Spellbound (22 page)

“I’m tired,” Elion breathed.

“I know. I know you are, but you can’t sleep now. Talk to me.”

“It gets us nowhere,” Elion wheezed as a wave of nausea rolled through him.

“It got us somewhere,” Stavros insisted.

Elion snorted dryly, choking on the blood that ran down his throat in doing so. “I won’t tell them anything.”

“I know,” Stavros said quietly before he was once again forced to watch Elion fade out.

“I’m cold,” Elion sighed as he drifted in and out of a daze a short time later.

“Cold we can work with, remember? Can you come to me?” Stavros asked, his voice muffled like cotton was plugging Elion’s ears. The elf groaned as he tried to drag himself across the small space between them with weak, heavy arms. When his head hit Stavros’s thighs, he decided to accept defeat and pull what comfort he could from it. His arms were useless somewhere beside him and the pain in his bones was becoming almost bearable in his acceptance.

He was so tired, but he refused to give in until every drop had been drained from him. Mikhail would find them by then, he had too. Elion wasn’t sure how long they had been there, but Mikhail wouldn’t waste a second of time once he realized neither Stavros nor Elion had been in contact with him. He just needed to hang on, keep them focused on him. He could take that pain, but if they did those things to Stavros… he
couldn’t
.

“I’m not worth that,” Stavros said suddenly, and if Elion had the energy, he would have blushed.

Unsure of what he had said out loud he simply murmured, “Yea, you are.”

Stavros found himself blinking back a wet heat as Elion lay unmoving on his lap. He wanted to scream and tear the throat out of every single one of the bastards that had touched Elion, but he wasn’t any better than them. He had hurt Elion just as much, if not more. What he had done couldn’t be seen on his flesh. No, it was seen in Elion’s eyes and in the way he carried himself. He had ruined him, and for what? Because he couldn’t go another moment without being selfish and pretending just for a few moments that he could have Elion; that they could wake up side by side every morning and argue their way through the day, because that was
good.
It was perfect, but Stavros knew he didn’t deserve it. He deserved nothing but the bottom of the boots that were constantly kicking him.

He was an abomination, a monster. His own grandmother had poisoned him just to set his mother free, and he didn’t think he could blame her. She had stroked his hair and given him a treat, and he had taken it, because it was something he had never experienced before. It was love and it was kindness.

He had always seen the exhaustion on Mikhail’s face. He had always waited for the man to cast him aside or beat him, but he hadn’t. He would repeat over and over that Stavros wasn’t what others called him; that he was a good boy, a strong boy. He had never been disgusted with the fact that his son was forced to feed off lust and the twisted sexual desires of others, because Stavros was his son, Mikhail would tell him whenever he got the chance.

Stavros did his best to be a good son, to give Mikhail reasons to be proud, but it was so hard when he could feel nothing but fear and anger. And when Victor had come, Stavros thought he had finally done that, that he had become something good even if he was an abomination. Even when Victor called him names and beat him, even when Victor cuffed him to the bed and used Stavros’ body until it was bruised and bleeding, Stavros had thought it was good, that he should thank Victor for knowing that Stavros was a monster, that he needed to be punished, because he would never be good in the way others wanted, that he would never be worthy of love.

Now there was a bloody, broken man lying in his lap and his heart was breaking. It was a new sensation. He felt desperate. He had for weeks, maybe even months. Every time the brat looked at
him
, it happened. Elion looked at
him
, not what he was, as if they were separate entities. He wasn’t worthy of looks like that, like he mattered. Now, Elion was broken because of him,
for him,
and what was he supposed to do with that? Why would anyone ever do that for him?

“No one’s gonna believe this,” Elion mumbled from Stavros’ lap.

“Believe what?” Stavros asked, his voice cracking.

“We’re not arguing.” Elion’s glossy eyes twinkled for a brief second before his bruised, swollen lids began to close once more. “Don’t be sad. Won’t let em’ hurt you.”

Chapter 16

Time was subjective in the dark room, but Stavros figured at least half a day had gone by since anyone had last come in. There wasn’t a sign of life other than Elion’s shuddering breaths and an occasional pained groan that he tried to muffle, as if ashamed for Stavros to hear his discomfort. Stavros kept trying to free himself, knowing that he could try to take some of that pain with a simple touch, that he could help Elion. But he never got close to succeeding and he was being forced to realize that maybe he wasn’t as strong as he thought he was, in any sense of the word.

Elion had only been awake, lying silently with his head in Stavros’ lap, for a short time when the door finally opened and two men walked in. Elion didn’t fight as he was hauled to his feet. He hushed Stavros who began pleading for them to leave him alone. A booted foot connected with his ribs and Elion choked on a sob as if he had felt it himself.

“Stavros, don’t,” Elion pleaded.

“Get Victor,” Stavros barked.

“Stavros-”

“Shut up, Elion!” Stavros roared. “Get Victor in here now!”

Elion used every ounce of strength he had to throw back his head. The man behind him howled when Elion’s skull met his nose with a sickening crack. A hard cuff to his jaw knocked out his vision just long enough for them to get him through the doorway. The one holding him with a hand around Elion’s throat and the other gripping his arm hissed in his ear all of the things he was going to do, and Elion could only laugh dryly, though once a long, dull blade had been shoved through his thigh, he was grateful for the darkness that claimed him.

~~

“I get it now,” Victor said as he tapped his foot on the dirty stone floor. Elion tried to look up through his lashes, but his eyes were too swollen, too throbbing for that, or for anything, really. “It’s cute. Tell me, how did you train him so well?”

“Fuck you,” Elion spat, a trickle of blood running from his mouth to his chin. Victor laughed, amused and almost friendly.

“It came to me over breakfast this morning- why would someone go through so
much? Then, it dawned on me that you were foolish enough to think a sex demon was capable of actual emotion, and I have to admit, it’s quite amusing. But it pushes the question, if you are so willing to play this game for a silly crush, what would happen if I turned the tables?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Elion promised through clenched teeth, fairly certain that the last punch to his face had at least fractured his jaw.

“So feisty,” Victor laughed before he was backhanding Stavros once more. Stavros’ expression stayed blank; it had since Victor walked in and grabbed him by the hair. “It’s a shame we’ve wasted so much time already.” He shrugged before placing a foot against Stavros’s chest and kicked him back roughly, making his shackled arms bend awkwardly.

The beating Stavros had taken had left him in a pained daze that was clear to anyone looking. Elion wished Stavros would simply give in and pass out. There was enough blood that Elion couldn’t even guess where Stavros’ wounds were anymore and Victor showed no signs of stopping.

“What’s it going to take, Elion?”

“Don’t you say a word,” Stavros wheezed.

“You’ve always had trouble learning your place,” Victor hissed as he struck Stavros once more, this time a pained groaned rumbling in the cambion’s throat. “You think that pretty face and tight ass of yours makes you so special. How about we find out just how special?”

Elion closed his eyes when Stavros was flipped to his stomach like he was a rag doll. The sound of fabric tearing under the blade in Victor’s hand was a sound that would haunt Elion until his death. He wanted so desperately to move, but every failed attempt left him even weaker than before. The sound of shackles being shifted around was like nails on a chalkboard and taunted Elion’s failed movements.

“Victor, what in oblivion are you doing?” Malachi called into the room. Victor sighed dully before looking up at the large man in the doorway.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you. Be a good boy and go find something to do,” Victor ordered like he was speaking to a child. Malachi glared between Elion and Stavros before stomping out, grumbling under his breath.

“Sometimes he makes me miss you, Stavros. The boy has no manners. I think he enjoys being punished and you know how disobedience upsets me,” Victor droned. “Admittedly, I may enjoy this more than I should.” He smirked as he trailed his fingers down Stavros’ spine.

“Don’t touch him!” Elion tried to shove himself up once more only for his legs to instantly buckle. Victor winked and shifted himself behind Stavros before tugging his legs apart. Stavros made no move to fight it and Elion knew that he didn’t stand a chance in doing so. For hours he had been kicked, punched and whipped without pause or restraint. A choked sob escaped Stavros when Victor’s hands ran over his bare backside.

Elion felt something awakening in him that he thought had died years prior. It demanded things of him that were raw and feral in its want for blood. The long dagger at Victor’s hip taunted Elion with a sadistic gleam of Stavros’ blood, and that was enough to him to be more sure about one thing than he’d ever been in his life.

“I’ll tell you,” Elion rasped. Victor cocked his head and grinned while Stavros did his best to command silence from Elion.

“Elion!” Stavros’s hoarse voice was meek, but Elion and Victor both paid it little mind.

“Shut up,” Elion gasped as he sat forward, the pain in his ribs knocking the air out of his lungs. He gestured a weak hand for Victor to come forward and almost wasted energy and air laughing at the eager look on his face. Elion frowned at the sensation of a cold hand cupping his cheek and lifting his chin as Victor knelt in front of him.

Victor looked genuinely startled when Elion lunged forward, his free hand grabbing the dagger before Victor’s ego could even suggest that he had been too arrogant and underestimating after days of making sure to remove their weapons before entering the room. The sound of surprise he made was drowned out by the rip and squelch of a thick blade stabbing into his throat.

“You didn’t break him,” Elion spat hoarsely against the dying man’s ear before shoving himself up as much as possible. Elion twisted the large blade, ignoring the weak attempts at shoving him away. Victor’s eyes flickered with a novella of emotion before he simply went still. There was no climatic death, no epic battle that Elion could tell the story of in his golden years. It was a lucky payoff to a risky, unplanned move. It was still the most fulfilling thing Elion had ever done.

Even pain and exhaustion couldn’t override his instinct to get to Stavros; to protect him at any cost. His arms got him close enough to Stavros that he could drape himself over his bare form before they gave out completely.

He had made a promise of what he had said to Victor and he had carried it out. Mikhail would come for Stavros and he would be able to live his life knowing that one of Stavros’ biggest tormentors was gone, and hopefully understand that Elion had done that for him, so Stavros could live, really live- maybe even for the first time ever.

He drifted to a surreal space between lucidity and void, unsure how long he had hovered there, when there was a series of ear shattering explosions outside the room, followed by the sweet relief of barked orders to get down.

Mikhail shoved officers aside as he ran into the small room that reeked of blood and projectile magic fizzling out. Stavros was on his stomach, limbs askew, and nude. Elion was crowded against him; his slightly smaller body doing everything it could to cover Stavros like a protective blanket. A bloody hand pressed to Stavros’ back as if a warning for them to stay back. When two officers attempted to gather the detectives, Elion’s desperate pleas made the most seasoned of men freeze.

Mikhail crouched beside them, covering Elion’s hand with his own and sending out what he hoped would be enough healing to clear his mind briefly. “Elion, we’re going to help him. I need you to let them take him. You know I can help him.”

Elion reluctantly pulled his hand away, but a pained groan still escaped him as Stavros was lifted and draped with his father’s own robes. There was a sound, a strangled scream, when his own body was moved and then absolutely nothing.

Chapter 17

Elion was unsure how much time past before he fully woke. There had been seconds of painful awareness in which he would find healers at his bedside before he drifted off again. When his eyes finally opened clearly, he found Mikhail standing beside the bed with two Council members.

Elion groaned when the door was thrown open and a mousy, thickly accented voice began rambling a mile a minute.

“You called my mom?” Elion croaked, shrinking into the bed despite the aches that began throbbing.