clear his head. A walk would do that, right? Even if the air smelled of rotting fish and urine, even if he had to constantly step over questionable substances on the ground, it was better than sitting in that one room just wondering if Callan was going to show up… and what would happen if he did.

What would happen if he never showed up again?

Unlikely. Myth still had the amulet, and Callan still wanted it. Until that changed, he’d see Callan again and again—and he didn’t even know why the shade wanted it so badly that he’d stalk Myth and seduce him. He was probably lying about not caring whether the amulet was used or destroyed.

A chill ran down his spine, because it couldn’t be anything good. Just as Izar and Eoghan had had ill intentions with it, it only made sense that Callan was up to no good as well.

Damn it. Why did the first man he was so utterly enraptured by have to be a creature instead of a person? Why couldn’t he have fallen for someone faithful and loyal, like Lore?

He grimaced at the thought. That would’ve been even more of a disaster.

Without realizing it, his feet had taken him to a block of houses where every door sported a very tell-tale red flag pinned to the door. Shit. This was not the place to find faithful and loyal people. It was just a place to make dumb mistakes and lose a lot of coin.

But maybe paying somebody to tie him up would get those fucking desires out of him. He could get the same fulfillment from anybody, not just Callan.

Myth reached for his coin purse, grimacing when he realized how light it was. Okay, if he wanted to pay for a good night, he’d have to get a bit more coin. Luckily, a street like this had a lot of drunk men and women whose attention was glued to the whores, not their purses.

Like… Myth spotted a round man who was flirting with one woman whose dress was so tight, her bosom spilled out at the top. The man’s coin purse was hanging loosely from his belt.

Not a bad mark, but the woman was eyeing the purse too. It was bad manners to interfere with somebody else’s mark.

He kept moving. There were others who were going in and out of the houses in the whoring district, and finally, he saw a woman bent over in an alley, vomiting her guts up. He cringed but approached anyway, and he held her hair back and murmured soothing words as he lifted her coin purse and tucked it away in his own pocket.

She’d pass out before long, and she’d never suspect the kind stranger was the one who’d taken her coin.

Myth should’ve felt relieved that he could finally afford to go into one of those houses without embarrassing himself with lack of coin, but his heart pounded alongside the singing of his nerves.

Still, he found a house comprised of men who wanted to whore themselves out for a good time, and he stopped in front of it. Was he really going to do this? Maybe it would be better to do this with a woman. It would be safer for him, at least, but…

No.

He lifted his head and walked purposefully into the red-flagged house with a penis on it.

A very tall, broad madam was standing near the front. She eyed him with a skeptical eye. “Sorry, hon. We aren’t looking for new workers right now.”

Myth gaped at her for a moment, his cheeks flushing darker as he struggled to gather himself. “I’m… not here for a job,” he managed to get out, even though his voice was little more than a squeak. He paused, gathering himself all over again, and he took the coin purse out of his pocket. Hopefully it was more than a few coppers, but it had a nice heft to it that indicated silvers. “I’m here as a paying client.”

The madam cheered right up when she saw the coin, and Myth had to fight not to roll his eyes. “Well then. What are you looking for? A small, gentle man to help you feel comfortable? Or someone big and burly to give you a real hard pounding?”

Myth’s breath caught, and he realized he didn’t want either of those things. He wanted someone bigger than him, certainly, but composed and casually cruel in the bedroom, who ignored his protests and—

“Anyone interested in playing with rope?” he asked as casually as he could muster, but his voice cracked like he was a teenager all over again. Damn it, he wasn’t that young and inexperienced, and he knew how to ask for what he wanted. But he wanted someone to coo at him and call him pet, and…

He wanted Callan.

No, he told himself sternly. He did not want Callan. He just wanted the experience Callan gave him.

“Someone who knows how to take control,” he added.

“Oh, one of those. Yes, I have just the person in mind. Val!” she shouted. “Client for you!” Then she put a hand on Myth’s back and ushered him through the open doorway to the parlor.

What the fuck was he getting himself into?

He didn’t have time to think, though, before a man was approaching him. He was tall and thin, with long blond hair and a very serious air to him. He wore very tight leather pants and a vest that was open in the front.

“Val” quirked his brow at Myth. “Him? Are you sure you can handle it, boy?”

That made Myth bristle. He might be smaller, but he was lean and agile, and he had taken care of himself his entire life on his fucking own. “I can handle it,” he said with a stubborn set to his jaw. Depending on what “it” was, anyway.

“All right.” Val smirked at Myth condescendingly. “Then follow me.” He started to lead Myth up the stairs of the bordello.

Myth didn’t like the guy, and he was starting to regret his decision to come here. How was he going to have a better experience when it was with someone who so clearly looked down on him…

He almost scoffed at himself.

Like Callan didn’t look down on him?

Once they were in the room, Val turned to Myth. “What are you expecting? I’ll tie you up, I can call you names, keep you on the edge… I won’t cut you or piss on you though. And if you have an actual issue with what we’re doing, just tell me to stop and I will.”

That didn’t sound like what Myth wanted at all.

“I want you to tie me up and… praise me,” Myth said. “Humiliate me and tell me how much I want you to control me.” It wasn’t nearly as interesting when he had to set the limits. He didn’t actually care for this at all. But he’d committed to it, and now he was going to go through with it, one way or another.

“I can do that, boy.” Val folded his arms across himself. “Now, strip. Let me see if this is even worth my time.”

“Not that kind of humiliation,” Myth said with a sigh. “Like… pretend to be a noble, and… and you value me… or something,” he added hurriedly, blushing all over again.

Val’s eyebrows shot up at that, but he shrugged. “Sure. Strip anyway, and get on the bed so I can tie you up properly. If you’re very good and manage to hold still while I work on the ropes, I might even let you suck my cock.”

Myth fought the urge to sigh again, this time in frustration. Was he going to have to dictate the whole thing?

Well… Yes. That was sort of what he’d come here for, for someone to give him the experience he wanted. He just had to be more patient. After this, though, he’d simply try to seduce a noble instead of paying a prostitute to pretend to be one.

He had to get Callan out of his head.

He stripped down and got onto the bed, and Val started tying him down. It took an excruciatingly long amount of time, and even then, the ropes were loose enough to where he could slip free if he tried.

Myth didn’t know what was wrong with him, where this wasn’t enough. He shouldn’t have wanted to be with someone who would tie him down even as he protested, who claimed to know him so well that he was aware of what Myth needed more than Myth himself.

Even if Callan was always right.

Normally, he’d have been hard and leaking, but his cock was still soft and on the pathetic side of things. Even when Val began to stroke him, doing his best to fuss over him and even tell him how “good” he was being, it wasn’t enough.

His mind wandered, and he remembered how it had felt to have those shadowy tendrils choke him, to stroke his cock, to be inside of him all at once. He’d been so full, as intangible as they’d truly been, and Callan had been thoroughly, completely in charge.

Myth groaned after a few minutes, and he looked up to see Val’s face scrunched up in annoyed frustration.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Val asked after another long moment.

Yes. No. Maybe… Well, yes, he wanted it, but not from someone he was paying to do it and stop when he asked them to.

“No,” he said with a sigh. He didn’t even have to tell Val to untie him. He easily slipped the ropes, and he got up with a sinking feeling in his gut. He was ruined. Completely, totally, utterly ruined. He’d never needed to be tied up before, and he’d had a grand old time. This would’ve been a little kinky, a little fun, and he’d have gotten off on it.

Not anymore.

He got dressed and paid Val for his time, even giving him a little extra to make up for the fact that the time had been a total waste. He went back downstairs while Val was stripping the bed to get it ready for his next client, and he dreaded seeing the madam of the establishment because he didn’t want her to judge him.

“Truly? You’ll have to tell me what you want, so I can make sure you get it,” a dark, sultry voice said from the parlor.

With dread, Myth looked down the stair banisters and saw Callan sitting on one of the chairs, a pretty young prostitute in his lap. The prostitute giggled and ran his fingers through Callan’s beard.

“We’re here to give you what you want,” the prostitute said, moving in to get his lips closer to Callan’s. “As soon as you’ve paid, of course.”

Callan raised his eyes to meet Myth’s, smirking straight at him. “Everything has a cost these days. What’s the world come to?”

Myth stormed over to them, possessive jealousy raging through him. The whore was younger than Myth, though not by much, and he was gorgeous, too. “Excuse me,” he announced, not even bothering to try to keep the growl from his voice as he glared daggers at the prostitute. “I need to have a word with this… gentleman.”

The whore scowled at him. “Get lost. He’s my client.”

Myth scowled right back. “Not anymore.”

Callan grabbed the whore’s chin and tilted it back to himself. “It’s all right. You don’t really want to fuck me anyway. But I’ll give you a small tip.” He leaned in closer and whispered something into the whore’s ear.

The whore’s eyes widened, and he quickly nodded. “Uh, yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He got off Callan’s lap and wrapped his arms around himself like he was cold. “Bye.” He didn’t look back as he rushed toward another door and disappeared from the room.

Callan rested his chin on his hand and looked up at Myth. “Did you have fun?”

Myth narrowed his eyes at Callan. “What are you doing here?” he counter-questioned, not wanting to admit how terrible the last few minutes had been.

“I thought I’d give you this. Since you forgot to take it last time.” Callan held up a book, which had definitely not been there a few seconds ago. It was thick and bound in dark leather, with no title anywhere on the cover.

Strange.

Myth hesitantly took the book and flipped open the cover. The inside text, in a very neat and beautiful handwriting, said, Theories on Transformational Magics.

The author’s name had been blacked out. Myth tapped on that line. He was pretty sure there was no author listed in the book he’d read. And this binding, and the handwriting, were all completely different from the ones in the library. Even the size of the book didn’t seem right. It was a lot thicker than the other version.

“Where did you get this?” Myth asked. It certainly wasn’t from the library. He flipped it open, looking for the section that had read On Shades, curious to see if the text differed from the volume he’d read before.

A sudden shadow cast over the pages, preventing him from reading more.

“I had a copy lying around,” Callan said as he stood. “Now, would you like to grab dinner? Or would you prefer to keep sitting here until the madam notices us and kicks us out?”

Myth winced, closing the book. Right. They were in the middle of a whorehouse, and he’d already cheated one prostitute and chased off another. He shoved the book into his pack, which was getting increasingly heavy, and headed for the door. “The only places to get dinner are liable to make even a shadow’s stomach roil,” he warned. He was used to the sort of fare this section of town offered, but he couldn’t resist poking at Callan.

Though…

As sure as he sometimes was that Callan was nobility of some kind, he didn’t always act like he’d had a noble upbringing. Nobles wouldn’t have slept in filthy beds and gotten covered in bug bites, either.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not so bad.” Callan hooked his arm around Myth’s. “There’s a little theater dinner place down the street. We can watch a very raunchy show while you eat and read. I hear the dancers are very agile.”

“Fine, fine,” Myth said, squirming but unable to bring himself to pull away from Callan. “Dinner and a show it is. Then we’re… even.” Except for the amulet, which he was still unsure of what to do with. He was sure Callan would eventually bring up some sort of solution again, and maybe that would even be something that could work.

“Oh, my pretty thief. We’re far from even. But it’s a start.”

Myth glared at him, and Callan only laughed.

Still, Myth couldn’t quite hate the idea of spending more time with Callan.