Chapter 35: Easton and Weston

“If you want me to put it kindly, I’d call Salazar old-fashioned,” Easton says. He walks with a easy stride, arms swaying, a bounce in his step. “If you wanted me to put it bluntly, the man is so regressive his head may as well be screwed on backwards.”

“You are very lose with your tongue,” William says dryly.

Easton turns to him, giving him a wink. “I’m not overly concerned. They need me here.”

“I wouldn’t put too much stake in that,” the incubus warns gravely. “I’ve heard the same from many a dead man.”

The hall we walk down is all dark wood and long runners of intricate rug. There aren’t any windows that I can see, so it’s a bit oppressive. I feel boxed in and not much like talking, so I just keep my eyes peeled and listen to the two banter.

I also don’t really want to draw Jacobsen’s attention. The guy freaks me out.

“My kind are becoming rarer and rarer these days,” Easton explains. “I’m a Seer. Jacobsen here is currently in my brother’s vessel.” There’s a gesture towards the silent figure walking ahead of us. At least the yellow-eyed one doesn’t appear to be paying us much mind. His attention seems to be focused ahead. He’s a rather short guy, honestly, a good few inches under six feet, but he makes up for it by being stocky. His skin is oddly pale in a way that makes me think he doesn’t get out much.

“…You sacrificed your brother?” William asks, and only when the question is posed does the implication of what Easton said sink in. Jesus Christ. What have I gotten myself into?

But Easton just laughs. “Oh, no, no. You misunderstand.” Reaching out a hand, he grasps at Jacobsen’s shoulder. The stocky man never stops moving, but he does peer over his shoulder at Easton to give a grunt of acknowledgment. “My brother and I have a more symbiotic relationship with Jacobsen here. He’s my twin, if you can believe it.”

I can’t believe it. Jacobsen and Easton look nothing alike. I honestly can’t tell if he’s pulling my leg.

“A symbiotic relationship,” William echoes, sounding comically bewildered.

“Oh, yes. As it turns out, you can prevent a soul from withering away entirely so long as you don’t let another spirit linger in the body too long. When my brother starts to flounder, I’ll switch out with him.”

“…You’ll let the demon possess you.”

It’s the first time I’ve spoken since we left the meeting, and Easton turns his twinkling eyes to me. “Jacobsen isn’t a demon, my friend! But yes, precisely that.”

“And you…you trust he won’t just. Eat you.”

He laughs. William has fallen silent, staring at Easton in a way that makes the cogs turning in his head almost visible. “He won’t. As I said, our relationship is symbiotic. Jacobsen gives Weston and I power. In return, we make sure he’s regularly summoned.” He winks. “There’s more to it of course, but I’m afraid I can’t give away all my secrets.”

I could ask so many questions. If it’s that easy, why the hell isn’t everyone operating that way? How does he know the not-demon won’t just turn on them?

What comes out instead is:

“Your names are Easton and Weston.”

He grins at me. “Well, yes. At least the ones we use here.”

“The ones you use here?”

Easton flicks a look towards William. “Names have power, Lydia. Maybe not to us, not yet, but we’re all mortal. We die eventually. And when that time comes, well. Having a lot of people know your True Name can be dangerous.”

I grimace. “Well that would have been fucking nice to know,” I mumble to myself. Boy, I’m really starting off on the right foot. I shoot William a glare, and for his part, he does look sympathetic.

“I apologize,” he says. “By the time I got here, they already knew who you were.”

I shake my head. “It isn’t your fault,” I say, reaching over to try and give his arm a squeeze. He lets me, his attention wholly on me now. There’s no small amount of awkwardness between us, given everything that’s happened in the past few days.

Once we get somewhere private I honestly don’t know if we’re going to have a long-winded heart to heart or jump each other’s bones.

“Ah,” Easton says, stopping before a door. “Here we are.”

He turns the nob and pushes it open.

I step inside, and I immediately know this room is part of the Archive’s sales pitch.

It’s gorgeous. There’s a massive canopy bed off against the left wall, and at its foot is a big stone fireplace already blazing and giving off heat. Two artfully upholstered chairs are situated around a tea table that’s so intricately carved I get the urge to go over and take a closer look. The walls are the same dark wood as the hallway, broken up by inviting paintings of angelic looking figures.

Quite honestly the paintings are the only part I don’t really like.

“I trust this will be to your liking?” Easton asks.

I give him a side-eye. “You people are trying to bribe me.”

He bursts out laughing. I have to be careful here. Easton could grow on me. I inherently want to trust the guy, and I know full well that’s exactly what he’s going for. I’ve got to keep my walls up until I know exactly what I’m dealing with—no friend-making. Not yet.

“Yes. We’re trying to bribe you. Trust me, the Archive is decidedly desperate to have you stick around.” He smiles at me, then inclines his head. “I’ll let you two get situated. Please, do feel free to come find me if you need anything. I’ll be in the main study—back down the hall, take a left. Giant library. Can’t miss it.”

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“If you really wanted to bribe me you would have taken me to the library.”

He grins. “I’ll bear that in mind.” He turns towards William, then extends his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, by the way. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

William hesitates a moment before accepting the gesture, gripping Easton’s hand firmly for a moment before letting go. He doesn’t return any pleasantries, and after a moment of hesitation, our guide begins making his way back in the direction he came. Without hesitating, Jacobsen follows after him.

It’s not until we have the door shut and are standing in a moment of silence that I realize how upset William is.

Actually, upset isn’t the half of it. I can’t tell if he’s going to cry or start punching holes in the wall.

“…Hey,” I say, keeping my voice gentle. “What’s…”

“Don’t.” He holds up his hands. “Please, Lydia. Not right now.”

“I…” I glance at the door, then back at his face. “Listen, you can talk to me…”

He steps closer and grasps my shoulders tightly. Not tight enough to hurt, but it’s close. When he speaks, it’s with a low intensity, the emotion rolling off of him in waves.

“Do you have any idea how many people I’ve killed? How many souls I’ve obliterated just by being thrust into a host?” His words tremble, right on the edge of breaking. Then he clears his throat and gathers himself, drawing in a breath. “I know that I can talk to you. I know.” His smile is so genuine it makes my heart ache. “But I can’t right now.”

“…Alright,” I say softly. “But just so you know, if that’s something you want…you know, when Lucas dies, we can do that. Find a way to make it so you don’t have to kill. I’m sure there’s a way.”

I can tell he’s still in pain, but he artfully avoids the subject by replying: “What? Not intending to save dear Hallowsworth?”

“Hell no. He can eat shit. I’m good, thanks.”

William chuckles. His hands are still on my shoulders, holding me in place. I can feel the heat of them through my shirt—a heat that somehow manages to move right into my head. The way he’s looking at me, so openly tender. His eyes, soft and bright and green…

Wait. Have they always been this green?

“I suspect that Easton himself is a part of the sales pitch, Lydia,” he says. I’m listening to him, of course—I need all the information I can get—but I’m probably watching his mouth just a bit too hard. “He’s here to soften the blow. To seem like a burgeoning alternative to what you’re going to be exposed to in the next few days. Keep that in mind. No matter what he claims, his arrangement is not nearly as pleasant as he makes it seem.”

I’m not sure if he’s telling me this so much as convincing himself, but I don’t argue. I just nod, lifting my hands by instinct to place them on William’s forearms. “I figured. Don’t worry. After all the shit we’ve been through recently, I’m not keen on trusting anybody else.”

“Anybody else?” he asks.

“Other than you.”

I think he’s going to start in on some drivel about how that’s a bad idea, and I’m ready to cut him off, but he doesn’t. He just smiles at me, the expression making his eyes crinkle at the corners, making dimples form in his cheeks.

Not one dimple, but two. Wait. Didn’t Lucas only have one?

“You’re staring at me rather intently,” he says. His words are low and playful, and I blink a few times, my face heating up.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Are you?” he murmurs.

God. When he’s talking like that I can hardly think straight. I try to chase that niggling thought, figure out what it is my brain’s trying to spit at me. I swear I almost have it. It’s right there, right there…

“Can I kiss you?”

The question erupts in my mind like an explosion, shattering my thoughts every which way. It’s not that I’m surprised exactly. I mean, we’ve been flirting from Capital to Chicago. We’ve kissed already. Twice. But the way he asks it—so quiet and breathless—makes me feel warm and tingly all over.

“Uh,” I say, my voice shaking. “Yeah?”

“Yeah?” He tilts his head questioningly, amused.

“Yes,” I say, more firmly this time.

One of his hands leaves my shoulder. His fingertips glide lightly along my jaw, then along the side of my face, until his palm cups my cheek. My heartbeat kicks up tenfold, and when his fingers slide into my hair, I swear my knees go weak.

I’m just really tired, I think. But no. That’s a bold-faced lie. I really, really like William.

If I'm brutally honest with myself, I more than like him, but I’m not ready to think about that right now.

Not that it matters. Because in the next instant, he presses my back against the door and his lips against mine, and there really isn’t much thinking to be had.

William isn’t gentle. Not like he was in the Aether. Not like he was at the hotel. It starts that way, sure, for maybe a second, but then his other hand presses to the small of my back and he pulls me in against him, pinning me in place. He’s so much taller than me that he has to angle his head awkwardly to get at my mouth.

So he picks me up and wraps my legs around his waist. I gasp, and his tongue traces along my lips.

And then I hear the reverberation of a chuckle in my head.

‘More?’

Alright. I admit, I’m dense enough that the implications of having a telepathic bond with him didn’t go quite this far. You’d think it would have, given everything I saw the last time I reached into his head. But it didn’t really occur to me just how…what? Revealing? Intimate? Downright handy it would be in a situation like this?

Honestly it’s a little bit intimidating.

‘We,’ I answer, trying to center myself. ‘We have a lot to talk about. I’ve got people to call. Have to make sure they know I’m not going to be around a while, back at the university…’

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, searching my face. ‘But you don’t want to do that right now.’

I swallow, staring at him. I know it’s not a question. I know it isn’t because he already knows my answer. I shake my head mutely, my fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. I can’t really articulate why I’m hesitating. Not in words. It’s a feeling more than anything. This looming certainty that if I sleep with this man, I know it’s going to be deeper than something physical. I’ll have to confront the fact that I’m falling for him—falling hard. And I’m not so sure I can do that. I’m not sure I can…

His fingers rove over my face again, tipping my chin up. He studies my face for a moment, his expression so tender I feel that ache in my heart again, one that’s so sharp I feel like I’m going to split in two.

‘I care for you, Lydia Grace. Deeply.’

He does. I know he does because I can feel it. The feeling lets me know that no matter what happens now, I won’t be going it alone. I’m not going to wind up floundering about in the dark. William is here. William isn’t going to leave. Not just because the bond between us ties him to me—not because he’s stuck with me. But because he cares about me. Cares as much as I care about him.

‘More,’ I say. I’m not sure if I mean I want him to say it again, or if I’m answering his question from before. He takes it as the latter, pulling me away from the door and carrying me over towards the bed. I hardly mind. I lean in against him, drawing in the smell of him—in spite of what I’m sure he’s been through, all the pain I felt through our bond, he somehow manages to have a pleasant scent about him. Like smoke and pine.

When he’s laid me down, he presses his forehead against mine. I just lay there for a moment, eyes closed, reveling in his closeness, in the feel of him leaning over me. I snake my hands up the sleeves of his shirt, tugging at them so I can trace my fingertips lightly over his arms.

I open my eyes again, and I find him looking at me with such an intensity it takes my breath away. I can feel his mind against mine in a way I never have before, like it was floating just above me and now it’s settled in close. Just like he’s leaning down against my chest, pressing his lips under my jaw, kissing his way down…

His thoughts merge with mine, mixing and blending together. I feel him slip through parts of myself that I never would have thought to let anyone know. Not just the intimate things, no, not just the lusts and desires. The darker things too. The lingering feelings of unworthiness left behind by my mother’s verbal abuses, by my father’s abandonment. He doesn’t stay there, doesn’t linger—he acknowledges those things by brushing past them. A promise that he’s seen them, and he’ll come back to them later.

Then he finds what he’s looking for, and his hands glide up to catch my wrists. He presses his brow against mine once more, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth.

‘Well,’ he murmurs. ‘I think we should get started.’