Bran dragged a hand down his face, swearing quietly. “It should. Any other witch would want you both dead.”
“You don’t.”
“Because I know you!” Bran burst out, shaking his head rapidly, causing the leash to swing back and forth. “You may look like one of them, but youaren’t.”
“And you might be a witch, but you don’t hate me.”
At that, Bran let out a little ragged laugh, hazel eyes watery when he looked at Cillian. “How could I? I think I’ve loved you in one way or another since we were kids, even when I didn’t have you by my side. I can’t just turn it off now that I know what you are. It’d be like asking me to give up my magic. I won’t do that. Iwon’t.”
The words had Cillian closing the distance between them, heart pounding hard. He stopped in front of Bran, mere inches between themthat didn’t feel so far anymore. He caught the end of the leash in one hand, rolling his wrist to wind it around his hand until his fingers touched the silver collar around Bran’s throat. Bran hadn’t taken it off, its presence a claim and mark of ownership that kept him safe from every other Fae around them because the crest on it told everyone that Bran belonged tohim.
Cillian lifted his other hand to Bran’s face, using his thumb to gently wipe at the corner of one eye, brushing away the faint hint of a tear. “I might look like the prince they lost, but I don’t have his memories. If regaining those means I would see you as the enemy, then I don’t want them.”
He didn’t speak of the terrifying cracks at the back of his mind. He chose instead to focus on Bran, who sucked in a harsh breath, lips parting. Cillian did what he should have done seven years ago, what he’d dreamed about doing ever since he’d lost the man now standing in front of him.
He kissed Bran, and this time, it didn’t burn.
Cillian was taller than Bran now and had to lean down to kiss him, tilting the other man’s chin up for their mouths to meet. Their lips brushed, soft and gentle for a single second, before Cillian deepened it, slipping his tongue past Bran’s teeth to taste him. He groaned when Bran hesitantly kissed back, the other man’s fingers gripping the front of Cillian’s shirt to tug him closer. Cillian kissed him fiercely, backing Bran up until he had the other man pressed against the door, heat pooling in his gut.
Bran gasped against his mouth, sliding one hand up Cillian’s chest to hook around the back of his neck, holding him close. He kissed Bran again, over and over, still holding on to the leash, his hand splayed over Bran’s shoulder, thumb pressed into the hollow between Bran’s collarbones. His skin felt on fire when all he’d felt was cold over the last few days, cock slowly hardening in his pants, body pressed against Bran’s.
It took effort to tear his mouth away from Bran’s, resting their foreheads together as he breathed raggedly, eyes closed as he tried to get himself under control when all he wanted to do was let go. “Tell me you want this. That you still want me.”
Bran choked out a laugh, his fingernails digging intothe back of Cillian’s neck. “I couldn’t forget you for seven years. If I left again, I’d still think about you.”
Cillian opened his eyes and raised his head, staring down at Bran. He tugged lightly on the leash, arching an eyebrow. “You can’t run while wearing this, but if you tried, this time, I would follow.”
“I know,” Bran whispered.
Cillian’s gaze dropped down to the collar Bran wore, the jewels glinting in the low light. “Do you want me to take it off? I can when we’re alone.”
Bran licked his lips, eyes full of desire when Cillian met his gaze again. “I hate what the Fae do to witches, but…I feel safer wearing your collar, knowing that it makes me yours and no one else can touch me.”
Cillian would be lying if he said his cock didn’t get harder at those words. “Then we’ll leave the collar on.”
Bran shuddered, falling back down on his heels, pupils blown wide in his eyes. He swallowed thickly. “You’re the only one who can take it off.”
A dark thought coiled its way through Cillian’s lust-addled mind—that if he had his way, he never would.
Bran couldn’t leave if he was collared and leashed, after all.
Cillian stole another kiss. “I’m going to find something to fuck you with. Finish getting undressed.”
The way Bran whimpered made his cockthrob, and he only wanted to hear more of that sound.
Tearing himself away from Bran took effort, but Cillian succeeded in prying his hands off Bran and making his feet move, practically running into the attached washroom. The open shelves above the porcelain basin sink held all manner of vials and tins containing supplies for washing. One of the glass vials had an oil that didn’t smell too strongly, and Cillian carried it back to the bedroom, coming to an abrupt stop past the door.
Bran was half-undressed, standing barefoot in his pants, the leash dangling from the collar. He looked up at Cillian’s arrival, pausing in the motions of undoing the buttons at his waistband. A flush came to his cheeks, gaze skittering away. Cillian drew in a steadying breath, approaching the bed to set the vial on the side table there. When heturned around, Bran had managed to get out of the rest of his clothes, standing naked save for the collar, fiddling with the end of the leash. He’d even removed his bracelet. The only mark on his skin was the tattoo on his right forearm, and Cillian wanted desperately to get his mouth on Bran’s skin, to mark him up.
“Come here,” Cillian said hoarsely as he yanked off his shirt. Something hot curled in Cillian’s gut when Bran obeyed. He grabbed the leash once Bran was within arm’s reach, holding it while he let his gaze rove over Bran’s body. He reached out with his free hand to hook a finger around the collar, feeling the way Bran swallowed against it. “Is it wrong that I like how you look wearing my collar?”
Bran licked his lips, staring at him. “I don’t mind that it’s yours.”
His was the only one he ever wanted to see locked around Bran’s throat. Something primal in him was pleased at the sight and had hated when it’d been Ainmire’s. Cillian knew owning people was wrong, but something in him said Bran washisand always had been.
Bran would never belong to anyone else.
Cillian let go of the collar and slid his hand down Bran’s chest, fingers ghosting over twitching muscles before they closed around Bran’s half-hard cock. Bran rocked into the touch with a whimper, and Cillian reflexively tugged on the leash at the sound. “Get on the bed.”
