Syryn woke up tangled in the arms of his anti mage lover. He could scarcely believe that it had happened. After how long he had pined for the man, Syryn had finally bedded him. And he found that Rowan was insatiable. The anti mage's excessive libido was fed by his endless reserves of energy and Syryn bore the brunt of Rowan's night long ministrations. The mage wasn't complaining though. He loved every moment of it.

Hickeys trailed down his body like the path of a shooting star that left the marks of its journey on his flesh. It began from Syryn's neck, then peppered into a constellation along his chest. His thighs were also marked by the anti mage who seemed to have taken quite the liking to the silky skin there.

​​

A sleepy kiss at the nape of his neck brought a smile to his face. Rowan's arm was draped over his waist and the anti mage tugged Syryn closer so that their bodies were flush against each other.

"Hungry?" Rowan asked. His voice was scratchy from sleep.

"Very hungry."

Rowan's hand trailed down Syryn's chest and lower till he was caressing the mage's morning wood.

"Ro, food first." Syryn hid his face in the pillow when he recalled how erotic the night had been. Now he could honestly say that he had gotten laid and his favourite position was from the back.

"I'll get us something to eat."

Syryn felt the loss of warmth across his back when the anti mage got up and left the bed. He heard the sound of Rowan shutting the door and that's when Syryn tossed away the blanket that covered him.

"It looks like I got attacked by a damn animal," he said to himself while taking stock of the gifts that Rowan had left him on his skin. On a deeper level, he understood the territorial nature of what the anti mage had done. Rowan wasn't a controlling person but the possessiveness in him was a trait that Syryn was only beginning to see the tail end of.

-----

Syryn had stayed in the bath till he felt his skin pruning. The mage applied a healing cream all over the parts of himself that he could reach. And when he stepped out into the kitchen, the marks on his neck were already cooling.

"You never told me you could cook," Syryn said to the anti mage who was busy in the kitchen. Two pans sizzling with protein and an assortment of mushrooms let off delicious smells that prompted Syryn's salivary glands to overproduce.

"I learnt this time," Rowan answered. "I picked up some new skills that I lacked in our last life."

Rowan filled a delicate white plate - that matched the cup he had used yesterday - with a lot of food. He laid out the plate for Syryn and poured out some fresh juice from a jug that was already on the table.

"I need to clean up first so don't wait for me."

The teen nodded. His mouth was full and that was all that mattered to him at the moment. Rowan was an excellent wife. Well, except for when he ruined Syryn's plans. He still hadn't given up on the plan to have a corpse tree in their compound, and Syryn was certain that Alka would find a way to obtain another seed. He also had to check on Blue and find out just how much the creature ate every month.

If all went according to plan, Blue would be fed some fattened rogue mages, Syryn would have his corpses for the tree and Sigil would be rid of a few criminals every month. But he couldn't let Rowan find out about it.

------

Breakfast had been consumed and Syryn was jobless. Rowan on the other hand had work to do. His presence was required at the home of the minister for defence. There was a meeting between a few of the higher-ups that included the general of Sigil's defence forces, their tacticians and a few of the nation's most powerful personas which included Rowan and Sebastian. It sounded to Syryn like Sigil was preparing for a war of some kind.

He would've shrugged it off and said it was none of his business but after what had happened at Nua, he knew better than to disregard his role in what went on in the world. Rowan possibly played an even bigger role in setting off changes that affected the rest of the world.

According to what little Syryn knew about Nuan policies, the nation had closed off its rifts to prevent exactly what had happened - a surprise assault. The patrols of Nua should have seen the avians coming before they were already upon them. But the events that had taken place led Syryn to believe that the Nuans had been caught by surprise. Just how had the iron claw tribe managed it? So many thousands of avians should have been spotted arriving long before they even touched the borders of bird country.

And since the war involved demons, it was in Syryn's best interest to investigate it further. He decided he would write to Riaku about it. If the avian was not amenable to leaking information about the war then Syryn could only resort to blackmail. Nua would not take it kindly to being blackmailed but they had little choice when Syryn had a backer in Rowan, the anti mage whose ability they feared.

The teen whiled away his time reading a book and occasionally thinking upon the past and the future. Rowan returned right around noon with food from a restaurant that sold the city's best baked goods.

"Do they not ask you questions about where you're staying?" Syryn asked the blond. Rowan's home was in an affluent neighbourhood far flung from the forested farm that he was slinking off to every day.

"Mmm," the anti mage answered. "They don't get any answers from me."

"What if they follow you?"

The anti mage took off his crimson cloak and draped it over a chair. "They won't dare to." It was a stupid question to ask.

"I'm hungry," the anti mage turned to Syryn. Any thought that the teen might have had about Rowan referring to food was tossed out by the way the anti mage was looking at Syryn. He was the food.

Another night was spent deprived of sleep. The anti mage ate his fill from Syryn and only then did they fall asleep. The teen wondered how long Rowan could sustain their current pace of lovemaking. Syryn would realise that it was the least of his problems because when he woke up the next morning, Rowan was at his work desk reading a letter. Specifically, one of Syryn's ill-thought-out letters.