Page 10 of Sharpen Your Claws

By the end of the night, Solomon and Percival would have done more than curse one to death. They’d have at least a half dozen mortals in their grasp, either for an evening’s entertainment or a deal to go horribly wrong, for the mortals, of course.

Realizing he couldn’t covertly poison any mortals, Percival caught a goblet in his claws. He sauntered toward Nicholas, his coal-black lips pinched into a cruel sneer. “You must be excited to see your little plaything again.”

“Must you mention him?” Evera snapped. “Nicholas is bad enough as is.”

“Yes, he is. Father made the right choice keeping you from him, otherwise you’d have put the man in a grave by now.” Percival took a drink. He had said little about Nicholas’ change, but Nicholas saw it in his demeanor. He remained on edge in his presence, although Nicholas couldn’t determine if it was from a desire to rip out his throat or discover a way to use him.

“You are the one keen to slaughter anyone and anything in your path, not I,” Nicholas countered.

“Not yet, but you will be. It is your destiny, as it is any cursed shade.” Percival swirled the wine in his goblet, letting a drop spill over his thin fingers. “You will forget who you were, who you wanted to be, and everyone you had ever known. One day, you will be little more than the dog Father always trained you to be.”

Nicholas lunged. Evera put herself between them, hands raised. “Let’s play nice tonight,” she insisted. “If the mortals see us going at each other’s throats, we’ll miss the opportunity to have a little fun with them.”

Percival loved having the upper hand. He was so like their father in that regard. “You’re right. That was poor of me to say.”

“Fuck off,” Nicholas snapped.

Laughing, Percival found another victim; a King’s Guard standing at the door. Percival purposefully wore a mostly sheer outfit that left little to the imagination, its shimmering rubies covering the more lewd aspects of himself. He hung off the guard’s arm and spoke sweetly, spinning a web that could capture the mortal by night’s end.

“Try to behave this evening, for both our sakes. Your father may be less angry later when you make your idiotic decision,” Evera warned over the rim of her drink.

“An idiotic decision by your standards,” he corrected.

“By any standard,” she argued. “How can you not see now isn’t the time to lose yourself to your obsession? That mortal haunts your every thought. Most cannot get through a conversation with you without hearing of him. Even now, you are hardly listening to me.”

His refusal to reply said enough. He could not breathe without William near. He could think of nothing other than him, of how to be with him. When others spoke, even if the topic once garnered his interest, his thoughts traveled elsewhere. To green eyes, strands of gold caught between his fingers, and the catch of William’s breath when they kissed.

“If you paid attention to anything else, you would have heard Lord Darkmoon express that once this affair is over, we are expected to go through with our parent’s deal. He has retrieved the Elderwood sap,” she snarled.

Sap from the Elderwood, trees as ancient as Faerie itself, allowed fae to bear children, otherwise no amount of fornicating resulted in a child. He had always been grateful for that. He couldn’t imagine worrying a tiny fae would pop into his life because of one engagement. How mortals put up with such concerns was beyond him. Elderwoods were rare, and they didn’t stay in one place for long. Fae had to search, so if Laurent acquired the sap, he was serious, and that was worth worrying over. But as quickly as that worry arrived, it faded.

“What of your mother?” he asked. “She has been preoccupied of late, so I heard. Perhaps you should put yourself to work and ensure she doesn’t veer away from whatever she’s toiling with. It is she who will conduct experiments, after all. If she is busy, she may hold off my father.”

Evera’s expression went gravely pale. “My mother is the definition of erratic, so one never knows what she is up to. She vanishes when she pleases. We haven’t spoken in nearly a month, nor have I seen her. For all we know, she could be preparing said experiments.”

Alvina Bloodbane had a curiosity that could rival Fearworn’s. If she had been born a shade, the world probably would have fallen long ago. She had a hand for cruelty and little care for anyone. Seeking answers to the world’s questions was all she cared about, and he had always been high on her list of curiosities. Shades, in general, caught her eye.

In his youth, he had been kidnapped as a poor attempt for fae to gain power. They hoped controlling a young shade could either grant them a deal with Laurent, or Nicholas would be their weapon. However, Alvina had saved him from their clutches and he considered her the mastermind behind that kidnapping ever since. She was so curious of shades. What better way to get her hands on one than orchestrating a kidnapping where she came out the hero and thus Laurent owed her a favor? If his suspicions were correct, it didn’t matter. None of the kidnappers survived to speak of it, and he heard nothing pointing to her involvement.

“I doubt she is preparing anything for us, otherwise we would have heard of it,” he said. “Half of our expectations aren’t paying attention. Stop worrying yourself. It’s irritating.”

“I will hear nothing about irritation coming from you, the most irritating bastard I’ve ever known.”

He smirked. “I’m flattered.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

A man dressed ridiculously in a feathered hat and bloated coat prepared to open the door leading to the ballroom below. The mortal kings expressed the guests had arrived, which meant William would be among them. He couldn’t explain the temptation, the need, the want filling him.

William. William. William. William.

“Control yourself,” Laurent warned. His shadow fell over his son, although his words were nothing compared to the screeching of Nicholas’ mind.

William’s name sang fiercer than a siren’s song. His eyes strayed to the door when the announcer opened it. He pushed himself forward, intending to follow. Laurent snatched him by the chin, forcing him to meet his father’s eyes. Laurent’s gaze became a mirror, reflecting Nicholas’ wide eyes and panting lips. The violet hue was brilliant and harsh against his pale skin, unnatural and frightening.

“You are not to see or speak to that mortal, or I may reverse the healing I gave, and you can watch him bleed out on the floor,” Laurent warned.

He imagined sinking his fingers into Laurent’s throat to tug out every vein like broken strings. Then he smiled. Laurent did not know it yet, but he would escape tonight. He would give anything to see William. He had already given so much, had made himself even more indebted to his father and became something… not quite him, but wonderful all the same. Chaotic. Wild. Wonderfully strange. The terrifying monster stories spoke about.

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