Chapter 16 part two

Long lines of streetlights flew past the car, their glow flashing rhythmically across the darkened streets. The assassin absent-mindedly followed them, his head resting against the cool window. The city blurred by in streaks of orange and white, neon signs flickering in the distance. His body felt heavy, his mind still drifting in oceans. His eyelids threatening to close, but he forced them to stay open.

The cut on his nose stung—a welcome distraction. No matter how exhausted he felt, he would not let himself drift off in the presence of Nomura and her human companion, Samuel.

Nomura had emerged from the red room alongside the small changeling, the two of them smiling, shaking hands—like a pair of smug diplomats sealing a deal. Both the bouncer and Angor had exchanged wary glances, hands twitching in case things took a turn, but the axe had apparently been buried.

Or what apparently was called a gun. A Ruger LC9, which was… terrible anti climactic. Call it the chattering metal beast or something similar. So what, Angor had asked the bouncer what it was. His eye caught the absolute improvement of a weapon that increased his long range in combat. Seemed like a great weapon. He wanted to have it.

Zean had insisted on giving them a ride home. The historian had accepted, promising they'd be in touch. And so, the three of them sat in the back of a sleek black car, its smooth beige leather seats too pristine, its driver a stern man in a black suit tapping a finger in time with the soft beats playing from the front.

Angor simply followed the historian's lead, simmering over his failure. Bular had slipped away. If he'd dragged Nomura out the moment that bullish bastard left the room, maybe—just maybe—he could have caught up. Instead, he'd wasted time. Maybe picking a fight with the bouncer had been foolish. Maybe drinking the glögg had been worse.

You are turning into an fool.

His eyes shut for a moment. A few seconds, no more. The glow of streetlamps flickered across his face in rhythmic patterns, light then shadow, light then shadow—

"That was quite the adventure, huh?"

The human's voice cut through his thoughts, unwelcome as ever.

Angor's scowl deepened, but he did not dignify Samuel with a response.

"Yeah, about that," Nomura jumped in, sparing him the effort. "I get if this is too dangerous for you. If you don't want to see me anymore—"

Sam scoffed, chuckling lightly. "Mura, you are the most impressive person I have ever met. Of course, I want to see you again."

Angor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was insufferable.

"You're a strange one, Sam," Nomura mused.

"So are you," he shot back, grinning.

The neon signs outside warped against the glass, distorted shapes flickering across the leather seats.

"Want to go to my place?" she asked, her voice suddenly playful.

"Oh! I—Wow! Of course!" Sam stammered. "B-but what about your friend?"

"He won't be staying with us, obviously."

Angor's eyes snapped open. A sharp, confused scowl flickered across his face. "Wait. What?"

Nomura met his glare with lime-green amusement. "I'm dropping you off at the lake house."

The moment she said it, he realized the streets outside were already familiar. A cold weight settled in his stomach. His fingers curled into fists.

"The deal was that I didn't have to see him until tomorrow." His voice was low, measured—but the edge was unmistakable.

Nomura sighed, giving him a look usually reserved for unruly children. She leaned forward, looking past Sam to meet his eyes. "You almost got your drunk ass shot under my watch so I am not going to deal with your any longer. Besides, someone has to tell Draal that Bular got away, and it's not going to be me."

Angor's eyes widened slightly at the sheer audacity of this woman. Guess she did notice he drank all the glögg.

He had forgotten that Nomura had known Draal far longer than he had. She knew exactly how he would react to this news. And now, holding the ring, she had the power to make Angor face him instead.

This was bloody awful. The last thing he wanted was to deal with Draal's nonsense. Their 'acquaintanceship' was already balanced on the thinnest ice, and now he had to be the one to crack it further.

Angor exhaled sharply, leaning back, placing a hand on his forehead. "Perfect."

"Just apologize," Nomura said, waving off his frustration. "He'll get over it in the morning. And while you're at it, say sorry for whatever you two were fighting about before."

His glare darkened, his shoulders sinking slightly under the weight of this whole mess. He had no time for this. Every distraction was a wasted moment, a delay in fusing the soul portal together. He needed to be focusing on Morgana—not… this.

Nomura glanced at his reflection in the window as another streetlight passed. Her scowl softened for a fraction of a second. He looked... bothered.

Samuel, picking up on the tension, leaned slightly towards Nomura and whispered, "Do you think he's going to kill us?"

Nomura let out a sigh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. A flicker of guilt gnawed at her. Not much, but enough to be annoying. Maybe she'd been a little too hard on him. He was helping them, after all, even if she wasn't thrilled about it.

"Look, I don't know much about you," she said at last, arms crossing, eyes rolling towards the brooding assassin across the back seat. "But I do know Draal. He's kind of an idiot, but he cares. He'd probably take a rock under his wing if given the chance. Or... trolls are rocks as well, I suppose."

Angor remained silent, staring out the window. Nomura pressed her lips together, trying to decide how much she cared about making this easier on him.

"What I'm saying is—he's not a bad guy," she continued. "Whatever he did that pissed you off, he probably didn't mean to. He just... feels things. Loudly."

For a long moment, Angor said nothing. His golden eyes, dimmed with exhaustion, stared blankly ahead.

Then, in a low, unreadable voice, he muttered, "He could be."

Nomura exhaled, watching the cars pass by. It frustrated her to be having a real conversation with him. He was cold, dangerous, and generally insufferable. But in this moment, he felt strangely... familiar.

Someone guarded. Someone who had seen the dark corners of this earth.

She hesitated before answering. "You can never truly know someone," she finally said. "There's nothing wrong with being cautious. But in the end, trust is a choice. No one else can make it for you."

Something flickered across Angor's face, like a small spark ignited but vanished in an instant.

Nomura waited for a response, but none came. She let it go, rolling her eyes for good measure before returning to the window. Whatever. In a minute or two, this wouldn't be her problem anymore.

With angry, dazed eyes, Angor glared at the house he called his prison. A few lights were still on on the ground floor of Lake House, indicating someone was awake at this late hour. The air was still damp from rain, and the assassin kept himself as far from the porch as the leash of circumstance would allow. His shoulders were stiff with resistance, every muscle locked in place as he stood beside the parked car, tracking Nomura as she approached the door.

The historian knocked twice before stepping back, impatiently tapping her foot as she waited for someone to answer. For a few tense moments, it remained silent—until the door opened and warm light spilled across the wet stone of the porch, casting long, shifting shadows.

Angor looked away the moment he saw the figure step into view.

Draal stood there, his large silhouette framed by the doorframe. Amber eyes blinked through the night, landing on Nomura with confused familiarity.
"Nomura?" he asked in surprise. "Back so soon?"

The assassin crossed his arms, angrily waiting until Nomura finished her explanation. For a second, he had to close his eyes, a wave of dizziness washing over him. He stubbornly tried to keep his focus. It was too risky to drift off now—especially if he had to face the guard.

"Something came up. Bet you don't mind!" Nomura chirped far too brightly.

The assassin slowly opened his eyes again, ignoring the lights around him becoming doubles, their rays slowly circling around their centers like stars. Focus was a battle, and he wasn't winning. He needed a plan—an angle—but every option dissolved before he could grasp it. Various ideas flashed through his mind but left as soon as they came, washed away like debris in the ocean, pushing his balance from left to right.

"You are the best!" the historian thanked the guard. Angor's eyes followed her as she walked back to the car, leaving a confused Draal behind.

"Draal's got the ring," she muttered as she passed Angor, slipping him a sharp glance and opening the door.

The assassin met her eyes, fury seething just beneath the surface. "Enjoy your toy," he said under his breath, venom curling around every syllable.

"I will. Enjoy your talk," she sneered back, rolling her eyes before stepping into the shiny black car and slamming the door shut.

The assassin glared daggers as the car purred to life and drove away, the red lights shrinking until they turned a corner and disappeared from view, leaving him alone with Draal in the night.

Silence returned to the porch, the moist air from earlier rain cold against his skin. The scent of rain lingered—wet oak and damp earth.

Slowly, Angor turned back toward the house—and toward the man still waiting in the doorway.

Draal hadn't moved. His shadow stretched across the porch, reaching for something that wouldn't reach back. In his hand, the ring glinted faintly. His other hand was braced on the doorframe, and his clothes were casual—gray sweatpants, red hoodie, bare feet. His hair was damp, dripping slowly in lazy threads over his brow.

"Hi," Draal said at last, a small, uncertain breath behind the word.

The assassin's eye twitched. The anger inside him flared up, the ocean letting the fire pass through, as if the two elements suddenly coexisted. He had been angry before tonight, but seeing the bigger man with his stupid nose ring, standing there all casual and strong and… The assassin stubbornly kept his mouth shut, glaring fire at the man.

"Well? You comin' in or just gonna glare at me all night?" Draal offered, pointing a thumb toward the entrance. He seemed a bit nervous, the tension in the air visible.

This damned bastard.

Angor's hands clenched the fabric of his hoodie. No real plan formed in his mind, but he didn't need one. All he knew was that he wanted to fight.

For dragging him around like a dog.
For attacking him in the forest.
For being a damned, arrogant liar.

Screw efficiency. If there was going to be a fight, he might as well start it.

He released his arms and stalked forward with a growl, fury in every step as he crossed the stone-paved path, using the last bit of focus he had to walk in a straight line.

"Angor?" Draal said, raising a brow as the assassin stormed toward him.

A few more steps, and Angor reached him—anger boiling over. He grabbed the front of Draal's hoodie, yanking him out of the doorway.

And without warning—he placed his lips on Draal's.

Draal's eyes went wide. His arms dropped as he stared at the assassin, lips parted in shock as the moment crashed into him like thunder against the shore.

The contact hit like a clash—rough and sudden, meant to start a war.
But instead…

His lips felt soft against his. Still. Warm. Holding no threat. No hostility. The fury it had been a second ago—gone.

Time shifted. Slowed.

Rain still dripped from the gutters. Wind slid through the oak trees. The quiet throb of a heart too shocked to beat in rhythm.

The heat of Draal's breath lingered against Angor's cheek. The scent of earth and soap danced around him. His hands—meant to strike—did nothing. Angor was supposed to move. To act. But he didn't. His mind just… stopped.

The raging fire inside him dulled into something softer. A strange heat curled up his spine, wrapped around his ribs like a slow-burning flame. It came without mercy—taming the wild waves of anger into something still and quiet.

He exhaled—and felt his body betray him. His eyes closed. His grip loosened. His chest leaned in, ever so slowly, seeking warmth as he helplessly fell into the waves.

Draal, who had stood frozen, slowly started to relax. Without much thought or needing any answer, he accepted. His eyes fluttered shut at Angor's touch, fingers curling around the assassin's hoodie, pulling him closer. Tilting his head, he parted his lips, deepening the kiss.

Angor followed the motion, letting himself be drawn in. His hand moved of its own accord, placing itself on the bigger man's torso, drawn to the radiating heat. A large, warm hand covered his, holding it in place against Draal's chest. With a deep, longing sigh, Draal pressed against him, the touch sparking through the assassin's skin.

The assassin breathed in, a sudden hunger breaking through as he draped his arms over Draal's neck, keeping him close. Keeping him right there—

Realization struck.

Angor's eyes snapped open. He pulled away from Draal's lips.

His body halted, arms still wrapped around the man's neck, their bodies pressed together like gravity itself had collided them. His lips tingled, warm and damp, the sensation still lingering.

Draal opened his eyes as well, an unreadable look in his warm amber gaze—a nebula of fire, auburn and melted amber. Angor stared into the spectacle, wide-eyed. It was breathtaking. It was… too much.

He needed to get away.

Quickly, he slipped out of Draal's arms, taking a few steps back. His gaze remained locked on the guard's, unable to look away. Draal stood there in dazed confusion, his breaths heavy, chest rising and falling with visible effort.

Angor's heart pounded in his chest. He balled his fists, bit his lip to keep from reacting to the warmth still coiling in his gut. Sparks still surged beneath his skin. His mind was spinning.

This was bad.
This was very bad.

"I… uhm." the assassin stammered, unable to stop the heat rising to his cheeks. He finally managed to yank his eyes away, staring down at the ground. What had he done?

Draal kept quiet for a moment, running a hand through his damp hair. Obviously he was utterly confused, readying himself to go to bed only to unexpectedly get the ring returned and getting kissed full on the mouth. His heart still raced in his chest, disbelieve still in his eyes.

' What… what was that about?' Draal asked, scratching his head, his ears turning a bit red.

Angor tried his very best to think of something to avoid the conversation, because truly, he had no clue what just happened. Straightening his back, he did his very best to put on an angry, menacing scowl when he looked back at the guard, although the redness on his face betrayed him. ' Now, we are even.' he growled with slurred words.

Draal blinked, his eyebrows raised as he lowered his hand. The confusion remained. ' Even?' he breathed.

' Yes.' the assassin quickly nodded, sluggishly pointing a finger at the guard. ' There is no more time for this petty fight. You attacked me. I attacked you. We are – hic- even.'

' You think it is a-' Draal told him in disbelief, but got cut off by the assassin.

' Tomorrow we head for new trollmarket. The mission awaits.' Angor continued, desperately pushing Draal away from the topic. With some forced control he stepped forward, passing by the guard. He tried to ignore the strange power the guard suddenly radiated, entering the house and stalking into the hallway.

Draal turned around, in the absolute dark on what was going on. Closing the door behind him, he followed the assassin into the hallway. ' What happened?'

Taking a silent, deep breath, the assassin halted at the end of the hallway. Pushing away the last of the strange sensation, he slowly gained control. When he turned around, he tried to keep his face neutral, opening his mouth to tell whatever lie he could come up with.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be two Draal's in his vision, turning around each other like a kaleidoscope. Angor shut his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as a sudden wave of nausea rose up in his stomach. Oh… not good.

"By the gods, Angor—what the hell is goin' on with you?" Draal pushed on, becoming agitated as he placed his hands on his sides.

The assassin tried to push the feeling down, but the moment he felt his jaw tense up and water rushing in his mouth, he knew he had to move. Without a word, he turned around and quickly navigated through the swirling hallway towards the kitchen. Miraculously he reached the sink just in time, leaning forward as he hurled.

More then once.

It took a while until the waves of nausea ebbed away, the assassin trying to breath through it, his body heavy as he leaned against the sink. Stupid, human nonsense…

When he felt safe enough that he wouldn't vomit again, he opened the faucet, letting the water run. Slowly, he pushed himself away from the sink, looking pale as he tried to find his balance.

With an annoyed groan, he gave up pretending he was okay. He sank down, flopping onto the kitchen floor, stretching his legs as he resting his back against the kitchen cabinets. It felt like his body had turned into mud, heavy and sluggish.

The kitchen light flickered softly above them, casting a golden hue over the tiles. Angor sat slouched against the cabinet doors, head leaning back, eyes closed. He had an awful taste in his mouth. His breathing had evened out, but his whole body still radiated quiet tension.

Draal crouched down beside him, not too close, but close enough to see the paleness in Angor's face, the sweat clinging to his brow.

"You alright?" he asked gently, although he still looked somewhat irritated.

Angor grunted. "Do I look alright?"

"You look like you just wrestled a tub of glögg and lost."

Silence. The assassin didn't even have the energy to roll his eyes.

Draal sat down beside him, legs crossed, arms resting loosely over his knees. The soft blood red glow of the ring on his finger. He was quiet for a while, just watching the man beside him. He felt confused, many burning questions still not answered, but he doubted Angor would explain in the state he was in.

"Y'know, for a guy so stabby, you sure can't hold your liquor." Draal tried again, voice light.

Angor sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "I've never needed to," Angor muttered. "Didn't… used to feel things. Before."

Draal blinked. "Before what?"

Angor was quiet. His head tilted slightly, eyes half-lidded, voice low and strained.

"Before that damned soul."

His words weren't bitter, just tired. Draal looked at him, his lips a thin line. Angor's honesty had come unexpected, but it's secret did not. It was only one year ago that Angor used to be a soulless weapon and the man mostly still acted like he was. Still, it presence was there, occasionally making it's messy and suppressed appearance.

' It sorta comes with the package.' Draal sadly chuckled, playing with the ring around his finger. ' Makes you act before thinking sometimes, innit?'

The assassin lightly scoffed with a cold, distant smirk. ' Thought I would be in control again, but I guessed wrong apparently.'

Draal looked at him, the sadness still in his eyes. ' You cant control a soul, Angor.'

Angor lowered his hand, resting it on his stomach. He said nothing for a while, his eyes far away. ' Back in the forest. Was that soul thing?'

Draal stayed silent for a second, a small knot forming in his stomach. So it took that destructive little thing a week worth of showing his fangs and drinking himself under the table, but Angor was finally ready to talk about what happened. Sighing deeply, Draal tried to keep the frustration at bay. He knew it took patience. Looking away, he nodded."Yeah… I should've asked first. Should've known better then to just kiss you. Just—somethin' took over, I dunno."

' So that's what it's called?' Angor muttered when looked up at him, his brow raised slightly. ' Kissing. Could've told me sooner.'

Draal frowned as he looked back at the assassin, not amused. "I tried, alright? Every time I opened my mouth, you told me to shut it!"

Angor blinked, the reality dawning in on him. The guard did make a point. ' So it was not an attack? ' he asked.

' No.' Draal shortly answered, frowning deeply, his ears turning red again, crossing his arms as he looked away. ' No it was not.'

' But does that mean...' Angor asked, stopping himself for a moment. He looked away as well, putting his focus on picking on the hem of his black sleeve. ' Gunmar did not attack me either?'

Draal immediately look back, his eyes a bit widened. A hint of anger hid behind his amber eyes when he got reminded of what that monster had done in the prison house. "No," he said, voice low. "That… that aint the same."

Angor didn't look up. His fingers had gone still on the hem of his sleeve, but his shoulders were tense. The memory still affected him, even though he refused to look at it until this night, too tired to push it away.

Draal scooted a little closer, just enough for their shoulders to almost touch. "That bastard hurt you, Angor. Used you like a damn puppet. That ain't the same thing."

He hesitated, then added more gently, "You ain't gotta do this. Not with me. Never did."

The prisoner kept quiet, his dazed tired eyes glancing down at the ground. He had been wrong about Draal. Again. It still baffled his mind that there were people that truly thought the way Draal did. Actually said what they meant.

But Draal had a point. Whatever had happened, the guard was nothing like Gunmar. Or Morgana...

Angor gave the guard a short glance before taking a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, he slid down a bit further. He was too tired to think it through too much. At least he could let his guard down once more. Angor slowly leaned towards his left, resting his head on Draals shoulder. Closing his eyes, he focused on the warmth radiating from the bigger man, giving him something to hold onto through the disorienting waves in his mind. You are a strange one, Draal. Angor muttered.

Draal chuckled, a little gleam in his eyes when he looked down at the man. He let go of the ring before stretching out his legs, putting one over the other. He leaned his head back against the cabinet, not able to wipe the smile off his face. So are you. he sighed.

Silence returned to the kitchen. This time, the silence was a comfortable one as hostility had left to go elsewhere.

Draal absent-mindedly looked at the ceiling, listening to the soft hum of the fridge and the slow breathing of Angor. Theyd probably should go down to the basement and go to bed, but he couldnt find himself to move. He felt wide awake, too aware of the person resting on his shoulder. Too distracted by what had happened at the entrance. It could be seen as a disastrous mess, but strangely enough, he felt happy.

Closing his eyes, he let out a content sigh.

The guard didnt mind the sit like this for a while longer.

And that is the end of this chapter! Man, this one was hard. Writing romance into a story that has all this other things going on is hard. I have spend so much time trying to find a way to keep the plot line going but also focus more on feeling developing because it has to happen somewhere. Not to mention that Draal and Angor both are stubborn. I am still not that fully satisfied, but a well, I had to finish up some day. Hope you enjoyed it! Now I will return to the dungeon once more... sigh.