Chapter XI

Shameful the memory of the shock and blood covering them both remained.

Still reclined there in Min-jae's arms, Jeremiah took this moment of silence to center his mind. His thoughts were maundering on with so much, flipping into so many different emotions that his nerves couldn't settle.

On one hand, Jeremiah was thrilled to not be affected by the overcoming pangs of agony and on the other, he was paralyzed by the understanding that he might feel the same again at any point in time. No matter what, going forward, it seemed pain would be promised if the situation called for it.

"Why did you do that?" Min-jae asked then, arms loosening so that Jeremiah could sit up, and when the other blood-drenched dhampir turned on the floor, Min-jae's eyes mapped over where the sickle did the damage .

While gone now, that didn't erase what he could picture in his mind as something of a near death experience. If Jeremiah weren't who he was, if his body weren't as resilient, or held its ability to piece him back together…he would be dead.

Standing from the floor, Jeremiah breathed in deeply and as the breath released, he said, "I don't know." Min-jae more than likely would have survived the encounter, wouldn't have felt a thing if stabbed, and Jeremiah knew that, but he'd still thrown himself in harm's way at the idea of preventing the possibility. "Perhaps I was afraid," he added.

"Afraid for me?"

"..."

"Never mind…" Min-jae looked toward the front door of the apartment and then down at himself. He hadn't taken any hits when in Saengsacho, but the blood from Jeremiah's wounds had sullied his clothing. "I should clean up and then go see my parents. I think my mom went up to tend to my father. Since I'm sure you wouldn't want to go home looking like this, you're more than welcome to shower, and my extra clothes are in the bedroom directly across the bathroom."

Able to hear the gasps and pointed questions coming from his parents if he did return home so filthy, Jeremiah nodded his thanks and turned, lifting the torn shirt up and over his head as he headed for the hallway.

"Wait," Min-jae called, and when Jeremiah merely turned his head, Min-jae's gaze remained on the other dhampir's backside.

From what Min-jae could see, the surface of Jeremiah's back was smooth, ordinary, and looked much like any other's. There were indications of muscle, and his form was lean, healthy, but Min-jae couldn't unsee the marvel of the wings that'd sprouted from Jeremiah's being. Massive and leathery, they'd spanned quite the distance, but as he now stood looking upon where they'd come from, there was a disbelief in Min-jae as though he'd been seeing things.

Holding his tongue, Min-jae drew nearer, eyes mapping over Jeremiah's shoulder blades. Unconsciously placing a hand at Jeremiah's waist, Min-jae raised the other, the gracious pass of his fingers causing a muted hitch in Jeremiah's breath as the light drag ventured down his spine.

What are you doing?

The question hadn't left Jeremiah's mouth and when he let his own gaze fall to the floor, he resisted a flinch at the manner Min-jae's gentle touch wandered from his spine and to the sharpness of his shoulder blades. A centimeter away from the edge of his scapula, there sat an invisible slit against Jeremiah's skin. It dipped inward as any other portion of skin would if pressed into, resisting coming open as what wings lay within hadn't the command to come out.

Min-jae's thumb fondled over the depression, unable to imagine how such large appendages could have come from nowhere. Upon Min-jae raising his other hand and running his thumb down the other unnoticeable depression, Jeremiah stepped away with an urgency and turned around. A hand was clasped over his mouth to shield his voice, and his eyes were glossed over as though tears might fall from them.

Although free from sorrow, a shakiness surged through Jeremiah, such a strong trembling rippling down his back as the remembrance of Min-jae's hands upon him printed against his flesh.

"I—I'm sorry," Min-jae apologized, unsure for what, but he still apologized. "The bathroom is the first door on the left."

Watching Jeremiah quickly lock himself away in the bathroom, Min-jae looked his hands over. Had he been too forceful? He thought maybe there could have been an internal wound that had yet to heal properly, and he may have disturbed it. Min-jae wanted to apologize again if that were the case, but after hearing the water to the shower turn on, he brought his eyes to the ragged Pyrenean violet lain crumbled on the floor. It must have come out of Jeremiah's pocket as they'd sat together.

After collecting it, Min-jae busied himself in cleaning the mess of blood from himself and the suite before he stepped out.

***

With the water to the shower running, Jeremiah at last brought his hand away from his mouth, a disgust filling him as a wetness came off on his palm. The corners of his mouth and chin were drenched in saliva, and he was suddenly famished, but not for food and not for blood. The entirety of his body was famished for whatever had ignited in him the moment Min-jae's thumbs pressed into him.

No one had ever touched him there, the places in which his wings generated, thus leaving it until now that he realized how stimulating such a hand placement was. In the seconds that had gone by, Jeremiah swallowed his vocals, and had fought so hard to quiet the almost impossible urge to groan out how pleasurable something so mundane was.

Looking down on himself after coming out of his jeans, Jeremiah came out of his underwear as well, a second wave of aversion entering him after laying eyes on his erection dripping prematurely.

How was that all it took to cause this? He wondered as the years of inability to garner arousal came to him.

Over such a long time, there were people he'd come across, people like Luca from Nocturnal Heights, and so many more he'd tried to lay with, occupy his mind with fulfilling urges he didn't have anymore.

One moment of being touched by Min-jae, in a nonsexual manner of all things, and here he stood trying to hold himself together so as not to make a fool of himself.

Stepping beneath the showerhead, Jeremiah closed his eyes to distract himself with an expanse of nothing, but as the water soaked into his hair and the canvas of black against his vision settled, the clearest depiction of Min-jae formed in his mind. They were not so different in height and build, but still their structures were as unalike as most people from just about the opposite sides of the globe would be.

Not to say Min-jae wasn't plenty attractive, because he certainly was, but the Korean dhampir wasn't someone Jeremiah would have ever thought would inspire this level of impulse in him. In his experience with others he once tried to partner with, it could be said he might have a type. Shorter, that's for sure, and perhaps he'd taken a liking to a more effeminate appearance. Then again, Jeremiah wondered if that was something he'd fastened to himself after what years he'd spent with two people who fit that description.

Every person he'd tried to fill his void with since then were the same.

Min-jae, however, was so far from what the others were. To be enthralled by the most trivial of touches, by his smell, to want more of something Jeremiah was sure Min-jae hadn't meant to give: a tender touch, an air of consideration wrapped in a bow; it had brought what his ailing body had needed in those minutes it took to heal.

Silence and serenity.

Why this on top of it? Jeremiah wondered shamefully why his body would want intimacy so urgently after enduring one of his most grim moments in life.

Chalking it up to an involuntary reaction, Jeremiah tried to let it go and showered the night away. The blood, sweat, and tears he'd shed mixed as it disappeared down the drain, steam from the hot shower fogging the mirrors, and soon he let himself into the barren bedroom across the hall. From the strength of bleach entering his nose upon passing through the hall, he assumed Min-jae did some much needed cleaning before leaving since his aura was distant now.

Closing the door behind him, the room itself was simple with lightwood flooring and a plain, white-sheeted bed. There was a mirror-topped dresser across the way, and Jeremiah looked over his reflection as the towel around his waist fell.

Fixing the middle part dividing his two-toned hair, Jeremiah couldn't help but look at the additional scar left behind against his lower torso. Starting from his belly button, it wrapped around his side to the center of his back, but he looked away instead of focusing on it for too long. His body wouldn't let him forget them so long as these reminders of his battle stayed where they were, but he could at least keep them out of sight when possible.

Searching through Min-jae's dresser drawers, Jeremiah pulled on dark jeans and opted for a black long-sleeve to hide the blemish on his arms, too. Before adorning the shirt, Jeremiah swallowed as he paused in reflection, bringing the garment to his nose then, and he breathed in the familiarity of Min-jae.

The call of morning eased Jeremiah as he inhaled; the coolness of Spring against a field of green met him again. He took backward steps and sat down at the edge of the full-sized bed. Each intake of Min-jae's distinctive aroma wrapped graciously around him. There was more he was looking for, more that he wanted, but Jeremiah knew to obtain it would mean he would have to open that door he'd bolted shut.

A resistance pushed back on it when Jeremiah brought his nose away from the shirt and Min-jae's scent dwindled, but the longing remained in place, persistent as if laying in wait to be fully accepted. Unsure how to let it in, or if he wanted to, Jeremiah finally adorned the long-sleeve and left the apartment.

Assuming everyone was up in Ha-yoon's place, Jeremiah ventured to the top floor and was let in without having to knock. There was relief in Ha-yoon when she stepped aside for him, and she looked him over. Not having been informed of how badly Jeremiah had been hurt, the only thing Min-jae told her was that he'd needed a shower. She was grateful to see him up and moving.

When they entered the living area, Jeremiah noted Chung-hee, Hyun and the few others Min-jae had transferred from Saengsacho were gone, and he took in the small, reunited family. With this being Jeremiah's first time seeing Min-jae's mother Yeo, the woman was quite small, and although there were shadows of exhaustion under her eyes, all of her troubles seemed nonexistent now that her husband was seated beside her .

Still rather frail-looking, Dae-jung at least looked better than he had when confined; the blood he'd been given upon arrival was doing what it could to return him to his former self. The color in Dae-jung's beige skin was returning, the deep hollowness under his eyes was fading, and he was also freshly showered. All in all, he looked like an underfed version of his son who stood before them.

Entering the living area, Dae-jung stood as if he had to, struggling briefly as his wife assisted. Jeremiah watched them approach, an embarrassment striking him when the man lowered his head respectfully, and said, "Thank you for saving my life. If your father doesn't already know what lengths you went to to rescue me, I will be sure to meet with him and tell him what a commendable son he has."

"There's no need for that," Jeremiah gestured as if wanting to stop the commendation. He understood why Dae-jung was thankful, but he wasn't too great at accepting words of praise from others. "If there is anything my father will be more interested in, I think it will be wanting to know why you were being held down there in the first place. It's obvious the blood of immortals was sought after, but he will want to know the purpose of it."

Raising his eyes to Jeremiah again, Dae-jung looked at his wife and son before turning his gaze to the floor. "Saengsacho is my wife's home, my son grew up there, and I lived there for quite some time, too. I never saw it as a secretive place, and I never overheard whispers of deception through the years."

"You think this is a recent event?" Jeremiah asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"I think so," Dae-jung nodded.

"That man who trapped you down there," Jeremiah asked next, "Was he a longtime resident?"

"Yes and no," Min-jae answered for his parents. He was seated on the armrest of the sofa. "Mok Kyung-hwan moved there when I enlisted into the military. He moved in with his mother and nephew and took over the convenience store. From what I remember of them, there was never anything strange."

"You never noticed his interest in the old electrical unit?" Jeremiah considered next. If the place were supposed to be unused, wouldn't it at least cause someone to think it was odd for that man to frequent it?

"Like I've told you before," Min-jae said, "All anyone knew about it was that it controlled the power of half the village and an unused grid. Kyung-hwan had to have moved to Saengsacho and found a purpose of his own. He must have worked under everyone's nose."

"He will be singled out, that's for sure," Jeremiah said, and then he turned his attention to Ha-yoon. "You need to keep tabs on everyone that was taken from those rooms for the time being. After I report to my father, my role in this is likely to come to an end; you will have to deal with either my father going forward or Elder Eros since he oversees East and South Asia."

Ha-yoon nodded, "I've given rooms to those that were brought here and plan to question how they wound up as part of this odd collection. I am prepared for either."

"Understood. I'll be going then." Jeremiah nodded in kind, offering a gesture of farewell to Min-jae and his parents before leaving Ha-yoon's apartment.

An emptiness accompanied him as he started down the corridor to the elevator, a debate on whether to return home or let the remainder of the night go by before doing so.

For whatever reason, he wasn't ready to go back to the castle. He was positive Demiesius and Hamilton would be overjoyed to see him return with an accomplishment, his brothers would be thrilled to see him as they always were, but this difficulty to call upon his mastering to return him to a place he'd known all his life held him fixed.

After all, Jeremiah loved home. There was nothing he truly disliked about the castle, about the area he'd been born and raised for the past seventy years. Seventy years, nevertheless, was a mighty long time to occupy one place. Then again, it wasn't like he hadn't gone places before or spent time in other areas of the world. Demiesius had taken him places when he was young, more often when Dominick hadn't been readily available to watch him, and Dominick had also taken him places when he'd gotten older.

All of those occasions, however, had always come with some form of duty, and the only pair Jeremiah could think of seeing other parts of the world with were never going to be part of his life again.

By all means, Jeremiah wasn't trapped in the London area. He was old enough to go out on his own, to see any part of the world so long as he was safe in doing so, but what was the point of trying to enjoy things outside of family if there wasn't anyone else to soak in that enjoyment with?

Deciding to spend some time clearing his head before going home, Jeremiah pressed the button of the elevator and stepped inside. He rode it to the lobby and the moment he stepped out, an approaching anxiousness hurried from the open doorway of the stairwell across the elevator.

Min-jae emerged from the stairwell, breathing a bit harder as if the haste he'd made running down twenty-five stories wore him out, when in reality, it was his urgency to catch up to Jeremiah before he vanished.

Great relief displayed in the manner Min-jae's shoulders settled, and he said, "You're leaving just like that?"

Stepping out of the elevator before it closed on him again, Jeremiah tucked his hands in his pockets — to shield them, to hide their trembling. "I have no place here anymore," he said. "There's nothing I can teach you, and your parents are together again."

"So, all of this was just a job?" Min-jae said, tone baffled. "This is it?"

Swallowing the first words that nearly left him, Jeremiah instead said, "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," Min-jae claimed, an offense heard clearly in his voice. "With you being the only person I know that's like me, even to a small extent, I thought we could at least stay in touch, but here you are ready to walk out on your own."

"Is that what you want?" Jeremiah questioned. "To stay in touch?"

Min-jae remained silent, keeping with the black and blue uniqueness of Jeremiah's eyes. In both shape and color, they were beautiful.

In the single step Min-jae took closer, Jeremiah stepped away, his back colliding with the closed doors of the elevator, and as if the sealed doors blocked off every which way he could escape from, he soon found himself trapped as Min-jae stood directly before him.

Swamped by this nearness and the return of Min-jae's smell, Jeremiah urged himself to meet the eyes looking into him.

"Is that so bad?" Min- jae asked.

"There's not much to gain from knowing me," Jeremiah said. "I don't live an eventful life, and I'm not very interesting. I don't do anything worth wanting to be connected to. The only beneficial thing about me is my connection to someone like my father, and—."

"I don't care about any of that," Min-jae proclaimed. "I don't care how uninteresting you think you are, or that you don't — what, go clubbing and drink yourself drunk? I'm not interested in you for your link to someone as important as your father, and I'm not selfish enough to only want to know you to reap the rewards of doing so. I don't have anything to gain from knowing you." Min-jae paused and took a step back, giving some room for both of them to breathe. He carried on, "I want to know you, for you. That's all."

Bringing his hands from his pockets, Jeremiah watched them as if they moved with a mind of their own, but it was him, it was what he wanted taking over that caused him to step forward and wrap his arms around the top of Min-jae's shoulders. He held on, held his breath until the desire to fill his lungs sucked in a drag of desperate air, and again, the pass of Min-jae's hands up his back caused Jeremiah to cling tighter.

This time around, the arousal strayed, but the desire for the hold to remain lingered.

"Are you afraid?" Min-jae asked, as if his posed questions might bring forth something more. "Do you not want to go home? You can tell me."

"I don't know what I want," Jeremiah said, a wince in his voice. "I'm beginning to think I'm not deserving of anything. Nothing has ever gone right, like it's a crime to have anything good for longer than a couple weeks or years before it's taken away. Everything has always felt so short-lived once it's in my hands. Whatever I get—," Jeremiah's breath caught and he clung tighter. "It's only a matter of time before it's gone. I try to deflect by convincing myself I'm happy regardless, that there aren't things I want for myself, but the truth is…"

He couldn't say it.

Not out loud.

"You're angry," Min-jae hit the nail on the head.

Upon hearing his truth spoken for the world to hear, despite no other but Min-jae standing before him, Jeremiah covered his eyes as the tears formed overflowing pools in the palms of his hands.

Jeremiah didn't think it was fair to be angry. There wasn't anything in the world he couldn't have if he really wanted it; there was nothing he was truly lacking in life. He had Demiesius and Hamilton in his life again, he had a batch of loving brothers, an extended family he cared oceans for, and he knew everyone cared about him just the same. Immortals of all kinds had thrown themselves at him through the years, and there were many that would do anything and everything to gain his attention.

Regardless of feeling like anything he could ever want was at his fingertips, what made itself the most known to Jeremiah was this iron gate threatening to fall at any moment, and his biggest fear was finding something new, something great, only for that gate to prove he was undeserving of it. It'd already happened before. Who's to say it wouldn't happen again?

"I have to go," Jeremiah said, and he stepped around to get away.

His eyes were so red and a fire burned in his throat.

"Wait," Min-jae urged, but he didn't try to stop Jeremiah this time. If he wanted to stay, he would, and Min-jae didn't want to force him to do anything he wasn't ready for.

When Jeremiah stopped but refused to turn around, Min-jae gathered the nearly destroyed Pyrenean from his back pocket, and he tucked it carefully in Jeremiah's hand. He closed the other dhampir's fingers gently so that the remaining petals wouldn't fall from their crooked stems. "Take this," he said, "And if it's not too much to ask, I want you to remember what I told you. If this is my last time seeing you, I guess that's how things are supposed to be, but I want you to remember me. That's all I ask. To not be forgotten."

The sting returned to Jeremiah's throat, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was standing in the familiar setting of his bedroom.

This burn in his throat hurt so badly.

Why wouldn't it stop?