Harelquin
Chapter 3: Give and Take

The echo of the dull thump struck his chest with the force of a physical blow.

Ishuca swallowed, his skin feeling uncomfortably clammy, and his panicked mind unable to differentiate between the sound of the hammers beating on the wood and the rapid pounding of his heart. The lump in his throat pre-empted his reflexive action, and he ended up coughing. Eyes watering, he looked accusingly at the door as his hand rose in a futile gesture to rub his neck.

They were locking him in.

They were sealing him in like some rabid animal unfit to live among the human race.

"No..." he croaked, his voice unrecognizable even to himself.

No, this wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

"No!"

His scream bounced eerily off the knotted walls of his small home, its resonance piercing the semi-darkness with an unearthly ring. The lonely lantern that bravely illuminated the one-room shanty shuddered at the cry, its flickering orange glow adding to the play of tantalizing shadows and dying light. But none of this registered with the young boy who stood frozen in front of the sealed entrance. In fact, there wasn't much that registered in his mind any longer.

Reality was a mere plaything, and life had become nothing more than trivial amusement. Or so the fleeting thought was in Ishuca's near-hysterical head.

He could feel himself slowly suffocating as the encroaching darkness clawed at him. Every bang of those condemning hammers forced him deeper and deeper into the abyss, imposing on him the finality of his glorified coffin. Deep down in the recesses of his brain where rationality hid, he knew their actions were prompted by fear - fear of him, fear of disease ... and fear of death. But that did nothing to alleviate the frustration he felt at what they were doing. They had to seal him away. Their own lives depended on it.

'Not like this,' part of him shouted. He didn't want to die like this. He didn't want to die ... not yet.

"Please, no! Stop!"

Panic had thoroughly consumed him, and he didn't care how desperate or savage he sounded. His inhibitions had died the moment they'd slammed the door in his face. Dazed, he let his body throw itself against the nailed wood. He understood the fruitlessness of his actions, but that didn't stop his fist from pounding viciously on the door.

Splinters dug painfully into his skin - or it would have been painful had he been able to still feel - yet, that small obstacle didn't deter him from trying. He wanted out. He wanted life. And he couldn't get that if he was sealed in here.

"Please! Let me out! Please don't leave me alone. Please ... "

And thus, he shouted and hit - shouted until his voice broke from the abuse, and hit until his hands bled from the rough treatment. Still, they didn't hear him, or rather, they chose not to hear him, and before he knew it, an eerie silence from the other side was all that responded to his efforts.

Drained from his recent outburst, Ishuca leaned dejectedly against the abrasive wood, his chest heaving uncontrollably and his cheeks suspiciously wet.

"Please ... " he forced out, all his fatigue evident in that one word. "Please, let me -"

"Ishuca."

The disembodied voice had come out barely above a whisper, and boasted the gravelly quality that came with age, but its identity was easily recognizable to the young man.

"Grandma?" Ishuca said in a high-pitched tone that resembled that of a lost child. Slowly, he pushed off of the door and turned. He looked around his small home, an indescribable calm washing over him and enfolding him in its welcoming arms.

"Grandma?" he asked again, wanting - wishing - that the voice would say his name one more time. A small, sad smile played on his lips. "Grandma, I'm here."

But there was no response.

Again, Ishuca swept his eyes about the room, the childish spark of hope refusing to die. Eventually, his gaze fell on the thick curtain that separated the beds from the main living space.

Several hours ago, he had known what was behind that obscuring barrier. Several hours ago, he had watched someone lie down on the other side. Several hours ago, he hadn't been afraid ...

But now, everything was different.

Now, he didn't know.

Tentatively, he took a step in the curtain's direction.

And then another.

And another ...

"Grandma ...?"

(***)

He awoke to the brightness of weak, winter sunlight, his heart beating a strange tattoo of panic and fear. The disorientation lasted only for a moment, but in that span of time, Ishuca had felt himself caught in a vortex of reality and illusion, the scratching claws of nightmare and prying fingers of morning swirling about him in a clash of metaphorical titans.

Then, it ended, and the gathered velvet bed curtains of his present surroundings finally came into focus. At first, he was afraid to move. The sight that had greeted his sleep-blurred eyes was as unfamiliar to him as the incredibly soft bed sheets that rubbed against his skin. What they were made of, he was unsure, but the feel of it was definitely a departure from the coarse linen he was accustomed to.

Where was he? What had happened?

Blood.

The name suddenly resounded in his head, and unconsciously, his entire body relaxed into the feather-tick mattress.

Blood.

This was his place. And the man - a complete stranger - had invited him into his home and had fed him, despite his attempt at thievery.

A small smile crept onto Ishuca's lips as he rolled onto his side and hugged the fluffy blanket closer. A man like that couldn't be all that bad. After all, he'd even been given his own bedchamber to sleep in.

Letting out one last satiated sigh, the young houseguest finally pushed the bedcovers off and sat up. Feet dangling from the side of the bed, his clear blue gaze sought out the intricacies of his new, temporary room. From the ornately carved window frame, to the cherry wood armoire, to the damask covered walls, it felt like he had been dropped into a completely different world. And yet, in spite of how immaculate and orderly every piece of furniture and accessory was, Ishuca couldn't help but feel that there was something amiss.

Where was that ... that sense of home?

Yes, that was it. For all its beautiful amenities, the room lacked emotion. There was no feel of human habitation or private touches that declared its owned state. It felt as if a calculated mind had come in here and arranged everything according to some checklist.

His curved lips turning up further into a playful grin, Ishuca hopped off the mattress and glanced back at the overturned covers. With a quick haphazard motion, he flipped the bedding over more and punched at the pillows.

There.

That would have to do until he found something to make this place seem more 'lived in'. At least now, one could tell that the room hosted someone.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Ishuca began to walk away from the newly arranged bed, mind and body eager to explore the new reality in which he had landed himself. And it was then that he noticed: he was completely naked!

Although he knew there was not a soul present to witness his state of undress, he couldn't stop the faint blush that burned on his cheeks. Looking around the spotless chamber, he found no sign of the dirty, threadbare clothes he'd had on the previous night. Biting his lower lip in apprehension, worry began to form in the pit of his stomach.

There was no way he could leave this room unclothed. He had had at least a modicum of decency dutifully instilled into him by his grandmother, and he would not destroy all her efforts now, no matter how eager his curiosity was.

Then, his eyes alighted on the currently en vogue Louis XIV chairs by the room's fireplace. Like all the other furniture, these four seats were carefully arranged and placed an equal distance apart, facing each other in a square formation. However, it was the dark dressing gown draped across one of them that had caught his attention. Its dark color blended in with the upholstery of the chair, making it easy to overlook.

But it was perfect.

Without hesitation, he moved to the garment, picked it up, and pulled it on. The fabric was heavy - a type of brocade, in Ishuca's limited knowledge - but it was warm and smooth. Most importantly, it guarded against the winter morning chill.

Cinching a knot at his waist to close his new robe, the young man didn't waste another second idling in the chamber. Curiosity shining bright in his eyes, he headed to the door, and walked confidently out.

Ishuca had always found it to be true that what one saw in the darkness of night always looked different in the revealing light of day. After all, that was how he had conquered all his childhood monsters and demons right before falling asleep; they would always be gone in the morning, he had often told himself. And it had proven to be a fact.

However, what he saw as he slowly made his way down the hall seemed to defy that logic. What he had seen of the house the night before had been little, but it had been enough to leave him with an impression of ominous orderliness and enigmatic shadows. And strangely enough, the passageways he now walked through retained that same sense of untouchable starkness. Granted, there was no longer any candles burning, but even with the weak fingers of sunlight peeking in from cracks and crevices, the place appeared to lack any vitality or life. And it was a thought that sent an involuntary shiver down Ishuca's spine.

Room after room, the exploring houseguest walked by, venturing into a few when he saw that the doors had been left ajar. But room after room, he found nothing ... and no one. They were all identical to the one he'd just woken up in. Be it a bedchamber, drawing room, or sitting room, they all boasted an immaculate emptiness that was akin to an extravagant tomb. There was simply no sign of life, of servants, or of their mysterious master.

"Blood ..."

The name escaped in a whisper from between his lips as he came to the top of a staircase. The sudden realization that he had been unconsciously searching for his former mark gave him pause. Ishuca took a moment to give himself a quick mental shake before descending.

So he was searching for Blood. There was nothing wrong with seeking out one's own host, was there?

But deep down, a riot of panic and anxiousness bubbled and forced his pace to quicken.

It was too quiet, too silent ... too lonely ... and he didn't like it.

Blood would fix that. With someone near, the claustrophobia that squeezed at his insides would disappear.

By the time Ishuca reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes had taken on a frantic gleam. Even the majestic balustrade and marble tiled floor of the grand foyer he found himself in couldn't distract him. Without thought, he turned to his right, and walked briskly until he came to a set of double doors.

He would start here and continue to look in every single room until he found someone, until the quiet disappeared ... until his surroundings seemed less like an empty mortuary.

The first chamber yielded nothing but more detailed furniture, and gold-gilt framed paintings. Likewise could be said for the next four rooms he tried. It wasn't until he entered another hallway and peered into the chamber at the end of it that his mission finally bore fruit.

Initially, he had thought that he'd failed in his search again, his eyes immediately riveted by the tall, oak shelves of books that lined the walls. Stray beams of sunlight from the high windows caressed every leather-bound spine, and cast the entire space into an ethereal realm. All Ishuca could do was admire the sight with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

Then, a small rustling came from the far left corner of the library, and the young man left his state of wonderment.

Eager, blue eyes quickly sought the source of the sound, and immediately found it.

The heavenly scene of the sunlit books had been enough to make his mouth gape, but what he saw now was enough to steal his breath away. The morning light did not directly reach the tall figure standing behind a desk, but it reflected and deflected off enough of the polished wood shelves to illuminate the lone blond-haired man in the room with a subtle, unearthly glow. Gone was the formal clothing of the previous night, and in its place was a loose white shirt, comfortable dark breeches, and clean boots. Yet, what captured Ishuca's awe was not the man's apparel, but something else entirely.

Strands of golden hair framed an angular face, the brilliance of the locks highlighting the hard planes and soft edges of perfectly place features. And as the centerpiece, sharp, iridescent grey eyes glittered seriously at the task they were immersed in. Ishuca had concluded last night that those eyes changed in color according to Blood's mood and surroundings, but seeing them here in the light, that conclusion was too superficial. There were eyes that dug deep in one's soul, and stripped away all layers with a single glance.

"A fallen angel ..." his voice was quiet enough when those words were blurted out, but the other man straightened and looked up from his papers at the sound.

For a quick second - so quick that Ishuca wasn't even certain he'd seen it - one side of Blood's lips lifted up into a small smirk. "Angel? Devil is more like it," the man replied as he put the papers he'd been studying back down on his desk. Walking around the side, the enigmatic host gestured for his guest to come closer.

"So you're finally awake?" A hard, silver gaze assessed Ishuca's robe-clad body. Inexplicably, the young man felt a little uncomfortable at the scrutiny, and his cheeks became slightly warmer.

Unable to find his voice, he simply nodded before moving closer, his bare feet cautiously moving one in front of the other. He wasn't scared by any means, but unlike the house, Blood looked different now than he had last night.

"I want you to sign something," the imposing man stated in a stoic tone when Ishuca finally stood in front of the desk.

Long, capable fingers slid a sheet of parchment across the desk surface along with an inked quill. The baffled youth glanced questioningly at Blood, then to the parchment, and then, back to Blood again.

"It's a contract sealing our agreement," the taller man explained. "Several months of your time in exchange for a healthy sum of gold in addition to room and board."

"But ... but I said we didn't need one." His protest and the force behind it sounded weak, yet it was something Ishuca wanted to make clear.

Blood's expression remained neutral at the remark, which left the younger man unsure whether he'd angered his host or not.

"I would prefer a written contract," he reiterated. "Forgive me for being formal but I've discovered through experience that very few people keep their word."

The intensity of those penetrating eyes began to bother Ishuca, and so, trying to alleviate his discomfort, he looked down at the parchment. The writing was small and neat, all angled lines and curves. But his attention didn't linger there for long. Instead, he analyzed the quill, a small grey feather affair that boasted a gold tipped nib.

"What's the matter? Just sign at the bottom." Blood's tone still remained unaffected; however, Ishuca feared angering the man and trying his patience.

Swallowing several times, he glanced apprehensively up at his companion. "I ... I'm ... I don't ..."

He couldn't seem to string a coherent phrase together, and that delving gaze made him so much more nervous. What would those eyes look like if they were angry at him for not signing?

"I don't know how."

Pride and self-dignity be damned. The very idea of Blood possibly throwing him out and leaving him alone was enough to send his declaration rushing from his mouth.

"I'm sorry but I don't know how to write my name," he explained, this time in a slower and steadier voice. "I was never taught and I didn't have time to learn."

At first, Blood's face was unreadable, causing the anxiety in Ishuca to build. But then, with a resigned sigh, the quiet man took the quill in one hand and Ishuca's fingers in the other. With surprising gentleness, he put the quill in his houseguest's hand and helped him position his forefinger and thumb in the right place.

Ishuca felt his breath hitch at the contact, the warmth supplied by the touch tentatively creeping its way up through his entire body.

"That's how you hold it," Blood instructed. "Now, just make your mark at the bottom of the page."

"Mark?" An auburn eyebrow rose.

"Mark," the blond man said again. "Just any type of symbol you can use to identify yourself. It doesn't have to make any sense."

Ishuca nodded, determined to follow his companion's request. Biting down on his lower lip, he put the quill onto the parchment and moved it about. He had no clue what he was scratching onto the material, but after several strokes, he stopped and placed the writing tool down.

"Good." Blood turned the contract around and looked it over quickly. "I'll sand it while you get ready and pack a few essentials."

Feeling proud that he'd signed the agreement properly Ishuca smiled and started to comply when the full meaning of the other man's orders hit him.

"Pack? We're leaving right away?" He knew he sounded like an idiot asking such an obvious question, but packing now meant leaving sooner. And leaving sooner meant being abandoned sooner.

"If you haven't figured it out yet, yes, I want to leave as soon as possible."

"But ... but ..." Ishuca couldn't make his mind come up with a sound argument to oppose Blood's decision. And then, it came to him, as bright and clear as the sunlight that danced in the room. "But it's Christmas!"

For the first time since they'd met, Ishuca saw a glimmer of emotion on the mysterious man's face - surprise.

"Christmas? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything," Ishuca went on. "Christmas is when you spend time at home with the people you love. You can't just pick up and go. Besides, I don't have any clothes, so once Christmas is over, I can just leave without packing."

"We had a deal!"

"But you never said when," the youth argued back, his stubbornness in prolonging their argument now overriding his fear of angering Blood. "So what does it matter if we leave a few days later?"

To this, the other man didn't respond.

Thus they stood, two strong-will men at an impasse, determined, blue eyes clashing with narrowed, grey ones.

And then, "Fine. We'll stay for a week."

Ishuca fought the urge to cheer victoriously at the decision, and instead, settled for smiling gratefully at the man.

The imposing host seemed to freeze for a moment at the expression, but regained enough of his composure to say brusquely, "But not a day longer! It will give us time to get you some clothes."

The smile refused to leave the youth's face. "Thank you."

Blood grunted quietly in return, and focused his attention back on organizing the papers on his desk. "Now go get some breakfast. It should all be set out in the dining room," he grumbled without looking up.

Ishuca nodded and left the room, the bounce in his step more pronounced now than when he'd entered. In fact, he had so succumbed to the euphoric cloud of victory that he was halfway down the corridor before he realized he didn't remember where the dining room was.

(***)

He felt warm.

He felt warm. And safe. And cherished.

Rapunzel rolled over on the soft mattress and snuggled closer to the comforting body pressed against him. He sensed the lax arm that had been draped across his waist shift to accommodate his new position, but it never lost contact with him. The long-haired man smiled lazily at the sleepy face before him.

Wild had fallen asleep first the night before right after their bout of lovemaking, but even in slumber, the older man unconsciously sought him out.

After all these years, Rapunzel found it hard to believe that he was still where he was. He had a home. He had clothing. He had food. He had a lover. And it was this lover who had insured he would never want for any material thing. His life before Wild had long become nothing more than a succession of fragmented images, shouts and screams and rejection. Yet now, his current life had overshadowed - if not erased - it all. In short, he was happy.

And as hard as Wild may deny it, he was the one responsible. Although he acted nonchalant and dismissive about it, Wild indulged him ... and indulged him greatly. From the habitual flowers to the usual treats, Wild had always presented his gifts with a gruff façade, but over time, the younger man had seen through the tough mask.

"Your act may deceive everyone else but it doesn't fool me," he whispered as he leaned over to place a feather-light kiss on his sleeping companion's cheek.

He began to move back into his spot when he felt the arm around his middle tighten, effectively halting his action.

"You'd better finish what you started if you plan on doing that first thing in the morning." Closed eyes slowly opened.

Surprise crossed Rapunzel's face before it became something softer. "You were awake?" he asked as he leaned in again for a quick chaste kiss on the lips.

"How can I not be awake with you taunting me like you just did?" The man's voice was still slightly hoarse from sleep but its deep resonance was not at all lacking.

"Taunt?" Rapunzel squeaked as he felt himself being pulled on top of his partner. Even if Wild wasn't fully awake, the part of his body pressed against the younger man's stomach definitely was. Rapunzel glared down at the waking man with mock anger. "I remember a time when my kiss on your cheek caused you to stare at me as if I had two heads!"

This time, it was Wild's turn to smile lazily. "But that was before I found out what I was missing."

That said, Rapunzel was pulled down for another assault, this one more involved, more tantalizing, and more intoxicating. Time and space held no meaning for him any longer for he was as caught as a fish in a fisherman's net, only this fisherman spun a net of pure desire.

A groan left Rapunzel's throat at the warm moist tongue that entered his mouth, the sound a reflexive action just like his rubbing against his partner's groin.

And then, just when the smaller man was about to shift into a more comfortable position, Wild pulled away.

A cry of protest escaped Rapunzel's lips at the abandonment and he tried unsuccessfully to recapture his lover's mouth.

"I can't let him go," Wild mumbled as he turned his head, causing his partner to kiss only his jaw.

Rapunzel stopped and looked down at the dark-haired man curiously. "Who?"

"Blood."

Rapunzel let out a small sigh and rolled back onto his side of the bed. "Don't tell me you were thinking about Blood when we are going to make love. If there's something you want to tell me ..."

"I can not let him go," Wild repeated as he leaned over to give his blond lover one last peck on the cheek before rolling off the mattress. "There is no telling what will happen to him if he does."

Rapunzel watched without a word as his partner moved about the room, stopping every so often to pull on a piece of clothing. Once Wild had finished dressing, he moved toward the door and paused to look back at the body still lying in bed.

"Go," the reposing man said as he playfully threw a pillow at Wild. "You need to catch Blood before he leaves."

A mysterious twinkle came to Wild's dark eyes as he easily dodged the thrown object. His face relaxing into a rare expression of fondness, he left his chagrined partner smiling in his wake.

"You're softer than you let on, my lord Wild," Rapunzel muttered as he rested his head back onto the bed. "And softer than you'll ever admit."

(***)

Lines.

Lines, lines, and more lines.

That was all it was: nothing more than an arrangement of lines, all sitting meaninglessly on the parchment with the single purpose of confusing the devil out of him.

Blood leaned forward, and rested the side of his hip against the hard oak of his desk as his fingers traced the semi-rough surface before him. For a moment, he paused, eyes riveted by the play of shadows his hand created on the paper.

Sun-dappled angles of light and shade played across an archaic canvas of forgotten treasures and unsolvable riddles ... how he wished he could simply devote himself to that benign display of frivolousness instead of the task at hand. But he couldn't. He couldn't abandon his quest. Because if he did, then its unanswered call could curse him until he lost what was left of his sanity.

Blood mentally shook himself, and re-focused his attention back to the map he had laid out.

Try as he might, he couldn't figure out exactly where his final destination would be. After all, France was a vast land, its rich resources closely rivaling its colorful history. From the indisputable glory of Charlemagne's reign to the prolonged British occupation, the country offered a limitless well of fascination. But for Blood, only one thing mattered, and none of this information seemed useful at all.

Languidly, glacial eyes shifted over to the other aged document sitting next to map. The edges had begun to curl from the long years, and its color had darkened to an undeniable yellow-brown, but the ink written on the rough material was still legible enough to read. However, in Blood's case, there was no need to read it ... not when he'd looked at it enough times to commit every single character to memory.

'From heathen lande to gloreus lite
In the harte, an exalted hite
For two crownes and two kings she shulde dare
And a rane of liones she wulde bare
Yet come ye darkened fate of al
And here alas a teare of heven shall fal'

The words were overly cursive, written with care centuries ago, yet its aesthetic value held no interest for Blood. What concerned him, what drew him, and what ensnared him was its meaning. For countless hours, he had analyzed it. He had done so until the words blurred. And still, the riddle eluded him, as cryptic as the day he'd found it.

He sighed inwardly and eased the rest of his weight against the desk. Normally, he wouldn't be so distracted. Normally, when he secluded himself in his library, he could concentrate on one task for long periods of time. Normally ... normally, he didn't have a wide-eyed, innocent youth wandering his home.

The encounter earlier that morning was still emblazoned in his mind, those wide blue eyes and that disarming smile haunting him regardless of where he looked and what he tried to do. Even now, hours later, he could still feel the soft warmth of the boy's hand against his fingers.

Something was definitely wrong with him. That was the only way to explain it. After all, why else had he been weakened by that simple plea and given in to Ishuca's request if he hadn't contracted some sickness?

Yes, that was it. He was sick ... so sick that he'd temporarily lost his sense of judgment and agreed to stay another week in London. But now that he'd made this conclusion, he was resolved never to let such a lapse overwhelm him again. He didn't need some ignorant upstart ruining the comfortable structure of his life ... especially since he was so close to ending his search.

Still, all things considered, he was closer to his goal than he'd ever been. He had the location, he had the clues, and most importantly, he had the key.

Determination renewed, he straightened and looked back down at the map. He had come this far and there were far more crucial things to think about than a ...

Two days ago - even one day ago - peace had reigned in his house. He would go hours on end without seeing another servant or hearing a single sound. He had had order, he had had silence, and he had relished the endless calm of his environment ... which was why his heart made an attempt to leap out of his chest when a crash echoed from outside the library entrance.

An angry wrinkle creased his forehead as he strode out of the sunlit room and out into the hallway. As much as he wanted to deny it, he simply knew who may have caused the commotion.

He hadn't been expecting much in the way of damages: perhaps a broken vase or a shattered statuette. After all, how much trouble could one ragged street urchin cause? Yet, nothing in his structured routine could have prepared him for the sight he encountered when he stepped out of his haven.

Vibrant hues of green, red, and gold littered the length of his hall, dangling from his ceiling and his wall like a chaotic web. But his furniture seemed to have gotten the worse of it. No longer was the immaculate mahogany of the hallway tables visible. Instead, gold knick-knacks and color accents of unknown origin were scattered across their surface. And to top it off, bright red flowers and leafy green plants had inexplicably invaded any section of uncovered wood.

A slight movement flickered in the corner of Blood's eyes, and the surprised man narrowed them as he looked to his left. The culprit of his home's hideous transformation was crouching right in the middle of the whole mess, the frantic expression on his face betraying an innocence he may have tried to claim.

"What in bloody hell have you done?" Blood was astonished at the anger that had leaked into his voice, and if the abruptness with which Ishuca - a now fully clothed Ishuca - turned was any indication, so was the younger man.

"I-I'm sorry. I dropped the flower pot," the wide-eyed youth stammered in a dulcet tone, feet swiping at a pile of dirt and broken glass. "I was trying to get everything ready for Christmas. I met one of your servants, and he gave me some clothes, and I asked him about decorating, and even though he said you wouldn't like it, I begged and begged, and he helped me find all these pretty ribbons and fabric in the attic, and he showed me the little house you have where you grow vegetables and these beautiful red flowers and ..."

By now, Ishuca's babbling had metamorphosed his apologetic attitude into an excited one, and Blood found it somewhat of a chore to keep up with the younger man's erratic chain of thought. After the first two minutes of endless chatter, the affronted host had finally had enough.

Without a word, Blood turned away from the still-talking youth, and marched determinedly to the nearest flounce dangling from the ceiling. Gripping the edge of what felt like silk taffeta - why had his staff even allowed Ishuca to use something as expensive as silk taffeta? - the angry man gave the material a good hard yank. A slight breeze accompanied the flutter of falling fabric as it drifted down from its recently created mooring, and Blood smiled in triumph.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

When Ishuca had stopped his unending sentence, the older man didn't know, but before he could react, the offended youth scurried over to grab a hold of his fallen handiwork.

"I spent a long time putting everything up, and you just ruined it!" Brows furrowed in consternation, Ishuca pulled at the taffeta in a bid for ownership.

On any given day, Blood was a man who had control and commanded control. But today, fate had decided to take that power away. But he couldn't blame fate alone. In fact, he couldn't blame any one thing in particular. It was a combination of factors: Ishuca's strong pull, his own firm grip on the material, and the nest of fallen decorations at his feet.

Because with the indignant boy's unexpected yank, Blood found himself losing his balance, his feet caught in the folds of the expensive fabric. And before he knew it, he was falling ... right onto the smaller body of an annoying, red-haired youth.

They both fell to the floor in an ungraceful tangle of flailing limbs, the boy taking the full impact of Blood's weight. Immediately, the stunned man braced himself on his arms, looking worriedly at Ishuca.

"Are you hurt? Did I - "

Ishuca shook his head, eyes slightly dazed but otherwise uninjured. "No. The fabric cushioned the fall."

Assured that his companion was fine - as fine as a somewhat insane thief could be - Blood allowed his anger to come flooding back. "Just what do you think you were doing? You shouldn't have ..."

The body beneath him started to squirm at that very moment, and instantly, all coherent thought flew out of his head as an unexpected heat shot through his torso and into his groin.

Clear blue eyes stared angrily back at him, unaware of what their owner's movements were doing. "I was mad that you just pulled it all down!" Ishuca retorted. "I -"

An abrupt cough from the end of the all suddenly cut the boy off, and with a sense of growing dread, Blood turned his head to look in the direction of the sound.

"I, uh, guess I came at a bad time," Wild said, dark eyes laughing at a private joke. "I can come back another day."

Blood let out an exasperated breath as he rolled off the warm body. "No, Wild, stay. We can talk in the library."

He rose to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster, and noticed a strange, knowing gleam in his friend's gaze.

Blood gave the now rising Ishuca one last glance before following his new visitor into the library.

This was going to be one long week.

End Chapter 3