Don't Read in the Closet volume one (5 page)

Crouched down in the
wings of the stage area, watching the sanctuary intently without any real
understanding why, Dashiel leant in to whisper in Achan’s ear. “What are we
doing here?”

“I never took the
Chalice.”

“Achan—”

But Achan was already
shaking his head. “I used the Obscure Object spell so it would blend in with
the Sanctuary and looked like it had been taken when they opened the doors.
While everyone was fussing and fretting, I ran in at the speed of light,
snatched up the Chalice and shot back to start doing my little rain dance before
anyone even realised what was going on.”

Dashiel blinked,
completely stunned. “You used a first year, elementary school spell to fool the
entire Pantheon?”

Achan shrugged, looking
a little embarrassed. “Um… yeah.”

Dashiel was too
astounded to say anything for a while. It was a bold and impressive scheme. But
so risky at the same time. At the end of the day, there was really only one
thing he absolutely had to know, however.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Achan asked
,
sounding distracted as he once again stared at the dais in
front of them.

“Why did you do all
this? Why me?”

“Oh. That why,” Achan
murmured, suddenly looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Well?”

Achan looked down at the
ground now, as if struggling to find the right words in the cracks and fissures
of the polished marble. “I just… I’ve always… ever since we were godlings, I…”
At last Achan lifted his gaze and Dashiel was struck by the stark honesty and
need he saw on the other god’s face. “More than anyone I’ve ever met in all of
The Pantheon, I want you. I want a chance to see if we fit together.”

For a long time all he
could do was stare. In the face of Achan’s candour and sincerity, Dashiel found
himself completely speechless—something that honestly didn’t happen all that
often. But as the silence stretched out, he saw something painful and
suspiciously shiny start to cloud Achan’s beautiful blue eyes. An ache
immediately formed in
his own
heart—like Achan’s pain
was his own.

He reached out and took
Achan’s hand, amazed at how perfect it felt resting in his own. “I think… I
think I’d like that too.”

Powerless to resist,
Dashiel leant forward and pressed his lips to Achan’s. And it was everything he
had never found in another’s touch. Sweet and hot, the sensation of Achan’s
mouth beneath his own sent a rush of need washing over him.

Wanting more, Dashiel
opened his mouth and ran his tongue over Achan’s full lips. Instantly, Achan
opened for him and it was unparalleled as together they explored each
other—licking over smooth teeth, tangling tongues and swallowing the tiny moans
of pleasure neither of them could contain.

When they finally
separated, panting for breath, they just stared at each other. The emotions and
expressions he saw flashing across Achan’s face mirrored his own—excitement,
trepidation, desire. It was all there and something else—a connection Dashiel
had never felt before.

Then Achan started to
grin. “Of course, there’s also the fact I desperately want to fuck you while
you’re wearing those kick ass boots.”

Dashiel stifled a snort
of laughter; it was good to know the imp that Achan seemed to have grown into
hadn’t all been a fabrication. “Really?”

“Oh yeah! You look
totally hot in them.”

“You know, I might just
let you… one day.”

Achan’s eyes sparkled as
he raised an eyebrow. “One day, huh?”

“You’re not the only one
that knows how to tease. Or with a vested interest in making sure a guy keeps
coming back for more.”

“I really don’t think
you have to worry on that score,” Achan whispered.

“No?”

Achan’s answer was to
seal their lips together again in a quick, hungry kiss. Unfortunately, before
it could become anything deeper, Achan stiffened.

Dashiel pulled away.
“What’s—?”

“Ssh! Someone’s coming.”

Sure enough, seconds
later, Dashiel was able to make out a figure creeping forward through the
shadows.

Concealed under a heavy
cowl it was impossible to see the identity of the trespasser, but the stranger
headed straight for the Sanctuary that housed the Chalice—which was more than
enough for Dashiel.

Waiting and judging with
all the skill of a born hunter, Dashiel timed his ambush just right. In one
swift move, he stood and drew his bow—the arrow he notched far deadlier than
its gold tipped cousins. “That’s far enough.”

The intruder was left
exposed and vulnerable—inches from the Sanctuary, but with nowhere to hide or
run. And as he spun to face them, Dashiel instantly recognised the rather
plain, stubbly square-jawed face and steely grey eyes of the gargoyle who had
propositioned him weeks before at Bacchus’ Den. The same one that had been
following him around off and on ever since.

“What—?”

But before he could
finish the sentence, Achan stepped forward from the shadows and the gargoyle
let out a low, mean hiss as he crouched into an attack stance.

Dashiel instantly
resighted his bow. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I don’t understand,”
Achan said, sounding confused.

“Of course you don’t,
you stupid little fuck,” the gargoyle growled—still crouched, but unmoving.
Which was the only reason he wasn’t sporting an arrow through his
heart right now.

“Do I know you?” Achan
asked tentatively.

“Dense fucking Mercury.
Of course you don’t know me. But I know you.”

“You were trying to set
him up, weren’t you?” Dashiel said—the venom in the gargoyle’s eyes made it
quite clear he hated Achan.

“He needed to
disappear.”

“So you were going to
what? Have the Chalice mysteriously turn up in his possessions? Let the Elders
banish him for stealing it?”

“It seemed the only
permanent way to deal with him.”

“But why?” Achan asked,
sounding both hurt and confused. “I don’t even know you.”

The guy literally
snarled at Achan. “I saw him first. He’s mine.”

“Who?”

But Dashiel already knew
exactly who the guy was talking about. He’d thought he was just dealing with a
stalker—it wasn’t like he’d never had to deal with one before—but apparently
this particular stalker was also a psycho.

“Dashiel!” the gargoyle
hissed, his human-like features starting to twist grotesquely.

“We’ve never said more
than a dozen words to each other,” Dashiel denied hotly. “And most of those
consisted of me saying no, Crush.”

“It’s Kresh!” the
gargoyle screeched.

Thinking about it in
that brief pocket of time that stretched out forever right before everything
went to Tartarus, it probably hadn’t been the smartest idea to mouth off.
Pushed into a rage, the fury seemed to boil under the gargoyle’s skin as his
features warped and morphed with his shift. His face elongated to form a sharp,
canine snout with long, dripping fangs in an instant. His ears grew pointed and
horns erupted from his skull. And his eyes began to glow a deep, hate-filled
red as the enraged beast snapped and snarled.

Dashiel released his
arrow, but not before the shift had given the gargoyle an impenetrable, rocky
grey hide. And there was no time to notch another. All Dashiel could do was
sidestep out of the way of the charge.

As the beast tried to
correct itself, Dashiel brought his bow around for a heavy blow across the
gargoyle’s broad back. He just needed to keep the beast mindless and focused on
him—he couldn’t stand the thought of what the gargoyle might do to Achan.

Unfortunately, although
almost indestructible, the bow still shattered on impact—which was going to be
interesting to explain to the armourer. Dashiel was forced to jump back from a
set of snapping jaws that swung around at him. He only narrowly avoided ending
up between them and in a great deal of pain.

Dashiel knew exactly
what Kresh was thinking—if he could disable them, he could escape. But that
couldn’t be allowed to happen. This might be the only chance they had to clear
Achan’s name. They needed the gargoyle alive and right here as exhibit A.

Unfortunately,
distracted for a split second by that realisation, Dashiel wasn’t quite fast
enough to dodge the next lightening quick attack. He howled in agony as the
bones in his left wrist were crushed beneath the pressure of the gargoyle’s
vice-like jaws.

“Dashiel!” Achan
screamed.

In horror, Dashiel
watched Achan run and leap on the gargoyle’s hunched back. His heart jumped up
into his throat as he saw Kresh effortlessly dislodge Achan and send him flying
across the amphitheatre. He landed with a sickening crunch against a marble
pillar and didn’t move.

“Achan!”

Kresh howled in triumph
and ran at Achan’s motionless form. The universe seemed to slow, but there was
nothing Dashiel could do. Nothing that would stop Kresh from reaching Achan in
time. But he had to try.

Scrabbling for grip on
the polished floor, Dashiel started after Kresh. Before either of them got more
than a half dozen steps, however, Achan sat up, opened his hand and blew across
his palm.

A silver dust billowed
out, hitting Kresh square in the face. He dropped to the floor in the same
instant and skidded across the slick marble to end up in an unconscious tangle
at Achan’s feet.

Dashiel ran to Achan’s
side,
stumbling
the last few steps to kneel beside
him—careful to avoid the silvery remains of what he had to assume were The
Sands of Sleep.

“Are you alright?”
Dashiel frantically checked Achan over—even though as a god he was unlikely to
have been permanently injured. He’d only been tossed across the room. Dashiel
could already feel his own wrist almost completely healed.

“I’m fine, Dashiel. He
just knocked the wind out of me.”

Dashiel found himself
nodding. Everything felt kind of foggy and indistinct—not real, as if it was
all a long way off.

Pointing to the silvery
dust, Dashiel noticed his hand was trembling and quickly put it back down.
“Where did you get that from, anyway?”

Achan blushed. “I swiped
it from a Somnus when he wasn’t looking the other night at the graduation
party.”

Dashiel couldn’t help
it. He pulled Achan in for a quick, hard kiss.

“You’re brilliant. You
know that, right?”

“Um… thank you. But what
do we do now?”

Dashiel’s chuckle was a
little shaky, but it helped to release some of the tension still squeezing his
chest. The incredibly cute blush that had flared to life in Achan’s cheeks
didn’t hurt either. “I guess we send a message and get everyone here so we can
start clearing your name. Know anyone that could handle that?”

****

The rain had passed over
hours ago and a fire danced merrily in the grate, warding off the last of the
winter chill. Both now safe and dry, Dashiel still felt the need to pull Achan
closer to his side where they snuggled together on the couch.

The meeting with the
various ruling gods and goddesses had not been pleasant. But after a few near
misses and one or two initial misunderstandings, things had finally been sorted
out and Achan cleared of all charges. It was scary to think how easily it could
all have gone very differently, however.

Kresh had been sentenced
to a swim in the Lethe—the river of forgetfulness—and from there banished far,
far away from Godshome. The whole matter was to be forgotten. They didn’t want
anyone else hearing about it and getting any ideas.

Personally, Dashiel was
perfectly happy to forget all about it. In the end, he was just damn glad they
hadn’t been sentenced to a swim as well. The court had shown amazing leniency
in that regard—their actions in rescuing the Chalice having been taken into
account. If the ruling body had wanted to ensure the whole incident was truly
forgotten, it could have ended very badly for them both.

It didn’t detract from
the near overwhelming desire Dashiel had to paddle the younger god’s ass.

“You do realise it was a
complete waste of time,” he murmured against the top of Achan’s head. “A
dangerous complete waste of time.”

Achan snuggled closer.
“What?”

“Trying to get my
attention with that little stunt at the ceremony.”

Achan squirmed against
him, until Dashiel tightened his hold and stilled the nervous movement.

“It’s just… when I
finally came into godhood and was all legal so to
speak,
I wanted you to notice me. To finally see me. I’ve already waited
forever,
I didn’t want to waste another second.”

Dashiel’s breath caught
in his throat—knowing how much Achan had risked—how badly it could have so
easily gone. And almost had.