Bare Your Teeth, Wicked Ones

27. Positively Wicked Little Thing

Warning: discussions of abuse and SA

William

There was no respite in rest. Fear, anxiety, and anger bombarded him in the dark, suffocating and maddening. He laid in the tent full of snoring soldiers sleeping soundly. Fabric rustled. A man coughed, another sneezed, and William stayed silent while playing out every worst-case scenario.

Fearworn took Charmaine. He had no doubt about that. A monstrous infection ravaged and dragged her away. His hands fisted into the sleeping bag, ripping the fabric, and his teeth pierced his bottom lip. He tasted copper among his anger, a twisting nether of fury that had him kicking his way out of the bag. He stumbled over sleeping soldiers to fall into the snow outside where he rubbed the freeze against his cheeks.

Snow, ice, the gray sky, all of it reminded him of another problem; Laurent.

Nicholas' father caught them. A fae knew, a powerful one at that. Nicholas feared him and that meant William should too. In every shadow, he worried Laurent would be there, waiting. Those eyes held death, promised a bitter end, and he worried he saw them unblinking in the night, waiting to steal him away.

What a fool he had been. He knew better than to lay with fae, and Nicholas of all people. William liked the danger and now he faced the consequences, and yet, he wanted nothing more than to see Nicholas in this moment. Not even for sex and that had him releasing a pitiful laugh.

Damn it all, he wanted Nicholas to hold him, to run his fingers through William's hair and ask silly questions that would make him forget about what had transpired. They could lay in bed, snuggled beneath the covers, and he would count the seconds between their silence, knowing Nicholas would conjure a question, a joke, or even a riddle, and he would be set at ease.

"Idiot." He slammed a fist against his chest, over a traitorous heart.

"William?" Oscar called, illuminated by the torch clutched in his shivering, gloved hands. Snow crunched beneath his hurried steps. "What are you doing up so late? Are you hurt?"

"No, I... wanted some fresh air." He stood and dusted the snow off his trousers. "Are you on watch duty?"

"Yeah." Oscar's teeth chattered behind his chapped lips that tilted into a frown. "I heard about Albie. All of us had. That...I'm sorry. It's a real shame to have lost him."

"We haven't lost him for good. Fearworn wouldn't risk creating a monster that could infect him, too."

He had repeated that to himself a thousand times. There had to be a way to get Charmaine back, to take her home. They had so much to do, so many stories and adventures they spun in the dark. William promised to teach her how all the proper ladies of high society danced. Charmaine promised to teach him to sing and play the acoustic guitar. He had always been too nervous to practice here in front of others.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Oscar asked.

"That there may be..." William fell quiet. A shadow shifted nearby, then a pair of fuchsia eyes blinked in the dark. He yearned to run towards them. "A cure," he muttered.

Oscar whistled. "Wow, I ain't ever hear you be so optimistic before."

Not optimistic, desperate, William thought.

"I hope you're right. Hopefully he's out there and we find that cure and he can come home." Oscar patted his shoulder. His attention shifted between Oscar and Nicholas' figure hidden between the tents. "Well, I better get a move on, or I'll be late to my post. Goodnight, William."

"Goodnight."

The firelight faded and Nicholas' eyes brightened. He flicked his fingers, beckoning William forward. In the shadows, Nicholas caught his hand. A fae shouldn't calm his days. Nicholas' attention shouldn't ease his discomfort. His smooth fingers cradling William's neck should make his teeth grind. Instead, he fell into those arms that let him breathe. Slow. Deep. Exactly what he needed and that terrified him.