Laurent nodded, grabbing Beast’s hand and leading him to a patch of clean grass in the shadow of a mid-sized tree. “Just a bit shaken. Perhaps we could sit down?”
He glanced toward the roof of the clubhouse looming above the treeline and couldn’t help finding its presence, menacing despite the spring sunshine. He’d been so elated about the baby, so preoccupied with the fact that he would get to have a child of his own blood that he’d pushed away serious thoughts of the future.
Beast watched him in silence, sitting cross-legged and resting his elbows on his knees. His attentive eyes wouldn’t stray, as if he were expecting danger to strike again.
“You couldn’t have understood, but I offered the ghost that we could cut down the trees, and he said it would only delay the inevitable. But… that means we could gain more time this way. And that’s what we need if we are to succeed.” Laurent reached for Beast’s hand and squeezed it. It was strong enough to break Elliot’s wrist, but to Laurent its warmth and steadiness meant only safety.
Beast exhaled, and the twisted features on the side of his face trembled. “I think it’s time to call Magpie.”
“At least we’ve learned something from this. Magpie kept saying he doesn’t know where Baal’s plan is headed, but the ghost did. If the trees are to create the tear between the two worlds, no wonder Baal’s goal is to feed them through the illicit activity at the clubhouse. Beast? If we win, if all this leads to a conclusion where we aren’t just endlessly tormented souls, will our life be different?”
Beast swallowed loudly, his eyes meeting Laurent’s with wariness. “What do you mean?”
Laurent struggled to put his thoughts into words in a polite fashion. He sat closer to Beast with the backpack in his arms. “The club needs to be rowdy, the concerts loud, and the… orgies, filled with lustful people getting their fill of earthly pleasures, but once you are free of your obligation to Baal, would any of that change?”
Beast frowned. “What?”
“No need to be angry, I’m just asking a question.” Laurent slouched, hugging the egg. “You’ve often complained about the state of things yourself, so how is my question impolite?”
Beast took a deep breath and leaned forward, meeting Laurent’s gaze. “What I don’t like is the pressure to have a relentless, constant party going on. But we built this club around the promise of freedom to fuck, and party. I am not going to end this tradition.”
Laurent nodded, but something else gnawed at him. “Is holding the parties the only way the club earns money? I know you work for Magpie, but once the need for rubies ends, what will happen? Should I attempt to find other employment?”
Beast stretched his neck. “It’s not about the money. I loved those parties when I was younger, and I still appreciate them. You knew who you were getting married to.”
Laurent sighed and ever so gently put the backpack beside them. He shifted closer to Beast, and into his lap, stroking the burns on Beast’s jaw. “Yes, I knew, but I also feel like I’m still finding out new things about you, and that’s a good thing. It’s not a crime for you to enjoy a party with metallic music when I go take a long bath with a book.” He smiled and gave Beast a kiss.
This questioning must have agitated Beast, because Laurent’s reassurance made him relax. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll make sure the club provides enough opportunities for all of us,” he said and hugged Laurent lazily.
Nothing could beat the sturdiness of Beast’s body. Laurent put his cheek on Beast’s shoulder. Even when he’d thought a gentleman would have been the most aspirational choice of life partner, he’d stolen many glances at brute sailors working in the docks. He wouldn’t tell this to Beast for fear of insulting his husband, but he believed that in Beast, he’d found the best of both worlds.
“Call Magpie, please. I am fine now.”
“All right,” Beast said and pulled out his cell phone with one hand, so that he wouldn’t have to let go of Laurent. Moments later, the steady beep of the open line cut into the serene sounds of the woodland surrounding the clearing. It was as if the earlier attack never happened.
When Magpie picked up, his voice was like caramel drizzled over a brownie. “Beast. How is my baby doing?”
Laurent was so insulted he choked on words and had to compose himself. “E-excuse me? It’s our child, if you wish to enquire.”
Magpie groaned. “Fine. Our child.”
Laurent couldn’t believe his ears. “No, no. Not our child. He’s mine and Beast’s.”
His eyes met Beast’s, who shook his head in a wordless expression of disbelief.
Magpie exhaled. “Such nonsense. I daresay I had more input into his creation than any of you. After all, I’d grown him in my body and suffered for it!”