A Ghost's Wish [MxM]

26. A King

Oliver remained in the kitchen after Draco had left.  He hunched over the sink and steadied himself.

Not a dream.

Not a hallucination caused by the poison.

His Draco was in his arms just moments ago. It was unbelievable, but each chaotic beat of his heart proved that this was real.

He's alive.

He's unharmed.

And his voice... 

"Gods and hells," Oliver murmured. 

Draco's voice was an orchestra of all that is holy and evil. Miracles and sins. 

Although Draco didn't seem to recognize him, there was a clear attraction between them—a palpable desire. Perhaps he knew Oliver on an instinctual level. 

Oliver covered his face in his hands, still feeling the heat of his blush, and a light laugh slipped from his lips. This time, he won't walk away from Draco. He won't let go so easily. 

It took a long time for Oliver to calm down. He finally sat down on the ground again and closed his eyes until the sun started to rise.

He was never one to spend much time sleeping, so a few hours was enough for him. On the battlefield, it was common to rest your eyes briefly before the next fight began. Even after his rebirth, fatigue was not a major concern.

He rubbed his eyes, shielding them from the bright light streaming in from the windows.  He dressed and started to make tea and rice porridge. It wasn't the ideal meal he wished to provide his guests, but it was enough to fill their bellies before they headed out. 

He hoped that he could convince them to stay in Wynter. He scoffed at his desperation. The great Guardian was pining. 

But then again, he had always pined for Draco. The only difference was that he was now aware of it.

However, his thoughts abruptly stopped. His spoon clattered on the counter as the scent of blood grew like a rolling fog threatening to swallow him whole. He was a ghost who had been figuratively fucked by death, so he could never forget this stench. 

He was instantly alert, grabbed his swords, and stood at the door. His body was tense and ready to defend. However, when he heard a familiar patterned knock, he relaxed. He opened the door and greeted Mark and the others.  They all looked worn out with dark circles under their eyes, obviously fighting and traveling all night.

He put his swords away, brought them in, and indicated they should be quiet. As they filed in, Oliver peeked into the bedroom and saw the two figures sleeping. A small smile tugged at his lips before he closed the door to guard the Rucreans' slumber.

He walked to the kitchen and leaned against the counter while sipping his tea. "What's the situation?"

"We assume the valley we attacked was just a small hideout for the Ravagers.  The man you rescued killed over thirty men, and we took out the couple dozen outside the cave.  We estimated at least another fifty to sixty men inside." Mark started his report. 

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "And this is considered a small hideout?"

Mark nodded. "After sending a signal to Commander Ian and the others, we were able to regroup and launch our attack on the valley and cave.  Our groups eliminated another couple of dozen people, but the cave was unfathomably deep. We will need a more cohesive plan to investigate it."

Oliver had expected it, deep caves within the mountain, letting the Ravagers roam where they please. "What were the conditions of the cave?"

The group was a little confused by the question. "Isn't it just a cave?"