Americana Fairy Tale (25 page)

Atticus brightened and raised his fist. “And now we have leverage.” He spun on his heel. “We need to get back to the house,” he said to Honeysuckle, and they started off.

Atticus omitted the part that if he shared his hidden power with Charles, it could possibly benefit him. Not only that, make him more desirable to Charles. He maintained a straight face as Honeysuckle flew next to him while he ran.

They hurried back to the house, and Atticus skipped up the steps. The ogre guards didn’t scare him anymore, and they didn’t raise a brow at his coming and going.

Atticus stepped into the foyer and called up the stairwell, “Charles?” He turned, looking into the house. “Charles?” His voice echoed into the vaulted ceiling. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

Honeysuckle made a confused gesture at Atticus, and he held up his hands, halting her. He smirked and didn’t tell her what about.

Charles jogged down the stairs, his smile bright.

Atticus’s heart thumped harder against his ribs. Charles resembled the classic heartthrob in a black T-shirt and tight jeans. Atticus averted his gaze, trying not to seem too excited.

“Enjoy your walk?” Charles asked, reaching the bottom step.

“Would have enjoyed it more if you didn’t keep us caged in,” Honeysuckle said with a snort.

Atticus shot Honeysuckle a glare. “Please, be gracious,” he scolded her.

Honeysuckle drifted back and placed a fist to her heart. “Atticus, you’ve never taken such a tone with me,” she said with a croak in her voice.

Atticus winked at her, hoping she’d feel eased that he was playing a trick on Charles. Only there wasn’t a trick. He took Charles’s hand in his and threaded their fingers.

Charles laughed a low rumbling chuckle. “So bold of you.” His eyes narrowed like a snake examining a mouse. Atticus shivered. “Feeling more comfortable, I take it?”

Atticus nodded as Charles’s touch burned him from the inside out. “Thanks to you. I have something for you.” His heart raced the longer he remained in Charles’s presence. He flushed as he watched Charles consider him, tilting his head from side to side.

“Oh, you do?” Charles asked. “Why don’t you show me over dinner? Ogres are divine cooks. Have you ever tried roasted Jabberwocky? To die for,” he said, getting a far-off look in his eye.

“Can’t say I have,” Atticus said. The embarrassment prickled at Atticus’s skin when he realized he wasn’t as cultured of an Enchant as someone like Idi the Witchking. He had a lot to learn if he was going to be suitable to him. Atticus watched Charles’s face, trying to find the true face of Idi just under his skin. His stomach fluttered with butterflies.
Soon
. Atticus would show him soon and get his just reward.

Honeysuckle’s wings buzzed just beyond his ear. A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth. Of all the times to be chained to a pixie guardian. Atticus desperately needed to be alone with Charles.

“That’s all right, then,” Charles said and pulled Atticus close. Atticus gasped as they met groin to groin. Charles arched a brow as Atticus’s body responded with its need. “Why don’t you run upstairs and get cleaned up?” Charles asked casually. “It’s… terribly hot this evening.”

Atticus nodded, catching the suggestion in Charles’s voice. He stepped away. “Of course,” he said softly and then jogged up the stairs.

Honeysuckle fluttered after, and Atticus withheld his frustration for her following him. “What’s gotten into you, gumdrop?” Honeysuckle asked. “How can you make yourself into such a harlot?”

Atticus pivoted sharply at the waist and snatched Honeysuckle out of the air. She squealed her surprise. Atticus clamped his hand over her mouth as she squirmed. “Listen to me,” Atticus whispered harshly. “I have a plan. You just need to believe me.”

Honeysuckle jerked her head away from Atticus’s hand. “By temping that
creature
with the pleasures of your princess flesh? I won’t have it. What would your parents say? How shameful!”

The anger brewed inside of Atticus. “Nothing’s going to happen anyway. Especially with the Princesshood spell,” Atticus said and tried to calm her nerves. If anything, Charles would take him to the field of sunflowers and let him run until he had spent himself beyond the last drop. He’d remain some sense of intact, as it were, but no longer completely innocent.

Honeysuckle narrowed her wintergreen eyes. “I will not have you make a whore of yourself like your rotten brother,” she warned him.

Atticus staggered like he had just been clubbed at the back of the head. “My
brother
? A whore? If anything, Taylor is a lonely, miserable, insignificant speck of an Enchant. There is no possible way for him to even have someone want to fuck him.”

Honeysuckle’s wings vibrated against Atticus’s hand. Her face reddened in what seemed like embarrassment. “Such language,” she snapped. “I don’t approve of this. And
you
shouldn’t think of your brother like that. I can think of him what I please. But you love your brother!”

Atticus sighed and stormed down the long hall to the master bedroom. Honeysuckle had made her opinion known frequently; she never cared for Taylor. And even in a situation where Taylor was likely never to return, she was still vocal about her dislike of his quirks. Atticus knew the truth though—Taylor was likely the purest of all. With such a stigma as
Curseless
, who would want to touch anyone like Taylor? They reached the master bath, and Atticus let Honeysuckle out of his grip.

She took flight and then shook off being manhandled. “Did you not hear me?” Honeysuckle asked as she patrolled the stately room.

Atticus noted her constant paranoia. “Right, Taylor. Right,” Atticus said as he stepped into the master bath.

Honeysuckle lingered at the threshold, and she wrung her hands as Atticus considered himself in the large mirror. “Darling…. What’s gotten into you?”

Atticus didn’t answer her but saw her out of the corner of his eye in the mirror. He studied himself. He had never noticed what a sensual creature he had grown into. His life had been filled with college, studies, the officer academy, and the dreams of getting into West Point. His dream was to serve the country he loved so dear. The people he desired to protect. Squash the desire for a man to lay with him.

He and Taylor had similar narrow faces, with high cheekbones and larger eyes than most young men. Taylor had his unusual peach-pink eyes; it was a trait from nowhere in the family as far as they knew. Taylor’s eyes always made him look a bit like a crazed alien. Atticus had the calming lilac, like their mother. The brothers had the same dark hair, which Taylor insisted on growing into a scruffy mop, but Atticus kept his more trim, with a sweep of bangs across his forehead. Atticus pressed two fingers to his full lips, discovering the attribute of his own face. He watched himself, arching a brow and imagining Charles’s cock at his lips. His dick stirred at the thought.

“What are you doing, child?” Honeysuckle asked in a flustered tone.

Atticus snapped to face her from his place in the bathroom. “I’m
not
a child!” he bellowed. “Not anymore! I’m a man, goddammit. I am not your child, your sweetie, your
candy cane
. I am
Atticus
.”

Honeysuckle zipped back from the door, her wings frantically buzzing. “Atticus!” she gasped. “What on earth has gotten into you? Do you not see?”

Atticus slammed his palm on the counter. “Do I see?” he asked. He puffed a sigh. “Do I
see
?” he asked again and stalked into the bedroom. Honeysuckle flew back from him. She didn’t understand, and Atticus would make her. “Oh. Oh, yes, Honeysuckle. I see. Do you see what Taylor has done to us?”

“T-Taylor?” Honeysuckle croaked and flittered out of Atticus’s reach. “How is this Taylor’s fault?”

Atticus threw up his hands in frustration. “You
hate
him, call my lazy, pathetic brother a
whore
, and now you’re siding with him?” He pointed a shaking finger as she lingered at the ceiling. “This is all Taylor’s fault. I see that now. Charles has helped me see so much.”

Honeysuckle circled Atticus, and she annoyingly remained out of reach. “Charles has put lies into your head. Please, Atticus, whatever he’s promising you, it’s a lie!”

“He promised me
nothing
,” Atticus spat. “I’ve merely seen the truth. That I don’t have to hide anymore. That I don’t have to keep it in.”

Honeysuckle shook her head sadly. She remained out of reach at the ceiling. “You’ve… never had to hide….”

Atticus lunged for Honeysuckle, and she darted away. “That’s a lie, and you know it. You
made
me hide. You
made
me be the perfect princess. You made me into
this
,” he said and gestured to himself, grabbing at his T-shirt desperately. “This? Is this what everyone wants? What about what
I
want? What
I
need?”

Honeysuckle dived at Atticus, getting eye to eye with him. She pointed an angry finger. “You listen to me, you
spoiled
fuckwit,” she snarled. “You had every opportunity to be the man you always wanted to be. And guess what? You did. I’ve given you everything. Your life is set for you. You were going to marry a lovely lady prince, preserve our legacy, and live
happily fucking ever after
.”

Anger tore through Atticus, and he lunged for Honeysuckle. She darted out of reach again. “I want freedom!” Atticus screamed and reached for a chair. “I want
freedom
!” He threw the chair with all his might at the ceiling, hoping to knock Honeysuckle out of the air.

The chair crashed into the ceiling, and Honeysuckle streaked away.

Atticus spun to scan the expanse of the master bedroom. Honeysuckle was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. He had gone blind with the rage and a touch of madness surging through him.

Atticus’s body burned, and his clothes were like fire. He stripped, tearing at his clothes in frustration. He couldn’t breathe. He was too hot. Much too hot! He staggered back into the master bath. His feet tangled and he collapsed onto the cold tile floor. The coolness stung at his skin in a prickling kiss. He needed more of it. More!

He pushed himself to his hands and knees. The frost and ice crystals slithered across the floor from his fingertips. He panted with the stifling heat. The air was too thick, and he couldn’t breathe.

He found the glass shower stall and fumbled into it. With trembling hands he turned on the cold faucet and moaned at the exquisite pleasure of the frigid water at his back. Atticus’s cock painfully hardened, and without a second thought, he gripped it in hand. He pumped himself hard and fast, but even in his hysteria, he knew he’d never reach an orgasm. Atticus screamed, crying out in frustration, begging to have just one orgasm. Just one. He’d give anything to be back in the sunflowers.

The glass of the shower frosted under Atticus’s touch as his need raged. The water wasn’t cold enough, nothing could be cold enough. He burned; the pain consumed him. Driven to the edge of madness, Atticus assumed his climax was the only thing that would save him now.

“Charles!” Atticus wailed, “Charles, I need you!”

But the spray of the showerhead was the only sound. Atticus’s desperate tears seared into his cheeks. He would die here. Succumbing to his own drunken need, his own passionate madness, and captive to his own fracturing sanity.

He cried out the only name to anyone that would hear. “
Idi, please
!”

And there the Witchking was.

Charles stood behind the quaking Atticus as if he had always been there. Charles reached out, placing his hand over Atticus’s own against the shower stall. The frost from Atticus’s newborn power dissolved into motes of blue sparks. “I see it’s come,” Charles said, gently turning Atticus to face him in the shower.

Atticus shuddered. He wanted to be so close to Charles. Being skin to skin in the shower was like a soothing salve. Atticus drew his arms into himself and kept his gaze down. The icy water cascaded over the both of them, but neither seemed to notice. “W-what’s happening to m-me…?” Atticus asked as Charles looped his arms around Atticus’s narrow waist.

“The Tranquil Frost,” Charles said and rubbed a palm to Atticus’s back. “It makes you burn.”

Atticus shivered under Charles’s touch. He moaned with the relief of his fingers. Atticus tilted his head back and pressed his pale frame to Charles’s bronzed body. “You feel so good….” Atticus’s head fell back as his breath returned to him like he had never taken one before.

“I had to be sure,” Charles said. “I had to be sure you could feel pleasure first.”

Atticus blinked, and clarity slowly crept into his senses. “The sunflowers? How does that make sense?”

Charles stroked a broad palm over Atticus’s cheek. Atticus nuzzled into the hand.

“I wouldn’t have done any of this if you couldn’t,” Charles said as Atticus writhed in his grip. “The Tranquil Frost is a powerful gift and an impossible burden. Only the Highest Princess can hold the power. The frost will make you burn. Ignite from the inside. It will drive you to passionate madness as you die.”

Realization crashed into Atticus’s mind. “I was dying?” he asked, and his voice cracked. “Just now? I was
dying
?”

“Yes,” Charles said with an even expression, and he ran his hands over Atticus’s shoulders, then down his arms. “You need someone to protect you, be your healing light, and keep you safe when it happens.”

Atticus frowned. “Why are you telling me this? Are you tricking me again? Is this a spell?” This time he would be sure if Charles lied.

Charles laughed and looked out at the bathroom over Atticus’s head. “Don’t you see?” he asked, then leaned in to Atticus, his mouth barely an inch from Atticus’s own. “I’m that healing light,” he purred.

Atticus studied Charles’s face, looking for the truth. He smiled when he finally saw the iridescent sheen dancing across the onyx black skin of the Witchking under Charles’s visage. Atticus cupped Charles’s cheek. “I believe you now.”