Poison Page 16

  When they finally drew apart, Ailill tried to speak and found he couldn't. Instead, he just leaned in for another kiss, harder and more desperate than the first, searching for something more—something baser, but still just as necessary. Ivan loosed his arms around Ailill's waist to smooth them along his body, pushing up beneath his jacket and shirt to slide across smooth skin. Ailill made a soft noise of approval as he ate at Ivan's mouth, nipping at his teeth, sucking at his tongue, hungry to touch, to be touched—

  Eager to be so lost in the want and the heat that he could forget it might be the last time he ever touched Ivan so. He pulled away gasping, licking the taste of Ivan from his lips, and began to remove clothes, tossing them carelessly aside. It took Ivan far less time, as he had not put on more than breeches, stockings, and shirt. Naked, he dragged Ailill close again and resumed where they had left off, nails scraping skin as his mouth bruised Ailill's lips.

  "Bedroom," Ailill got out between biting kisses. Ivan grunted, but obeyed, holding fast to his hand as they hastened into the bedroom. Ailill climbed onto the bed and dragged Ivan down on top of him, groaning at the feel, loving all the hard muscle beneath Ivan's sun-darkened skin. His fingers sought out the familiar scars: wounds from knives, arrows, a sword, burns bad enough the patches were still perfectly smooth, making the rest of his skin almost rough in contrast.

  Ailill knew them all, every tale behind them, knew Ivan's body as well as he knew his own. His mind was still occasionally a mystery, but Ailill had no issue with that. He pulled Ivan into another hungry kiss, spreading his legs to cradle Ivan between his thighs, and sliding his hands down Ivan's body, lingering on his well-formed ass.

  Breaking the kiss, Ivan trailed hot lips along Ailill's jaw, down to drag his tongue along Ailill's throat. "Your skin is always so soft, cat. Except your hands. You have the body of a noble, but the hands of a mercenary. I always liked that."

  "I liked your voice," Ailill said, closing his eyes and shivering, hands falling away as Ivan shifted that hot, hungry mouth to his chest, working Ailill's nipples ruthlessly before trailing down to tease teeth and tongue over an old dagger scar on Ailill's ribs. "You also did not care that I was nobility—foreign nobility."

  Ivan looked up through his lashes, mouth curving in a smirk. "I had no interest in titles. You were good money, pretty, and willing. Direct, too. Nobles always simper and talk sideways. I do not think you could mince your words if you tried."

  Ailill huffed out a ragged laugh as Ivan gave his cock the barest tease before leaving off to kiss and touch him elsewhere instead. "I much prefer direct, like: stop being a scorching tease."

  "No," Ivan replied.

  "We'll just see," Ailill muttered and shoved hard, sending Ivan toppling back so that his head fell just short of hanging over the edge of the bed. Ailill grabbed his legs and hauled him a bit closer, then fisted Ivan's cock as he bent to take another kiss. He slid his other hand randomly across Ivan's body—until a hand collided with his. He took it, tangled their fingers together, and pushed it down into the bedding.

  Drawing back, he let go of Ivan's cock and captured his other hand the same way he had the first, pinning them on either side of Ivan's head. "Now, how many people in Pozhar would pay a king's ransom to have you captured exactly this way?"

  "I do not think most people want me captured this way," Ivan said, laughing. "Most of the people who wanted me, cat, wanted me dead, not ready for fucking. But they cannot have me because I am much too busy with other duties."

  Ailill snorted and bent to drag his tongue across Ivan's lips, mouth along the still-healing scratch on one cheek, breathing in Ivan's smoky scent, closing his eyes briefly just to relish it, engrave it. He hoped he held onto it when he slipped into a poisoned sleep. "Yes, you are much too busy being a duke and helping Verde."

  Ivan's teeth grazed his jaw. "That too, but I was mostly thinking of you."

  "I suppose there is that," Ailill said, opening his eyes and smiling, freeing one hand to touch Ivan's cheek lightly. He stared, stolen away by Ivan's eyes—

  And bellowed in surprise when he abruptly found their positions reversed once more. He drew breath to say something, but the words were lost in Ivan's mouth, and he was not at all surprised to find it was his wrists pinned to the bed. "I feel you are trying to prove a point."

  "Only that capture goes both ways," Ivan said, not looking at him as he said it.

  Ailill swallowed. "Yes, it does."

  Ivan finally looked up and smiled in a way that sucked all the air from Ailill's lungs. Releasing his wrists, Ivan moved away long enough to fetch the oil, sliding easily back between Ailill's thighs when he returned. Spreading his legs wider, Ailill urged Ivan down for another kiss as a slick finger pushed inside him. He moaned against Ivan's mouth, wanting more, wanting it immediately, but wanting more than anything for it to last.

  Ivan seemed, as always, to share his desires exactly. Only when Ailill was reduced to swearing and writhing and glaring did he finally push in a second finger, twisting them, scissoring and stretching Ailill and reaching for that spot that made the rest of the world go away as he begged shamelessly for more.

  Chuckling, Ivan withdrew his fingers and lined up his cock—and then captured Ailill's wrists again, pinning them on either side of his head. Ailill scowled, but his demands to be let go were lost as Ivan pushed in the barest bit, stretching, hot, and nowhere near enough. Ailill glared at him. "Stop teasing. Let me go."

  "No and no," Ivan replied and slowly pushed further inside, stopping whenever Ailill swore at him, moving only when he was silent, until finally he was fully seated and they were taut with need and sweaty from the strain of holding back and the heat of their bodies in the already warm room.

  Ailill rolled his hips, making Ivan gasp and finally breaking him—though not the hold Ivan still had on his wrists. Unable to move, to get more leverage, Ailill settled for watching Ivan's face as he began to ride Ailill hard.

  Ivan held nothing back, gray eyes hot, burning as they met Ailill's. He drew back and thrust back in, his grip on Ailill all that kept them in place. Sweat gleamed on Ivan's skin, and Ailill groaned in frustration that he could not quite reach to taste it, could only lock his legs around Ivan's hips and move in time with his thrusts.

  His wrists would be sore; he would be surprised if he did not come away with bruises and would enjoy the sight of them until the poison took him. "Ivan—"

  Making a rough, growling noise, Ivan bent to kiss him, fucking his mouth as hard and deep as he fucked Ailill's body, driving them higher and higher, stealing Ailill's air, his thoughts, everything he had to give. "Now, cat," Ivan said, the words ragged and husky, barely comprehensible.

  Ailill obeyed, gladly and easily coming hard between them as Ivan gave a few last thrusts before coming himself, body shuddering through the climax as he clung to Ailill.

  When he could breathe again, move again, Ailill trailed his hands lazily over Ivan's sweaty skin, raking lightly with his nails at random intervals. Ivan was heavy, but Ailill could not bear to move him.

  Eventually, though, Ivan rolled off him and onto his back, dragging Ailill to drape half-on him. Ailill closed his eyes, ignoring the way his skin itched in places from sweat and drying come, that the room was entirely too warm, in favor of basking in his lover for as long as possible.

  The ceremony was nine days away—more like eight and a half by that point—and if was lucky he would last most of those nine days.

  "Ailill ... "

  Reluctantly opening his eyes, not liking the somber way Ivan said his name, he replied, "Hmm?"

  "About the poisonings ... I had a thought, but always assumed it must be wrong. But it nags at me and nags at me, and now I think I should have spoken sooner."

  Ailill drew back and sat up. "What? You think you know who did it? Why didn't you say anything?"

  "You will not like the theory," Ivan said quietly. "I do not know that I can believe it myself because the ramifications ... "<
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  "Tell me already!"

  Ivan drew a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. "I think one of the Triad must be behind the poisonings. It's the only thing that fits."

  Ailill stared at him. The Triad? Impossible. Just thinking it made his entire body suddenly ache. The gods of life would never betray their children by bringing so much needless destruction down upon them. He tried to picture it, but simply could not. The Unicorn was for purity, the health of all living things. The Pegasus was for strength, the will to live all beings possessed. The Faerie Queen was the beauty and the joy.

  They would never …

  Pain shot through his head, and Ailill pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. Something whispered at the back of his mind, but he could not quite catch it. Shadows moved, too blurry and distant to see. Bile rose in the back of his throat and Ailill fought it down. "No," he said flatly. "The Triad would never do such a thing. They love Verde. While all the other countries rejected their gods, Verde has always sought to bring ours back—they have always actively tried to return. They would never betray us."

  Ivan's mouth tightened, face filled with resignation. "Pozhar sacrificed a thousand people because we believed Holy Zhar Ptitsa had turned against us, that we were better off without him. It was not until he was reborn that we realized we had been deceived all the while. Zhar Ptitsa loved us all along. If that is possible, why not the opposite?"

  "Because they're gods of life! Why would gods of life want to inflict so much pain and suffering? Why would gods of life want to destroy a place that loves them? You will never convince me that Gael, Freddie, or her majesty would ever kill us. What is their motivation?"

  "What do I know of the motivations of a god?" Ivan replied. "That is not a fair question to ask. I do not know why Zhar Ptitsa died, and I have spoken with him before. I do not know why the Three Storms vanished, nor the Basilisk. No one in the entire world knows what happened over nine hundred years ago. All we have is what happened after. But I know if we can wrongly believe one god is evil, then we can wrongly believe that a god is good."

  Ailill shook his head, ignoring the way that caused his headache to spike. "No. I refuse to believe that any part of the Triad would poison the Beasts and all but destroy the country. You've seen the nightmare that is all that remains of the city. What sort of god would ever do such a thing?"

  "Until two years ago, we thought Zhar Ptitsa would," Ivan said flatly. "Why will you not listen? This is exactly why I did not want—"

  "Because you know you're wrong! It makes no sense. Even pretending it was possible, the other two members of the Triad would know—or they would have to be part of it. I refuse to believe all of our gods would betray us so. I refuse to believe any of them would. They're the gods of life; they don't destroy."

  Unable to bear the horrible discussion one moment more, Ailill threw himself out of the bed and stormed into the bathing chamber. A basin of water was still set on a bench near the bathtub, and he grabbed a clean cloth from beside it, wet and soaped it, and began to scrub himself clean.

  He tensed when he heard footsteps approached behind him, but did not turn around or stop.

  "Who else could it possibly be, Ailill?"

  "I don't know," Ailill said. "I said I'm done discussing it."

  Ivan sighed. "Fine."

  Throwing the wash rag in the bin, Ailill turned to go, brushing by Ivan—who snatched him back and held him tightly. He stared into Ivan's eyes. "Do not be mad at me, cat," Ivan said softly, the words not quite a plea, but close enough that Ailill felt bad.

  "I just don't understand why you think it could be the Triad. They've worked harder than anyone else over the centuries to set things right. Kundou was happy to move on without their Dragons, Pozhar wanted to kill their Firebird, and Piedre was never kind to the reincarnations of the Basilisk. Only Verde has always respected the holy reincarnations, given them the power and respect they are due—and now you say that's for nothing? That we have been betrayed all this while?"

  "I do not want to miss the chance to fix everything just because we do not like the answer," Ivan replied quietly.

  Ailill opened his mouth, but closed it again, whispers and shadows stirring once more in his mind. He closed his eyes, trying to catch them. Something familiar ...

  "Are you all right?

  The shadows scattered and the whispers died. Huffing, Ailill opened his eyes. "I'm fine. My head is hurting something fierce. We should probably get something to eat; I know we ate this morning, but it does not feel like it."

  Ivan chuckled and slid his fingers gently along Ailill's cheek, back to tangle in his hair and draw him in for a long, slow kiss that left Ailill aching, tingling. "If you truly believe the Triad could have nothing to do with it, then I'll say no more about it. As I said, I found it hard to believe myself. I would rather not spend all this time arguing, anyway, when we have so many far more important—"

  He broke off when a knock came at the outer door. Sighing, Ailill pulled away from Ivan and headed out to the sitting room, reaching the door just as someone knocked on it a second time.

  When he opened the door and saw Noire, Ailill knew what was wrong without a word being said. "Which one?" he asked.

  "Lady Matilda," Noire said softly. "We realized only a few minutes ago that no one had seen her today. I went to her room, and it looks as though she was taken sometime last night, shortly after she went up to go to bed."

  "Fire and ash," Ivan growled from behind Ailill, hands balling at his sides as he joined them. "When will all of this stop? There is nothing left to destroy and yet the destruction keeps coming. It would have been kinder to destroy everyone all at once and not leave anyone behind to suffer slowly. Whoever is behind all of this has a heart of evil—a heart of shadows."

  Noire dipped his head in a nod. "Her majesty requests that all available join her for dinner tonight in her chambers at eight thirty."

  "We'll be there," Ailill said and closed the door as Noire left. He turned around and leaned against it, trying not to let the fear that had spiked turn into full on panic. No good would come of panicking. He could not let the fear finally get the better of him.

  Ivan pulled Ailill into his arms, holding him tightly.

  "Promise you'll catch me," Ailill whispered.

  "Beloved, you're a fool if you think I will ever let you go."

  Ailill nodded against his chest and just held tight.

  Chapter Fourteen: Fractures

  Gael stirred in his bed, nuzzled into the warmth he was pressed up against, soft hair brushing his face. Noire still smelled like sex, like them, and having Noire nestled against him in his bed was the most perfect thing Gael had ever experienced. It felt right when nothing else in his life did.

  He reluctantly pulled back, wishing he were still asleep, wishing he could stay in bed and savor Noire just a little bit longer. Biting back a sigh, he finally sat up, carefully disentangling him so as not to wake his lover. His hair spilled all round him, a tangled mess that would take him ages to repair—but he liked too much the way Noire adored it, the feel of Noire's fingers running through it, grabbing it.

  Yes, Noire's adoration was worth the time it took to undo the damage.

  Noire grunted softly in his sleep and shifted turning until he was curled against Gael again. He smiled faintly in his sleep and murmured Gael's name, breath hot against Gael's skin. Smiling, Gael pushed Noire's mop of hair from his face, idly combing his fingers through it, glancing over skin, lingering on his mouth. There was a red mark just visible on his shoulder, and Gael vividly remembered putting it there.

  He wanted to stay right there all day—every day.

  Five days until the ceremony, and Noire was in his bed—his lover, properly, even if Etain was still trying to deny the change in the Triad's relationship by avoiding them.

  Every part of him railed against the carelessness of revealing the truth, tried to remind him of the nightmares—as though he could forget them. But
the need to have Noire close was stronger than his fears. They had caused everyone enough pain with their secret-keeping. Maintaining those secrets would only cause more unnecessary pain—far worse than what admitting everything and making a clean break would cause.

  Heaving a sigh, Gael untangled himself from Noire and, after a dropping a kiss on his mouth, slid out of bed. Half an hour later, cleaned and dressed, he made to leave.

  "Gael?" Noire's sleepy voice called.

  "I did not mean to wake you, kitten," Gael said and turned back to the bed. Noire sat up and reached for him, drawing him in for a sleepy kiss. "Go back to sleep, kitten. There's no reason for you to get up."

  "No reason for you to, either," Noire replied and shoved his sleep-mussed hair from his face. He yawned, then asked, "Where are you going?"

  Gael pushed him back down, settled the blankets over him, and dropped a last, parting kiss on his lips. "Freddie and I need to speak with Etain—about Verenne, about you. We have been trying to do it, but Etain is avoiding us. I think it is time that we ran her to ground and had it out."

  "Oh," Noire said. "I didn't realize she was being so difficult. You've been so quiet about it, I didn't want to ask."

  "It's Etain," Gael said quietly. "She's very stubborn and she has every reason, every right, to be furious with us—even to hate us. With everything else burdening her, I can imagine this is the very last thing she wants to hear. I should have listened to you and done away with the secrecy long ago—"

  Noire sat up again, pulled him close, and kissed him hard. "You were scared for me, Gael. I can't blame you for that—no one can. But you're taking care of it now, which is better than never, better than later. Right?"

  "Right," Gael said. "I do love you, kitten."

  "I love you, too," Noire said softly. "I'm sorry about Etain. I really am."

  Gael smiled at him, stole one last kiss, then stepped away. "Go back to sleep, stay warm and comfortable for me. I will see you later."