The last thing Tyler wanted to do was take the bus to the healer’s house, but his arm ached too much and bled too heavily to put it off. Even worse, he had to march home nearly naked and hope the cops didn’t stop him for indecent exposure. He kept to the backstreets and avoided an unwanted confrontation.
He should’ve noticed those assholes sooner.
They were the same ones he’d spotted nearly a month before, and he hadn’t paid enough attention. Now, they’d almost killed him and Quinn—all for a motherfucking car and a bruised ego of some stupid brat.
After what happened today, Tyler figured they’d either leave him alone or come back with bigger guns next time.
He hoped it was the former.
The other problem came from deciding if he should call Davis or Cage for help. It was too early to call Ken, and riding the bus with blood dripping down his arm didn’t sound like the best plan of action.
Biting his lip ring, Tyler decided to call Ari directly and explain.
The healer was curt over the phone, but agreed to come over as soon as possible after telling Tyler to wrap the arm tightly and keep it elevated. He also suggested Tyler unlock the apartment door, in case he passed out before Ari arrived.
Luckily, that didn’t happen.
Twenty minutes later, the dark haired healer rushed into the room with his black leather bag clutched at his side.
Tyler heard Ari open the door and smelled the fresh scent of herbs. He sat on the side of the tub to prevent any unneeded blood stains on his floors. That would really piss Ken off.
“You idiot. How did you get stabbed?” Ari asked as he set down his bag and arranged his bottled herbs and gauze on the counter.
“Wannabe hunters attacked me, and I defended myself,” Tyler said. His hair dripped into his eyes since he’d taken a quick shower before Ari got there.
Ari’s brows pinched together over his moss green eyes. They were a deeper shade of green than Quinn’s eyes, and comparing the two sent an uncomfortable jolt to Tyler’s gut. He should’ve forced Quinn to seek attention for that bullet wound. What if a fleck of silver was lodged inside him and Tyler never knew?
“If they stabbed you, I think they went from wannabe to real hunters,” Ari deadpanned and cleaned the wound with an astringent pad.
Tyler tried not to flinch and failed.
“You’ll need about ten stiches, and it’ll be sore for a few weeks, but you’ll live. Do you want to call Cage, or are you going to force me to do it?”
Right.
His sponsor would hear about this one way or another. Like Tyler needed another lecture about all the shit he was doing wrong. He’d already gotten an earful for missing several NA meetings, and that hadn’t gone over well.
Now this.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth as the needle poked into his skin. “He’d like it if you called him, but I’ll tell him.”
“Good,” Ari grumbled.
Tyler never asked what went on between the two of them in the past, or how it’d ended so badly. But the way Cage treated Ari made a lump form in Tyler’s throat. The alpha kind of acted like Ari was his mate, and Tyler now knew what that felt like.
It wasn’t entirely pleasant.
* * *
Tyler managed to avoid Cage for the next week, mostly because he was busy in the shop over the weekend and made sure to go to the NA meetings on his own.
Quinn came over Monday, and they ended up in the apartment checking each other’s wounds and falling onto the couch half-naked and hungry, fumbling with their pants in a mad rush to touch each other.
Then the Wednesday morning NA meeting rolled around, and Tyler couldn’t avoid Cage any longer, especially when the fellow alpha could smell the blood on his arm and knew Tyler’s sorted history. At least they couldn’t discuss it at the meeting, so Cage insisted they meet that night at his apartment.
Once there, Tyler told him what had happened. Mostly.
“Hunters, Tyler?” Cage said. “That’s serious. It poses a threat not only to you, but to all shifters in Haven. Is there something you need to tell me? Some reason they targeted you?”
Cage’s wire-framed glasses were perched on his crooked nose and the brown eyes behind them narrowed into slits. Even though he wore his standard professor outfit, slacks with a vest and plaid button up all in various shades of brown, he still looked more formidable than he had a right to.
Plus, he used his calm voice that meant he was actually more pissed than if he were screaming. It’s like when a girl said she was ‘fine,’ and it actually meant the exact fucking opposite.
Tyler scowled and balled his hands into fists. He knew where this line of questioning was going—where it always went. “Yeah, I do have something to tell you. It’s been two goddamn years, and I’m fucking sick of you and Ken going over every inch of my life with a microscope. I’m clean. If I skip a few meetings, it doesn’t mean I was using. And I’m sure as hell not fucking with hunters. All the opium dens are gone, so there’s no easy way to get a hit. Wanna check my arms?” Tyler snarled and rolled up his sleeves.
His tats covered the former track marks, which would make them difficult to spot regardless.
Cage didn’t flinch, and his gaze didn’t falter. “That’s not what I meant, but you haven’t been attending the therapy group either.”
Tyler rolled his eyes. “Like I said, stop spying on me.”
The space was smaller than his own, with a tiny living area smashed next to an even smaller kitchen. Tyler had never seen the bedroom, but he assumed it was just as cramped.
“No one is spying. I was concerned since you’ve been so erratic lately, so I asked the group leader, and she said you only showed up once. And that she spotted you and a blond man outside before each meeting. Who is he?” Cage asked.
Tyler took a deep breath and snagged his fingers in his hair. He pulled until his scalp stung. He hadn’t told Cage about Quinn yet, not to be secretive, but because he wanted to keep those two parts of his life separate.
Cage represented all ways Tyler had fucked up in the past, and Quinn was a shining new beginning. One where he didn’t have to be an addict under constant suspicion.
Now they were about to collide.
“Fuck! His name’s Quinn, and he’s in trouble. I’m trying to help him. Is that good enough?”
Cage studied him for a long moment and sat down on his brown leather couch. He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. “Tell me about it and maybe I can help.”
“The cops can’t even help,” Tyler muttered and leaned against the wall next to the door. If he explained, Cage might actually know something about Quinn’s kind.
“That doesn’t mean much. I’ve helped the police – they’re not omnipresent. What kind of help does this young man need? Is he the reason the hunters attacked?”
Tyler spilled an abbreviated version of the story and mentioned the private research he put into breaking the spell.
Cage nodded at all the right parts and let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t blame you for what you did. A fellow shifter in trouble—I’m glad you helped. But you’ve been doing this for a month without asking the one person with extensive knowledge of magic, past and present?”
Tyler shrugged and looked at his feet.
When Cage put it that way, it sounded stupid. But that’s not why Tyler did it. He asked for help from Rory, Jin, and the police, and he didn’t get much. Bothering Cage at that point seemed pointless.
“You’re already busy, and most people think Quinn’s crazy.”
“But you don’t?” Cage asked and stood up. He grabbed his coat from the hook on the wall.
“No. At first, I wasn’t sure, but now I believe him,” Tyler said and clenched his jaw. He more than believed Quinn now—the alpha that paced inside proved that. So did the ever-present ache in his chest.
Cage nodded and swung the door opened. “Then I trust your judgment. Come on.”
Tyler flicked his tongue over his lip ring and stared at Cage stalk down the hall before he followed. Trust? Him? No one had trusted him in years.
His heart lightened.
Cage drove them to Haven University. It was after ten p.m. and the campus was nearly deserted, but Tyler still popped his collar and scrunched his shoulders.
If his life turned out differently, he may have gone to school here though he couldn’t really picture it. Cage stalked into the library and down a few sets of stairs into the underground stacks. When they got to a locked door at the end of a hallway, Cage produced a key, opened it and waltzed inside.
Tyler felt dizzy after moving so quickly through the rows and rows of books piled nearly to the ceiling. It smelled like a library, like paper and leather and knowledge. But this room was different than the one above their heads.
The walls were a cream white and the lights were so dim Tyler’s wolf sight kicked in to compensate. An A/C unit blew cold air steadily over their heads, though it was still cool enough outside that it seemed unnecessary.
Cage shut and locked the door behind them and moved down the stacks. As he did so, he pulled out a pile of books, several of which he put in Tyler’s arms until Tyler’s muscles ached in protest.
“What’re we doing here?” Tyler finally asked and set the books down carefully. They all looked about a hundred years older than he was, and if something happened to them Cage might try to rip his face off. “I thought you were a history professor or something.”
“Research,” Cage said and put his own pile of books on the table. “And I am, but it’s more than that. I’m the foremost scholar in magic on the West Coast. You still don’t know what kind of shifter he is?”
“All I know is he can’t lie, and he’s a vegetarian, but he’s not a rabbit. He also claims he’s magic,” Tyler grumbled and slumped at the table. This isn’t how he wanted to spend the night, looking through musty books, but it might be the only way to save Quinn.
“Just because a light mage keeps him doesn’t mean the spell is a light mages,” Cage said and pushed a pile of books toward Tyler. “They can’t cast binding spells, but a sorcerer can.”
“What about a sorceress? Quinn said an old woman used to hang around the Montgomery house when he was a kid, and she knew about the spell. I think she’s dead.”
Cage’s eyes lit up. “Yes. That makes sense. The Mallory family are sorcerers, but there was another one—Vanderbilt—that died out about ten years ago. When she finally passed, the old families locked up her home and left it. If we can’t find the answers here. . . .”
“You want to break in to a dead sorceress’s house?” Tyler asked and stared at Cage.
Cage usually never said a damn thing about illegal activities, but now he buzzed with energy. “I don’t know the first thing about breaking and entering. I’m just trying to help you.”
Tyler stared at the books and slowly opened the first one.
What was he even looking for?
They didn’t have an index and the table of contents didn’t make much sense. All it showed were chapter headings that said things like: “Onne Maǧī̆k ofe Lihte” and “Beists wuth Maǧī̆k Mighten.”
He flipped to the first one, but paying attention to the small, hand-scrawled text, though neat, was difficult enough without the inconsistent spelling. After a page, he felt like he was back in high school trying to decipher Macbeth, only a hundred times worse.
“This isn’t even in English,” Tyler said and gritted his teeth until his jaw ached.
Cage glanced over and smiled slightly. “Middle English. Here. Try that one,” he said and lifted another book from the pile.
This one was easier to read since it actually looked like the language Tyler was used to. Though it was still all old timey and confusing.
“Did he say he doesn’t lie or he can’t lie?” Cage said after what felt like a damn hour.
Tyler rubbed his lightly bearded cheeks and leaned his head back. The off-white ceiling tiles swam before his eyes. “He said it was against his nature, whatever the fuck that means.”
Cage flipped a page carefully. “Did he want to make a bargain with you?”
Tyler sat up straight. “Yeah.”
“Please, tell me you didn’t agree to it,” Cage said and met his eyes.
Tyler scowled, and that pit in his stomach opened into a crack the size of the Grand Canyon. “Maybe. So what?”
Cage’s relentless grip wrapped around his arm and squeezed. “And you did that before you even knew what he was or why a light mage might’ve captured him?”
Tyler yanked himself free. “Yeah, because no one like him deserves to be held prisoner forever. It’s not like he’s some crazed killer. He’s—not bad. They’re hurting him. How would you like to be locked up like some fucking animal?”
Cage shook his head and pushed up his glasses. His usually neat brown hair was mussed. “It’s possible the Montgomery family locked him up for the protection of others. His magic can be. . . dangerous.”
Tyler rolled his eyes to the ceiling and let out a slow breath. His heart slammed so hard it felt like he’d been running for miles. Yelling at Cage got him nothing but more stupid lectures.
“All magic can be dangerous,” he managed through gritted teeth.
“That’s not entirely accurate. Healing magic isn’t dangerous,” Cage said and slid the open book across the table. He tapped a beautifully detailed illustration that took up the whole page. “The only type of shifter with magic is supposed to be extinct. I’ve heard rumors over the years that a few still exist, but not in Haven. They dwell deep in remote forests and usually only take human form to lure people to their home and bargain with them for—no one really knows. That’s how rare they are, and the accounts I’ve read don’t look kindly on them either.”
Tyler expected some horrific beast with tentacles and fangs – a real life monster – but that’s not what it was.
The horse-like creature sat curled next to a small pool of water, its mane flowing over a gently arched back and ears perked like an alert cat. It was pure white with eyes that looked like they’d been picked out in green and gold. In the middle of its forehead was a single spiral horn, pale violet, with a deadly sharp tip.
“A unicorn? Are you kidding me?” Tyler snorted.
“No,” Cage said. “And if you made a bargain with one, make sure when you fulfill your part of it you get to keep your life.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Tyler growled and looked at the wall of text next to the picture. It was written in the same confusing Middle English as the first book.
Cage rolled his eyes and pressed a finger (fitted with a latex glove) to the page gently. “Unicorns are known for their trickery, and their inability to lie, though they will often make the truth sound like a lie to suit their aims. At the time this book was written, there were more of them and they were formidable shifters that even humans were aware of. Over the years, those beliefs changed and—”
“The bargain. I’m not here for a history lesson,” Tyler grumbled and crossed his arms.
Cage gave him one of those withering looks that made him feel stupid and went on. “If one is to find a unicorn, the creature will often lead you to its pond. There is a certain magic that makes them very beautiful, so those easily swayed by such things will no doubt follow.”
Tyler glowered.
Is that why he was instantly interested in Quinn at the club? Or did the necklace dampen that too? Shit. It’s not like he could ask Quinn, since Quinn couldn’t actually talk about it. But his desire to protect—to be with—Quinn was more than that and Tyler knew it.
The alpha howled the truth, and Tyler wasn’t about to deny it. Still, Cage would think he was even stupider if he tried to explain.
“So you think I’m following my dick. Go on.”
At least that got the corner of Cage’s mouth to quirk. “The unicorn leads its victims to a pool of water that looks like a mirror. If you look into that mirror, you will see the truth. It’s driven countless people mad. Some commit suicide while others simply disappear or drop dead from pure shock.”
“That’s what it says? And that book was written about what, a thousand years ago? You expect me to believe it?” Tyler said and shook his head. It sounded like the plot of a bad horror movie, and he knew how many terrible ones humans made about his kind. “Have you ever met a unicorn?”
Cage pushed up his glasses and sighed. “No. And the book is eight hundred years old. Its accuracy may not be perfect, but making a bargain with a unicorn isn’t something to be taken lightly. What did he promise you?”
A desert formed in Tyler’s mouth, and he took a deep breath. “What I wanted most or some shit.”
“As I feared.” Cage sighed heavily. “If you want to free him, I understand. Light mages can be nasty pieces of work. Just remember that whatever you want most needs to be something you can live with in the end.”
A chill raced up Tyler’s spine.
* * *
Tyler shoved Cage’s words from his mind over the next day. No matter how hard he tried to worry about Quinn hurting him, he couldn’t. The last time they hung out, Quinn went to great lengths to save a butterfly from the center of the sidewalk. What kind of crazed unicorn did that?
He’d worry about it later.
Even after what he’d learned about Quinn, he was going to help him.
He had to do it—not for his own sake, but for Quinn’s.
It didn’t matter if Quinn was a goddamn unicorn (which, what the fuck!) or a crocodile, he was Tyler’s mate.
His gut twisted into a knot when he thought of it like that, but he wasn’t running from the truth like some people (mostly Davis) had for years.
Quinn was his mate, and he’d do what he had to do. Tyler didn’t understand how all this magic bullshit worked, but he needed to figure it out in order to save Quinn.
The alpha paced under his skin and snarled at nearly everyone who came in the shop the next few days, which didn’t make work any easier.
Cage already thought he was stupid for entering a bargain with Quinn, and Tyler couldn’t explain that it may be dumb, but he couldn’t back out of it. A mixture of his own stubbornness, his alpha instincts and that thing in his gut that told him Quinn was his mate spurred him on. Not to mention what would happen if he failed.
That’s not the person he wanted to be—one who gave up when shit got difficult. Not anymore.
And if Quinn didn’t want to be his mate once he’d been freed, Tyler would find a way to deal with that too. Probably with a shit ton of booze and a shiny new addiction for everyone to harp on him about.
No matter how much he didn’t want to admit it, Cage was right about one thing. The only way Tyler had a chance to figure out the spell was to break in to that sorceress’s house and find it.
Lucky him.
The question was, should he do it with Quinn or alone? It was Quinn’s freedom that was at stake, so it only seemed fair to include him.
Tyler hoped the damn raccoon shifter gave them a lift to the house.
In order to plead his case, Tyler shut his shop early that Thursday and took the bus as close to Lake Orlando as he could get. Then he hitched a ride the rest of the way.
He’d never gotten that close to the Montgomery mansion. The other times he came, Tyler kept his distance. Now, he walked right up to the fence and peered inside.
Like most of the places in Lake Orlando, it sat on a huge chunk of land surrounded by gardens and trees. The back of the house looked like it pressed right into the lake, while the front had huge iron gates and a driveway at least a block long. He felt the push of the barrier against his skin and smelled the strong hint of magic that clogged the air.
Through the bars, Tyler studied the house. He thought the Victorian mansions on the north side of Haven were big, but this was massive.
It was three stories and built of brick with a black sharply sloped roof that jutted here and there. The white shutters on the windows did little to brighten the place, and Tyler felt the weight of it press on his shoulders. Unlike the lush, colorful gardens in the rest of the neighborhood, this one wasn’t bright with flowers. It was choked with evergreen bushes with glossy dark leaves and huge shade trees that draped everything in shadow.
It was early enough in the afternoon, and a car sat in the driveway. Hopefully, Quinn was still inside waiting for their meeting. Tyler wasn’t about to approach the door with the chance that Bradley could be home—if he could even get past that damn magic barrier.
Instead, he leaned against the brick gate post and lit a cigarette.
He’d smoked three by the time the gate creaked open and a black car pulled out—the one that raccoon shifter, Merci, drove Quinn around in.
Tyler stepped in front of it.
Merci stared at him for a long moment before she lowered the window.
Quinn stared even longer, his mouth dropped open and eyes wide.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed as Tyler approached.
“We need a ride and three hours. How much do I have to pay you not to tell Bradley about this?” Tyler asked and gritted his teeth. He only had five hundred in cash on him—not that he could even spare that. Well, as long as he got rid of Bradley soon and Jin kept up his end of their deal, he’d manage. Otherwise, he’d have to ask Davis for a loan.
“You’re trying to bribe me? Seriously? Where do you want to go?” she asked and frowned.
“The old Vanderbilt place. We have business there,” he said.
Merci’s frown deepened, and she pinched her eyes closed. “No wonder you want to bribe me. How much are you offering?”
He tossed the money on her lap, and Quinn watched her count it.
“Fine,” Merci muttered. “Hurry up and get in.”
Tyler climbed in the backseat, and Quinn turned and gave him a questioning look, but he didn’t say anything. Probably because she didn’t know the real reason they were doing any of this, and Tyler wasn’t about to explain it.
She might be a fellow shifter, but that didn’t mean she understood. Hell, she already worked for a fucked up bastard like Bradley in the first place and let Quinn be kept as a slave right under her nose.
They had to drive around half the lake to get to the old Vanderbilt mansion, and Merci pulled the car onto the side of the road and stopped. She crossed her arms and glanced at Quinn. “If you’re late again, I’m leaving without you and you can explain it to Bradley. Got it?”
“Yes,” Quinn said and slipped out of the car.
Tyler climbed out too and headed toward the fence. Unlike the smooth iron gate around the Montgomery place, this one bloomed with rust. Wild roses grew up and over it—their thorns as brown and thick as the stems. The dull hint of magic hung in the air, faint under the sweet floral spring scent.
Tyler looked at Quinn, who stood next to him.
“What business do we have here?” Quinn asked, his voice low.
Tyler smiled, showing his fangs. “I’ll tell you once we’re inside.”
They didn’t try to scale the fence in the front—too many chances for injury. Tyler held out his hand, and Quinn gripped it. Together, they walked around the perimeter, Quinn’s grip tight and cool against his palm.
When they were far enough away, Quinn stopped. “This is that old woman’s house, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. If the spell is anywhere, it’s in there,” Tyler said and squeezed his hand before he leaned close and pressed his lips to Quinn’s.
Quinn’s mouth came alive with the kiss. When it ended, he drew in a long breath and let it out again. “You could’ve come here alone.”
Tyler shrugged, and bit back what he wanted to do—what he wanted to say. His heart throbbed so hard it felt close to bursting. They were on the tip of his tongue, but words had little value. Actions spoke much louder. “I thought you’d want to have some fun. Was I wrong?”
Quinn shook his head and pushed his hair back.
Around the corner of the fence they found their way in—a place where the iron had rusted away enough that a quick kick snapped it in two. Tyler pulled the switchblade from his pocket and sawed at the rose vines, avoiding the thorns.
That’s just what he needed on top of everything else—an injured finger.
Once he’d made a large enough gap, they slipped inside.
Quinn stood still in the knee-high grass and weeds, his head tilted like he was listening to a far off song and trying to place it.
In that moment, Tyler imagined the creature from the illustration slipping through the woods, all elegance and grace. He should tell Quinn that he knew the truth. Well, he’d do it soon enough.
“Is there some magical monster that’s going to jump out and attack us?” Tyler asked, fingers itching for another smoke. He pushed the urge aside and trudged forward when Quinn didn’t answer.
“I thought I heard her voice,” Quinn said slowly and followed.
The house underneath the pounds of ivy that crawled up its sides had been white at some point. Four large columns stood on the porch, pitted with rot and even more roses. The paint had faded to gray and peeled across the surface, revealing graying wood underneath. The door was a solid black and the dull sheen was still evident under years of dirt.
Tyler tried the knob.
It didn’t budge, which is what he’d figured. Too bad picking locks wasn’t his forte. Instead, he stepped carefully along the porch and stopped in front of a window. Two swift jabs with his elbow and the glass shattered. He broke the rest of the pane and stood aside.
Quinn peeked inside, his lips drawn. “You’re pretty good at this. Have you done it before?”
“First time, actually,” Tyler said. “Well, I did think about robbing a place up here back when—”
“Back when what?” Quinn asked and watched Tyler carefully, those glass-green eyes didn’t miss much, and he never noticed until now.
Shit! He was a fucking idiot. He almost admitted to stealing—to making that dumb shit plan to rob one of the old families when he was so desperate for another hit he’d have done anything. But he wasn’t that person anymore. Unreliable and high all the time.
Tyler bit his lip ring and shrugged. “Never mind.”
He climbed into the house first, and Quinn slipped in after him. Dusty sheets covered the furniture, and it smelled thick with age, but the heavy scent of magic didn’t hang in the air.
Good. That probably meant they were safe for the time being.
Or not.
Quinn stood stock-still, his face ashen in the dim, dusty glow that managed to filter through the ivy and rose vines and into the windows around them. He looked diminished, like a candle burning low, and Tyler nudged him.
The alpha rumbled, begging him to bring the light back to Quinn’s eyes, but Tyler had no clue how to do that.
“Hey. Have you been here before?”
Quinn jolted. “No. Not that I remember. I just—I thought I heard something again. Do you think this place is haunted?”
Tyler snorted. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“The moon said they’re real, so yes. I do.”
Well, Tyler didn’t have an argument against the motherfucking moon, so he didn’t say anything more.
They slipped through room after room looking for something that might be a spell book. Whoever cleared the place after old lady Vanderbilt died took most of her things. The shelves in the library were bare, covered in cobwebs and a thick layer of dirt.
Tyler frowned and kicked the wall. It crumbled under his shoe and a pile of dust and plaster rose in its wake. “Where the fuck are the books?”
“Maybe the other old families cleared them out after she died. But I’ve been through all of the books in the Montgomery library and never found the spell she used.”
“It has to be somewhere,” Tyler growled and stalked out of the room. His footsteps pounded, hollow and muffled, on the wooden floors. The rest of the downstairs consisted of a kitchen and a dining room, so he headed up the curved staircase.
The alpha bristled so close to the surface that the only way to subdue it was to move. Tear through each room looking for something that would help him free Quinn.
He didn’t find a damn thing in the first three rooms.
Then Tyler moved into the largest bedroom. A monstrous bed took up the center of the room with huge wooden bedposts that came to twisted points. It was the only piece of furniture that hadn’t been covered with a sheet, and the floral quilt was pulled up and tucked in neatly like it’d been waiting for someone to come to bed for a very long time.
Tyler tore through all the furniture—the drawers empty. Glanced in the closet—also empty. And finally drew his fingers through his hair.
It was supposed to be here!
“Are you scared of failing?” Quinn asked. He stood in the doorway, his arms wrapped around his waist and his gaze wary.
Tyler hadn’t even noticed him. His scent and presence were so ubiquitous they just felt normal now.
Necessary.
How the fuck was he supposed to live without them? But if he didn’t break the spell—that’s what Tyler would have to do.
Well, if he even got to live at all. If the thing he wanted least came true. . . . Yeah, he knew what would happen.
“Of course I’m scared of failing!” Tyler snarled and bit his tongue to keep from saying anything more. It wasn’t Quinn’s fault, but that doubt in the back of his mind nagged at him.
Cage’s dumb warning.
Unicorns were dangerous. Shouldn’t be trusted. Isn’t that the same shit they said about Tyler himself?
Look how much he hated it.
Fuck.
He wasn’t going to buy into that. He knew Quinn. Watched him for nearly two months. Felt the warmth of his flesh and the joy in his smile. He wasn’t evil or dangerous—he was lonely and trapped and needed someone to help him.
He reminded Tyler so much of himself in some ways that a knife twisted in his heart. Even facing Quinn right now felt like he’d failed.
It wasn’t even the full moon yet—but it crept so much closer. Another week, and it’d all be over. His alpha side snarled. It wasn’t acceptable. He wasn’t going to lose like this—lose Quinn.
Not after everything they’d been through so far.
Quinn didn’t utter another word. He glided through the room like a spirit, both of them looking for something—anything—that might be a spell book.
They didn’t find one.
As a last resort, Tyler trudged into the kitchen. He’d glossed over it before, but it was the only part of the house left. No silverware was in the drawers, and the dishes and cookware were all gone, but a few fading kitchen towels remained. They were covered in roosters and little red barns, not the kind of thing he expected a high and mighty Haven City sorceress to own.
In the drawer beneath that one he spotted a small cookbook shoved into the back. Or, at least, he thought it was a cookbook when he glanced at it. The cover was red and worn with no lettering on the front.
With trembling fingers, Tyler lifted it from the drawer as if it would crumble to dust in his hold. It felt ancient, like the books in the library that Cage showed him, and he hoped it was written in clear English, not that Middle English crap.
He slowly turned a page. It cracked—the paper inside worn and dry. Sloped cursive writing covered the first page in fading pencil.
At first, it did look a lot like a recipe. It had a list of ingredients and a number of steps, but the outcome wasn’t food. It apparently was some kind of spell to control people.
He took a deep breath and stared at the page for a long moment.
This could be it.
“Quinn!” Tyler called. His voice seemed to shake the dust loose from the rafters.
Quinn didn’t respond, and Tyler fingered through it carefully. If it had the spell, it may have the way to break the spell too.
He turned the next page and it ripped in his fingers. “Shit,” he mumbled and scanned it.
‘Binding Evil Things’ it said on the top, and his breath caught in his throat. Squeezed.
The house hung silent around him.
“Quinn! Where the fuck are you?” Tyler called again.
He hadn’t even heard Quinn descend from upstairs, but he’d been too pissed off to really be listening anyway. Now that he could look at Quinn again without feeling like his insides were going to turn to a big pile of guilty mush, the damn unicorn was no where to be seen.
He skimmed past how to perform the spell—not that it made much sense. It wasn’t full of eyes of newts and raven claws but insubstantial things like fear and pain.
How the hell did someone collect those?
Tyler thought about what it was like when he needed a hit—the thing writhing inside him that drove him toward the sickly sweet scent of the opium dens and the way it washed over him—the emptiness that engulfed him—and found he didn’t want to know.
At the end was a small passage that read: ‘The ingenious part of such a spell is in the way it binds by using the very nature of the one who’s bound against it. Only when that nature is broken will the spell break, making it near impossible to shatter. They grow tighter with every action, and looser only if. . . .”
Tyler flipped the page.
“. . . the bound one does something uncommon to his kind. With the unicorn, whom this spell is performed on most frequently, the creature not only must act against his own good but someone must peer into his mirror of their own freewill knowing full well what they’ll see. This proves most impossible since most don’t know what they’ll see, and if they do, looking into that dreadful mirror is akin to death.”
Ice crackled over his bones at those words, and he stood frozen. Either he saved Quinn and (possibly) died, or he didn't save Quinn and also (possibly) died.
Great outcome both ways.
The alpha howled, and his stomach felt like it collapsed on itself.
What the fuck kind of decision was this?
Is that how Davis felt when he ran after he stole all that money and got a price on his head from the Triad? Is that why he couldn’t just return to Haven after the leader of the Tigers got killed and his name was wiped clean? Because either choice hurt those he loved.
Tyler frowned.
He was about to toss the book out the window when he heard the steady thump of footprints on stairs.
Quinn burst out of a door at the side of the kitchen, one Tyler hadn’t paid much attention to. His hair was draped in cobwebs, and he held an armful of dust laden wine bottles. His expression wasn’t as hollow as it’d been when they first entered, and that just twisted the knife further into Tyler’s gut.
“They have a wine cellar, and someone left all the wine!”
“That’s where you’ve been?” Tyler said and set the book on the counter.
The guarded elation that filled him a when he found it deflated now that he knew the truth. He couldn’t even bring his damn mouth to explain what he’d found to Quinn.
Not when Quinn smiled, all sunshine, and started looking for a corkscrew.
“I thought if that sorceress stuck around she’d be in the basement, but it was a lot like Bradley’s basement except with more spiders and centipedes. Then I found the wine. This is all I could carry.”
Tyler yanked the switchblade from his pocket and dug it into the cork. It didn’t free it smoothly, but he broke the cork enough to pull it out piece by piece. Maybe he needed to start carrying a Swiss Army knife instead.
“Are we celebrating something?” Tyler asked.
“Finding wine and this house. Oh, I don’t think it’s really haunted anymore. And I don’t think I’ve ever had wine before. Bradley said he didn’t want to waste it on me. Did you find anything?” Quinn asked and sniffed the bottle.
Tyler frowned at the book. He didn’t answer.
Instead, he took a drink from the bottle. It was a heavy red wine that clung to his mouth, dry enough not to be sickening. Ken might like it. Wine wasn’t really Tyler’s thing, but if it was there, he might as well drink it.
And this was the perfect time to drink.
Quinn watched him carefully and took the bottle once Tyler finished his long swig. He sipped it slowly, and his cheeks flushed. “That’s not bad.”
Tyler avoided his gaze and checked out the other bottles. A few had labels, all covered in dust. One wasn’t even wine. He turned it in his hands. “This is olive oil.”
A grin quirked Quinn’s lips. “You know what that can be used for.”
Tyler blinked. The alpha inside him surged, and his groin flooded with heat, revealing the desire that always filled him in Quinn’s presence. They didn’t have much time left – a week at most, but giving up that easily wasn’t in Tyler’s nature.
“Seriously?”
Quinn nodded and nudged his shoulder—the one that hadn’t been injured. “It’s slick enough. You want to try it? You said you didn’t want to go slowly, and yet. . . .”
His voice trailed off as his lips slid over Tyler’s neck. That book didn’t say a damn thing about how horny unicorns were. Not that he minded.
Tyler growled low in his throat. “What do I do?”
Quinn’s teeth snagged his ear. “Who says you get to be on top?”
“I am the alpha,” Tyler said and turned his head to catch Quinn’s lips while he gripped the man’s hips firmly. “And I know what you are, unicorn.”
Quinn stiffened. Leaned back, his mouth pink and slick. “You know? And you don’t care?”
Was he acting like he cared? Tyler snarled and smashed their mouths together. The primal need that rose with every kiss flooded his veins and set his nerves on fire. Words didn’t suit the situation.
His body spoke louder than his mouth.
Quinn groaned and melted into the kiss, his hands groping and fondling their way down Tyler’s chest as his teeth caught the lip ring and pulled delicately.
The ice around Tyler’s bones melted. Boiled. Turned to goddamn steam in a matter of minutes. He yanked at Quinn’s shirt and slipped it over the man’s head, musing his pale waves into a silvery blond halo.
He could just pull off those jeans next and fuck him against the kitchen cabinets, but this was his mate—not some chick he picked up at a club.
Tyler kissed Quinn and balled the shirt in his fist. “Back to the bedroom. Now.”
It was Quinn’s turn to blink—his cheeks flushed and chest heaving. That sweet grin lighted on his lips. “Okay.”
Tyler took the oil and threw back another swallow of wine. Hell—he’d just take the bottle. The red spell book sat innocently on the counter, and Tyler turned from it.
After.
He’d tell Quinn after the alpha got what it needed—after he claimed his mate. That way, even if he died, he wouldn’t regret things he hadn’t done.
He shoved the items in Quinn’s arms and lifted him up, like a groom carrying a bride.
Tyler’s wounded arm protested, and Quinn gave a yelp of surprise. “I can walk.”
“Shut up. I’m being romantic,” Tyler grumbled and kissed the side of Quinn’s head.
He didn’t remember the climb up the stairs, or setting Quinn down, or even shedding the rest of his clothes once he got there. The only thing on his mind was their destination. The way his heart pounded and his hands buzzed with something akin to static.
Tyler’s cock ached.
Curled.
It was as slick with hunger as his mouth, and when he yanked at Quinn’s jeans, the unicorn’s was just as wet.
Just as hard.
He never imagined claiming a mate, especially not in some abandoned house on a floral quilt, but here he was. And he wasn’t about to stop.
The alpha wouldn’t let him.
“What do I do?” he asked once Quinn’s jeans were discarded on the floor with the rest of their clothes.
“Lube me up. Use your fingers,” Quinn said and opened the bottle of oil.
Thank the moon it had a twist top. It slipped over his fingers and palm, heavy and thick. Quinn slid his hand over Tyler’s shaft, the sudden surge of pleasure unbearable.
Tyler groaned and kissed him again, hips pumping into that delicious grip.
“My ass is even better,” Quinn purred and rolled back, lifting his slender hips.
The muscles in his thighs and ass bunched with the movement, and the invitation was completely irresistible.
Tyler’s fingers were remarkably steady as he poured the oil over them and moved to Quinn’s sinfully pink entrance.
While the alpha howled at him to move, he wasn’t about to hurt Quinn. Slowly, he nudged the finger inside. The band of muscles squeezed, and Quinn took a sharp breath, but he smiled.
Tyler moved it gently, in and out.
“You’ll have to do more than that,” Quinn said, voice thick with lust.
It seemed to pour over Tyler’s flesh like honey. He tried a second finger, then a third, each with more slick oil, until Quinn’s ass gleamed with it and his chest heaved erratically.
“Now,” he groaned, and the only answer Tyler could give was to move forward.
Position his hips.
Press inside.
The blur of pleasure and heat surrounded him. Tight and slick and absolutely perfect. He gripped Quinn’s thighs, but the flesh slipped out from under him. He grabbed the man’s hips instead, pressed himself to the hilt and took great gasping breaths until he trusted himself to move.
“Fuck me,” Quinn moaned as he fisted the quilt, thighs spread and cock twitching.
Tyler leaned forward, pressed his mouth to Quinn’s and kissed, long and hard. Hands moved over his arms to his shoulders, leaving streaks of oil on his tattoos, and Tyler’s cock throbbed to move.
“No. I’m not fucking you. I’m claiming you, Quinn. You’re my mate,” he growled.
Quinn’s glass green eyes widened, and the gold flecks danced in the center.
Then Tyler thrust, and anything the unicorn wanted to say got lost in the passion engulfing them.
His hands grasped at Tyler’s shoulders and his hips rolled in time with every thrust. The sounds he made should’ve been illegal. The sensation of his body opening up to Tyler should’ve too—like they had no secrets.
No lies.
There was nothing but this moment—the friction between them.
Every second dragged into a blissful eternity, and the sharp stabs of pleasure crawled up his thighs and settled in his balls.
“I love you. I love you. Harder,” Quinn groaned and buried his face in Tyler’s neck. His legs wrapped around Tyler’s back at what seemed like an impossible angle.
Then Quinn stiffened, and Tyler growled—the height of the pleasure drowning them both. It felt like moving through honey, thick and sticky, and he collapsed on Quinn’s sweat slick chest and sucked in each musky, mint-scented breath like it’d be his last.
If it were, Tyler couldn’t bring himself to care.
With his body recovering, it took his brain a moment to make sense of those words. He took a deep breath. His chest felt close to bursting. Quinn loved him. That made what he needed to say even worse.
But he couldn’t keep it hidden any longer. It was Quinn’s life, and he had a right to know.
“I found out how to break the spell, but you’re not going to like it.”