Spellbound (5 page)

“Misha,” Stavros whined pitifully, and for a moment Mikhail looked almost remorseful. The sadness in his voice even caught Elion off guard for a moment. Just a moment- then he remembered what a complete jerk Stavros was.

“I’m sorry, Stavros. I’ve overlooked the changes in you for far too long. I should never have let it get this far.” Elion watched with shocked fascination when Stavros bowed his head sadly. Mikhail’s hands cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look up before he pressed his lips to Stavros’ forehead.

When his face was released, Stavros’ chin sank once more and Elion knew it was out of shame. It wasn’t a flattering look for Stavros. Elion couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his head. A wave of guilt boiled in his stomach and made him look at Mikhail with apologetic eyes.

“I suggest you both go rest,” was all the older man said before his office door was opening with a soft nod of his head. Neither man said a word as they walked out. Curious eyes tried to sneak peeks, but no one said a word. Elion would be shocked if anyone had the nerve to even chuckle under their breath.

“I need to stop at the office,” Elion said quietly. Stavros gave him a bare nod and made a left down the hallway. His whole demeanor had changed. His posture was still straight and tense, but the air around him was now diluted with something that made Elion frown.

Elion quickly gathered his things and grabbed the stack of files from his desk before waiting for Stavros to activate the wards that sealed off their office. He still hadn’t said a word and Elion had doubts that he was going to. That’s when the reality of the situation hit him. He was now bound to the temperamental nutcase. The man was ready to tear off his head a short time ago, and now he was stuck with him.

He hadn’t even realized how distracted he was in thoughts of misery and panic until he found himself hitting an invisible wall. His body involuntarily jerked back like he had reached the end of a chain, and he gasped. He whipped around to find Stavros at the top of the steps, staring down at him with a scowl. If this was the amount of space between them the spell would allow, that meant they would never be more than a few feet from each other. He wasn’t sure if he should cry, laugh, or go beg at Mikhail’s feet.

“What are you doing?” he asked harshly. Stavros looked unfazed as he started down the steps.

“I’m not going to your apartment,” Stavros muttered. “It stinks.”

“It does not! If it smells like anything other than flowers than it’s from your drunk ass stinking up the place.”

“At least my drunk ass doesn’t smell like some pixie.” Stavros growled when he realized he couldn’t take another step. He turned sharply to find Elion standing on the sidewalk with his hip cocked and his arms crossed over his chest. “What are you doing now?” he grumbled.

“Take it back.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take it back. First of all, you’re a racist. Secondly, I really don’t care if you like my apartment or not. It’s mine, not yours.”

“Call me that again and see what happens,” Stavros snapped. A few pedestrians glanced at them curiously, but quickly turned away. He took a few quick breaths before he spoke again. “I’m not a racist. Now let’s go.”

“No. Not until you take it back.”

“Elion…” Stavros warned sternly. The elf shook his head, taking a firmer stance in the middle of the sidewalk. “This is childish.”

“I’m sick of you being a bully.”

Stavros pinched the bridge of his nose, and glared at Elion. Elion quirked a brow in challenge.

“I apologize,” Stavros said through gritted teeth after a drawn out pause. Elion didn’t skip a beat before he grinned contently and began walking forward once more.

“So, your place or mine?”

Chapter 5

Elion could have put up a stronger fight about staying at his apartment, but he blamed his guilty conscience for agreeing to go to Stavros’. Stavros followed him through the apartment, looking around in disgust while Elion gathered clothing and a few personal items. Elion didn’t think his apartment was that awful. It was clean; it just lacked décor or anything to make it homey. He could only imagine what Stavros’ looked like. It was probably filled with torture devices and darkness.

He waited awkwardly while Stavros let him into his own apartment, wards crackling and bending for the newcomer. The sight inside made Elion do a double take. It was everything Stavros was not. It was welcoming and warm, domestic, even. The floors were a dark hardwood with a large, fluffy beige rug between the long dark blue couch. A few abstract paintings hung on the soft blue walls and the curtains were coordinated to the overall theme, though they were designed to not let in any form of sunlight.

It was open and spacious with a smooth flow to it. The kitchen was modern and a dream for someone who enjoyed cooking, but it was the bedroom that shocked him the most. The walls were a cornflower blue with slate gray molding. The bed was big enough to fit five of them, but looked as though it had never been slept in. The thick, silky black bedding was smoothed of any wrinkles with matching pillows placed neatly. The bedside lamps looked as they had been hand carved by a crafter from the Woodlands, but that was the only décor to the room. It was calm and intimate.

He blushed when he realized Stavros was watching him study the room. He dropped his bag in the corner and went back to tiredly trailing after Stavros. His bottom lip felt swollen from worrying at it and his eyes were sore from lack of sleep. Stavros hadn’t said a single word since the sidewalk incident, and for the first time, the silence was bothering him. It made him feel on-edge and small.

Having forgotten about the limit of their bond, Stavros attempted to head for a shower while Elion sat on the couch. The end result was the discovery that they could either shower together or one could sit in the hallway and wait. As much as Elion enjoyed sneaking peeks at the jerk’s body in his completely inappropriate outfits, he wasn’t getting in the shower with him. He sat in the hallway twiddling his thumbs and waiting less than patiently while Stavros took the world’s longest shower, no doubt intentionally.

The following hours weren’t any better. Stavros sat on the floor reading over files and completely ignoring Elion until he finally cleared his throat.

“How about I make dinner?” Elion offered with a forced smile.

“Whatever,” Stavros muttered. He shoved his hair back over his shoulder and began reading again.

“Alright. Anything in particular you do or don’t eat?”

“What do you eat?”

The question caught Elion so off guard that he drew a blank. Stavros gave him an irritated look that made a blush creep up his neck.

“I… uh… I eat fruit and vegetables mostly.”

“You don’t eat meat?” Stavros asked casually, leaning away from his file to look up. Elion shifted gracelessly, his fingers working into his pockets.

“Sometimes. It just doesn’t taste good to me, I guess,” he said, brow furrowed slightly. He had no idea why he suddenly felt too gawky to be in Stavros’ presence or why he felt the need to defend his eating choices. “I can fix you whatever you’d like.”

“Whatever,” Stavros repeated.

The entire exchange was odd, but exhilarating. They were talking like normal beings. It was civil and… strange. He wanted to go feel Stavros’ forehead to make sure he wasn’t ill. Instead, he began searching through the cambion’s cabinets and fridge, frowning at the low selection and the way he kept getting jerked back.

Within an hour he had a suitable meal ready to be served. He ate his food
quietly while his partner ignored his own.

“Should I get you something else?” he asked quietly. Stavros glanced up, his brow furrowed in confusion. He glanced between Elion and the plate beside him before he dropped the file and sighed.

“Thank you,” Stavros said as he brought his spoon to his mouth.

Elion’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened slightly. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, awed.

This Stavros was the polar opposite of the Stavros he had known for weeks. This Stavros was almost docile. It was concerning and slightly frightening. Elion was still waiting for Stavros to finish the job that he had wanted to earlier. By morning Mikhail would find his head in a box on his desk and his limbs scattered throughout the realms. But the threats never came. Stavros simply finished his meal, set the empty dish beside him, and went back to work.

“Stavros, I’m sorry,” Elion finally blurted. “I don’t know how I could have mixed it up. Those files weren’t even together. I feel horrible.” Rather than meeting the gaze he felt on him, he stared at his knees waiting for the yelling to start.

A file landed at his feet and he looked up. “Then help me build a stronger case and get the bastard back in custody.”

Elion’s mouth opened only to snap shut as he nodded, maybe a bit too eagerly.

An occasional sigh, grunt or yawn would occupy the silence, but neither man spoke as they read. Elion felt his eyelids growing heavier until he startled himself awake. He set his file on the coffee table and rubbed his aching eyes.

Stavros was still buried in his paperwork. His features were intense and focused, but he looked so… non-threatening. His jaw would tick every once in a while or his tongue would dart across his bottom lip. The muscle in his forearm would contract as he turned pages, and Elion found himself staring a little too intently. He watched a large hand brush back the ebony hair that had been released from its tie. Occasionally, a pin straight strand of hair would fall across Stavros’ proud cheek and make him huff quietly.

After watching for too long to be appropriate, Elion found himself closing the small distance between them. Stavros tensed. His mossy eyes glanced up suspiciously as Elion knelt behind him.

“Can I?” he asked, loosely gathering Stavros’ hair in his fingers. Stavros gave him the barest of nods and Elion smiled. His nimble fingers quickly braided Stavros’ hair, lingering for a second before he pulled away. “There, now it won’t give you a headache.”

Stavros reached back, running his fingers down the simple braid. He gave a small nod to Elion, but the elf swore that, maybe, for a split second, there was a flash of a blush on the other man’s cheeks.

He shifted back to the couch, giving Stavros a final glance before retrieving the report he had been reading. Despite Stavros making lower ranked officers do his crap work with criminals, he actually kept meticulous files. Then again, he had to. His cases were normally serious and a simple slip up could be the difference between justice and a murderer walking. Elion held back a self-deprecating groan and rubbed his eyes.

“Can I ask you something?” Elion asked. Stavros glanced up from his file with a dull grunt. “You called Mikhail Misha…”

“That wasn’t a question,” Stavros said pointedly. “Misha is a diminutive.”

Elion stared blankly. Stavros rolled his eyes. “A nickname, Elion. Misha is a Russian nickname for Mikhail.”

“Oh,” Elion breathed sheepishly. “You two are close?”

“He’s my father,” Stavros said, dropping his paper onto the floor and pushing himself up. His long, toned arms stretched above his head and revealed a section of olive flesh and defined muscle under his shirt. Elion forced his gaze to stay upwards, refusing to give into the temptation to look again.

“But you’re a cambion.”

“I know what I am, brat. I didn’t say he was my sire,” he scoffed. He disappeared into the kitchen and if Elion leaned back, he could watch Stavros trying to reach into a cabinet that was further away than their bond would allow him to go. Elion frowned at Stavros’ stubbornness and rolled his eyes when Stavros finally got his hands on what he was reaching for. He heard the clanking of glasses and then Stavros was back with a glass
of
wine extended in Elion’s direction. Elion eyed it carefully for a second, letting the shock of the casual action sink in.

“Thanks,” Elion said. “Do you feel like something’s missing?”

“What do you mean?” Stavros mumbled as he reclaimed his place on the floor.

“I don’t know. It just seems like something’s missing from all of this.”

Elion made a memo to phrase his words better after that. The almost casual Stavros was shot back to Oblivion, and the grumpy, threatening Stavros was back in the bat of a lash, grumbling, degrading, and cussing at Elion without hesitation.

“Are you telling me how to do my job? I think I would-“

“I wasn’t blaming you! I was just asking a damn question! Why do you always have to turn everything into a fight?” Elion demanded. “Just forget I said anything.” He snatched another file from the coffee table and placed it in his lap, ignoring the burning stare from Stavros.

~~

Stavros glanced up to find Elion slouched back with his eyes closed. A file was spread across his lap and his head was leaning at an awkward angle. Stavros knew it was immature to start another fight with the brat. He knew that Elion wasn’t accusing him of poor work ethic, but he couldn’t help snapping at him. Mikhail had told him countless times to stop blaming the darkness in himself for his shitty attitude, but he couldn’t. He knew that Mikhail had the power to do something like this to them, he just didn’t think that Mikhail would. The old bastard had never been so cruel.