Spellbound by Marcus Atley Read Free Book Online Page B

urge to yell at Elion to hurry up. When the door opened, Elion looked no better off than Stavros felt. His eyes were heavy and his shoulders slumped.
    He gave Stavros an irritated grunt that he figured was a sign for him to walk. Rather than going back to the living room, Stavros turned into his room and didn’t give the brat time to whine or complain before he threw himself into bed. He waited for Elion’s hesitation, but it never came, and Stavros fell back into an easy sleep with the sound of Elion’s breathing at his back.
     
    Chapter 6
    “Could you not?” Stavros growled. Elion stopped tapping his pen against his desk and sighed.
    “Is there anything that doesn’t annoy you?”
    “Yes, peace and quiet. Get up; I need to talk to Mikhail.”
    Elion remained at his desk. He folded his fingers behind his head and he leaned back casually.
    “Are you deaf?”              
    “I’m not sure. Did I miss you saying please or did you just neglect to speak civilly as usual?”
    Stavros’ fists clenched and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Get up or I’ll get you up.”
    “Yea, how about no.”
    Elion’s father had always taught him to pick his battles wisely. In his home realm he had begun warrior training at seven years of age, like most of the children that were selected for that path. They were taught patience, skill, and how to keep their wits in the face of an enemy. They were taught when to fight and when to retreat with dignity. They were taught that some enemies were not to be fought alone, and that didn’t make them weak, it made them smart. As he glared back at the cambion ready to rip his throat out, he realized that he had just tossed out every lesson.
    Stavros closed the space between them with a long stride and clutched Elion’s arm. No matter how hard he pulled, Elion knew it wasn’t coming free.
    “You’re acting like a child. Get up,” he snapped.
    “And you’re acting like an asshole, as usual. Say please,” Elion said, attempting once more to pull his arm free.
    “How old are you, brat? Get up!”
    “How old are you ? I’m not moving until you say please!”
    Stavros narrowed his eyes and Elion taunted him with a smirk. “Elion.”
    “Yea?”
    “You have two seconds to get up or-“
    “Or what?” Elion interrupted. “What’re you going to do? Pick me up and carry me out? I dare you to try.”
    When Stavros lunged forward Elion gasped and threw up his hand defensively. He could feel the thrum of energy forming in the palm that made contact with Stavros’ bicep and made no attempt to stop it.
    Stavros scrambled back a step, clutching his arm tightly. “Did you just burn me?” he bellowed.
    “I told you to let go.” Elion shrugged, stuffing his hand back in his pocket.
    “I should feed you your own heart!” Stavros roared. His large hands were reaching out for the elf once more when the door was thrown open. Elion’s smirk fell and Stavros whipped around with a low rumble in his throat.
    Mikhail stood in the doorway, his bushy brows stretched upwards and his lips pressed into a thin line. Stavros’ hands dropped to his side and his chin dropped slightly.
    “Is there a problem?” Mikhail asked coolly.
    “No, sir. Stavros and I were just having a chat,” Elion lied. Mikhail smirked for only a second before he composed himself again and nodded.
    In his periphery, Elion could see Stavros’ glare turn curious. Even a fool would have known what was going on a minute prior, but he continued smiling as bright as the morning sun. It may have worked on Mikhail, but Stavros hated the sun.
    Mikhail stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind him. He sat on the edge of Stavros’ desk, his arms folded over his chest and the sleeves of his red robe bunched up to reveal scars and powerful ancient designs tattooed on his flesh. Elion sat a little straighter, his smile fading as Mikhail stared between he and Stavros.
    “How was your night?” Mikhail finally