Chapter 21

CHAPTER21

Myth opened his eyes and saw a very familiar ceiling. The bed was the exact level of discomfort he remembered. The crack on the wall traveled down far enough that he used to wonder if the wall would crumble entirely.

The bedroom in his mother’s rented rooms.

Myth rolled onto his side, wincing at the aches. Right, getting thrown around did that to you. It was a wonder he hadn’t gotten hurt worse.

Sitting across from him at the small table, illuminated by moonlight, was Callan, scribbling inside a book.

“Where’s Kiara?” Myth asked.

Callan chuckled and set his quill down. “That’s the first thing you want to say to me?”

“You mentioned wanting to fuck me senseless after I got some rest,” Myth said. “I don’t want to get interrupted.”

And he simply… didn’t want his mother there. It wasn’t fair of him at all, but he didn’t want to see her. Admitting that to himself hurt a little, but he knew that Kiara didn’t really miss him when he was gone.

She missed his coin.

“But seriously, why did you bring me here?” he asked, sitting up on the bed with a grimace.

“I thought you might appreciate someplace familiar.” Callan turned his chair to face Myth completely. “And to answer your question, your mother found a rich friend who is entertaining her in another gambling den. I had nothing to do with that. Your mother can be charming when she wants to be.”

Yeah, Myth was well aware of that fact. “Good,” he said, leaning against the wall. “Though I’m pretty banged up. Fucking guards. Maybe I’m not up for a solid fucking.” He smirked, watching Callan closely.

“No?” Callan smiled back at him. “I suppose I’ll have to go find something else to entertain me, then. The royal palace is in quite the uproar right now. That should be an interesting time.”

“I imagine so, since their king went and disappeared,” Myth remarked. “Do they even know where he was going?” He didn’t think so. Most kings weren’t going to admit to trying to unleash a terrible demon of death and decay upon their own lands.

“Well, the pile of corpses I left in their courtyard might have given them a clue.” Callan extended his hand in front of him, and a shadowy castle appeared in his palm. “It’s ripe for the taking, now. We wouldn’t even need a dragon to threaten everybody into submission.”

“I’m sure his daughter will take over,” Myth said dismissively, only to blink a moment later and hold up a hand. “Wait. What? We? No, I already told you. I’m not interested in being a noble. What would a thief know about ruling?”

“About as much as a princess, I assume.” Callan started laughing. “Are you sure you don’t want it? The royal vaults would be yours, and you wouldn’t even need to break in. You could argue with councilors about how to distribute the wealth, and when one of the nobles argued with you, we would simply let them disappear into the shadows.”

When Callan put it that way, it didn’t sound that bad. There was a part of him that almost considered it. Distribution of wealth… that meant he could ensure other children didn’t grow up as poor as he had.

But he’d just run the coffers dry because he had no idea how those things actually worked.

Besides, Callan was still a demon, and it didn’t seem fair to put a demon in charge. He’d live forever, long past when Myth would die, and what would happen to Phassis without someone to keep Callan in check?

Myth burst out laughing. Like he thought he could keep Callan in check? “No. Just… No.”

The shadowy castle melted away along with the rest of Callan. Myth blinked, and a sudden cold at his back was the only warning he had before Callan was beside him, one arm flung across Myth’s shoulders.

“No kingdoms for this royal bastard. It’s for the best. I’ve never met a ruler who was happy. They surround themselves with sycophants, they pile the treasures up around them, they sleep with anybody who catches their eye—but it’s not enough.” Callan trailed a finger down Myth’s cheek. “So, aside from a very thorough fuck, what does my little thief want?”

“I’m not yours,” Myth said stubbornly, even though he knew perfectly well that was a lie. Myth had never belonged to someone more thoroughly than he belonged to Callan. “I mean…” What if Callan didn’t actually want him at all?

“No?” Callan leaned closer and nipped the shell of Myth’s ear. “Should I find somebody else’s shadow to darken? Perhaps a cute little sorcerer, who is saving himself for his one true love?”

Myth froze at that, then shook his head vigorously, fighting against the jealousy to see reason. He didn’t need to be told who Callan was referring to. “Leave him alone,” he told Callan fiercely. “Lore deserves to have his one true love. He’d never accept you, anyway.”

“Who’s to say I’m not his one true love?” Callan gripped Myth’s neck lightly, his fingers almost burning in their cold. “I could take him inside myself, send him hurtling through the shadows, and bask in his terror until he begs me to take him.”

Myth shuddered, shaking his head as he squirmed beneath Callan’s touch. “Don’t… don’t you fucking dare,” he said, glaring with as much ferocity as he could muster.

Callan’s fingers tapped their way up Myth’s throat and to his lips, rubbing insistently until Myth parted them, mostly out of habit. “No need to worry. Why would I want your dull, unimaginative, entirely uninteresting friend?” He chuckled darkly. “I have a needy, hungry little pet here. Now be a good boy and suck.”

A shudder ran through Myth, his cock getting hard at those words he both hated and desired so fiercely.

The words he hungered for more than anything else.

He wrapped his lips around Callan’s ice-cold fingers, around the shadows that flowed around them, and sucked and nipped, moaning around him.

“Lovely,” Callan murmured, nibbling Myth’s jaw.

More shadowy tendrils rose up, winding their way around Myth’s body. Myth struggled against them, but despite how intangible they looked, they were strong, forcing Myth’s wrists up against the wall.

Callan sat back, yet his fingers—or some part of him—remained in Myth’s mouth, prying his mouth even wider, stroking his tongue and palate and making Myth shiver and moan.

Please, he wanted to say, though he was grateful he couldn’t speak at all. He didn’t want to inflate Callan’s ego even more by begging him for this, but the word lingered on the tip of his tongue. It didn’t matter if he said it. Callan already knew.

He squirmed, fingers clenching and unclenching as he tried to fight the hold on his wrists, to free his cock and stroke instead of simply being tormented.

The shadows burrowed under his simple shirt and trousers, caressing his skin—but staying torturously far away from his cock. Despite that, his erection grew, and Myth was sure he would end up with an embarrassing wet spot.

Easier to simply give himself over to the sensations and not worry about what he looked like.

Callan’s hand brushed the hair away from Myth’s forehead, then gripped Myth’s chin to force him to look up.

“What a debauched, degenerate little pet you are,” Callan said, and even though the words were mean, from Callan’s lips they sounded almost… affectionate.

Myth whimpered, staring at Callan. The shade’s eyes were deep pools of black, something he could get lost in, but it only made him feel safer. The chill of those tendrils in his mouth, sliding along his body… all of it made him feel more desired, more wanted.

He gave a shake of his head, though, in a pathetic show of protest—for the sake of appearances, really, just to let Callan know he wasn’t a completely broken down little pet who would beg for scraps.

Yet, anyway.

Callan laughed, and the tendrils inside Myth’s mouth grew, pushing almost against the back of his throat. Any farther and Myth wouldn’t be able to breathe.

“You think you aren’t debased? I know you are. I should string you up naked in the town square, for all to see.”

The shadows on Myth’s chest pushed his shirt up to reveal his nipples. Myth groaned and struggled, but he couldn’t evade their touches. He couldn’t do anything when the strange tentacles began pulling and sucking and pinching his nipples.

“You protest, but look at how you react. You want this. You want to show the world how desperate you are.” Callan sank down just enough to bite down on Myth’s ear. “You want me to claim you in front of everybody, and let them see how thoroughly you belong to me.”

Myth writhed beneath that touch, trying to whine out a protest, but he couldn’t get anything out. He looked helplessly down at the tendrils that were tormenting his nipples, leaving them perky little nubs. As he watched, one of the shadows wrapped itself around his left nipple, putting even more pressure on it until it was red and abused. He cried out, but a second shadow did the same to his other nipple, leaving both of them swollen and needy, a perfect target for the slight blow of cool air.

His eyes flickered closed, and he leaned his head heavily against the wall, unable to do a damn thing but try to breathe through it.

“What would they all think?” Callan asked with rich amusement. “To see you drooling like this, gagging for my cock? To see you whining and begging for me to take you apart?”

Myth struggled faintly, only for a moment before those tendrils tightened around his nipples. When he gasped, other tentacles plunged into his mouth, his throat, starting to choke him for only a moment before withdrawing.

The shadows around his legs squeezed and pushed, forcing Myth’s thighs up and apart. Callan stroked Myth’s cock through his trousers, and even with the fabric in the way, Myth’s entire body jerked, and he howled pathetically.

“You see why I have a hard time believing you don’t want this at all,” Callan said. He kissed the inside of Myth’s thigh, only inches from his crotch. “But these are in the way. Hmm…”

Myth tried to close his thighs so it would be easier to remove the trousers, but there was no give at all.

Then he heard a rip.

And Callan’s finger pushed against his hole. “There we go. I should have you cut all your pants here, so I can bend you over and fuck you whenever I please.”

There was definitely a wet spot on his pants now from where he was leaking through them. The words that should’ve had him ashamed had him on the verge of coming, and every time he squirmed, the sensation of nearly there ran through him. He didn’t want to orgasm like this, though, untouched and unattended to, and he fought it off.

Callan’s finger thrust into him, and Myth… Myth saw an explosion in front of his eyes as everything whited out and he cried out his ragged climax. His hips bucked and shook as he thoroughly wet the front of his trousers with more cum than he’d even thought he could produce.

The tendrils around his nipples let up slightly, but that finger… No, that finger didn’t let up at all as Callan started to stretch him.

“It looks like I need to house train you. Coming without permission, not even waiting for me to be properly inside you,” Callan said with mock disappointment. “Good thing I don’t need you to do anything but lay there and take it.”

No, Myth wanted to say, but his mouth was still gagged, and his entire body was limp from orgasm, and Callan’s cool hands on his thighs felt so good. He groaned and drooled as Callan lined himself up.

Callan wasn’t gentle, and Callan didn’t wait for Myth’s body to recover. He thrust inside, taking what he wanted, using Myth like a mere toy.

Myth could only let out whimpers and moans, the sounds desperate as the pleasure heightened to something he couldn’t control. He’d already come, and his cock was so sensitive that he thought he might be able to come again if Callan kept this up. It was unimaginably good, something he’d never even dreamed about.

Of course, if someone had told him he’d get off on being treated like a toy… He wouldn’t have believed that, either.

“You’re mine,” Callan said as he brutally fucked Myth. “You will never be able to step foot anywhere without my shadow at your heels. Your… desires… your hungers… your wants… give them all to me.” Callan gripped Myth’s chin and kissed him hard, sending more darkness rushing down Myth’s throat. “You will never, ever be able to have anyone else ever again.”

Those words took a moment to register, so distant were they from anything he’d ever felt before. No one had ever wanted him. No one had ever made him feel so desired.

Maybe the shade was simply feeding on him. Maybe that was all it was.

Myth gave himself over to it anyway. It should’ve choked him; Myth expected it to. But all it did was pour coldness into his stomach, into the core of him, until he was thoroughly chilled through and through. He gave himself over to the shadows and the dark, clenching around Callan’s cock—around his shadows, sucking and trying to give Callan a fraction of the pleasure he was receiving.

The shadows shifted, and Myth found himself lying on the bed, blearily blinking up at Callan as the thrusts got faster, harder.

Without thinking, Myth lifted his arms and wrapped them around Callan’s body.

Callan cried out and came, pulling Myth close enough to kiss him. Myth moaned and shuddered, clenching to draw out Callan’s orgasm.

Callan had all of him already.

But he wanted all of Callan, too.

Something cold and only vaguely tangible spilled into him, and Myth wasn’t sure if it was cum or more shadows. It didn’t matter. It only mattered that he’d pulled this final thing out of Callan, that Callan had given him this final thing, and he lay there trembling as he reveled in every heightened sensation.

The feeling in his mouth receded, and he closed his mouth around a sore jaw, ignoring the way drool had slid down his chin. He tried to catch his breath, his chest heaving with each failure to regain control of himself. “Callan,” he choked out, though he paused, not even knowing what he wanted to say.

Callan… settled, somehow, becoming more tangible, more himself, and Myth lay his head on Callan’s now bare chest. He was still cold and inhuman, but Myth sighed contentedly.

Callan stroked Myth’s head, his fingers running gently across Myth’s scalp. “Myth,” he answered softly.

Myth let out a weak little chuckle, but he lost the thread of amusement in the wake of so much pleasure. He touched Callan’s chest, marveling at how very tangible he felt even though Myth knew he was anything but. “Did you mean that?”

The silence stretched out between them, and Myth’s heart grew heavier. He knew people said things they didn’t mean in the height of pleasure. But for just a moment, he’d thought… he’d hoped…

Then Callan’s hands on his hair tightened to the point of pain. “I have never said anything I didn’t want to say.” He pulled on Myth’s hair and forced Myth to look up at him. “It’s far too late for any regrets, pet. You had your chance to be rid of me.”

“Did I?” Myth asked, considering for a moment. Certainly, there had been a moment in which he could’ve bound Callan and the demon alike, but… He hadn’t been able to do it. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I don’t want to be rid of you.”

“Then only one question remains.” Callan released Myth’s hair and went back to gentle strokes. “What would you like to do from here on out?”

Myth slowly let out a breath, feeling like he’d passed some sort of test—when really, he knew he’d just damned himself. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t… I don’t want to stay here.” He glanced up at Callan, into the dark pools of his eyes. “What happens when you… feed off my hunger?”

Funny, how the first time he thought to ask was when it was too late to change the outcome.

Callan smiled down at him. “We both have a very good time. And isn’t that all that matters?”

It didn’t quite work like that. “And when your hunger gets to be too much? No more encouraging people to rape and murder, Callan,” Myth said with more certainty than he really felt—because he knew perfectly well he had no control whatsoever over what the shade did or didn’t do.

Especially now, when Myth had fed him all the power of a centuries’-old demon it had taken so much power to seal away.

“If you’re that concerned, you’ll just have to keep me entertained.” Callan tapped the tip of Myth’s nose. “This is a very poor time for you to worry about me stepping out on you.”

Myth let out a quiet snort of a laugh, closing his eyes. “What else am I supposed to do? Exchange sweet nothings? Tell you I love you?”

His heart clenched in his chest. He didn’t. Did he? Could he? He certainly didn’t expect Callan to love him.

Callan’s other hand reached out to grip Myth’s—the one that still had Callan’s ring on it. “Oh, you don’t need to confess anything. We’re still wearing each other’s rings, after all.”

“Technically, you’re wearing another man’s ring, too,” Myth teased, but he didn’t mind Callan wearing Athan’s ring. Much. Just as long as Myth’s ring was right there, on Callan’s ring finger.

“I’m not giving it to you again,” Callan said, with equal amusement. “You had your chance. There’s no escaping the dark for you anymore.”

“Then it’s good that’s the last thing I want.” Myth yawned, snuggling up closer to Callan.

“You don’t need the light to guide you,” Callan murmured. He lay his hand across Myth’s eyes. “I’ll find you in the dark if you ever get lost.”

There was something clever to say, Myth was sure of it, but he couldn’t think of the words. He only hummed in agreement, exhaling slowly. “I’ll never be lost with you beside me.”

Myth didn’t know what he wanted to do tomorrow.

But whatever he did, he knew he wanted Callan at his side, dogging his shadow, binding him, trapping him—

Freeing him.