Chapter 4

CHAPTER4

After several long moments, Myth took the amulet out of his pocket again, still wheezing as he stared at the damned thing. What the fuck was he going to do with it? If someone like Izar wanted it—if someone like Eoghan wanted it—it had to be bad news. He couldn’t just hand it over to one of them.

A hundred and fifty gold though… That could get him and his mother far out of Phassis to Priyana, all their debts paid and nobody chasing them down.

But no. Even as he thought about it, the amulet seemed to shimmer in the light, and he closed his fist around it as he sank down until he was sitting on the ground.

One breath, two. He just had to calm down and think.

If he couldn’t sell the fucking thing, maybe he could destroy it. Maybe—

“Is that comfortable?” a dark, rich voice asked. “I think something recently died in that spot.”

“Then it’ll be a good place for someone to slit my throat and leave me for dead,” Myth said sourly, grateful to be able to breathe again, at least.

But then he realized he recognized that voice.

Oh, well, wasn’t this grand? This day just kept getting better and better.

How the fuck had Callan even found him?

“If they slit your throat here, they’d probably regret it,” Callan said. He came to stand in front of Myth. Somehow, despite having walked through the mud and filth of the alley, his boots were still gleaming, polished black.

Myth looked up to glare at him. “Why would they regret it?”

Callan smirked at him. “For one, the mess. For another… I’m here right now too. And I enjoyed myself enough with you that I would be very, very mad at them.”

“Aww, isn’t that sweet?” Myth drawled. He pushed the necklace into his pocket again, trying to be surreptitious about it. “I only have one of the rings left. I can tell you where the others are, though.”

“Keep it.” Callan dropped down to squat in front of him. “Didn’t find what you wanted, did you? Couldn’t get rid of the thing you didn’t want, either.”

Myth scowled harder, wishing he hadn’t ruined his pants in the fucking mud just because he’d been tired, like he was a child who hadn’t been able to stand anymore. It was a wonder someone like Callan would even look at him, let alone talk to him.

But of course, Callan had done much more than talk to him…

His cheeks flushed as he remembered just how it had felt, too, and how unfamiliar it had been while at the same time feeling so right—

“It’s not your business,” Myth muttered. “Now be on your way before I push you back into the mud with me and ruin your fancy pants.”

“They can’t get much dirtier than they already are, with me wearing them.” Callan laughed to himself. “Which one did you keep?”

“Does it matter? I’m going to get rid of it, too, once I find another buyer,” Myth lied. “Your ruby was a fake, by the way. Barely worth anything.”

“Oh, I knew that when I bought it.” Callan reached out to take Myth’s hand, holding it up to reveal the silver band he’d kept. It had been on Callan’s index finger, but the size meant Myth had placed it on his middle finger.

Myth tried to pull his hand back, but Callan’s hold was strong—and something about that made Myth’s heart hammer faster in his chest. “If you knew it was a fake, why did you buy it?”

“Because it was pretty, and I didn’t need it to be real. I liked the color.” Callan’s smirk dropped a little. “Glass holds some spells better than rubies, anyway. The only thing you need a ruby for is to trap something.”

The only thing…

Myth tensed up. It seemed like Callan knew. But he couldn’t know about the amulet. No one but Izar did, and there was no way the two of them could’ve had a conversation between the time he left and now.

“Yeah? What kind of thing does the— does a ruby trap?” Myth asked, trying not to sound too interested but failing miserably.

Callan finally let go of Myth’s hand. It should have been a relief—Callan’s hand was so cold—but Myth didn’t know what to do with his hand anymore. He ended up dropping it to his lap, hoping it didn’t look too awkward.

It didn’t matter. Callan placed a single finger under Myth’s chin and, with barely any force at all, tilted his head up.

Their eyes met, and Myth was struck again just how dark Callan’s eyes were.

“A ruby could trap a pretty thief,” Callan whispered. “Caught, wanting and wanting, longing for more, for better, and isn’t that your due? What would you do, if you had what you were due?”

For a moment, Myth was too enraptured in Callan’s gaze to even register those words. They weighed him down, each one making his brain feel fuzzy… and his cock hard. He didn’t even know why. There was just something about that touch, about the idea of what could happen, that made his body react so strongly he could barely stand it. “Nothing you need to know about,” he finally said.

“I can give you what you want,” Callan answered, leaning close enough to brush their lips against each other. “I can make you the person you want to be. Break the trap and take what you want, pretty thief.”

The person he wanted to be? What kind of person was that? Myth didn’t even know. He didn’t want to be a noble. Sure, it would’ve been nice to have had his father at least acknowledge him, but he didn’t want that kind of life. All he wanted was for his mother to be free of debt, free of her addiction to gambling.

Mage or not, Callan couldn’t do that.

But what Callan could give him…

Myth shuddered, leaning in to press their lips together in a soft, almost chaste kiss that turned needy nearly at once.

Callan gripped Myth’s shoulders and hauled him up, pushing him roughly against the alley wall. Myth moaned into the kiss and tried to grab Callan in turn, but Callan slammed Myth’s wrists into the wall. The brick scraped against Myth’s skin, and a familiar rush followed.

He’d always poked at his own bruises and scrapes, enjoying the sensation, but he’d never thought he was doing it because of some twisted sexual desire.

There was nothing chaste about this now, though. He grinded his hardening cock against Callan’s thick thigh, struggling against Callan’s strong hold.

Callan chuckled and nipped Myth’s lower lip. “Still trapped, pet. I’m not convinced you want to escape your cage.”

This cage? No. Not right now. Not until he got what he wanted…

But what did he want?

Callan.

Myth kissed him again, trying to get his mind off of this strange conversation, these riddles, the question of whether Callan somehow knew about the amulet.

Callan moved both of Myth’s wrists to one side and kept them in place with a single hand. Myth groaned at how easily he was being manhandled. Surely he wasn’t this weak. He usually avoided fights, but he managed to hold his own even against opponents larger than him.

Callan was a lot larger than him, though. Half a foot at least, and Callan’s muscles were firm, and strong, and…

Myth canted his head back and whimpered as Callan sucked on his neck.

“You didn’t keep the fake ruby,” Callan murmured. “Not enough of a trap. But the silver ring… that’s interesting.”

“It was worth more,” Myth said, then amended, “Or I thought it was, anyway.” Even when he’d found out that it was probably worth less than the silver one, he’d kept that one. He didn’t even know why. “Why’s it interesting that I kept the silver one?” He closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath.

“Because it was mine,” Callan licked his way up Myth’s neck, then blew a cold breath over the wet patch of skin. “I think that’s what you want. To belong somewhere. To belong to someone. To matter.”

Huh.

Myth had never really thought about it before, and he was having a hard time thinking about it right then, too. As he shivered beneath Callan’s cool touch, he wondered if he’d ever thought of becoming anything more than his mother’s keeper. He did this for her, did everything for her, and he was failing her because he couldn’t sell the fucking amulet, and—

“I don’t want to belong to anyone,” Myth said. “I belong to myself.” He remembered too well how Callan had told him Myth could become his pet, his dog. He wasn’t going to be that. Not to Callan.

Not to anyone.

“Do you, though?” Callan brushed his thumb over Myth’s lower lip. “Have you ever belonged to you? No. I could give you that, if you wanted it. But you’re wearing my ring.”

There was a trick here. There was always a trick, a trap, as Callan had said. “But what would be the price?” Myth asked. The cost was sure to be too much.

“Not a memory.” Callan’s hand drifted down, settling on Myth’s stomach. Even through the coat, Myth could feel the cold radiating from him. “Not a card game. Not a feather. What price would you pay, to simply wear my ring?” Callan brought their lips close again. His beard brushed against Myth’s chin. “I think you’ll need to ask very, very nicely. Give me your pride, and you’ll have what you want.”

“My pride?” Myth laughed at that. “No one can take that from me.” He had built his reputation too carefully over the years. “Here, if it’s about your ring—”

Something warmed against his chest just as he felt a finger slip into his pocket. He jerked instinctively, trying to free his hands from Callan’s grasp.

“Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The anger was a relief after the haze, after the confusion, and the lust, and the doubt, and the need…

Callan hissed and stumbled back, grasping at his chest.

Without Callan to support him, Myth fell to the muddy ground again, landing hard on one knee. Myth winced and swallowed a cry of pain.

“No!” Callan shouted, staring at one of his hands. “He doesn’t even want it!”

The alley darkened, a cloud drifting overhead to blot out what little sunlight managed to reach this narrow path. Callan backed away from Myth, one hand—the hand that had tried to steal the amulet—still extended in front of him. One of the rings on it was glowing with a gentle beam of light.

“What the fuck?” Myth asked again, edging back. “What are you doing? Are you insane?”

Callan… Callan twisted, a sudden change in position that shouldn’t have been possible. Myth blinked, and the man was standing directly in front of him again, eyes wide and impossibly dark.

“You don’t want the amulet. I do. I give you what you want, and I get the amulet in return. It’s a very fair trade.” Callan reached out, but stopped with his hand halfway between them. Then he burst out laughing. “Fuck. It’ll never work.” His laughter echoed throughout the alley. “You don’t want it, but it wants you. That’s why you can’t get rid of it. The amulet has a stronger will than you do. That’s very pathetic, little thief.”

Callan talked about the amulet like it was a sentient thing, but that was ridiculous.

“Necklaces don’t have willpower,” Myth scoffed. “And I definitely would have a stronger will than a gem and some metal anyway.” But Callan was right. He couldn’t ever seem to get rid of it, not with the almost magnetic pull that seemed to exist between him and the amulet.

“Then give it to me,” Callan turned both of his hands palm up. “Show me how much stronger you are than a little trinket. Show me you know how to throw away what you don’t want.”

“I don’t want to throw it away. I want…” His mouth went dry, and he couldn’t bring himself to continue, to say that he wanted to sell it. Myth put his hand into his pocket, closing his fist around the amulet. “How do you even know about the amulet?” he asked, even though there was a part of him that was screaming at him to stop stalling and just give it to Callan. But he didn’t want to give it to Callan. It had nothing to do with some pretty little trinket, though. He just didn’t want to pass on its curse.

“How could I not know about it? The magic it drips, the traps it sets. You’ll be caught even more, if you don’t get rid of it. But you can’t destroy it. There’s only one way to destroy it.” Callan lowered his hands and smirked at him. “I can wait. When you decide you do want to be rid of it, I’ll find you.”

“You can have it now, for all I care!” Myth growled, but when he tried to hurl the damn thing at Callan, he found he couldn’t let go of it. Not because the thing had willpower, but because Callan was obviously some kind of mage or sorcerer and one who favored darkness, and that was exactly the type of person he couldn’t give it to.

Myth met Callan’s eyes once more, and—

He ran.

Callan’s laughter rang out behind him.