Chapter 19

CHAPTER19

Callan had to admit, he’d surprised himself.

The choice should have been easy. Give his master one pretty little thief, and Callan would never have to deal with him ever again.

But the feather pulsed in his chest, warming him, even as his master’s sludge beat against the shadows Callan had created around them.

“You dare disobey me?” his master shouted, as acid rained down on them, sizzling as it scored the ground in front of them.

Callan grimaced in pain as the acid threatened to eat away at his shadows. “You have the rest of the world. Leave me be, as promised.”

“You cannot defy me!” The demon suddenly collapsed into itself, but the ooze spread out across the clearing, covering every last inch of ground. Only the spot around them, warmed by a single fucking feather, remained safe.

“How… how are you keeping him at bay?” Myth asked. “Can you get us out of here?”

Without the feather in his chest, he might have been able to find the smallest shadows and slipped into them, taking Myth with him and racing across the world to safety.

But without the feather, they might both have been consumed already.

Callan bared his teeth, casting around them. He didn’t dare step into the shadows across his master’s form. “He’s limiting my access to the shadows. Not like I could have taken us very far anyway.” He glanced at Myth and gave him a sardonic grin. “I suppose my hand has been forced. I hope you aren’t too afraid of the dark.”

“What? I’m not afraid at all,” Myth said with far too much bravado.

He probably wouldn’t be so brave once he saw what lay underneath Callan’s false exterior—this shape he clung to, this shape he’d discarded so long ago.

Callan laughed and released Myth, released himself.

He rose up and out, stretching across the sky and blotting out what little light dared defile this unholy site. Callan hadn’t been a man in years. He wasn’t handsome, or well-put together, or charming. He was a mass of hunger, of want, of the darkest desires people only dreamed of in nightmares.

He was the blackest void, he was pure black—

Except for one small irritating speck of light, pulling him in again, washing out his shadows and limiting his form.

Callan rose up, and with him, the world around them plunged into darkness.

The only source of light was the feather, illuminating the scene in small pulses. Myth reached out for it, his warm hand fumbling inside Callan’s dark.

His master’s disgusting laugh echoed in the dark. “You think you can fight me? I made you. You exist only by my will.”

“I would rather not,” Callan said as he stretched out across the field. Tar rose up, trying to grip Callan’s form, but Callan slipped through it, ignoring the pain—the same pain he’d endured for the past hundred and fifty years, ever since his master had first been sealed away.

The tar lapped at him in waves, and Callan took small drops and let them vanish into the shadows, making them part of himself.

For every drop he consumed, another wave rose up, devouring pieces of his shadow. If he could grow larger… or if he could disappear into the smallest speck… but he had to keep part of himself here, too.

He had to protect Myth.

Suddenly, more sludge pounded against the barrier of dark around Myth. Myth startled and stumbled against Callan, into Callan.

The feather inside Callan flared up, and the heat made Callan cry out. He shrank down again, wrapping himself around Myth.

The next wave of sludge burned up before it could touch them.

Fucking Athan. Callan wanted to laugh at the irony. The one thing that was holding his master back was the only thing keeping them safe.

“The feather!” Myth said urgently, clinging to him. “Callan, use the feather!”

Callan shook his head with a wry smile. “If I do that, he can touch my core. The feather is mostly a curse, but in this one instance… it’s the only protection we have against my master.”

“It’s not your master anymore,” Myth said fiercely. “You can fight it. It’s been locked away, unable to feed on anything, and you… You’ve been getting stronger and stronger, haven’t you?”

Yes, Callan had been getting stronger. He’d spent decades consuming other shades, eating the hungers of others. He’d almost defeated Athan, even.

Was his master stronger than a phoenix?

“He is weak. A mere shade. I am death and decay. I consume everything.” His master crashed into him, and even with the feather’s protection, he ate through Callan’s form, sending agonizing pain through him.

The next pulse of light illuminated Myth’s tear-stained face.

Why was Callan clinging to this thief? Why did he care so much for a desperate, pathetic little human, who wouldn’t take what he wanted, yet all he wanted was Callan?

Callan sank down into himself, until he was as tall as a human. He took Myth’s arms and guided them to himself again.

Athan had given Callan this feather to hurt him, to protect him—and to save him.

But Callan didn’t need protection, and he didn’t need saving, and he had to finally let go of the reminders of his past that hurt him.

“Take it,” Callan hissed. “Reach inside me again and take the feather.”

“What? But I can’t. It’s yours.” Myth shook his head. “I don’t want you to get even more hurt.”

“You can have it now. You were right. I did care for Athan. I cherished him more than I admitted. But I don’t need him anymore. And I want you to have it. So take it, my pet. Claim what is yours.” Callan pulled Myth closer to himself.

“But it’s not mine,” Myth protested. “He gave it to you, to protect you. Use it, Callan. Drive the demon away.”

Callan made a frustrated noise while the demon laughed. Why did the little thief pick now, of all times, to stop thieving?

A small drip of acid tore through Callan and landed on Myth’s shoulder. Myth hissed in pain, reaching up to wipe the acid away.

Callan quickly grabbed his fingers before he could touch it, using a shadow to soothe the burn of acid. “You always protest when I try to give you something,” Callan said, laughing bitterly. “But I will, as always, insist.”

Even if Callan failed here, the feather would keep Myth safe. That mattered more. Callan would be reshaped. The shadows never truly died. But he didn’t want to think about what Myth would suffer if his master managed to devour him.

Myth shook his head and tried to evade, but Callan’s hold was strong. Callan took hold of the feather—too bright, too hot, unnatural—and brought it closer to Myth.

“Stop! Callan, it’s yours!” Myth cried, tears brimming in his eyes.

“You really need to stop lurking around the dark,” Callan said, and he shoved the feather inside Myth.

Myth gasped, and Callan had to pull back as he glowed so bright. The magic of the feather sang inside Myth, filling his pretty thief and making him glow as beautifully as he deserved. Another drop of acid threatened to fall on him, but the feather caught it and flared, destroying it before it could get through like it was some sort of shield.

And now, finally, Callan was free of it. He sighed in relief as he felt the dark call to him once more.

Myth stared at him with wide, unnaturally golden eyes. “Now, Callan!” he said desperately. “I’m safe. You’re stronger again. Show me. Show it.”

Callan’s shadows rose up again, and this time, he engulfed all the ruins, and met his master head on. They crashed against each other, some of Callan’s shadowy tendrils slapping away decay, while others were consumed by them.

“You stand no chance. And now I can consume every last part of you and make you mine,” the demon taunted.

“You said I was a mere shade.” Callan sank down and disappeared, only to rise up again on the other side of the clearing. “But I’m no mere anything. I was once the most powerful mage in the land. I’ve brought kings and peasants, humans and phoenixes, to their knees. And all that without even once touching their flesh.” He pulled the sludge into himself, smirking as he did.

His master’s acid flowed through him, trying to eat away the dark, but what could his master do against the shadows now? Callan laughed, heady with power.

He hadn’t realized just how much he’d been limiting himself by clinging to the last vestiges of his humanity, wanting and wanting and wanting something he’d never truly had.

Callan didn’t even care that parts of himself dripped away, turned into sludge that joined his master. They could fight like this for an eternity.

Except.

His master screeched and dove not at Callan, but at the ruins. The impact sent old stone flying outward, toward one small, bright figure.

“Don’t touch him!” Callan roared, diving down just in time to protect Myth from the impact. He grimaced against the heat of Myth’s body, but that was nothing compared to the pain from the sludge rising up against him once more.

Myth panted heavily. “Callan! Are you all right?”

“Get to the altar. Use the feather,” Callan hissed. “I’ll clear a path for you, but I can’t take you into my shadows anymore.”

“But… what about you?” Myth asked, full of concern.

Callan laughed. “You’re worried about me, after I betrayed you? I’m a creature of shadow, my pet. No matter how much of me he devours, I can always reshape myself.”

As much as he enjoyed talking with Myth, though, Callan couldn’t let himself be distracted. He rose up again, away from the brightness, and dashed at his master, dropping into the shadows and taking parts of his master with him.

It wasn’t enough. His master was too vast.

But Callan was certain he’d be able to save one small, insignificant, human.