Page 12 of Sharpen Your Claws

“My wicked,” he whispered like a prayer.

5

William

Nicholasapproached.Theshadowsof the dimly lit room hugged his muscular figure, though could never dim the fierce fire of his eyes. William shrank beneath the attention he once craved, that he still did in a fucked up way.

“Nicholas,” he whispered, forcing his voice not to shake.

He didn’t trust his eyes, so he half expected the fae to disappear. But Nicholas closed the space between them. His gaze was feral, desperate as a drowning soul. However, the eyes were not his, not the fuchsia light but a terrifying violet.

Nicholas cradled his cheeks more gently than a babe, proving he was real, that the one time he wished his eyes deceived him, they were not. Terror gripped him as desperately as desire, two conflicting emotions battling for dominance. He loved and hated Nicholas as much as he tried to deny the former.

“Two years I have worked toward this moment.” Nicholas spoke hastily, making his words difficult to decipher. “I did as my father required, destroyed Fearworn, battled his shadowed disciples and beasts, and found every scar he opened. He thought he caught me, but he did not. Is this not grand, William? Nothing will keep us apart now. It is you and I until the stars go dark.”

Nicholas traced his cheek. His thumb brushed William’s bottom lip. He looked at William like he finally learned love. “I have yearned to gaze upon your beauty all these years,” he whispered. “To have you here now, I fear I cannot control myself, my wicked.”

William imagined a moment like this would be explosive, visceral anger and shouted curses. But he couldn’t cease thinking about kissing the troublesome devil. He dared to want to forget the pain and loss and fall into Nicholas’ embrace like nothing happened, made a fool once again by his hands.

Then the light caught in Nicholas’ treacherous eyes.

“Step away,” he ordered. Nicholas was not Fearworn, but the way he spoke, how he clung so ferociously to William’s cheeks, made him feel like prey. Like Fearworn was about to steal more pieces of him until nothing but cold silver remained.

“I will not,” said Nicholas.

“If you do not let go, I will make you.”

Nicholas laughed. “You’ve hidden a weapon on you, haven’t you? I would expect nothing less. Clever as a fox and wicked as the damned, I have missed you.”

By the Souls, William missed him too, far more than he cared to admit. Being caught by Nicholas’ unyielding attention and enraptured by his touch forced him to recall all he tried to forget. The many nights spent in Nicholas’ arms, the unexpected sweet moments and secrets shared. Their history felt present. He struggled to escape, to steady his feet in a place of anger rather than confusion, fear, and desire.

“Do not think toying with me will work again.” He gripped the knife at his back.

Nicholas smiled when the iron pressed against his neck. He continued to cradle William as if the threat meant nothing. “I remember being in a position like this with you before in that old house. Do you remember?” Nicholas asked. “You didn’t slit my throat then and you won’t now, although I must ask why you are doing this?”

“Why?” His words struggled to be heard through his chattering teeth. “You tricked and abandoned me. You did not visit me in the hospital. I was a game. You won. Now, leave me be.”

Nicholas’ hands fell limp. His expression was as if William had struck him. “You thought I abandoned you?”

“Not visiting or reaching out to me over all these years, yes, abandonment felt like the most obvious conclusion.”

“I did not. I would never. Did you not hear what I said?”

The fae retreated. William lowered his blade.

“What you said made little sense,” he replied.

“My father!” Nicholas screamed. The wind howled, forcing the windows to rattle and splinter. Then he grasped William’s hand, the cursed one, the one without a blade, and he held tight. His eyes were erratic, swiping over William with palpable desperation. “The deal, my wicked, a deal was struck. You will listen, won’t you?”

He sensed Nicholas would not give him another option. This desperation was dangerous. His gut told him to be fearful, and he learned long ago to trust his gut. There was no telling what Nicholas would do if stopped. He felt more dangerous than ever.

“I am listening,” William whispered.

“Your injuries sustained from Fearworn’s attacks were fatal. I did what I had to. I destroyed Fearworn when the mages closed the scar. It was luck, my wicked, for this scar led to Faerie, so I took you to Laurent. He is of power none of us can comprehend. If any could save you, it was he, and he did. He gave you this arm.” Nicholas tried removing his glove. He growled and Nicholas ceased. “He spared your life. In exchange, I promised not to see or speak to you. The bastard ensured I couldn’t even write. He kept us apart, but tonight has changed everything.”

He cursed his lungs for daring to constrict, his mind for whimpering a cry, and his heart for faltering. So many evenings he spent damning Nicholas and any good they ever had. Now the fae returned, claiming their separation had been forced, that he hadn’t abandoned and forgotten William?

He didn’t know how to process the information. If it was worth processing or the past should remain in the past. He should move on because this changed nothing. Nicholas was fae, and less himself than ever, and William was little more than a crumbling shell of his former self. But the truth of it all was he had been trying to move on for two years and nothing eased his pain. He became an outsider in his own home, even in his mind. Nothing felt the way it once did. He couldn’t view a future that wasn’t painted in sorrow.

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