Page 6 of The Call of Crimson (The Crimson & Shadows #2)

CHAPTER THREE

AURELIUS

T he scent of ale and incense hits me the moment I step inside.

To call this a tavern would be only partially correct.

Sure, it offers drinks, but its main source of income comes from the males and females who offer to provide far more than conversation.

If the rumors were to be believed, the Midnight Brotherhood also operates out of the rooms on the top floor.

Here, one could find someone to warm their bed, dispose of their enemy, or, like me, simply fill their cup.

Bodies drape across chairs and cushions in various states of undress and sobriety. I pay them little mind as I weave through them in my journey to the bar.

Taking a seat, I motion toward the male I assume is the barkeep.

Red hair, a jagged scar above his right eye, he’s tall and sturdier than someone who works a bar has any right to be.

A rag in one hand, glass in the other, he doesn’t seem like someone who should be working here, but who am I to question?

“What’ll it be?” he asks, voice low and melodic, with a lilt I can’t quite place.

“Rum.”

“And will you be drinking alone?”

He’s asking if I’m looking to have other thirsts satiated.

“No,” a familiar voice answers. “He’ll be drinking with me, Cillian.” Elijah settles into the seat beside me.

Cillian raises a brow, but without a word, drops a bottle of rum and two glasses in front of us. As he closes the space between us, I catch a whiff of his scent, which is strangely familiar. I can’t place it, but I know I’ve encountered it before.

“Who gave you the black eye, Elijah? Been a long time since I’ve seen anyone best you.” Cillian says, gesturing to the bruising beneath Elijah’s left eye—the one I gave him last night.

So they know each other, but how? His name scratches at something in the back of my mind.

Elijah flashes a half-smile and tilts his head toward me. “That would be courtesy of Lord Aurelius, here.”

Cillian stiffens, but his pulse remains steady as his eyes narrow. “You know we don’t allow violence in here,” he says coolly. “I suggest you take your business elsewhere.”

“Relax, Cillian. It was a misunderstanding. We have no violent intentions here,” Elijah reassures him, already pouring himself a generous measure of rum.

I take the bottle from him, pouring myself double the amount. The spiced liquor burns and warms as it makes its way down my throat, and I let out a sigh of relief.

“Knowing you,” Cillian muses, pouring his own drink, “you probably deserved it. What did you do? Sleep with his female?”

“Do you really think so little of me?” Elijah scoffs.

“No, I just know you. Wouldn’t be the first time you had a misunderstanding of that nature.”

“You wound me,” Elijah grins, then shrugs. “But yes and no to your question. I was sleeping with his female … just not like you’re insinuating.”

“What other kind of sleeping is there?”

“It was Breyla,” he says simply. “So yes, it really was just sleeping.”

Cillian’s eyes spark in understanding. He knows her.

“And for the record,” I cut in, finishing my glass, “he threw the first punch.”

Cillian’s eyes rake over me, slowly, deliberately. When he reaches mine, he smirks. “So, you’re the one who makes her shadows sing,” he says it matter-of-factly, like he already knows who I am.

My spine stiffens.

“I told him that I had found the one who makes my shadows sing and my heart beat faster.” Breyla had said those exact words the night she came back covered in the smell of others. The night before everything had shattered.

“You,” I growl, realizing precisely who this male is.

He smirks at me, all smug confidence. “Cillian. King of the Midnight Brotherhood. At your service.”

So this is him.

This is the only male who might have once held a piece of Breyla’s heart. Even if I know it’s no longer his, the anger flares hot in my chest.

I feel the glass in my hand crack beneath the force of my grip.

“Aurelius,” Elijah says calmly, “I assure you that is not a fight you want to pick.”

“Or do,” Cillian offers, arms folding as he leans back against the wall.

“It’s been a while since anyone was bold enough to challenge me directly.

I’m sure after all your recent transgressions, it would send Breyla running right back into my arms. I did tell her I would be waiting when you inevitably fucked up. ”

I snarl, but before I can reply, Elijah snaps, “For fucks sake. Cillian, I would also suggest not provoking Aurelius. Can you just return to whatever it is you normally do? You’re not a fucking barkeep. And I would like to drink in peace.”

“Very well.” Cillian downs his drink and pushes off the wall. “Breyla knows how to find me when the time comes. Good seeing you, Elijah. Don’t be a stranger.”

He winks at me before striding out, and I swear it takes everything in me not to go after him.

Elijah turns to me, serious now. “What’s going on with you, Aurelius?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, pouring another drink.

“You’re normally the level-headed one. Possessive, sure, but you normally talk Breyla off the ledge instead of flying off it yourself. That’s the third fight you’ve picked in as many days.”

I let out a deep sigh, contemplating whether I really want to have this conversation with him of all people. The alcohol swimming through my veins makes it a fight I lose.

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you.

” I throw back the remainder of my rum, swallowing hard.

“I’m confused. I’ve felt nothing but anger since that night.

Anger that Gen kept everything from me. I’m angry at her for dying, and at Ayden for revealing the truth the way he did—or that he feels like he has some claim to Breyla.

Anger at Breyla for punishing me and refusing me a chance to make it right.

But mostly, I’m angry at myself for not being able to save them or see Lord Seamus’ betrayal. Just so much anger.”

Elijah waits patiently for me to finish my explanation before speaking. “You’re not just angry, Aurelius. You’re grieving.”

The realization slams into me, and my shoulders slump.

The heaviness in my chest—the weight I’ve carried since that night—finally has a name.

“Why does this feel so much heavier?” I ask quietly. “I grieved Raynor, but this… this feels unbearable.”

“I’m no expert,” Elijah replies, taking a long swig of rum straight from the bottle, “but I think watching someone you care about die is probably more traumatic than just hearing about it. And grief compounds. With each death, we feel the previous losses all over again. We’re forced to relive that loss again in addition to the new one.

Grief does not get easier or go away. We simply learn to live with it better each day. ”

“For someone who claims not to be an expert, you certainly sound like one.” I pull the bottle from his hands and take a swig myself, the burn grounding me for a moment. “Where does such wisdom come from?”

He meets my gaze, eyes somber. “I lost them, too, you know.”

“I know.”

“But do you?” His voice softens. “Raynor and Genevieve were the only parents I ever really knew. I may not share their blood, but they never made me feel like I was anything less than family. I have burned two sets of parents in my life. Not to mention one of my closest friends and lovers.”

Our eyes meet, and an understanding passes between us. “You’re right, Elijah,” I admit. “In my grief, I have become selfish and blind to the pain in those around me. You wear it so well, but I can’t pretend to know exactly how you feel.”

“I don’t fault you for how you grieve or what you do not understand.

We sit in silence for a while before I finally work up the nerve to say, “I envy you, Elijah.”

His brow furrows. “Whatever for?”

“The way you know Breyla so well. You make her laugh when she should be crying. You push her buttons and somehow avoid her wrath. And when she’s hurting… it’s you she turns to. You seem to know what she needs before she does. She needs you, in the way I want her to need me.”

And maybe, in the way I need her, too.

“I’ve had years of knowing her. This connection didn’t happen overnight.

But it’s also not one-sided. She lets me in because I let her in.

As much as she needs me, I need her, too.

Open yourself up to her,” he says encouragingly.

A look I can’t decipher flashes across his face, expression turning solemn.

“She needs you, too. As much as she denies it, she’s going to need you even more in the coming months. ”

The way he says it fills me with an inexplicable sense of dread.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I narrow my eyes at him.

“That’s a story for another day,” he says, brushing me off. Before I can push, he changes the subject. “Why are you here exactly? Luella’s not enough for you?”

“This wasn’t my first choice,” I grunt. “Luella took one look at the bruises from you and Ayden and shoved me right out the door.”

Elijah laughs, a full-bodied sound that fills the room. “I knew Luella didn’t tolerate violence, but damn. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her kick someone out for having a black eye. Serves you right for being such an ass lately.”

“Probably,” I shrug, not bothering to deny it. “But what brings you out here?”

“Cillian and I go back. Sometimes I pay him a visit to make sure I stay on his good side.”

“He’s not that intimidating,” I scoff.

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Elijah says, taking another swig. Wiping extra liquid off his lips, he asks, “Do you remember that trick Breyla used to pull on you?”

“Which one?” I raise a brow.

“The one where she would create a shadow blindfold and make you walk into walls.”

I groan. “Ah, yes. Such a neat trick . My nose is still crooked from the worst of those encounters.”

Elijah grins. “Who do you think taught her that?”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Cillian has shadows?”

“Not exactly. He possesses a Madilim Gift, yes. But not shadows. He’s got at least one other Gift, but the bastard never would tell me what it was.”

“He can bend light?”

Elijah nods. “He’s incredibly skilled. He can make himself damn near invisible, even in broad daylight. I’ve seen him slaughter three men in under a minute, completely undetected. So yes, he is that intimidating.”

“Fair enough. I’ll do my best to stay out of his path.”

Elijah chuckles. “Good luck with that now that he knows who you are to Breyla.”

“Great,” I grumble.

We sit in silence for a few more minutes before Elijah speaks again, his voice quieter now. “I know Genevieve kept things from us—from you. But I just thought you should know she didn’t do it lightly. I believe she was genuinely trying to protect us. All of us.”

Pain tightens my chest, leaving me gasping for breath. “I expected nothing less from her. Still doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No,” Elijah agrees, his voice cracking. “But you needed to hear that. She loved us all so much…” his voice trails off, tears filling his eyes.

“I see so much of Raynor in Breyla. But it’s Genevieve’s capacity to love… that’s the best trait she passed down to her daughter.”

“Have you told her that?”

“No,” I admit.

“Perhaps you should.”

“You’re probably right, but that would require her agreeing to talk to me without hatred and bitterness lacing every word.”

“You’ll get there. Just keep trying.”

“How long did it take Cillian to gain her forgiveness?”

Elijah grimaces. “Three years.”

I take another swig of rum at the thought of waiting three years to gain my little demon’s trust back.

“Fuck.”