Spirit House Chapter 3
I'm very happy to be continuting the story of Spirit House. Here is the brand new chapter. Now I'm off to answer comments. Thank you for those sticking with me. I heart you a lot!!!!
This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful mwrgana for the great new manip she's made for SH. (Hope you're all right, darling! I'm thinking about you.)
Betaed by the lovely danna7001
Beautifully dramatic manip by my long-time honey mwrgana
Chapter 3
Nothing was the same. Liam couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was a feeling both familiar and off-putting about the house now that tugged at his brain with insistent fingers. He wandered disconsolately from room to room looking for the door that would open and release Will back into his life. Once he felt a stir of air licking chill along his backbone. Something whispered in his ear, then silence, cold and unresponsive, with more endlessly empty rooms to trudge through, their windowpanes reflecting back the sun’s weak light. Liam was sealed inside the bell jar of Spirit House.
There were dreams aplenty. Every restless night was filled with them. Long, languid fucks so real Liam woke with the smell of Will on his fingers and on his cock, the taste of him in his mouth. He came to know the shape of his hole, the deep, plugging push of his shaft as they took turns having each other in Liam’s world of sleeping illusion. Again and again. So real. So remembered.
His work suffered for it, of course. Not one page written, not one drawing in over five days. What was meant to be a spur to his creativity had killed it dead. The phone rang often, a shrill harridan that made Liam start with fear every time he heard it. The intrusion broke his concentration, and he needed to concentrate to bring Will back to him.
Once, Liam dreamt of the Irishman, the one Will had called a jealous jade. That was the worst of all. The dream filled his belly with chips of ice. It frightened him so desperately he woke with cold sweat oozing from his pores. Blinking into the moonlit stillness around him, the only sound Liam heard was the disjointed gallop of his heart threatening to crack his breastbone in two. In the dream, the man smiled at him with white teeth, his eyes full of mean satisfaction.
==================
“Is this your revenge?” Liam heard himself ask, closing his fist on the hilt of his sword. “It won’t work. You can’t keep him from me forever.”
“Oh, can’t I though, me fine lad?” the one named Francis said. His teeth were bared in a frightening grin. It faded slowly to be replaced by a gaze of burning steel. “That’s what it’s meant to do. Forever apart. It’s your punishment. Seems to be working perfectly from where I’m sitting.”
Liam frowned, suddenly able to make out the fur-covered, X-shaped chair where the man lounged with insolent confidence. Behind him, long shadows filled the room. Prickles of fear traced the shape of Liam’s skin. There were muffled writhings on the stone floor, but the darkness kept its secrets impenetrable.
“You’re insane. I could cut your head off right now and finish it.”
The smug laughter made Liam’s guts crawl.
“Then you’d never see him again. Your choice, peasant.” The small man stood up, offering a better target. “You’re a stranger to him now. Every time you meet, he knows you not. You start again. Always at the beginning. But at least you have that. You’ll have nothing if I’m gone.”
Liam swung his blade up in preparation, wrists tense with the power of death. But his sleeping self screamed in terror at what his dream self was about to do.
He woke and slept no more that night.
Wesley knocked again, impatiently glancing over his shoulder to where Liam’s sports car was parked, looking abandoned beside his more sedate Bentley. An air of neglect radiated from the Astin’s dusty windscreen. Above Wesley, the huge house’s enigmatic facade gave no clue to who or what waited behind the sun-reflective windows. The silent indifference felt threatening.
A twinge of uncertainty gnawed at Wesley’s nerves. What had possessed him to think such a thing? Who or what? For God’s sakes, he wasn’t an impressionable child. He’d obviously been reading far too many mysteries of late, a small indulgence he allowed himself. Time to put a stop to that. There was nothing sinister here, only his own skewered imagination. He pounded on the door’s flat surface a third time, determined not to be put off.
It had been over a week since there had been any news, a week in which Wesley had waited with growing unease for Liam to ring him with word on how the project was going. He thought of himself as a patient chap generally, but for some reason this lack of communication felt ominous. Which was clearly a ridiculous reaction, but there it was. One couldn’t help one’s gut feeling.
Liam had been grumpy and shut off for a month or so before he surprised Wesley by deciding to let Spirit House. Privately, Wesley thought it a bad idea, considering Liam was prone to bouts of depression. The idea of him sequestering himself in the country, far from any chance of companionship, was a disturbing prospect to someone solicitous of his welfare. And that’s all it was, Wesley assured himself. He had only Liam’s best interests at heart. If his personal emotions were tangled up in the man, he tried never to allow it to show.
When the heavy oak door finally swung open, Wesley said the first thing that came into his head. “You look bloody awful.”
The unshaven wraith on the doorstep, smiled weakly.“Gee, thanks, Wes. Way to make a guy feel good.”
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Liam slouched lower on the couch, palming one of the decorative pillows, a toss...a catch, a toss...a catch, trying to present a hospitable front rather than allow his friend to see the tired, grouchy brute who now seemed to have taken up permanent residence inside him. The man in question sat casually opposite Liam, his smart Saville Row suit a picture of elegance against Spirit House’s jewel box setting. Wesley looked more like the manor’s owner than the unexpected guest who had thrown Liam into a guilty dither by arriving on his doorstep unannounced a few hours earlier.
“Sorry, but I never made any secret of the fact I thought staying out here by yourself was a bad idea. Surely, it’s no surprise to you that you tend to brood given half a chance?”
“Yeah, yeah. Think I might have heard that one before.”
They’d had a good lunch, for all of its impromptu nature; canned spaghetti and a green salad, a loaf of oven-warmed bread, and few glasses of wine. Wes kept his grimaces and sarcastic comments to a minimum. Afterwards, there was a brief tour of the premises, Liam’s friend-cum-agent visibly impressed by what he saw. Liam noticed his gaze barely registered the huge painting that was the center of Liam’s every waking moment since he’d taken up residence. The walk-through ended at the sitting room where he dutifully offered up the few sketches he’d made since arriving there to Wesley’s critical eye.
“They’re not enough,” the man stated flatly. “I grant you they’re good. Perhaps the best you’ve ever done. The one of the medieval soldier is bloody amazing. But...”
Liam waited nervously to hear Wes’ further thoughts on his sketch of William plunging up the hillside after the French sentinels.
“...what has it to do with the book you’re working on?”
“It’s not for this book.” Liam tried not to pout at Wesley’s censorious tone, flicking his eyes away guiltily. “It’s....for the next one.”
When there was no reply, Liam glanced up. Wesley was staring out the French doors in concentration.
“Who is that?”
“Who is.....?”
“That blonde man?”
Liam leapt up so fast he nearly lost his footing. “Where?”
He saw no one, the terrace outside the French doors deserted. The first bloom of night mist was rolling in from under the shadowy trees at the bottom of the lawn. Fumbling with the catch, Liam flung the glass frame open, taking a half step onto the pavers, his gaze darting left and right. The lowering sun speared his eyes, blinding him.
It felt like weeks since he’d seen William. Despite pacing the entryway’s echoing space for hours on end, no amount of concentration brought him from his canvas retreat. Not even dreams of him had come to trouble Liam’s restless snatches of sleep the past few nights. That was worst of all. At least in the dreams, he could touch him, taste his naked skin and the burning heat of his mouth and body.
Liam began to run, across the flagged terrace and down the grassy slope, his breath hissing in his ears, nearly drowning out the pounding of his heart. Behind him, Wesley was calling his name, but Liam ignored the faraway voice as he blundered into the cover of the trees.
Mist rose around him, its cool tentacles touching his bare skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. A deep, impenetrable silence wrapped the woodland in an airless embrace, no late afternoon bird calls, no rustle of small creatures passing unseen in the brush. Only a muffled heaviness, pregnant with the sense that something was coming.
Liam turned in a full circle. The hairs on his arms rose to a shivered prickle. That was when he heard it. Faint. A world and time away. His name floating on a sudden, soft, down-draft of breeze. It wasn’t Wesley. There was nothing of the present in the distant cry. The sound was a low undulation that sent chills detonating through the knobs of his spine. The syllables reached him separately, as though his name were two words, not one: Leeee-Um. The summons came again, growing louder, tugging at his insides. Leeeeee-Um
He turned his face towards a stand of new-growth oaks, and saw William emerge from the fog that swirled between their trunks, the way a ghost would take shape out of nothing, all the lines of his body wavering, then solidifying, until the bright blue of his eyes shown so fiercely they pierced to the depths of Liam’s heart.
“Will!”
The name barely left Liam’s lips before his own was shouted back in a triumphant roar. As Liam stared, William began to run, the eeriness of the scene fading in an instant, every detail clear and substantial the closer he came. The chimneystacks of Spirit House disappeared behind an opaque curtain of fog, and William was hurtling into his arms.
“Liam!”
Like characters in a B movie, they came together in a rush, laughing, body meeting body in an irresistible thump of solid flesh. It was no ghost that Liam embraced. The reality of the reunion overcame him. He grabbed Will by the shoulders and jerked him forward. There was nothing ethereal about the kiss that followed. It wasn’t so much a kiss as a devouring, mouths wide, tongues delving frantically. They stumbled into the nearest tree, gasping. Their lips jolted apart at the rough arrival.
Will threw back his head and laughed delightedly. “Missed you. Fuck, Liam. Missed you so bloody much. Missed me, too, yeah?”
“Idiot!” Liam was suddenly seized with a ferocious anger. “Where have you been? Why were you hiding from me? Moron! Dumb ass! I’ve been calling you for days and...nothing. You said it was me who’d brought you here, but you wouldn’t come out of that damn painting, and I was going crazy every night trying to....”
Will gave him a shake. “Hush, pet. You’ll bloody well wear yourself out. I’d have come if I could, but he had me prisoner. Couldn’t get loose until he was called away. Then I bribed a guard and made off.”
A scowl knit Liam’s brow. “What are you talking about now? Every time we’re together you make less sense than the time before. Who’s this He guy? I wanna know, Will. Tell me.”
It was William’s turned to frown. “Sorry, pet. Thought you would have sussed it out by now. You know what’s happening. S’just locked somewhere in that massive cranium of yours waiting to get out.”
“That doesn’t make sense. If I know anything, it’s that I’m locked up in a padded cell somewhere, out of my frigging mind. And you put me there.”
With no pause between words and action, Liam plunged recklessly back onto the saliva wet lips waiting for him. The kiss deepened with a mutual, all-encompassing hunger.
Pressed together, mouth to mouth, the strands of mist coiling up from the forest floor seemed to cocoon them from the world. Liam was stricken with the sudden certainty that they were no longer on an earthly plane, but at a halfway point somewhere between the past and the future, the pair of them a rock that stood immovable in the irresistible flow of time.
Strong fingers gripped convulsively in Liam’s hair to end the kiss, pulling his head back. Will stepped away from the contact. Panting, bent over at the waist, he gave Liam a look from under his lashes.
“Francis.” The name hung between them-bloated, full of malignant poison, like a deadly spider.
Liam, still groggy from being lost in Will’s soft, wet mouth, blinked a few times, trying to orient himself at the abrupt end to their physical intimacy.
“Francis?” he managed to gasp, leaning back on the tree trunk behind him for support. “Now what are you babbling about? Honestly, Will....”
“Francis, Earl of Marne.” Will scrubbed his hands vigorously through the thick mane of hair that swung unbound around his shoulders, electrifying it into a golden penumbra circling his head. “You wanted to know who did this. It was Francis.”
“Wait. The jealous jade guy?” The edge of a dream flitted across Liam’s mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. It drifted frustratingly beyond his reach. “I remember not liking the look of him,” he finished lamely, thinking there was more to it than that, but not being able to conjure the rest.
Will lifted an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you heard that, pet. Thought you were out of it. But yeah. That’s the bugger. Wasn’t payin’ enough attention to him. Too busy being occupied elsewhere-with thinking on you.” Will gave Liam a sly grin. “Always a good idea to keep an eye on a jilted lover. He was sodding obsessed. Couldn’t bloody breathe for him smothering me. Should have lopped off his ruddy head and put an end to it. Though, mind you, he was too powerful for that. Too many connections, all the way up to the royal Harry, sittin’ on his throne. Francis was a bloody leech, and I couldn’t fucking shake him loose.”
Breathing back under control, Liam squatted down beside where Will had flung himself on the mossy, weed-strewn ground, and was twisting the leather fastenings of his jerkin round and round, fingers in perpetual motion, his lips slightly swollen from their kisses.
Trying not to be distracted, Liam grabbed his hands and stilled them. “That doesn’t explain how he could trap you in the painting. That would take....magic. Black magic. There’s not really such a thing, is there? And I’m looking for an answer of No! here. Just in case you aren’t sure what to say.”
Will’s wolfish grin caught Liam somewhere around the heart and squeezed. “Sorry then, love. Cause the answer is yes. Big magic. Soul magic, the darkest kind there is. How could I be here, otherwise?”
Before Will could elaborate, a call pierced their floating world. It was loud and close. Wesley! Liam’s chest filled with panic. He grabbed for William’s wrist, even as the smaller man leapt to his feet, staring off over Liam’s shoulder, an expression of wariness drifting across his face.
“He’s coming for you.”
Liam could feel Will tugging against his restraining hand. “Don’t go, please. It’s only Wes. Stay. I’ll introduce you. Say you’re a neighbor or something, dropped round for a visit. You can’t leave me.”
“A neighbor? I like that,” Will chuckled, pulling free. “I’ll come to you when I can. Tonight?”
Before Liam could respond, William kissed him quick and hard on the mouth. A brief, moist thrust of his tongue, then he was running swiftly into the cloak of mist that still eddied between the phantom trees. He was there, and then he wasn’t, leaving Liam alone and bereft. Tonight? Was it a question or a promise?
He jumped when the weight of Wesley’s hand fell on his shoulder. Completely off balance, Liam allowed himself to be led back to the mansion, his limbs moving stiffly. Wesley’s chattered inquiries shattered the strange enchantment that had held Liam and time suspended. Reality swarmed over him: the chill of the approaching night, the crunch of underbrush beneath his feet, the slide of the dew-damp grass around his ankles. All the things that had been insubstantial under the aura of William’s presence, claimed his attention again, irritants scratching at his nerves.
“Did you find him? That man?”
Wesley’s voice was a frustrating buzz in Liam’s ear.
“I must say, Liam, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move so quickly in all our acquaintance. Who is he?”
Liam rubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the moisture still clinging to his skin. The taste of Will coated his tongue, rippled through his veins with a warm, steady pulse of heat. Wesley touched his arm. Liam glanced quickly at him, hearing the silence he was meant to fill.
“Ummm....a neighbor. Saw I had company and decided not to stay. He’s kind of a recluse. Doesn’t like strangers.”
The lie rolled easily from Liam’s lips. But there was no Will to hear it and be entertained. He stopped speaking, bemused, to suddenly find himself in the sitting room again. He didn’t remember walking back to the house or coming inside. The solid shape of the things around him made the dreamy unreality of the forest feel like the imaginings of his stricken brain. He stared at his visitor intently.
“You did see him, right? Blonde hair. About so tall.”
Liam held out his hand to indicate someone about four or five inches shorter than he was. With that simple gesture, he realized the difference in their height. It had never registered before. The thought of being taller than Will sent an unexpected flush of warmth to his groin. When they were together, the smaller man’s attitude was always dominant. Liam hadn’t seen, until this second, that his inner submission was purely that: a twist of his mind not borne out by the obvious fact that Liam was the bigger of the two. Having drifted to a place made up of equal parts heat and surprise, Liam was brought back by Wesley’s cranky tone.
“Liam, are you well? I pointed him out to you myself. How could I not have seen the man?”
“Sorry.” Passing a hand over his forehead, Liam winced in pain. “Honestly, Wes, I’ve got a really bad headache all of a sudden. I’m sorry to be a terrible host, but I think I need to excuse myself before my head explodes.”
Wesley’s expression melted into one of friendly concern. “Liam, you should have said something earlier. Please, take some aspirins and have a lie down. I can very well occupy myself by poking around in the ancestral cupboards until you’re feeling better. No skeletons, I hope.”
“Just don’t rattle their chains, and you’ll be fine.”
They parted company then, Liam to his bedroom, while Wesley poured himself a large tot of whiskey and bundled off to the library, content to explore the vast book-lined shelves for the next several hours. Busts of ancient philosophers frowned down at him from corner perches as he rolled the wheeled library ladder around the walls, happily plucking down his selections before settling in an arm chair by the unlit fireplace to read.
Liam kicked off his shoes and fell onto the bed without bothering to toss the covers aside. His head was spinning dizzily, as though he were drunk. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say Will’s kisses had made him feel that way. A fat erection swelled the front of his jeans at the memory of a slick mouth, and the wanton tonguing it had given him.
He threw an arm across his eyes, concentrating on things that made him want to throw up: Brussel sprouts, which he hated, a ball of worms writhing under a flat rock he’d kicked over when he was a shy eight-year old, living in Springfield with his family. His skin had crawled at the sight. Since then, Liam had used the memory many times to stave off an inappropriate hard on, or a threatening climax. The damn boner finally subsided enough to let his brain stop screaming jack off now, and think linear thoughts.
The light dimmed and died while Liam plotted various mad schemes to reduce Francis, Earl of Marne to a thing of bone and gristle, each scenario more outlandish and violent than the next. There was one thing Liam knew for certain. He’d break Will free from the magical enchantment that kept him prisoner in another world-or die trying.
This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful mwrgana for the great new manip she's made for SH. (Hope you're all right, darling! I'm thinking about you.)
Betaed by the lovely danna7001
Beautifully dramatic manip by my long-time honey mwrgana
Chapter 3
Nothing was the same. Liam couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was a feeling both familiar and off-putting about the house now that tugged at his brain with insistent fingers. He wandered disconsolately from room to room looking for the door that would open and release Will back into his life. Once he felt a stir of air licking chill along his backbone. Something whispered in his ear, then silence, cold and unresponsive, with more endlessly empty rooms to trudge through, their windowpanes reflecting back the sun’s weak light. Liam was sealed inside the bell jar of Spirit House.
There were dreams aplenty. Every restless night was filled with them. Long, languid fucks so real Liam woke with the smell of Will on his fingers and on his cock, the taste of him in his mouth. He came to know the shape of his hole, the deep, plugging push of his shaft as they took turns having each other in Liam’s world of sleeping illusion. Again and again. So real. So remembered.
His work suffered for it, of course. Not one page written, not one drawing in over five days. What was meant to be a spur to his creativity had killed it dead. The phone rang often, a shrill harridan that made Liam start with fear every time he heard it. The intrusion broke his concentration, and he needed to concentrate to bring Will back to him.
Once, Liam dreamt of the Irishman, the one Will had called a jealous jade. That was the worst of all. The dream filled his belly with chips of ice. It frightened him so desperately he woke with cold sweat oozing from his pores. Blinking into the moonlit stillness around him, the only sound Liam heard was the disjointed gallop of his heart threatening to crack his breastbone in two. In the dream, the man smiled at him with white teeth, his eyes full of mean satisfaction.
==================
“Is this your revenge?” Liam heard himself ask, closing his fist on the hilt of his sword. “It won’t work. You can’t keep him from me forever.”
“Oh, can’t I though, me fine lad?” the one named Francis said. His teeth were bared in a frightening grin. It faded slowly to be replaced by a gaze of burning steel. “That’s what it’s meant to do. Forever apart. It’s your punishment. Seems to be working perfectly from where I’m sitting.”
Liam frowned, suddenly able to make out the fur-covered, X-shaped chair where the man lounged with insolent confidence. Behind him, long shadows filled the room. Prickles of fear traced the shape of Liam’s skin. There were muffled writhings on the stone floor, but the darkness kept its secrets impenetrable.
“You’re insane. I could cut your head off right now and finish it.”
The smug laughter made Liam’s guts crawl.
“Then you’d never see him again. Your choice, peasant.” The small man stood up, offering a better target. “You’re a stranger to him now. Every time you meet, he knows you not. You start again. Always at the beginning. But at least you have that. You’ll have nothing if I’m gone.”
Liam swung his blade up in preparation, wrists tense with the power of death. But his sleeping self screamed in terror at what his dream self was about to do.
He woke and slept no more that night.
Wesley knocked again, impatiently glancing over his shoulder to where Liam’s sports car was parked, looking abandoned beside his more sedate Bentley. An air of neglect radiated from the Astin’s dusty windscreen. Above Wesley, the huge house’s enigmatic facade gave no clue to who or what waited behind the sun-reflective windows. The silent indifference felt threatening.
A twinge of uncertainty gnawed at Wesley’s nerves. What had possessed him to think such a thing? Who or what? For God’s sakes, he wasn’t an impressionable child. He’d obviously been reading far too many mysteries of late, a small indulgence he allowed himself. Time to put a stop to that. There was nothing sinister here, only his own skewered imagination. He pounded on the door’s flat surface a third time, determined not to be put off.
It had been over a week since there had been any news, a week in which Wesley had waited with growing unease for Liam to ring him with word on how the project was going. He thought of himself as a patient chap generally, but for some reason this lack of communication felt ominous. Which was clearly a ridiculous reaction, but there it was. One couldn’t help one’s gut feeling.
Liam had been grumpy and shut off for a month or so before he surprised Wesley by deciding to let Spirit House. Privately, Wesley thought it a bad idea, considering Liam was prone to bouts of depression. The idea of him sequestering himself in the country, far from any chance of companionship, was a disturbing prospect to someone solicitous of his welfare. And that’s all it was, Wesley assured himself. He had only Liam’s best interests at heart. If his personal emotions were tangled up in the man, he tried never to allow it to show.
When the heavy oak door finally swung open, Wesley said the first thing that came into his head. “You look bloody awful.”
The unshaven wraith on the doorstep, smiled weakly.“Gee, thanks, Wes. Way to make a guy feel good.”
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Liam slouched lower on the couch, palming one of the decorative pillows, a toss...a catch, a toss...a catch, trying to present a hospitable front rather than allow his friend to see the tired, grouchy brute who now seemed to have taken up permanent residence inside him. The man in question sat casually opposite Liam, his smart Saville Row suit a picture of elegance against Spirit House’s jewel box setting. Wesley looked more like the manor’s owner than the unexpected guest who had thrown Liam into a guilty dither by arriving on his doorstep unannounced a few hours earlier.
“Sorry, but I never made any secret of the fact I thought staying out here by yourself was a bad idea. Surely, it’s no surprise to you that you tend to brood given half a chance?”
“Yeah, yeah. Think I might have heard that one before.”
They’d had a good lunch, for all of its impromptu nature; canned spaghetti and a green salad, a loaf of oven-warmed bread, and few glasses of wine. Wes kept his grimaces and sarcastic comments to a minimum. Afterwards, there was a brief tour of the premises, Liam’s friend-cum-agent visibly impressed by what he saw. Liam noticed his gaze barely registered the huge painting that was the center of Liam’s every waking moment since he’d taken up residence. The walk-through ended at the sitting room where he dutifully offered up the few sketches he’d made since arriving there to Wesley’s critical eye.
“They’re not enough,” the man stated flatly. “I grant you they’re good. Perhaps the best you’ve ever done. The one of the medieval soldier is bloody amazing. But...”
Liam waited nervously to hear Wes’ further thoughts on his sketch of William plunging up the hillside after the French sentinels.
“...what has it to do with the book you’re working on?”
“It’s not for this book.” Liam tried not to pout at Wesley’s censorious tone, flicking his eyes away guiltily. “It’s....for the next one.”
When there was no reply, Liam glanced up. Wesley was staring out the French doors in concentration.
“Who is that?”
“Who is.....?”
“That blonde man?”
Liam leapt up so fast he nearly lost his footing. “Where?”
He saw no one, the terrace outside the French doors deserted. The first bloom of night mist was rolling in from under the shadowy trees at the bottom of the lawn. Fumbling with the catch, Liam flung the glass frame open, taking a half step onto the pavers, his gaze darting left and right. The lowering sun speared his eyes, blinding him.
It felt like weeks since he’d seen William. Despite pacing the entryway’s echoing space for hours on end, no amount of concentration brought him from his canvas retreat. Not even dreams of him had come to trouble Liam’s restless snatches of sleep the past few nights. That was worst of all. At least in the dreams, he could touch him, taste his naked skin and the burning heat of his mouth and body.
Liam began to run, across the flagged terrace and down the grassy slope, his breath hissing in his ears, nearly drowning out the pounding of his heart. Behind him, Wesley was calling his name, but Liam ignored the faraway voice as he blundered into the cover of the trees.
Mist rose around him, its cool tentacles touching his bare skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. A deep, impenetrable silence wrapped the woodland in an airless embrace, no late afternoon bird calls, no rustle of small creatures passing unseen in the brush. Only a muffled heaviness, pregnant with the sense that something was coming.
Liam turned in a full circle. The hairs on his arms rose to a shivered prickle. That was when he heard it. Faint. A world and time away. His name floating on a sudden, soft, down-draft of breeze. It wasn’t Wesley. There was nothing of the present in the distant cry. The sound was a low undulation that sent chills detonating through the knobs of his spine. The syllables reached him separately, as though his name were two words, not one: Leeee-Um. The summons came again, growing louder, tugging at his insides. Leeeeee-Um
He turned his face towards a stand of new-growth oaks, and saw William emerge from the fog that swirled between their trunks, the way a ghost would take shape out of nothing, all the lines of his body wavering, then solidifying, until the bright blue of his eyes shown so fiercely they pierced to the depths of Liam’s heart.
“Will!”
The name barely left Liam’s lips before his own was shouted back in a triumphant roar. As Liam stared, William began to run, the eeriness of the scene fading in an instant, every detail clear and substantial the closer he came. The chimneystacks of Spirit House disappeared behind an opaque curtain of fog, and William was hurtling into his arms.
“Liam!”
Like characters in a B movie, they came together in a rush, laughing, body meeting body in an irresistible thump of solid flesh. It was no ghost that Liam embraced. The reality of the reunion overcame him. He grabbed Will by the shoulders and jerked him forward. There was nothing ethereal about the kiss that followed. It wasn’t so much a kiss as a devouring, mouths wide, tongues delving frantically. They stumbled into the nearest tree, gasping. Their lips jolted apart at the rough arrival.
Will threw back his head and laughed delightedly. “Missed you. Fuck, Liam. Missed you so bloody much. Missed me, too, yeah?”
“Idiot!” Liam was suddenly seized with a ferocious anger. “Where have you been? Why were you hiding from me? Moron! Dumb ass! I’ve been calling you for days and...nothing. You said it was me who’d brought you here, but you wouldn’t come out of that damn painting, and I was going crazy every night trying to....”
Will gave him a shake. “Hush, pet. You’ll bloody well wear yourself out. I’d have come if I could, but he had me prisoner. Couldn’t get loose until he was called away. Then I bribed a guard and made off.”
A scowl knit Liam’s brow. “What are you talking about now? Every time we’re together you make less sense than the time before. Who’s this He guy? I wanna know, Will. Tell me.”
It was William’s turned to frown. “Sorry, pet. Thought you would have sussed it out by now. You know what’s happening. S’just locked somewhere in that massive cranium of yours waiting to get out.”
“That doesn’t make sense. If I know anything, it’s that I’m locked up in a padded cell somewhere, out of my frigging mind. And you put me there.”
With no pause between words and action, Liam plunged recklessly back onto the saliva wet lips waiting for him. The kiss deepened with a mutual, all-encompassing hunger.
Pressed together, mouth to mouth, the strands of mist coiling up from the forest floor seemed to cocoon them from the world. Liam was stricken with the sudden certainty that they were no longer on an earthly plane, but at a halfway point somewhere between the past and the future, the pair of them a rock that stood immovable in the irresistible flow of time.
Strong fingers gripped convulsively in Liam’s hair to end the kiss, pulling his head back. Will stepped away from the contact. Panting, bent over at the waist, he gave Liam a look from under his lashes.
“Francis.” The name hung between them-bloated, full of malignant poison, like a deadly spider.
Liam, still groggy from being lost in Will’s soft, wet mouth, blinked a few times, trying to orient himself at the abrupt end to their physical intimacy.
“Francis?” he managed to gasp, leaning back on the tree trunk behind him for support. “Now what are you babbling about? Honestly, Will....”
“Francis, Earl of Marne.” Will scrubbed his hands vigorously through the thick mane of hair that swung unbound around his shoulders, electrifying it into a golden penumbra circling his head. “You wanted to know who did this. It was Francis.”
“Wait. The jealous jade guy?” The edge of a dream flitted across Liam’s mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. It drifted frustratingly beyond his reach. “I remember not liking the look of him,” he finished lamely, thinking there was more to it than that, but not being able to conjure the rest.
Will lifted an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you heard that, pet. Thought you were out of it. But yeah. That’s the bugger. Wasn’t payin’ enough attention to him. Too busy being occupied elsewhere-with thinking on you.” Will gave Liam a sly grin. “Always a good idea to keep an eye on a jilted lover. He was sodding obsessed. Couldn’t bloody breathe for him smothering me. Should have lopped off his ruddy head and put an end to it. Though, mind you, he was too powerful for that. Too many connections, all the way up to the royal Harry, sittin’ on his throne. Francis was a bloody leech, and I couldn’t fucking shake him loose.”
Breathing back under control, Liam squatted down beside where Will had flung himself on the mossy, weed-strewn ground, and was twisting the leather fastenings of his jerkin round and round, fingers in perpetual motion, his lips slightly swollen from their kisses.
Trying not to be distracted, Liam grabbed his hands and stilled them. “That doesn’t explain how he could trap you in the painting. That would take....magic. Black magic. There’s not really such a thing, is there? And I’m looking for an answer of No! here. Just in case you aren’t sure what to say.”
Will’s wolfish grin caught Liam somewhere around the heart and squeezed. “Sorry then, love. Cause the answer is yes. Big magic. Soul magic, the darkest kind there is. How could I be here, otherwise?”
Before Will could elaborate, a call pierced their floating world. It was loud and close. Wesley! Liam’s chest filled with panic. He grabbed for William’s wrist, even as the smaller man leapt to his feet, staring off over Liam’s shoulder, an expression of wariness drifting across his face.
“He’s coming for you.”
Liam could feel Will tugging against his restraining hand. “Don’t go, please. It’s only Wes. Stay. I’ll introduce you. Say you’re a neighbor or something, dropped round for a visit. You can’t leave me.”
“A neighbor? I like that,” Will chuckled, pulling free. “I’ll come to you when I can. Tonight?”
Before Liam could respond, William kissed him quick and hard on the mouth. A brief, moist thrust of his tongue, then he was running swiftly into the cloak of mist that still eddied between the phantom trees. He was there, and then he wasn’t, leaving Liam alone and bereft. Tonight? Was it a question or a promise?
He jumped when the weight of Wesley’s hand fell on his shoulder. Completely off balance, Liam allowed himself to be led back to the mansion, his limbs moving stiffly. Wesley’s chattered inquiries shattered the strange enchantment that had held Liam and time suspended. Reality swarmed over him: the chill of the approaching night, the crunch of underbrush beneath his feet, the slide of the dew-damp grass around his ankles. All the things that had been insubstantial under the aura of William’s presence, claimed his attention again, irritants scratching at his nerves.
“Did you find him? That man?”
Wesley’s voice was a frustrating buzz in Liam’s ear.
“I must say, Liam, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move so quickly in all our acquaintance. Who is he?”
Liam rubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the moisture still clinging to his skin. The taste of Will coated his tongue, rippled through his veins with a warm, steady pulse of heat. Wesley touched his arm. Liam glanced quickly at him, hearing the silence he was meant to fill.
“Ummm....a neighbor. Saw I had company and decided not to stay. He’s kind of a recluse. Doesn’t like strangers.”
The lie rolled easily from Liam’s lips. But there was no Will to hear it and be entertained. He stopped speaking, bemused, to suddenly find himself in the sitting room again. He didn’t remember walking back to the house or coming inside. The solid shape of the things around him made the dreamy unreality of the forest feel like the imaginings of his stricken brain. He stared at his visitor intently.
“You did see him, right? Blonde hair. About so tall.”
Liam held out his hand to indicate someone about four or five inches shorter than he was. With that simple gesture, he realized the difference in their height. It had never registered before. The thought of being taller than Will sent an unexpected flush of warmth to his groin. When they were together, the smaller man’s attitude was always dominant. Liam hadn’t seen, until this second, that his inner submission was purely that: a twist of his mind not borne out by the obvious fact that Liam was the bigger of the two. Having drifted to a place made up of equal parts heat and surprise, Liam was brought back by Wesley’s cranky tone.
“Liam, are you well? I pointed him out to you myself. How could I not have seen the man?”
“Sorry.” Passing a hand over his forehead, Liam winced in pain. “Honestly, Wes, I’ve got a really bad headache all of a sudden. I’m sorry to be a terrible host, but I think I need to excuse myself before my head explodes.”
Wesley’s expression melted into one of friendly concern. “Liam, you should have said something earlier. Please, take some aspirins and have a lie down. I can very well occupy myself by poking around in the ancestral cupboards until you’re feeling better. No skeletons, I hope.”
“Just don’t rattle their chains, and you’ll be fine.”
They parted company then, Liam to his bedroom, while Wesley poured himself a large tot of whiskey and bundled off to the library, content to explore the vast book-lined shelves for the next several hours. Busts of ancient philosophers frowned down at him from corner perches as he rolled the wheeled library ladder around the walls, happily plucking down his selections before settling in an arm chair by the unlit fireplace to read.
Liam kicked off his shoes and fell onto the bed without bothering to toss the covers aside. His head was spinning dizzily, as though he were drunk. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say Will’s kisses had made him feel that way. A fat erection swelled the front of his jeans at the memory of a slick mouth, and the wanton tonguing it had given him.
He threw an arm across his eyes, concentrating on things that made him want to throw up: Brussel sprouts, which he hated, a ball of worms writhing under a flat rock he’d kicked over when he was a shy eight-year old, living in Springfield with his family. His skin had crawled at the sight. Since then, Liam had used the memory many times to stave off an inappropriate hard on, or a threatening climax. The damn boner finally subsided enough to let his brain stop screaming jack off now, and think linear thoughts.
The light dimmed and died while Liam plotted various mad schemes to reduce Francis, Earl of Marne to a thing of bone and gristle, each scenario more outlandish and violent than the next. There was one thing Liam knew for certain. He’d break Will free from the magical enchantment that kept him prisoner in another world-or die trying.