Cym’s hair had fallen out of its bun and was a shining mess over his face and down his back. Hurt, childlike blue eyes projected worry and confusion but no anger. Fourteen would have been furious. “Why did you do that? They have magic you don’t understand. If you don’t have me with you, you won’t know what to look for.” He jerked his hair over his shoulder and twisted it until it looked painfully tight. “Do you have any idea what my family would do to you if they knew you were helping me?”
“I’m pretty tough.” Fourteen rapped a fist against the chest armor lining his jacket. “As far as I can tell, magic is just a weapon—one I may not understand, but a weapon just the same. The person wielding it is the real danger to look out for. That’s where I come in. It’s what I was trained to do.”
“Just… don’t lock me in the car again, okay?” Cym’s voice shook with emotion, but he looked him right in the eye. Fourteen saw a glimmer of the anger he’d expected earlier. “I… I don’t like that.”
Damn. Cym had just told Fourteen he’d spent most of his life locked up, and he had turned around and done the same thing to him five minutes later. Fourteen rubbed his forehead in frustration. “I… apologize. I’m not used to thinking of people as people. Targets or opponents, yes, but not people.” Fourteen extended a hand to help Cym up, not knowing what else to do. “Keeping someone alive is new to me.”
Cym stared at his hand pensively before finally taking it and allowing Fourteen to help him stand. Though he didn’t deserve it, he basked once again in the glow of peace that flowed from Cym’s body to his. It was then that Fourteen realized he was hooked.
Chapter 5Cym
He knew the man hadn’t done it on purpose, but Cym was still skittish about having been locked in the monstrosity Fourteen called a car. He tried to focus on the next thing—get his bag, change his clothes, and put on some freaking shoes. After that, he would get himself someplace safe—alone. What Cym had told Fourteen so far should be enough to assuage his curiosity about the Other. Now Fourteen would be free to go his own way, and Cym could go his.
They walked to the cemetery where he’d stashed his bag. He took a moment to get his bearings and then wound his way through headstones, past the obelisk, and up to the tree he had stuffed his backpack inside, and looked up. It was taller than he remembered. He’d had to climb to reach the hole—something that had been a challenge in the middle of the night.
This time it was broad daylight, and he had help… if he asked for it. Cym was about to ask Fourteen for a boost when the soldier swung himself into the tree with one graceful motion.
“Where is it?” Fourteen looked down at Cym with his impassive gaze.
“About three feet higher and a little to the left you should find a hole. It isn’t very big, so I had to jam the bag in pretty tightly.”
As Fourteen climbed higher, Cym had no choice but to appreciate the way the man’s jacket accentuated, rather than hid, the muscles in his arms. Cym couldn’t have looked away if he tried. His throat went dry, and he gave an involuntary cough.
Cym was definitely going to miss Fourteen when he was gone. Aside from Fourteen’s obvious handiness, he was the definition of eye candy.
“Got it.” Fourteen’s voice broke Cym out of his reverie. The man dropped out of the tree and landed on the ground with the finesse of a cat. “Here.” Cym’s backpack, covered with cute cartoon cats showing off their tiny kitty buttholes, dangled from his fingers.
It had seemed funny and adorable when he’d bought it, but now Cym was pretty sure that if he ran screaming into traffic, it wouldn’t be an overreaction to the situation he found himself in.
Instead of choosing that incredibly tempting option, Cym forced himself to snatch his bag from the outstretched hand and quickly slung it over his shoulders so Fourteen couldn’t see it anymore.
Say something, Cym. ANYTHING to distract both of you from the fact that your backpack is covered in dozens of cat assholes.
“Thanks. You’re, ah, very good at that, um, tree-climbing thing. It’s probably all the muscles you have tucked away in your pants. Body! I meant in your body. You have a very muscular body with lots of muscles inside it.” Cym wanted to stop talking, he really did, but he’d forgotten how, so his mouth kept going without his permission. “Do you work out a lot?”
This was not the distraction he’d hoped for. Maybe Cym would get lucky and have a stroke soon. Cym wasn’t like this. He normally had his words under control, even if he couldn’t say the same for his magic. But then did Cym really know what he was truly like? He’d spent so much of his life undersocialized that he was probably going to come off painfully weird to any remotely normal person.
Fourteen looked at him with his customary expressionless face and nodded. For all Cym knew, the soldier had filtered out anything Cym said that didn’t have to do with their current retrieval mission. It was also entirely possible that he had heard everything but only thought of Cym as a high-maintenance houseplant. So even if Cym started speculating out loud about how big Fourteen’s cock was, the man might not bat an eye.
Oh, Vis no. Why in the name of everything holy would Cym’s brain have chosen that as an example? Now all he was going to think about was Fourteen’s dick for the next forever. How was Cym supposed to look him in the eye now?
Well…he didn’t have to look a person in the eye while talking. It wasn’t a law or anything. Cym would know. He’d read over a dozen law textbooks out of sheer boredom during his forced stay at Casa No Fun Ever. But not looking Fourteen in the eye meant looking at the rest of him, and that was doing terrible things to Cym’s concentration.
It was also severely hampering his ability to not pop a tent in front of the literal assassin he’d met only a handful of hours ago.
Talking now. Do the talking thing now, Cym, before you start staring at Fourteen’s package and he murders you just to end this awkward situation.
“Well, that’s… um…” Cym had absolutely nothing to follow that brilliant opener with, but fortunately, the tree next to them exploded, saving him from finding a way to escape the conversation.
He was bowled over by Fourteen as the man tucked Cym’s body into his chest and rolled behind a headstone.
The world spun in lazy circles as Cym fought to regain his equilibrium. Cym blinked rapidly until he could focus, fighting for enough cognitive function to be able to take stock of his situation.
The first thing he noticed was Fourteen, wrapped tightly around his body but unmoving. Fourteen’s hand cradled the back of Cym’s head and was pressing Cym’s face into his chest.
Bracing his arms against Fourteen’s chest, Cym levered himself back as far as the soldier’s grip would allow. It wasn’t far. The muscles Cym had so desperately been trying not to ogle weren’t just for show.
Why wasn’t Fourteen moving? Was he okay? Cym wiggled and squirmed until he was able to snake a hand up far enough between them to reach up until he could check the man’s pulse. It was strong, if slower than the situation warranted.
There was a lot more wiggling and shifting involved, but eventually, Cym was able to angle his head enough to see Fourteen’s face. Fourteen’s eyes were open but unfocused and had a dreamy quality to them. Gods, he hoped Fourteen didn’t have a concussion. Cym had zero experience with first aid.
He brushed his fingertips along one of Fourteen’s cheekbones, in a silent apology for not knowing how to help. Then he fought his way free from the man’s embrace as gently as he could. Strong arms resisted his efforts, but eventually, Cym managed to squirm free.
Once he extracted himself, Cym poked his head around the headstone to see if he could figure out what had happened.
The tree that held his bag had been split right down the middle. White flower petals were drifting slowly in the air as if confused by their early release from the tree.
There was no one in sight, but that meant nothing. Cym could have someone standing right beside him hidden by magic, and he’d never know because he’d never been trained to use his magic.
Cym was probably safe from physical attacks though. If his family had found him and had blown up that tree, they wouldn’t want to come anywhere near Cym. They’d just pick him off from afar. That meant he didn’t need to worry about invisible assassins.
That didn’t mean Cym wasn’t close to shitting himself when he sensed movement at his back. He jerked around to see Fourteen trying to haul himself into a sitting position but failing miserably. The man moved like his body was unfamiliar to him, and he hadn’t learned how to use it yet. Fourteen reached a hand out to brace himself only to have it collapse under his weight and send him sprawling to the ground.
Cym crawled over to him and ran shaky hands along Fourteen’s scalp, looking for bumps or blood, but he found nothing. When a headstone three yards to his right imploded with a sharp pop, Cym knew he had to focus on their attacker first and deal with Fourteen’s condition later.
What could he do? Before now, he’d bolted like a bunny every time his family found him, but that option was gone. The gods only knew what would happen to Fourteen if Cym left him behind, and it was his fault Fourteen was there in the first place. There was no running away from this.
