Spellbound by Marcus Atley Page B

kick at them with.
    Stavros threw his phone towards the couch before tearing into his bottom lip and sucking in a deep breath through his nose. He looked furious, and if Elion was reading it correctly, nervous. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, unsure if he should even ask, though he had every right.
    “Do you own any jeans?” Elion blurted when Stavros began to pace. Stavros glanced up with a scowl that made him look like he had sucked on a lemon.
    “What?”
    “Jeans. Do you have any?”
    “Why the fuck are you even asking me that?” Stavros sighed, exasperated, not angry Elion noted.
    “Mikhail said this was about understanding. I’m just trying to understand you. As well as figure out how the hell you get into those.” He gestured to the black pants that might as well have been a second skin.
    “You want to get into my pants?” Stavros asked stiffly.
    “Don’t flatter yourself,” Elion said, affronted, though if it sounded forced and slightly shaky he wouldn’t have been surprised.
    “Am I interrupting something?” Elion flinched and whipped around at the sound of Mikhail’s amused voice. The older man’s bushy brow was quirked upwards and his lips were tugged into a lopsided smile.
    “Of course not.” Elion smiled. Stavros rolled his eyes and pushed passed him to sit on the couch. “Rude,” he mumbled earning himself a sharp glare from his partner.
    “It was the decoy that was tampered with, as you know. I just received identity confirmation. The Guardians were murdered,” Stavros said bluntly. Mikhail’s smile fell and his eyes darkened slightly. “The game is over. I need you to break this so I can do my job.”
    “Stavros-”
    “No!” Stavros bellowed, fists tightening at his sides as he stood. “I’ve played along out of respect for you and now I refuse. If you don’t undo this, I will appeal the Council to do it.”
    Mikhail’s silver eyes narrowed and his expression hardened in a way that made Elion feel like a small prey trapped between two predators. It was a predictable thing from Stavros; from Mikhail, not so much. Elion had seen the old wizard in a stern mood, but never so hazardous. He had seen the battle wounds and the symbolic ink that marked the truth of the power the man carried, but he had never put real thought into it until he saw that look in his eyes.
    “Who do you think made the suggestion, Stavros?” Mikhail asked, a dark smirk on his lips. “I gave you a valuable asset and you consistently ignore that-”
    “You gave me a complete and utter brat, and for what? To teach me a lesson? Was Victor not enough for you?” Stavros cold tone tapered as his gaze sank to the floor in defeat. When Mikhail reached forward and tugged his son closer, Elion looked away quickly. It was too personal of a moment, too intimate for him to have even a faint right to intrude upon.
    “I partnered you with Elion because I saw many great traits in him; loyalty, patience, his want to learn. It didn’t hurt that he refuses to deal with your temper. You call him a brat, yet I chose him because you share many similarities. Remember that, child.” Stavros’ clenched jaw ticked in a silent response. “I suggest the both of you rest. I will alert the Council to the recent developments. Sleep well boys, and please, stay safe.”
    Elion gave a bare nod in Mikhail’s direction when the older man smiled at him. Stavros remained silent as the lingering static of magic faded from his home after Mikhail’s departure.
    “Would you like me to cook you something?” Elion offered. Stavros shook his head and crouched to raid a bag at the end of the couch. He pulled out a worn book before giving Elion a dull look. “Oh. Just let me grab my things,” he murmured.
    “I’m sorry for what I said. I had no right,” Elion said as he sat on the edge of Stavros’ bed. Elion waited for a reply until Stavros sat down on the floor with his back against the bed frame and opened his