Bare Your Teeth, Wicked Ones

10. The Craving of You

Nicholas

Nicholas stared at William's back walking beneath the shade of evergreens. The vexatious medic had avoided conversation for over a day, ever since the affair in the hot spring. Moments Nicholas couldn't get off his mind. William's heat, his shivering skin, even that damn scent of disinfectant that somehow followed him here. The man stirred a ravenous craving within Nicholas that nothing could snuff out, further coaxed by his prolonged silence. Even when he spoke of vicious fun, recounting tales of horror, William kept silent. He didn't offer the fae a glimpse. He wanted those eyes upon him. Always. It was utterly sickening.

"Are you certain that you know where you are going?" Charmaine asked from where she clutched William's side.

The two were almost inseparable. Though Nicholas knew the humans huddled to share warmth and assist in their minor injuries, his irritation didn't fade. He wanted his hands on William instead. Clutching those strong arms, sliding nimble fingers along the scars of his back and clutching his waist. Nicholas' fingers flexed, recalling the intoxicating sensation that drove his mind wild. Evoking reactions similar to the other day, a moment of panic or anger set upon normally calm features, that was the fun of the game.

"Did you not hear our stories the other evening?" Arden replied from where he led the group. His voice broke Nicholas of his stupor. "Faerie changes constantly. How do you suppose we survive in lands like that?"

"Answer the damn question." Charmaine earned a raised brow from William, though he said nothing. The two were fed and remained crabby. That appeared to be a normal state for humans.

"We do not seek locations. We seek items or people," Nicholas explained. He got Charmaine's gaze, but not William's. He stifled a snarl.

"People carry familiar scents that we can track. It is easy out here where there is little else to smell than sulfur," Arden added.

And musk, Nicholas thought. Even after their bath, a musky aroma lingered. The Deadlands liked to mark its territory.

"Among one of your cities would be more difficult," Arden continued. "And we attune ourselves to the sound of items we carry. A music box who's song we hear when we truly listen and leads us home."

"If that is true, why can't any of you find Fearworn?" Charmaine asked. "He must have a scent or an item someone knows to follow."

"Do you honestly believe Fearworn doesn't have spells to cover all that?" Arden scoffed.

Charmaine spoke momentarily with William then meandered forward to join Arden.

"Can you sense how far we are from the army?" she asked.

"Tonight may be our last evening alone in the woods," Arden replied, and the two fell into further discussions. Mostly Charmaine asking about more specifics on how fae track. This gave him a chance to speak with William alone. And he took it.

The medic didn't give Nicholas the attention he craved when he settled beside him. Their companion's whispers and crunching of snow beneath William's boots kept them company. Nicholas' gaze swept over William's paled complexion, the one that remained dark since the hot springs. He struck a chord, unintentionally. An unusual situation for he typically struck chords on purpose. He wanted to agitate William, but he wanted the medic to fight, not crumble into this shell. A place of silence and disinterest that stole that fight from his eyes. Nicholas could not lie, William was interesting. Defiant. Vexing. And hiding more than he let on.

"Do you wish to know where the men are, who touched me last without my consent?"

William let that slip. He regretted it. Nicholas didn't. He kept prodding that armor, watching the cracks grow along the seams. Every knick brought him closer to victory, to flames growing hotter and he wanted them to burn together.