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“You want to run from the Wild Hunt? Then I’ll be happy to give chase until you surrender, little finch.” A taunting purr that made Grey’s heart plummet.
“Why?” Hurt seeped out like blood from a wound.
The scent of cypress pressed in on him as cool breath tickled his skin. “Because if anyone gets to hunt you, it should be the one you belong to.”
* * *
Grey jolted awake, his hands clasping around the collar digging into his throat with a sharp gasp. His head spun, and tears sprang to his eyes at the sight of streetlights peeking through the windows. He could see, but he was still being choked by something trying to keep him pacified.
A shadowy figure pooled at the edge of the bed, and Grey scrambled backward, panting as dim yellow poured over green eyes. “Grey, what’s wrong?”
He shook his head, his vision blurring. “I-I don’t want this?—”
“Don’t want what?” Noel carefully climbed onto the mattress.
Grey sucked in a breath as it dipped, his mind trying to correct his fear that the boy in front of him was the fair folk stalking his nightmares. “They’re hunting me. They won’t stop until I give up because I belong to them, and I don’t know what to do.” He was reduced down to a scared child again. No Atticus and Ingrid to save him from the cruelty waiting on the horizon.
Noel grabbed Grey’s sweatshirt and pulled him forward, despite Grey trying to push away. Arms encircled him, and Noel laid down, his thumb tracing small circles along Grey’s spine. “I got you,” he whispered as Grey’s cheek settled against Noel’s chest. “They can’t take you when I have iron to fight them off. They won’t be hunting either of us soon. Just breathe.”
He sucked in a shaky breath, driving away the thoughts of the collar as he focused on Noel’s soothing touch. “I’m s-sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m scared too. But we’re not alone. We’re going to take care of each other.”
He half-nodded against Noel’s shirt, soaking up his warmth and calm, even breathing. And after a few more minutes of tranquil quiet, sleep took him again.
14
NOEL
Noel stared up at the stained ceiling with an arm tucked behind his head and the other absently running along Grey’s back. The gentle rise and fall of Grey’s chest finally told him he was sleeping, but a sour tang in Noel’s mouth kept him wide awake, imagining the fair folk might break into Grey’s head again.
He didn’t belong to that thing, let alone have the right to torment and threaten him like this. Noel almost wished this fair folk would show themself so he could hunt them instead. Ripping into them with an iron knife sounded like music to his ears after the way Grey flew into a panic. Here he was, putting on a brave face and giving up more and more to keep trudging along, only for sick bastards like Doctor Cavan to make things worse.
His hand drew away from Grey’s back as he glanced down to his sleeping form curled up against him, and he tried to tuck some of Grey’s short, black, wavy locks behind his ear. They popped free almost immediately, making their slow slide toward his face again. Noel chided himself for indulging in that moment as his mind invented a world in which his Calling was to travel like his father had.
Maybe he would run into a few hemomancers and realize none of them were all that bad, and then maybe they would invite him back to their town, where Grey would be living. They could meet when Grey was out shopping or?—
The prompt stumped him, and Noel racked his brain to piece together what else Grey might be doing back home. There weren’t any medics in a hemomancer town, for obvious reasons. He conjured up the contents spilled from Grey’s bag in Doctor Cavan’s office, recalling a banded journal and a small, charcoal-stained tin.
It clicked like a puzzle piece when he stared back up at the ceiling again, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Grey would be capturing the scenery somewhere nearby, and Noel would find him by accident. That’s how it’d start.
Fate would bring them together, just in a kinder way than it had when they’d been driven to the obelisk. They’d sort through their fears naturally, rather than out of necessity, and then it would all unravel from there, spanning out into years of give and take, like his parents always reminded him relationships needed.
His smirk faded as the watercolor daydreams evaporated back to the rusty stains of reality, and his hand dropped back down to Grey’s back. He could fantasize all he wanted, but it wouldn’t do either of them good in the end. Instead, he had to focus on the here and now—the path out of the dark woods they’d wandered into.
What they needed was money to get that special fae knife and bowl. Either that or for them to be able to collect something similar for themselves. Noel chewed on his lip as he let that thought settle in his mind, rooting with each thump of Grey’s heartbeats against his palm.
Iron.
If they had iron, they could go into the ruins themselves—a much cheaper alternative that might yield them a greater profit, either way. Then they could walk free once they made their trade to escape the Wild Hunt.
Problem solved.
That could work, couldn’t it? Or was that far too simple? Maybe they were just overthinking the whole thing to begin with, and the answer was right there in front of them: give the fair folk and Queen Mab back what’s theirs.
* * *
Sneaking out of bed turned into a challenge with Grey clinging to him for over an hour until he shifted. But even when he moved, Noel warred with himself over getting up, slipping on his shoes, and wandering out of the inn.
