Lyle's Story by Kay Berrisford

Author:Kay Berrisford [Berrisford, Kay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay, Urban Fantasy, Romance
Publisher: Less Than Three Press, LLC
Published: 2017-09-27T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

When Lyle's senses returned to him, he inhaled the scent of Ben—Ben's favourite aftershave, and that soft yet masculine musk Lyle so often revelled in, which uniquely marked Ben's presence. His head rested in a familiar spot, in Ben's lap. He often fell asleep here, especially when Ben insisted on watching late-night documentaries on BBC4.

Everything else, though, felt horribly wrong. Lyle's head throbbed like it'd been hammered by a mantis shrimp, and the parts of him not snuggled against Ben were lying on a cold stone slab. When he pried an eye open, it was dark.

Lyle's pulse jolted, then galloped. Perhaps Ben's aroma was a trick or a very real part of a dream. Was he back with Welwyn, destined to languish with his brother for centuries before he faded and died? Lyle whimpered; he couldn’t help himself. Besides, his head hurt so much.

"Lyle? Are you awake?"

At Ben's soft words and the gentle fingers stroking his hair, Lyle whimpered again, only partially with relief. He recalled everything now. Confessing all to Ben, the argument in the drizzle… then the mean beaks and thrashing wings of the albatrosses descending upon him like a shroud.

"Oh, Ben," he murmured. "Do you hate me?"

"Of course, I don't." Ben's voice was kind, though threaded with anxiety. "Tell you one thing I've learned, though. I totally understand why the ancient mariner shot the albatross in that poem. Those birds are ruthless buggers and damned strong to boot. Definitely the bad guys and gals."

"I take it they brought us here?" Lyle forced both eyes wide and tried to gather where he and Ben might be. Obviously the cave he'd been imprisoned in with Welwyn had been rendered useless as a prison since Lyle had somehow blasted the side away. Scant light revealed he and Ben had been thrown into a much pokier oubliette of a cave. "And I take it here is… uh, something to do with Emmet and my family?"

"Oh yeah," said Ben. "Forgive me if I sound a bit shell-shocked. Despite all the magic you've revealed to me over the past months, nothing prepared me for having albatrosses pluck me up by the back of my pants and transport me kicking and screaming ninety miles up the English Channel to the far edge of the Isle of Wight. And you... I was sick with worry about you. When they knocked you out, I thought you might be dead or something. It was horrible."

"I'm sorry." Lyle lifted his hand to clasp Ben's, finding the apology he eked from his dry throat devastatingly inadequate. Poor Ben. He'd not asked to be sucked into Lyle's family saga, where life-shattering curses were thrown about like humans used swear words, and grudges could suck up centuries…

Oh shit.

Ben didn't have centuries, a matter Lyle had brooded upon at agonizing length when he'd been holed up with Welwyn. Indeed, if he and Ben were shut up here even a week without food and fresh water, Ben would… die. Of course, Lyle

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