Dance in the Dark (38 page)

"What—the wrong way?" Johnnie asked, not certain he was ready to ask the other questions spinning through his head.

"Yeah," Bergrin said, and smiled hesitantly. "Everyone else sticks to the path, Johnnie. You decided to veer off the path and take a shortcut, and got jumped by some big bad wolves."

Johnnie bristled, but then smiled and said sweetly, "Well, thank you for the help, Red Riding Hood."

Bergrin scowled. "Huntsman. I'm the Huntsman."

"If you say so, bab—" Johnnie broke off, faltering, realizing abruptly that it had been far too easy to slip back into their habitual bickering. He looked away, all the anger and hurt flooding back. "What are you doing here, Bergrin?"

"I couldn't stay away," Bergrin said miserably. "I tried. But I—I wish I could stop. Stop—stop loving you." Bergrin paused, then continued. "I wish I could just walk away like I should have right from the start, but I can't. If I have to spend the rest of my life watching you, and watching over you, from the shadows, then I will."

Johnnie's breath caught on the words, and the ache in his chest hurt so damned much. He stared into those strange, strange eyes. "Why? Why the lies? The deception? You say you were not using me—"

"No!" Bergrin burst out. "I never meant you to think that. I kept trying to tell you that, but you never listen, Johnnie. So many things you just don't see!"

"Then why?" Johnnie demanded. "Why be Eros? Why lie? Why, damn it?" He went to wipe at his face, and only then remembered he was covered in his own blood. What a sight he must be making now, he thought with a grimace. He fumbled in his pockets for a handkerchief—then jumped when someone touched him.

He looked up, and those white eyes were even more eerie up close. Johnnie found it hard to breathe, and harder still as Bergrin cupped the back of his neck, tilting his head and holding him firmly in place, and then began to wipe Johnnie's face off with a damp cloth. Where had he gotten it?

Johnnie swallowed, and stood as still as a statue, heart thudding in his chest as Bergrin cleaned his face, his hands, then returned to his face again, finishing by slowly dragging a corner of the cloth across his mouth.

The words slipped out before he could even think to hold them back, a trifle unsteady as he spoke. "What do you want?"

Bergrin stilled, then slowly pulled the cloth away. He traced his thumb along Johnnie's bottom lip, and said quietly, "To be with you in hell."

Johnnie laughed, shakily, and replied, "It would seem your words/Bode neither of us any good."

"Tell me how men kiss you," Bergrin said, voice soft, a hint of desperation, sadness, in it. He looked and sounded precisely how Johnnie felt. "Tell me how you kiss."

Unable to bear it any longer, Johnnie pushed up and covered Bergrin's mouth with his, wrapping his arms around Bergrin's neck so tightly he would not be surprised to learn Bergrin was choking.

But if he was, Johnnie could not tell it from the heat and fervor of Bergrin's kiss. It was laced with desperation, with fear—on both sides—but it was definitely Eros who was
Bergrin
and
here
and Johnnie had never felt so deliriously happy in his life.

When they finally broke apart, Johnnie said, "I—I am sorry I did not give you a chance—"

Bergrin cupped his face, stopped his words with his thumbs. "Johnnie, just shut up. You don't owe me any apologies.
I'm
the one who should be saying sorry, and I do—I mean—I am sorry. So damned sorry."

"Why did you not just tell me the truth?" Johnnie asked, because the hurt of that would not quite die.

"I was scared," Bergrin said.

Johnnie frowned. "Scared? Of what?"

"You."

"That is ridiculous," Johnnie snapped. "I have seen you face what other people would call certain death—"

Bergrin laughed, but there was nothing happy in the sound. "Death does not scare me. Death will never scare me. The only thing that scares me is you. Because you're so far out of my reach. Because you're beautiful. Because everyone
sees
you and I cannot afford to let anyone ever truly see me. My entire life was spent learning how to be invisible, going unnoticed. I don't know how to handle being seen—and then I fell in love with someone who is always seen, who deserves to be seen. You are not for me to touch, Prince, but I cannot seem to stop myself."

Johnnie hit him.

"Ow!" Bergrin said, rubbing his bruised chest and giving Johnnie a wounded look. "What was that for?"

"For being a fucking idiot!" Johnnie said, then just because it had felt good, hit him again. "And that is for being a coward and not asking me to dance!" He hit Bergrin again.

"And that one?" Bergrin demanded.

"Just because," Johnnie retorted. "Why did you not ask me to dance? You were going to; I saw it in your face."

Bergrin sighed. "Again, I was scared. Practically everyone in that room could not stop looking at you, and your father was only a few yards away, and I could not imagine that with so many better people in the room you would settle for me." He looked at Johnnie, and touched his cheek lightly, as though not certain he was allowed. "And I knew that if by some miracle you said yes, I would admit to everything, and I was terrified I would lose you." He looked away. "Then I lost you anyway."

Johnnie relaxed, the last of his turmoil bleeding away, even if he thought Bergrin was a great big idiot. He took on a haughty tone as he replied, "Well, you found me again, babysitter. Which is good, because you do like to brag about being good at finding things. It would have been quite beyond the pale if you had
not
found me."

Turning back to him, Bergrin smiled—a slow, happy,
real
smile the likes of which Johnnie had never really seen. "I did. Not sure that I will be allowed to keep you, but I did find you."

"You are keeping me," Johnnie said in his best Desrosiers voice.

Bergrin leaned close, so that their noses were all but touching. Johnnie thought he was already getting used to those unusual eyes. "Yes, Highness."

"How long have you meant that as an endearment?" Johnnie asked quietly, wondering why he had never noticed before.

"Always," Bergrin said. "I tried to mean it as an insult, to put up a barrier, but … well, I fail at being intelligent where you're concerned."

Johnnie could think of no reply to that, except to take the kiss he really wanted, and so he did.

Bergrin groaned, and bundled him close, and Johnnie really could not think of anything better than finally having Bergrin. "I really should still be punching you," he managed when they broke apart to breathe.

In reply, Bergrin only resumed kissing him—mouth, cheeks, jaw, forehead, as if he could not get enough, and Johnnie was not going to protest. "Whatever you want, Johnnie. Just so long as you never send me away again. I just want to be with you, no matter in what role."

"Mine," Johnnie said. "I do not want a secret lover." Bergrin nodded, and kissed him again, but after a moment, Johnnie pushed him away. "Speaking of secrets—I believe you still have two, and I want them."

"Two?" Bergrin asked, but Johnnie could see Bergrin knew exactly what he meant.

"Yes, two," Johnnie replied. "What are you? And what is your damned first name?"

In reply, Bergrin merely smirked. "Come now, detective. Are you telling me you have not figured me out?"

Johnnie scowled at him, but pondered it. "You entered my father's home without trouble, and the first time we
met
," he glared at Bergrin, "you were not impeded by the wards. You walked over that spell cage which trapped me. So, magic does not affect you. I think, perhaps, it does not
account
for you. Whatever you are, you do not fear death. You can teleport with ease. And somehow, someway, you can cross to at least the dream plane."

"All planes," Bergrin said. "I can access all planes."

"You do not exist," Johnnie whispered, as one entry and one alone came to him, from his bestiaries of mythical creatures.

Bergrin ducked his head, tugging on his cap, and Johnnie stared at it. "Once upon a time," Johnnie said, "there was a poor woman who had two children. The youngest had to go every day to fetch firewood. One day, when she had gone very far, another little child appeared to help her. The child helped the girl carry firewood home, but then simply vanished. The girl told her mother all of this, but the mother did not believe her. One day, the girl brought home a rose, and told her mother what the strange child had said—that when the rose bloomed, the child would return one last time. The mother put the rose in water. One morning, she went to wake her daughter, and found she had died in the night. But there was a smile upon her face, and the rose on the table was in full bloom."

"A pretty story," Bergrin said, "if fanciful."

"So-you—you are what—a grim reaper?"

Bergrin laughed. "More like a shepherd."

Johnnie hit him.

"Stop that!" Bergrin said, rubbing his arm.

"Baby," Johnnie hissed. "So you are death?"

"Half death," Bergrin replied. "That's why my eyes are only strange here. In the mortal plane I'm mostly my father's son, though my powers are quite extensive. But on every other plane, I am mostly my mother's son, and practically all of her comes out in me. I can maintain my shape, but the eyes I cannot control."

"Dark is as day to mine eyes," Johnnie quoted softly. "That is why you can see so well, no matter how little light there is."

"Yes," Bergrin said.

"Death as something with a corporeal form is not real," Johnnie said. "Even amongst abnormals, you are a myth!"

Bergrin smiled ruefully. "My father is a crappy alchemist, like I told you—like
he
told you. But, he got upset one night, was totally despondent at the bashing he always took from his peers and crap. Decided he'd summon an angel and show them all."

Johnnie winced.

"Exactly," Bergrin said. "He fucked up. Instead of summoning an angel, he got my mom. Very long story short, they fell in love. I don't need to tell you how bad it would be if the wrong people ever got hold of me or my mom."

Nodding, Johnnie said, "I like your eyes. They are … eerie, but pretty. Your hazel eyes are prettier, though."

Of all things—the very last thing Johnnie expected—Bergrin turned red. "Whatever," Bergrin mumbled, then said more clearly, "No one can hold a candle to you, Johnnie."

"I am an incubus," Johnnie said. "I cheat."

Bergrin cupped his face. "That only accounts for physical beauty."

Johnnie swallowed. "Shut up."

Laughing softly, Bergrin kissed him and Johnnie really wanted to
kill
him for keeping them from doing this for so long.

Several kisses later, he finally asked, "So what is your name?"

Bergrin turned red again. "I would really rather prefer not to mention my stupid name."

"Fine," Johnnie said tartly. "I will keep calling you Eros, in front of everyone."

"That would probably be better," Bergrin muttered, then glared as Johnnie hit him again. "Ow! How about I start beating you?"

"I have already been beaten today," Johnnie said haughtily. "Clearly, you are still in need of one."

Bergrin glared so fiercely then that Johnnie almost recoiled. "Those fucking spooks will not be beating you again, that is for certain."

Johnnie stared at him, startled by the vehemence of his tone. Then he remembered the way the men had screamed, how terrified the one had looked, before he had finally died. "What did you do to them?"

"It is the lot of those of us called Death to find those souls which go astray," Bergrin said, and his voice picked up that Eros-timbre, that hot-toddy voice Johnnie loved. It made him shiver. "We travel the planes, looking for the souls which lost their way. We see souls, can touch souls—something no other creature can do without suffering. I show them their own souls, and that is something no one so foul can ever endure. It always kills them. Painfully," he finished flatly, and then his white eyes seemed to ease some, and he looked again at Johnnie. "No one is allowed to hurt you."

"Certainly I cannot think of a better babysitter than death," Johnnie said dryly. "But I still am lacking a name."

Bergrin groaned. "All right, all right. My mother—uh, she was summoned once before. A very long time ago, by um. The Norse. They called her a Chooser of the Slain."

"Your mother was thought to be a Valkyrie?" Johnnie asked with a laugh. "How fascinating."

"Yeah, except she's obsessed," Bergrin muttered, "and my idiot father let her name me, so now my name is Grimnir."

Johnnie blinked—then laughed. "You are a grim reaper named Grim?"

"We aren't
reapers
," Bergrin said hotly. "If you ever use my name, I'll kill you."

"I am allowed to call you Grim," Johnnie decided.

"No one—"

"I am," Johnnie repeated, then just because he was not above fighting dirty, added, "Eros."