Blood Ties: A Forsaken Fae Epilogue

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Blood Ties: A Forsaken Fae Epilogue

By R. A. Steffan

Copyright 2021 by OtherLove Publishing, LLC

ONE

KAT WAS UPSET. That was the first thing Len noticed when he arrived at Blueberry Hill on the Delmar Loop in St. Louis for their customary lunch date. She was trying to hide it, but the strained quality of her smile and the shredded bits of napkin disintegrating under her fingernails belied her attempt at carefree cheeriness.

Len couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach. While he didn’t want to make assumptions about what was going on in her life, he also knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least ask.

“Kat,” he said, cutting across her breezy and unconvincing stream of gossip. “Stop. You seem upset—did Gabe do something?”

Maybe the question was unfair. Len genuinely liked Gabe, after the handful of occasions when they’d met over the last few months. For that reason, he really, really didn’t want to think that Kat’s boyfriend had been the one to put the new lines of tension around her eyes.

But.

Kat’s relationship history was… not the best. And Len would never forgive himself for noticing warning signs and not following up with her. She only stared at him, though—her face screwing up with confusion.

“What?” she asked, obviously bewildered. “No, of course not.”

Relief drained some of the tension from Len’s shoulders. Even so, he wasn’t ready to let it go quite yet.

“You’re still upset about something,” he pointed out. “So… spill it.”

Her expression shifted to one of disquiet, and more of the napkin succumbed to its slow and inexorable destruction as she avoided his eyes.

“Yeah, there’s… something,” she admitted, directing the words at the scarred wood of their booth’s table. She cleared her throat nervously as the waitress arrived with their burgers and fries.

Len thanked the woman and waited with restrained impatience until she left, disappearing into the kitchen.

Kat took a deep breath. “You might get angry with me.”

“That’s okay,” he told her. “I get angry about a lot of things. And I mostly get over it afterward. Case in point—I’m in a serious relationship with Albigard, of all people, and I haven’t actually poisoned his food or thrown him off a cliff yet.”

She huffed out an amused breath, the uncomfortable atmosphere between them easing. “Fair enough. Okay, here goes. So, I’ve kind of… been stalking your parents on Facebook.”

He blinked at her. “You… what, now?” Because seriously, how had she even found his parents? There had to be hundreds of Graysons floating around the United States—it wasn’t exactly an uncommon surname. Besides, he hadn’t had any contact with either of them since the day they’d thrown him out of the house, more than twelve years ago.

She chewed her lower lip for a moment before letting it slide free of her teeth. “You heard me. It wasn’t hard. They’re still in Detroit. And, well, I stalk a lot of people on Facebook that I probably shouldn’t. That’s not the bad part, though.” A pause, as she studied his expression. “It’s about your dad.”

Len felt a small chill slide down his spine, though he couldn’t have said exactly why. “What about him?”

Kat’s brown eyes met his, apology shining from her gaze. “He’s in the hospital. Heart problems. It sounds serious.”

The chill concentrated itself beneath his ribcage in a tight knot. “Okay,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say.

“There’s more,” Kat said. Because of course there was. “Your mom—she, uh—she’s posted several times asking if anyone knows you or has a way to reach you. I didn’t want to reply until I’d talked to you first.”

He nodded slowly, not feeling like he’d truly taken the rapid-fire revelations on board quite yet.

I helped save the world from a ravenous fairy tale monster from the dawn of time, he thought. I should be faster on the uptake than this.

“I’ll have to think about it before I decide,” he said, aware of how lame that sounded. “I don’t know if I want any contact with them at this point.”

Kat looked concerned. “Babe… you know I’ll support whatever decision you make, right? But don’t leave this decision for too long.” She pulled out her phone and a pen, then retrieved an unshredded napkin from the table and started writing on it. “He’s at Ascension Macomb-Oakland Hospital in—”

“Madison Heights,” he finished in a monotone. “Yeah, don’t bother. I know the place.” After all, he’d wheeled enough people through its sliding glass doors when he’d been an EMT. Including, memorably, his friend Yussef.

Kat stopped writing and glanced up at him. “Are you okay, hon?”

“I’m all right,” he told her, mostly truthfully. With a deep breath, he continued, “Enough about my fucked up family, though. Tell me how things are going at the Brown Fox these days.”

She gave him another long, penetrating look, but after several seconds, she sat back in the seat and plucked a fry from the pile sitting between them. “Well,” she said, consciously lightening her tone, “for one thing, Manuel completely revamped your tapas menu last month.”

Len raised his eyebrows, feigning outrage. “You’re joking. Do you know how long I worked on that menu? Geez, that’s gratitude for you.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “He lets me have first dibs on the leftovers at the end of shift.”

“He’s got a crush on you a mile wide, and you should let him down easy,” Len quipped, though his heart wasn’t really in it. “How’s his mother doing these days?”

Kat sobered. “She’s on a bit of a downswing right now, I guess. Getting more confused, and having trouble walking. The doctors are still giving her that monthly blood replacement thing.”

“Therapeutic plasma exchange?” Len offered, and Kat nodded.

“That’s the one. Hopefully it will help slow the progression—I guess that’s about the best they can expect at this point.”

When he’d made the decision to split his time between Earth and the Fae realm, Len had ceded his job as head of the kitchen in the Brown Fox to Manuel, whose mother suffered from a rare form of incurable, adult-onset Leigh disease that left her unable to work. Len had figured Manuel needed the gig more than he did, and the kid was a talented cook anyway.

The irony of talking about a guy who’d taken full responsibility for his mother’s care—while Len contemplated ignoring the fact that his dad was in the hospital with cardiac complications—wasn’t lost on him.

Kat must have picked up on it, too, because she leaned forward and changed the subject. “Enough depressing stuff. Now, speaking of crushes a mile wide, give me all the latest dirt on yours. I notice he’s not glued to your side and glaring holes through my skull this time.”

Len sighed, launching into a roundup of the latest amusing cultural disconnects that came with dating a supernatural being who’d witnessed the rise and fall of human empires.

* * *

In point of fact, Albigard of the Unseelie had dropped Len off in St. Louis the previous day, before heading back across the Atlantic to check on an entirely unrelated situation in Scotland. Fortunately, for a Fae who could travel magically via ley lines and dimensional portals, being half a world away was barely an inconvenience.

After finishing his lunch with Kat and reassuring her that he was not, in fact, angry with her for tracking down and internet-stalking his crappy, homophobic parents, Len walked along Delmar Boulevard to where the pimpmobile 2.0 was parallel parked in front of a used bookstore. He unlocked the driver’s side door of the 1978 Lincoln Continental and slipped into the vinyl-upholstered seat, before closing the door behind him, shutting out the world. For a long time, he sat staring out the front window without truly seeing the hustle and bustle of midday shoppers moving beyond the glass.

“Well, shit,” he said to the empty air around him.

His father would be sixty-one years old now, if Len’s math was right. He had no idea about the man’s health history. Teenagers didn’t pay attention to things like that, and Len hadn’t seen or spoken with his father since he was sixteen. Heart problems, Kat had said. That could mean a lot of different things, of course. But… if Len’s mother was trying to track him down after all of this time…

He fumbled for his phone and messaged Vonnie Morgan.

Hey, Red. I need to talk to Albigard. It’s important, but not, like, world-ending important. If you know what I mean.

He did a quick time zone calculation. It would be around seven p.m. in Scotland, where Albigard had gone to visit Vonnie and Guthrie Leonides on the Isle of Skye. The pair was still in hiding with a group of magical human children, including Vonnie’s son. The kids had been rescued from Fae control a few months ago, and sent to a secret camp to receive proper training in using their powers.

His phone dinged. He unlocked it.

Hey, Blue. I’ll pass it on right away. You okay? Anything else I can do?

Len breathed a sigh of relief that Vonnie had her phone turned on and had gotten the notification immediately. Of course, that probably wouldn’t have been the case if Albigard were nearby with his tech-killing Fae aura.

Thanks, he typed. It’s just family stuff. I’m all right.

Another minute, and the phone dinged again.

Gotcha. I’ll go tell him. If you need to talk later I’m here.

Len closed his eyes, taking a moment to be grateful for the small and highly eccentric group of friends he’d somehow managed to cultivate in between global supernatural crises.

I appreciate it, Red, he replied. Tell him I’m headed back to the house and should be there in fifteen minutes or so.

He put the phone away and stuck the key in the Lincoln’s ignition, bringing the engine purring to life. The drive back to Zorah’s little two-bedroom bungalow off Hampton Road passed in an undifferentiated gray blur, but at least his subconscious mind dutifully kept him from getting in any accidents or flouting any major traffic laws.

When he pulled into his familiar driveway, a lithe blond figure was seated on the steps, waiting for him. Some of the tightness in Len’s muscles eased at the sight. He turned off the engine and got out, locking the car door behind him. Albigard made to rise as he approached, but Len waved him back down and sank onto the concrete step next to him, sitting shoulder to shoulder.

The Fae gave him a searching look. “Your message sounded urgent. What has happened?”

Len let himself lean a bit of his weight against Albigard’s strength as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I, uh, got some bad news today… about my father. And it’s just occurred to me how unfair it is for me to dump this kind of toxic family-related stuff on you so soon after…” He trailed off. “Well… you know.”

Albigard had recently watched his own father die at the hands of the Wild Hunt, and Len only realized as he started to speak that the Fae might not be too keen on dealing with someone else’s asshole sperm donor who was possibly about to bite the dust.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The Fae’s intent perusal of his face didn’t let up, and Len felt blood rising to his cheeks.

“Oh, come on now. ‘Ridiculous’ is how I roll,” Len retorted. “You should have figured that part out by now.”

Albigard didn’t rise to the bait. “You have been estranged from your parents for many years. I was not aware you maintained any contact with them. How did you receive this news?”

Len waved a hand vaguely. “A friend of mine has been stalking them on social media, apparently. My mother posted online that my father’s in the hospital with heart problems. And also that she wanted to find me, which I assume means it’s serious.”

His companion nodded. “I see. And will you respond?” He paused, as though choosing his words with care. “You do realize that you have no filial responsibility after the way they behaved toward you, yes?”

Len snorted. “Yeah, got the memo already, thanks. And… I’m not sure. People change sometimes. But I also have no desire to sign up for more verbal abuse if they haven’t. Changed, I mean.”

“If it is as serious as you fear, delaying for long enough will ultimately render the decision moot.”

Len raised an eyebrow. “More gallows humor?”

Albigard raised an eyebrow right back at him. Somehow, the Fae’s meaningful eyebrow-raising always came across as considerably more impressive than Len’s… which hardly seemed fair.

“Do you dispute the logic?” Albigard pressed.

After a futile few moments spent trying to stare him down, Len gave in. “No, damn it. I don’t dispute the logic. Asshole.” He couldn’t keep fondness from creeping into his tone, despite the insult.

“So,” Albigard said, “what will the consequences be if you go? Or, for that mater, if you do not?”

Len shot him a sideways glance. “What… you want me to grab a piece of paper and jot down a decision matrix? Strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, threats?”

“I want you to articulate the possible harms and benefits,” Albigard shot back. “Or, alternately, you can utilize the human capacity for pretending ignorance of a situation, and come back with me to the Isle of Skye instead. It is quite lovely there at this time of year, and I’ve no doubt the bloodsucker and his human adept would be pleased to spend time with you.”

Len closed his eyes, sorely tempted. He jammed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and rubbed, being careful of his piercings. A noise of frustration escaped his throat. “Ugh. Okay, okay. So, if I go, it might end up being some kind of heartwarming reconciliation. Alternately, it might end up being civil, but awkward. Or it might be more of the same old family script, with me cast as the bad guy whose gross and unforgivable depravity tore the family apart.”

“Personally, I’m becoming quite fond of your gross and unforgivable depravity.” Albigard’s reply was perfectly deadpan. “And if you don’t go?”

Len let his hands fall to his lap, fully aware that he’d already made up his damned mind and just hadn’t been ready to face it until now. “If I don’t go, I’ll always wonder, and it will eat at me from the inside out.”

Because, hey—why take the easy way out when there was a perfectly good hard way instead?

Story of Len’s life, really.

TWO

ALBIGARD NODDED sagely, as though he’d known what Len’s decision would be all along. Len scowled at him. “Don’t look so smug.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Albigard tilted his head. “Are you aware of your father’s current location? Do you wish to leave immediately?”

A choked snort of laughter caught Len by surprise, though there was no humor behind it. “Oh, yeah. I know where it is, all right. He’s in the same hospital in Detroit where we took Yussef’s body, back when I was an EMT.”

The same hospital where he’d melted down afterward, convinced he was hallucinating the ghosts of every person he’d ever failed to save. Albigard didn’t comment… didn’t ask if he was sure he really wanted to go back there, and Len loved him just a little more for it.

“Very well,” was all the Fae said. “As I am not intimately familiar with the city, travel won’t be as straightforward as a simple portal. I can take us as close as the ley lines run, but from there, we will need to find conventional transportation.”

Len nodded. “Like a taxi or an Uber? Okay. You’ll be stuck tamping down your aura the whole time so you don’t fry the car’s computer system, though.”

“While it’s tiresome to maintain, I am, in fact, capable of dampening my magic as required,” Albigard said, a bit waspishly.

“I know you are,” Len soothed. It wasn’t just that Fae magic tended to kill anything with a circuit board unless they were consciously shielding, though. For Unseelie, proximity to electronics also itched like splinters under the skin. “Right. How close can you get us, in that case?”

Albigard’s gaze went distant as he rifled through what Len had come to understand was an impressively encyclopedic knowledge of the invisible magical highways that crisscrossed the globe. “If memory serves, there is a Native American burial site situated on the ley line, near the west bank of the Detroit River. I believe it later became the location of a fort.”

“Fort Wayne?” Len hazarded, drawing on his long disused mental map of the city. “That’s doable, I think. Let me run inside and grab a couple of things. Then I suppose I should get this over with.”

Already, he was second-guessing this decision—which meant it was probably just as well they were leaving right away. But Albigard stopped him with a hand on his forearm as he began to rise.

“I believe you are wise to make this choice,” said the Fae. “However, just because something is the right thing to do, that seldom makes it the easy thing to do.”

Len breathed out and closed his eyes, centering himself beneath the light grip. “Guess we’ve both learned that lesson the hard way, huh?” he asked.

“Indeed,” Albigard replied, and let him go.

Feeling a bit better about things, Len climbed to his feet and let himself into the house, with Albigard following right behind him. He efficiently filled a backpack with energy bars, bottled water, his phone charger, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a change of clothes. Extra cash went in his wallet.

“You realize I will be able to bring you back here at a moment’s notice if need be,” Albigard pointed out mildly, watching him pack the bag.

“I know, but I also think I’m justified in a bit of paranoia after the last few months,” Len shot back. “Besides which, over-preparing reduces my anxiety. As coping mechanisms go, it’s one of my less self-destructive ones.”

“That is fair,” Albigard allowed, after a slight pause. “I withdraw my objection.”

When he was ready, he locked the front door from the inside and put his keys in his pocket. Before Len had started commuting between Earth and Dhuinne to spend time with his Fae lover, Albigard had placed protective wards on the entire property, including the pimpmobile. It wasn’t quite on the same level as the invisibility wards around the Fae’s house in Chicago—but it prevented people from having much interest in what went on inside the little bungalow. More importantly, anyone intent on theft or property damage would find themselves forgetting why they’d come there in the first place.

It gave Len a certain peace of mind about leaving the place unattended, and right now he was happy for any peace of mind he could get.

Albigard summoned a portal without ceremony. Len stepped through it, emerging into a forest clearing. The air was damp and humid after a recent rain. The sunlight filtered down in yellow dapples through the leafy branches above them. Len guessed this must be the closest ley line access to St. Louis.

“Cahokia,” Albigard said, answering his unspoken question. “Another site of indigenous earthworks.”

As Len understood it, ley lines covered Earth’s surface like a complicated spider web, and they were littered with monuments both ancient and modern. Most humans didn’t have magic of their own, but as a species they were still sensitive to its presence—drawn to the places where it flowed freely. Len stepped close to Albigard, grasping his shoulder as the Fae crouched and pressed a palm flat to the damp loam beneath them. Light flared, and the wrenching sensation of magical travel pulled at his body.

They re-emerged into reality behind a two-story Civil War-era barracks that had seen better days. A handful of tourists were wandering around the area, but none paid them any mind. Whether they were merely distracted by taking photos and poring over guidebooks, or whether Albigard was using Fae influence, Len didn’t bother to ask. All that mattered was that no one was screaming and pointing at the blue-haired man and the refugee from the set of Lord of the Rings who’d just burst into existence in a flash of light.

After orienting himself, Len led the way to the parking lot that backed up to West Jefferson Avenue and took his phone out of his pocket. Albigard nodded to indicate he was reining in his aura, so Len powered it on and called for an Uber.

The journey to Ascension hospital was almost twenty miles. As he calculated the driver’s tip, Len was reminded that one of these days he was going to have to figure out a better strategy regarding his money situation on Earth. Guthrie Leonides, his vampire ex-boss, hadn’t admitted to being the source of the fifty thousand dollars that had mysteriously appeared in Len’s bank account after his return from the Fae realm of Dhuinne—though he remained the prime suspect. The money was still there, but he’d managed so far not to touch it, because its presence rubbed him the wrong way.

Len hadn’t offered his assistance in the fight against the Wild Hunt for money, for god’s sake. He hadn’t fought to get Ransley and Zorah’s souls back from the Endless Void in hopes of getting a cash reward for his efforts. But, to date, he also hadn’t managed to get anyone to admit to the unwanted gift, much less take it back.

Eventually, though, he was going to need more money than he otherwise had access to. And the truth was, his frequent trips between realms for weeks at a time didn’t make the prospect of steady employment simple. Nor could he work up much enthusiasm for his old side-gig of private bondage sessions for cash under the table—not when there was really only one person he wanted to tie up and ravish these days.

But, hey… at least there was still enough of his own money left in the bank account to cover an expensive Uber ride, so he could visit his estranged parents in the hospital, right? Hooray.

As the roads became more and more familiar, the unpleasant buzz of disquiet beneath Len’s skin grew harder to ignore. Albigard was a steadfast presence at his side in the cramped backseat, but it wasn’t enough to overcome the awareness of exactly what Len was here to do. The car pulled up to the hospital, and the wrongness of arriving at the front entrance—rather than the ambulance bay next to the ER—joined the wrongness of everything else.

Len thanked the driver and got out, with Albigard close on his heels.

The Fae looked up at the six-story beige brick edifice before returning his gaze to Len. “I will come inside with you to ensure that you are given access to the information and visitor’s clearance you need. Do you wish me to accompany you to the meeting itself?”

Len closed his eyes and tried to quiet his clamoring thoughts. After weighing the sense of comfort and moral support he might gain against the added complication of trying to explain why he’d dragged his male lover to his gay-bashing father’s bedside, he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I should probably do this alone. For one thing, the temptation to have you influence them mentally might be too much,” he added, reaching for humor and falling decidedly short.

“As you wish,” Albigard replied.

Len dredged up old memories of the place. “There are a couple of picnic tables under a tree near the emergency room entrance.” He paused. “Or at least, there used to be, a few years back. I’m guessing that would be more comfortable for you than being surrounded by hundreds of beeping machines and monitors.”

Albigard nodded. “Indeed. You may find me there when you’re ready to leave. I will wait for you… as long as it takes.”

The urge to blurt ‘I’ve changed my mind, please get me away from here right now’ was nearly overwhelming, but Len bit the words back.

“Okay,” he said hoarsely.

A warm hand brushed the side of his jaw, cupping it. Len let himself lean into that controlled strength for a moment, hating that the mere idea of seeing these people again after twelve years could reduce him to such a state.

“All will be well, a rúnsearc,” Albigard said softly. “They may still have the power to hurt you, but they do not have the power to define you. In truth, they never did.”

Len swallowed convulsively and gave a jerky nod. The fingers slid away with a final caress, and he turned reluctantly toward the door with its garish blue and white signage.

The area inside was bustling with activity. Even here, the hospital smell catapulted Len back to his days as an EMT. He led Albigard to the reception desk—another jarringly unfamiliar process—and stumbled his way through his request for information. Again, he was unsure whether or not Albigard brought his influence to bear, or whether his ID with the relevant last name on it was enough to support Len’s claim of being immediate family.

With a room number and a vague set of directions in hand, he took a deep breath and turned to his Fae companion. “I’ll see you soon. Thank you.”

Neither of them was huge on public displays of affection in the traditional human sense, but Len was certain he felt the brush of Albigard’s power against his mind as he fell into those depthless green eyes. It was a breath of calm, nothing more, and Len had long possessed the ability to shake off Fae influence when he wanted to.

Right now, he didn’t want to.

Albigard held his gaze for another moment before the power slid away as subtly as it had come. Len gave him a single nod of acknowledgement before steeling himself and heading in the direction of the elevators.

The doors dinged open on the fourth floor, and he stepped out, checking the wall for room numbers and helpful directional arrows. Every step toward Room 461 felt like he was wading through molasses, growing deeper and thicker the closer he got. The room’s door was open a crack, and he could here voices coming from inside.

It occurred to him, far too late, that showing up with no warning like this was kind of a crappy thing for him to do. He should have made an effort to get in touch with his mother first… had Kat send her a DM over Facebook or something. But the utter humiliation inherent in turning around and walking away after coming so far kept him from giving into cowardice and beating a hasty retreat.

He took a deep breath, knocking softly on the door before pushing it open wider and sticking his head in.

“Erm… hello?” he said.

There was a male nurse bending over the figure lying in the bed… a figure Len couldn’t bring himself to look at quite yet. Suddenly, he was sixteen again, as though the intervening twelve years had never happened. Movement caught his peripheral vision, a woman rising from a chair in the corner of the room at the same moment the nurse turned toward him.

Len forced himself to focus on the woman. His mother. There she was, looking older and drawn with exhaustion, gray strands streaking through her raven-colored hair.

She frowned at him. “Who are you? What are you doing in here?”

The faint Mexican accent she’d never quite managed to shed stabbed at his heart like a knife. At her words, the nurse straightened, squaring his shoulders like he was worried there was about to be a problem.

“I’m your son,” he told her blankly.

THREE

LEN WATCHED several expressions flit across his mother’s face in the low light of the private hospital room.

“Len?” she asked after a painful pause, because apparently they were going to do this in the most clichéd manner imaginable.

“Yeah,” he told her. “I… uh… heard you were trying to find me.”

Her hand flew to her mouth, covering it.

The nurse looked between them warily. “Everything all right here, folks?”

His mother looked completely lost for a moment, but then she nodded, her hand still clapped across the lower half of her face.

“I think we’re okay,” Len told him. “And if we’re not, I’ll leave. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Right,” said the nurse, with the air of someone who was far too busy to babysit other people’s family drama. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. The doctor should be by in a couple of hours to discuss the latest test results with you, Mrs. Grayson.”

She pulled her hand away as though she’d just noticed it was still there. “Thank you. Yes, we’re fine here.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

The nurse gave them a final wary glance and headed out. Len slipped fully inside the room to let him close the door.

“So,” Len said, when the silence showed no signs of breaking. “A friend of mine said you were trying to reach me. Here I am.”

Her sun-drenched complexion had gone pale as milk. “Mijo… I’ve missed you. It’s your father, he’s—”

She reached out a hand toward him. He stepped back without thinking, despite the fact that several feet already separated them. Her hand dropped back to her side.

“What’s wrong with him?” Len made himself look at the figure in the hospital bed. And… maybe he shouldn’t have felt so hurt by his mother’s lack of recognition when he’d arrived, because Len barely recognized his father’s sunken features.

“They’re calling it restrictive cardiomyopathy,” his mother said softly. He glanced up to find her hugging herself, both arms wrapped around her ribcage as though to hold something inside that wanted to escape. “They want to implant some kind of machine to help pump the blood, but he’s too weak right now.”

Len ran his eyes over the readings on the heart monitor mounted behind the bed, taking the information on board. “I see.”

“Where have you been all this time?” The question was almost a whisper.

He didn’t turn to look at her. “Living my life. Trying to pick up the pieces and move forward. Same as you, I imagine.” He kept his tone even, with difficulty.

A quiet groan came from the bed. Len sucked in a breath as his father blinked open bleary eyes, looking around the room in confusion.

His mother crossed hurriedly to the bedside. “Charles? Oh, Charles, you’re awake. Len is here! Our Len! He heard you were sick and he came…”

Len took slow, even breaths, as bloodshot gray eyes the same shade as his own landed on him and sharpened gradually into focus.

“Len?” his father asked. “You’re really here? What’s… what’s wrong with your hair…?”

“Hi, Dad,” Len said, past the burn in his throat. “Yes, I’m really here. And it’s hair dye. I’ve got a bunch of piercings and tattoos, too, since I figured you’d hate all of that with a burning passion.”

“You came.” There was something like wonder in his father’s tone. “Son, I have to tell you… I’m so sorry. I was wrong.”

A terrible, shaky feeling snaked its way through Len’s guts, spreading up and down his spine before spilling into his arms and legs.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said distantly. “And yes, you were wrong.”

His father only nodded. “I just… needed you to know. M’glad you came…” The words trailed into a mumble, and his eyes closed, features growing slack with sleep once more.

Len stood frozen, staring down at him.

His mother held his father’s hand between both of hers, chafing her thumb gently over his knuckles. After a long moment, she set it back on the bed, being careful of the IV line. Len watched her, entirely unsure what he was supposed to be feeling right now. The silence grew painful, until eventually he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“So,” he said stupidly, with no clue what other words were going to follow that one.

His mother’s chest rose and fell on a long, deep breath, as though she were girding herself. It struck Len that he would rather be standing in the middle of any one of the many terrifying magical battles he’d been in over the past couple of years than here, waiting for someone to say something.

Lucia Grayson made her way back to her chair in the corner and sank down in it. Her green-flecked brown eyes rose to his face, taking in the metal piercings… the aggressive fauxhawk.

“I wanted to find you long before now, you know,” she said.

There were awful words struggling to climb up Len’s throat and escape—words that had no place in a hospital room with heart and blood pressure monitors measuring out the remainder of a fragile life, beep by beep.

“No,” he managed, in a more or less level voice. “I obviously didn’t know that, since there are services that track people down on the internet, and it’s not like I changed my name… or made any attempt whatsoever to hide from you. I have a LinkedIn account, for god’s sake…”

His mother looked pained. “It wasn’t that simple, mijo.”

Len stared at her. “Wasn’t it? Because from where I’m standing, it was exactly that simple.”

She shook her head. “You have to understand—”

An alarm started pinging on one of the monitors, cutting across her words. They both turned to look at it. Len watched in horrified disbelief as the steady pulse of the green line on the electrocardiogram wavered and collapsed. Several realizations hit him at once, including one that sent his own heart thundering.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Oh, no. Mom, I have to get out of here. Right now. We’ll talk later, okay?”

His mother looked frantically between Len and the bed. “But, your father, he’s—”

The heart monitor flatlined into an ominous, steady tone. Len turned to flee as sudden panic suffused him. He almost ran headfirst into the crash cart team barreling through the door. The same large nurse who’d been in the room when he’d arrived a few minutes ago took him by the shoulders and pushed him out of the way. He stumbled and righted himself, trying to find a path past the bulky machinery blocking the room’s only exit.

“Help him, please!” his mother was begging, wringing her hands together as she stood just far enough out of the way for the team to reach the bed.

Len lunged for the doorway as soon as there was enough space, and had to catch himself on the frame as a familiar, freezing chill wrapped around his body and sank through his skin. His hearing went dull and distant as the doctor barked orders for standard defibrillation procedures; his lungs laboring against the sharp frostiness of fresh death animus. Len let out a broken moan of denial and staggered away from the support of the wall, the hallway telescoping dizzily out in front of him as he tried to remember how to get back to the elevators.

Cursing himself for ten kinds of idiot, he stumbled in what he sincerely hoped was the right direction—ignoring the handful of people he passed who looked at him in clear concern. Somehow, he managed to get back to the main level without being scooped up by orderlies or security personnel. He burst out of the front doors and turned, following the outer walls of the building until the familiar red emergency room entrance sign loomed in his tunneling vision.

Sure enough, a pair of battered picnic tables still sat under a scraggly tree in the sad patch of grass on the far side of the road. The figure that had been seated there rose hastily and met him halfway.

Albigard’s hands cupped his elbows, steadying him. “What happened?” he asked. Before Len could formulate words, though, the Fae’s nostrils flared, sniffing the air, and he said, “Oh. Oh, dear. This… was not part of the plan.”

Len clutched at his arms. “I didn’t think! Oh, god… he wasn’t supposed to… not while I was still there—”

Albigard chivvied him toward the picnic tables. “Sit down for a moment.”

But Len balked. “I don’t want to sit down!” He could hear his own breathing, frantic and wheezing around the words. The deep chill of his father’s death suffused his bones… his muscles.

Rather than argue, Albigard looked around with a quick sweep of green eyes and hauled Len behind the questionable shelter of the tree, instead. A portal opened, Len was dragged through it, and in the next moment he was standing in his living room in St. Louis. Hands pulled the backpack from his shoulders and set it aside—Len had forgotten he still had the thing with him. Albigard deposited him on his battered sofa, which squeaked an indignant warning beneath his weight. When he was safely settled, the Fae crouched in front of him.

“You must calm your breathing,” he said. “Do you need assistance in doing so?”

Len shook his head and curled forward, his fingers digging painfully into his own thighs. Dragging his composure together by main force, he made himself breathe in for a count of four, hold it, breathe out for a count of four, and repeat. A warm hand covered one of his, and he tried to focus on the small point of heat among the terrible cold.

When he straightened again, he felt a bit more in control. He also felt empty, as though someone had reached in and hollowed out his insides. He blinked several times, prodding at the events of the last hour cautiously.

“Why don’t I feel anything?” he asked Albigard, bewildered. “I should feel something, shouldn’t I?”

The Fae’s hand still rested on his. “Perhaps you will tell me what transpired, beyond the obvious.”

Len cast around mentally, trying to organize his thoughts into something more coherent than broken sentences that made no sense. “My mother,” he began. “She didn’t recognize me.”

“It was probably the hair,” Albigard observed, and Len nearly choked on nothing.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Yeah, all right. I guess it could have been the hair. My dad apologized to me.”

“You spoke to him,” Albigard said, as though to confirm it.

He nodded. “Kind of. He apologized and said kicking me out was a mistake. And I agreed that, yeah, it was definitely a shitty thing to do to a kid. Then he said he just wanted me to know he was sorry, and he fell asleep. Or, well, I guess maybe he decided then that it was okay for him to die at that point, because he flatlined a couple of minutes later.”

“Perhaps he had accomplished what he felt he needed to do,” Albigard suggested.

Len rubbed at his upper arm with his free hand, trying to get his blood flowing properly. “Right. Because saying ‘whoops, sorry I ruined your life at the age of sixteen’ totally makes up for twelve years of complete and utter neglect.”

“It does not,” Albigard said, in an even tone. “However, believing it would is consistent with the thinking of a short-sighted and self-absorbed man.” He hesitated. “However, I feel I must add that your life was not ruined. I’ve no doubt that it was made more difficult—exponentially so. But you overcame all of it and became the person you are today… for which I am rather grateful.”

Len had to swallow a couple of times before he could speak. “Right. Thanks for that. Sorry… I’m wallowing, aren’t I?”

“No apologies are necessary. Continue. What else was said?”

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs and letting the air flow out slowly. “My mother claimed she’s wanted to find me for a long time. Which would be more believable, if she’d, y’know, made any actual effort to do so.”

Albigard tilted his head, considering. “Not necessarily.”

Len swallowed again, old hurt from his childhood beginning to bubble up properly now. “She watched without saying a word while my father threw me out. Aren’t mothers supposed to be, like, super-protective of their kids? Why would she just stand there and not do anything?” He could hear the plaintive tone in his own voice… the way the years seemed to slip away.

“Perhaps she was too afraid of your father to act,” Albigard said. “Then, or during the intervening years.”

Len opened his mouth to say how ridiculous that suggestion was… and paused, suddenly uncertain.

“I… don’t think he beat her, or anything like that,” he said, even as old puzzle pieces reshuffled in the depths of his mind—low-voiced arguments overheard through his bedroom wall in the middle of the night. Occasional shouting.

Albigard lifted one elegant shoulder and let it drop. “There are other means of controlling a person besides physical force. It is a theory, nothing more.” He rose smoothly from his crouch and extended a hand. “But that is enough for now. Come. We are going to rest for a bit.”

Len stared blankly at him. “It’s still daylight.”

“Yes. We are resting anyway.” The hand didn’t move.

He took it, and let himself be pulled to his feet with easy, inhuman strength. Fifteen minutes later he was being guided into his modest double bed, wearing a pair of pajama pants and nothing else. Albigard—also bare-chested—slid in with him, and somehow Len found himself wrapped up in the Fae’s arms, his head resting against a solid shoulder. Fingers stroked over the soft bristles of shaved hair at Len’s temple. Before long, he was fast asleep despite the early hour.

FOUR

HE AWOKE several times as the evening progressed, the light fading in jerky stop-motion outside the window. Each time, sleep claimed him again—until his eyes blinked open in the dark hours of the night to find his father’s ghostly form standing against the wall by his dresser.

The specter’s expression was… pensive? Disapproving? Len bolted upright, heart hammering in his chest.

“No,” he said, choking on the word. “No, no, no… fuck—”

Albigard was there, sitting up next to Len and following his horrified gaze in the yellow sodium light of the street lamps outside. A gentle hand tried to turn Len’s face away, but his eyes remained fixed on the pale form of his father—watching his son in bed with another man.

“An illusion, a rúnsearc,” Albigard murmured, obviously intuiting what was going on. “It is a figment of your mind, nothing more.”

Len shook his head sharply. The phantom remained stubbornly in place. “I can’t,” he began, his voice catching. “Fuck, I can’t do this.”

The glowing form blurred in his vision, and suddenly Len’s lungs were hitching violently as he was reeled in to rest against a broad chest. He clutched at Albigard’s shoulders and wept for the lingering death of his family—a process begun twelve years ago and sealed on the previous day.

Albigard held him, not moving until Len was finally able to rein in his shuddering grief. He didn’t dare look up, for fear the pale specter would still be there.

“I want him gone,” he rasped, sounding like he’d swallowed sandpaper. “I want this animus out of me. I don’t care how.”

He felt Albigard’s nod. “We will address it in the morning, beloved. My word on it.”

Len swallowed the irrational demand they somehow get rid of his father’s ghost now, and cautiously raised his head. The glowing figure had disappeared.

In its place was the itch of a familiar craving for the oblivion of drugs. Len swallowed a groan. He’d been better these past few months, damn it. Trust his father to screw that up for him, as well.

“I need you to put me out for the rest of the night,” he said, meeting Albigard’s concerned gaze.

Another nod. “As you wish, my heart. Look into my eyes, and sleep.”

With a silent sigh of relief, Len fell into soothing pools of forest-green and let the world slip away.

* * *

It wasn’t accurate to say he felt better the following morning. But daylight helped, as did the fact that Albigard was apparently taking Len’s demand to get rid of his father’s animus one hundred percent seriously.

“On two previous occasions, you were able to expel necromantic energy voluntarily,” said the Fae. “However, it’s not clear if the process was under your conscious control.”

“It wasn’t,” Len confirmed. Neither of those memories were comfortable ones, even if the second occurrence had been integral in returning Rans and Zorah to life.

Albigard nodded. “Then the alternative is for me to draw it out of you using our bond.”

Len looked up sharply. “What? You hate channeling death animus.”

“Which is the reason I suggested it myself, rather than waiting for you to do so.” The Fae’s tone was dry. “The question then becomes what you would wish me to do with the resulting energy.”

Blinking at him, Len opened his mouth… and closed it.

“What… are the options?” he asked eventually. So far, he’d seen necromantic energy channeled into making a Fae portal, collapsing an unstable tunnel entrance, and giving a demon a power boost—none of which were terribly useful under the present circumstances.

With a shrug, Albigard started listing things off. “Inter-dimensional travel. Explosive mechanical force. Illumination, presumably. Magical ignition of fire. Healing, possibly—”

Len cut him off. “Healing?”

Albigard hesitated. “While I have some ability in that regard, it seems unlikely I could focus well enough to perform magic so delicate, while also channeling necromancy. But if a third party were involved, I could perhaps function as a conduit of sorts, taking the power from you and feeding it to them for use in the healing arts.”

“Like an inverter?” Len hazarded, trying to picture it. “Converting DC power to AC?”

“An apt analogy,” Albigard agreed.

Len took a slow breath. “So… there’s this guy I know. His mother has an incurable genetic disease. It’s very rare in adults—there’s a mutation of the mitochondrial DNA that messes up cellular energy production pathways. They’re treating her with plasma exchange and intravenous immunoglobulin to provide autoimmune support, which seems to help stabilize her condition for a while before she undergoes another setback.”

“Interesting,” Albigard replied.

“But I don’t know if that’s the kind of thing magical healing can help with,” Len finished. “It’s not like a bruise or a bleeding wound.”

“Such matters require a much more subtle application of the art, certainly.” The Fae appeared to consider it. “Would the individual in question even be open to such a thing? I must admit, I’m uncomfortable with the prospect of forcing invasive and life-altering magical practice on an innocent human, even for a good cause.”

“Says the man who mind-whammied me five minutes after meeting me,” Len replied pointedly.

Albigard scoffed. “That was hardly life-altering.”

Len raised an eyebrow at him. “Wasn’t it, though?”

“Also, calling you innocent is a stretch,” Albigard retorted.

Len rolled his eyes, not really able to argue that one. “Here’s the thing, though,” he said. “Manuel—the sick woman’s son—works at the Brown Fox. He already knows about the paranormal world, and he hasn’t run for the hills yet. If you’re really willing to do this—and if you know someone with that level of healing ability—I think we should ask him.”

“Aesulna would be the obvious choice of healer,” Albigard mused. “Assuming she can be talked into coming to Earth.”

Len leaned forward and reeled Albigard in with a hand at the nape of his neck, before kissing him deeply. Parting only far enough to press their foreheads together, he whispered, “God, I love you. You know that, right?”

When he pulled away, it was to find a faint flush of color staining Albigard’s cheeks. Feeling the first real lightening of the weight on his shoulders since Kat had told him about his father, Len smiled. “Okay, then. You go talk to Aesulna, and I’ll talk to Manuel? Then meet back here tonight?”

“That should be an adequate period of time, yes.”

Len kissed him again for good measure.

* * *

Two days later, Len woke up before sunrise to find his father’s hazy manifestation standing by the bedroom door, barely visible in the gray predawn. Len was alone in the bed—Albigard had left the previous evening to collect Aesulna from Dhuinne, in preparation for the healing slated to take place later in the day. Len sat up slowly, not taking his eyes off the diaphanous outline across the room.

“You know, if you were going to have a change of heart,” he said, “I’m sorry you couldn’t have had it earlier. It might’ve made your wife’s life better, if nothing else. Though after what I saw in the hospital, I’m pretty sure she still loved you, regardless.” He paused. “And… speaking of the hospital, I’m also sorry I ran out on her right after you died. I do actually intend to do something about that. But first I need to see if I can turn this whole god-awful mess into something that at least makes other people’s lives better.”

The hazy image of his father tilted its head, as though considering Len’s words. A moment later, it faded away. Once it was gone, Len sat staring at the empty space for a few minutes before rising to take a shower and get dressed.

Shortly before noon, Albigard arrived via a portal with both Aesulna and the cat-sidhe in tow.

“This will go easier with their help,” Aesulna explained. “A sidhe may pull power from any Seelie or Unseelie who allows it, and pass it on to another just as easily.”

“Huh. My first ever Fae daisy chain,” Len quipped. He gestured toward the door and grabbed the keys to the pimpmobile. “So, it looks like I’m driving, then. Right this way, everyone. Your carriage awaits.”

The ancient Lincoln was Fae-friendly, in the sense that there wasn’t a single electronic circuit board to be found anywhere in the thing. Len’s case of nerves surrounding what they were about to do wasn’t quite bad enough to dampen his amusement at the cat-sidhe’s obvious fascination with the garish car, or the way Aesulna entered the back seat with such regal grace that it might as well have been the royal carriage he’d promised.

Manuel had been warned ahead of time to turn off anything he owned that contained a computer chip. He greeted them at the door of his rental house, trying and failing to hide his nervousness. Len couldn’t blame him—the Brown Fox and its employees had something of a history with the Fae, and for the most part it hadn’t been pleasant.

He made the introductions, and Manuel gradually relaxed as Aesulna began quizzing him on his mother’s condition and medical history. The sidhe added occasional pertinent questions, and Albigard did a passable job of not acting like an asshole.

“She’s in the middle of a downturn right now,” Manuel finished. “But she already knows about magic, and about you guys being real. I always tell her the stories from the Fox, you know? And I tried to explain about this. She seemed excited, but her cognitive function isn’t great at the moment. I can’t guarantee she really grasped it properly.”

“You are her legal guardian?” Albigard asked.

“Yes,” Manuel said.

The Fae nodded. “You are comfortable with your understanding of what we will attempt to do today, and consent to it?”

Manuel’s gaze slid to meet Len’s, because he was a sharp kid and he’d heard the stories. “Erm…”

“Let me just pop in here to clarify that this is my gift to you and your mom, assuming it even works,” Len told him. “Not their gift. No strings attached. Honestly, I’m stuck with some power that I desperately need to offload, so you’re doing me a favor, too.”

Manuel nodded slowly. “Okay, yeah—I consent as long as you all agree to stop if it looks like it’s making things worse instead of better. The doctors can’t do anything except keep pumping other people’s plasma into her, to try and trick her immune system into working better for a few weeks at a time. She’s still losing ground, though, and she’s eventually going to die from this.”

Aesulna tilted her head. “In that case, let us meet her now and see what can be done.”

Fernanda Moralés was a frail shell of a woman, despite still being a year shy of forty. A refugee from Guatemala, she’d escaped to the United States while heavily pregnant with Manuel at the age of nineteen. She smiled at them, her vacant eyes wandering as she nodded agreeably in response to Aesulna’s gentle questions. As Manuel had warned, Len had the distinct impression she had no real idea what was going on.

After more consultation with Manuel, the Fae healer began an examination, her hands moving above Fernanda’s body without touching.

“Ah,” Aesulna said. “Yes, I see the break in the pathway. Such a tiny change in the building blocks, but it has affected the cells’ energy production.”

“Adenosine triphosphate. That’s what the doctors say,” Manuel told her, hope kindling in his dark brown eyes. “You can fix that? You can really fix her DNA mutation?”

Aesulna shared a look with the cat-sidhe and shrugged. “It should be possible—though it will take some time for the genetic changes to propagate. It will not be an immediate cure, but she will gradually grow stronger instead of weaker. Do you still wish us to proceed?”

Manuel closed his eyes for a moment, and drew in a deep breath. “Please. Yes, please help her if you can.”

“Very well,” said the cat-sidhe. “Let us begin.”

* * *

Two hours later, Len sat shivering with unnatural cold, huddled with Albigard as the life force that had once belonged to a horrible father flowed into someone else’s beloved mother—knitting together that which nature and random chance had broken.

“At least you didn’t puke this time,” Len rasped.

Albigard slumped against him, his skin every bit as icy as Len’s. His wordless noise of acknowledgement sounded more like a groan.

“Maybe you’re building up a tolerance to necromancy,” Len continued, as another full-body shiver wracked him.

“Mab’s tits… I hope not,” Albigard managed, sounding utterly wretched.

Manuel darted out of the room and returned a moment later with a blanket, which he draped over their shoulders. “So… necromancy, huh?” he asked, eyeing them. “When did that happen?”

“Long story,” Len told him. “Short version—zero out of ten stars, would not recommend to others.”

“Agreed,” Albigard said.

On the other side of the room, Aesulna straightened from her work, massaging her lower back with one gnarled hand. “There, that should do it, once her body has time to mend itself and adapt to the changes. For now, though, she needs rest.”

The cat-sidhe covered a yawn. “I believe we all do, though I would prefer to return to Dhuinne first.” Green eyes raked over Len and Albigard. “Unless you two need assistance?”

Len shook his head. “S’okay. Gimme a few minutes and I’ll be able to drive him back to my place.”

Manuel had crossed to his mother’s bedside, taking her hand and gazing down at her peacefully sleeping face. “She’ll be all right now, though? It really worked?”

Aesulna gave the pair a small smile. “I believe so, child. Since they seem to help her, allow the human healers to continue their treatments until they determine she’s in remission. If you have any concerns in the meantime, contact that one.” She jerked her chin in Len’s direction. “He will pass the message to me, and I will return if needed.”

“You’ve got my number, right?” Len asked.

Still holding his mother’s frail hand in his, Manuel nodded and turned to look at them. “Yeah. Look… I really don’t know what to say. This is…” He trailed off. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Len replied, relaxing a bit as his body began to thaw out. He stretched cautiously. “I’m just glad we could help.”

Albigard grunted. “Don’t expect me to make a habit of it.”

Len nudged his shoulder. “Promise I won’t,” he said.

FIVE

THE DAY OF Charles Grayson’s funeral dawned brisk and sunny. Len had not been the least bit surprised to learn that it would involve the full spectacle—a public funeral service at his father’s beloved Southern Baptist church, followed by a graveside service for family and friends, and a reception afterward.

All told, it was more time than Len had spent inside a church cumulatively over the last dozen years. For most of it, he felt like a fish not only out of water, but being dangled over an active volcano. Oddly, while he’d expected Albigard to fit in even worse than he did, he’d been sorely mistaken. Dressed in a sober black suit and with his waves of platinum hair tied back in a rolled-up braid that made its length less obvious, the Fae effortlessly followed the arcane ritual of sitting, standing, praying, and singing hymns.

“I spent centuries enmeshed in this religion,” Albigard told him later. “Did Thorpe not tell you that I was posing as clergy in fifteenth century Ireland when we first met?”

Len, whose experience with Christianity had been both considerably shorter and considerably rockier than that, sat in the pew between the Fae and his mother. She had given up her Catholicism to marry the man lying in the casket at the front of the church. Len was beginning to wonder what other parts of herself she’d been forced to give up during the intervening thirty years.

The service felt interminable, punctuated as it was by a seemingly never-ending parade of self-important middle-aged white men singing the praises of the deceased and pointedly ignoring Len’s awkward blue-haired presence. After joining a smaller group of people who broke off to watch the casket being lowered into the ground, then returning to eat tasteless tuna casserole and green Jell-O with grated carrot in the church’s meeting hall, Lucia Grayson finally managed to extricate herself from the crowd of well-wishers, rejoining Len and his Fae companion.

“Please,” she said, her eyes darting nervously over Albigard before landing on Len. “Can we… go somewhere? And talk for a bit?”

That was how Len ended up sitting in a run-down diner, sipping bad coffee with his estranged mother, while his male lover sat calmly next to him—a silent sentinel.

His mother’s face was haggard beneath too much makeup. “You were right, mijo,” she said, breaking the silence. “I should have searched for you, rather than only dreaming about it. I have not been a good mother to you.”

It would be a lie to say that Len had fully come to terms with twelve years of bitterness and betrayal. But he’d been thinking a lot in the days since Kat first gave him the news about his father, and he’d come to the conclusion that he’d probably regret it if he ignored this opportunity fate had seemingly handed him.

“I’ve never had much luck with should-haves,” he told her. “The past is done. But if you want something different for the future, I would be… open to that.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together and looking down at the formica countertop—but not before Len saw the sheen of tears dampening her eyes.

“I’d like that very much,” she said, taking a sip of coffee to cover the quaver in the words. She cleared her throat. “Also, you should know… your father had a large life insurance policy. When he got the diagnosis from the doctors, I convinced him to change the beneficiaries and give you half of it. It should come to five hundred thousand dollars.”

Len flinched back instinctively. “I don’t want your money.”

Albigard’s hand covered his on the counter, startling him. “Do not make the decision now, a rúnsearc. Heed me on this—I have observed some behaviors regarding money and self-sufficiency of which you may not be fully aware. However, this is not the time to discuss it.”

Lucia glanced away awkwardly from the press of Albigard’s hand on his, but she managed to meet Len’s eyes. “Please listen to your… your friend.”

“The word you’re looking for is partner,” Len snapped, and had to take a deep breath before adding in a calmer tone, “All right. We can talk about it more later.”

Because it wasn’t as though Len was unaware that he had some deep-seated neuroses related to cash—ones that probably needed more unpacking than he’d devoted to them in the past.

His mother relaxed a little. “I would like for the future to be different—better—for both of us. My pastor suggested… perhaps entering family counseling together, if you would be open to such a thing.”

Albigard’s hand was a warm, grounding weight on his as Len tried to picture what it might be like to wade into those deep waters. He knew, intellectually, that he was a walking mass of flayed nerves most of the time, even if he’d been coping better since gaining a more accurate understanding of the forces—both internal and external—that influenced his life.

“I travel a lot,” he said slowly. “I’m not always here on”—he caught himself before he said ‘Earth’—“in the States. But I’m not… saying no. It would have to be a secular counselor, though. Someone I choose.”

His mother nodded rapidly, hope in her eyes. “Of course, mijo. Anyone you wanted.” She swallowed, her throat working. “I’m not trying to change you, though I suppose you would assume I am. But you are my son. You don’t need to change for me to love you.”

Len’s throat closed up, abruptly and without warning. Albigard’s thumb stroked over his knuckles, and he fought to get words past the constriction. “Let me think about it. If I can, I’ll set something up in the next few weeks and let you know, all right?”

“Yes,” his mother said softly.

Feeling emotionally exhausted, he let Albigard take the lead in bringing the interlude to a socially acceptable close, making their excuses and ensuring that his mother would be all right on her own. He watched as she got in her car and drove away, still feeling like something heavy was lodged in his chest. When the car disappeared from view, Albigard turned to him.

“What do you wish to do now?”

Len blinked away the burning wetness in his eyes. “I want to go home, please.”

“To St. Louis?” asked the Fae.

“No.” Len shook his head. “I want to go home.”

Albigard nodded his understanding. “Very well. Then that is what we will do.”

SIX

THAT EVENING, A literal world away, Len sat staring pensively into the fire Albigard had set up for them at the edge of the forest, near the camp of the Forsaken. Sensing Len’s desire for solitude, he’d hauled out enough blankets to make a comfortable nest for both of them, and informed the others of their desire for privacy until the following morning.

Here, surrounded by flowering vines and the twinkling illumination of sprites, the pressure around Len’s chest eased. Beneath it, he could feel a sense of fragile yearning—a desire for some kind of healing of the invisible scar tissue that was his broken family life. That part of him had been so badly hurt for so long that he’d stopped paying attention to it out of self-preservation. Now, it ached like a fresh wound.

Callused fingers tilted Len’s chin until he was looking at his companion, instead of the flickering flames.

“You require distraction,” Albigard observed. His thumb brushed Len’s lip ring, sending a small surge of warmth along his nerves. “I recognize the signs.”

Len dredged up a smile, and pressed a kiss to the pad of Albigard’s thumb before speaking. “As much as I hate to say it, I’m not in a very good place for controlling things tonight, princeling. I wish I were.”

One golden eyebrow quirked. “Then it is just as well that your slave has chosen this evening to rebel. Look at me, a rúnsearc.”

In truth, there were few things in the world that Len would rather look at. Falling into the Fae’s eyes was no hardship, so he did, curious where Albigard was going with this.

“Rebelling, huh?” he asked. “I see how it is. I let my guard down for one night, and suddenly it’s an uprising…”

Albigard hummed agreement. “Without constant vigilance, one cannot expect one’s captive to stay chained. It must be exhausting to maintain.”

“Oh, yes, totally,” Len agreed, amused despite his earlier melancholy. “Sometimes it’s all I can do to get out of bed in the morning.”

The Fae’s secret half-smile matched his own. “Then perhaps you will allow me the liberty tonight. Doubtless if something I do displeases you, you will break my influence and inform me of the fact.”

“I suppose I can manage that,” Len told him, still fighting a lopsided half-grin.

“In that case, it would please me immensely if you focused only on my touch, and let the rest of your cares fade away. You may take them up again later, but for now, they are distant and unimportant.”

Magic stroked the edges of Len’s mind, smoothing its sharp corners. He breathed into the warm tide of serenity with heady relief—his lover’s mental influence acting as a drug both kinder and more potent than any chemical compound found on Earth.

Knowing he could break free if he needed—and also that he didn’t want to break free—Len let go and allowed Albigard to take control. In the absence of any outside cares or concerns, and with the gentle command to experience every touch as though it were the center of his world, he let his worries float away and simply… felt.

Deft fingers undressed him, caressing bare skin as it was revealed. When they were both naked, Albigard pressed Len into the furs and kissed him as though he intended to continue for days. Len’s heart would have been fine with that. More than fine. However, his body had other ideas.

“Please,” he begged against Albigard’s lips, having grown so hard during the endless slide of lips that every tiny brush of his cock against the Fae’s skin was like torture. Sweet, sweet torture. He didn’t want it to stop, but he couldn’t face another moment without more.

This… utter immersion in the here and now, in his body’s reactions and the firing of each individual nerve at the slightest stimulation—it was like nothing he’d ever experienced.

“Please,” he said again, staring into depthless green eyes when Albigard rolled up on an elbow to look down at him.

“What do you desire, beloved?” he murmured.

“Everything,” Len whispered, overwhelmed.

The light in Albigard’s eyes was a little bit possessive… a little bit predatory.

“Perhaps not in a single night,” he said. “But we will see what can be done. Lie back, my heart. Feel all of this.”

Len drank in the sensations like a man in the desert stumbling across a spring-fed oasis. Fingertips stroking skin… the slide of oil against the sensitive flesh behind his balls. Albigard teased him open with inhuman patience, and it had been so long—so long—since he’d let anyone inside like this.

His muscles weren’t under his control. Albigard had enforced Len’s complete relaxation, along with his submission. In the absence of tension, everything was pleasure—even the burn and stretch of penetration. Fingers brushed his prostate again and again until his chest shuddered with every breath. Len had never been able to come from this before. Not without a hand on his cock at the same time. But if Albigard didn’t let up soon—

Lips covered his again, smothering his unsteady gasps, and something inside him shook loose. His hips arched helplessly. His muscles pulsed and clenched around Albigard’s fingers. A moan escaped his lips, but the Fae only swallowed it.

Len’s dick was still hard, leaking dribbles of pre-come at the tip after the heady internal orgasm. He wanted Albigard to touch him there, even though he knew it would be too much to take.

“Please,” he breathed into their shared air. “Oh god…”

The fingers slid free of his body, to be replaced by something even better a few moments later. Len groaned as Albigard pressed in, stretching him to the limit even after all the prep work. When he eventually bottomed out—his body poised and trembling in the cradle of Len’s hips—it was…

It was…

Everything.

“Move,” Len begged. “Please, I need you to move now.”

Albigard moved. Braced on one hand in the furs next to Len’s head, he grasped Len’s aching erection with the other. The Fae teased him with slow strokes in time with the roll of his hips, until Len was gasping and sobbing and coming with more intensity than he ever had in his life. He was only distantly aware of Albigard following him into release with a heartfelt groan, his weight pressing into Len for several moments before he recovered enough to support himself above Len’s body once more.

The Fae withdrew with care, pressing a kiss to the corner of Len’s jaw when he made a sleepy noise of protest at the loss. Magic tingled across Len’s body, cleaning away the mess.

“Rest now,” Albigard said, arranging them so his chest pressed against Len’s back, his arm curled protectively around Len’s stomach. “I am with you. I will not leave you alone.”

Len’s lungs emptied on a slow sigh, every last bit of tension draining from his body and mind. He slept, dreamless, and did not wake until morning.

* * *

When his eyes blinked open, it was to find his companion still holding him, pressed against him from behind. Lips brushed the nape of his neck in the lightest of kisses, sending a pleasant shiver along his nerves.

“Good morning,” Len rasped.

“Good morning,” Albigard replied.

Len stretched cautiously, wincing at the faint twinge that warned him he’d be feeling the effects of the previous evening for a little while yet. Albigard did not move from behind him. Skin slid against skin, warm and welcoming.

“You know, I think last night was exactly what I needed,” Len said. A wide yawn cracked his jaw, and he relaxed into the Fae’s embrace once more. “Thank you for that.”

“I’m glad,” Albigard murmured into the peaceful predawn. He paused for a moment before asking, “Have you determined whether or not you will you meet with your mother for counseling?”

Without much thought, the decision settled into place, grounding something that had been tilted permanently off-kilter until now. A fresh feeling of unaccustomed serenity settled over him, and he craned his head to meet knowing green eyes in the uncertain morning light.

“Yeah,” he said. “You know, I think I will.”

finis

The following series are set in this world:

The Last Vampire

Vampire Bound

Forsaken Fae

The Sixth Demon

If you enjoyed this book, you might also like R. A. Steffan and Jaelynn Woolf’s other vampire series, Circle of Blood.