Chapter Text
Sins of the Mother
Chapter Forty-One: Third Blood
Nie Mingjue felt his ears perk up as the whispers - and betting pool - circling a couple tables in the cafeteria he was having his break in kicked into high gear.
Nevarah had been a divine blessing to him and his bonded, as well as their small family of four.
Each of them able to pursue their own interests, freely and truly, for the first time in any of their lives without even a hint of censure or scorn.
Nobody gave a fuck if Wei Wuxian was a shadow kitsune bonded to an air dragel, or that Xichen would rather paint than play diplomat.
Mingjue himself was able to find all the spars and fights he could ever want to sate his bloodlust, and that of his Cursed Blade, Baxia, in the gheyo Pits.
Life was finally starting to smooth out for them…if only they could get Wangji or Wuxian another bonded before one of them exploded - literally - from the sheer amount of magic the pair of them contained. Both together and separately. Of course, because it seemed like they as a family had the worst karma imaginable, not only had the pair’s interest fallen on a single potential object of affection, it seemed as if the submissive had gone from an unknown to one of the most eligible targets of the hunt in a single talent showcase.
Because… of course it did.
It was Wangji and Wuxian.
Before the pair of them actually sat down and talked to each other, it had looked from the outside that while they were each smitten with the other, that the universe itself was conspiring against their match.
Why should finding a bonded or two to add into that madness be any easier?
Focusing his attention, and the sharp edge of his hearing, Nie Mingjue tuned into the conversations that were flying around the table, trying to pinpoint the subject of the sudden furor of betting. Fragments hit him in a scattershot, bits and pieces that made no sense if taken alone but that together at least gave him an idea.
“...Bloodborn…”
“...to third blood.”
“...of Crimson Tide.”
“...courtship spar…”
Being so new to Nevarah, he hadn’t had time to assimilate the culture even with knowledge transfers. As a sanctuary realm created and sustained by dragels, the culture had picked up interesting quirks as a result. Ones that seemed altogether strange to him, with how differently the hidden dragel culture of the Jianghu had grown apart and in total isolation from others of their kind.
The separation of the Merrow was one of those quirks that made both Nie Mingjue and his family look at Nevarah a bit askance.
It wasn’t without purpose or reason, but at the same time baffled the mind.
In his original home, it would’ve been nothing to have a merrow gheyo courting or being courted by a non-merrow. Here? In Nevarah? With the way people were chitter-chattering Mingjue would think that having a merrow gheyo being courted by a non-merrow circle was a scandal worthy of inspiring plays and poems in his former home.
His little brother would’ve been all over the gossip and swooning over the romanticism of it.
Mingjue thought it was patently ridiculous to care so much about other people’s courtships as to devote hours of one’s life into both gathering and spreading gossip, but he’d been told more than once that he lacked the necessary curiosity inherent to enjoying gossiping as a hobby.
Mainly by his brother, but also by others before they’d fled the Jianghu, though no one else ever would’ve been so blunt about it as Huaisang.
Still, he couldn’t deny that the idea of playing spectator to a courtship spar between a member of the elite merrow gheyo forces and a titled fighter from the Pits was an intriguing one.
If only to see for himself what sort of fighters were given prominence in Nevarah - and if he thought they might be worth the effort of seeking out a spar himself.
The practice ring that Mingjue found himself directed to after he’d finished with his training rounds that day was far smaller than the public arenas. That was fine with him. After days of having to play nice with the bureaucracy of getting himself established as a gheyo in Nevarah, a bit of space from the crowds was welcome. It was his final day of observation before his scheduled ranking test match. If he’d been a native Nevarean, he would’ve been expected - forced - to climb the ranks naturally through the course of his training in the Pits, but as an emigre the rules were a little different.
Instead of having to scrap his entire life’s work, instead Mingjue had had to (if he wanted to work as a gheyo instead of relying on his bonded entirely) go through an orientation and observation period. Training ACEs and Jokers had run him through a gauntlet of training on Nevarah and the various careers open to gheyos, including as a ranked fighter in the Pits, then set him up with a training cohort. Training as in, gheyos who for one reason or another needed the support of a training suite either because they didn’t have a family or bonded suite to train and spar with (like Mingjue) or other reasons revolving around punishments for one transgression or another.
Which, with Mingjue being who he was, mainly meant that he’d spent the majority of his training time in the Pits since finishing his gauntlet of information acquisition beating his cohort up oneside and down the other of their assigned training rings.
To amusement on the part of their assigned Joker and frustration from the ACE, but that was what it was.
Tomorrow he had his ranking match and would thereafter be allowed to start either taking bounty hunting jobs and/or fighting in the competition circuit…or maybe both, he wasn’t quite decided. The rumors he’d heard of the Earth champion were interesting. Interesting enough that Mingjue would quite like to test Blood Wraith against his own claws, power, and blade, but he wasn’t certain if the amount of time dedicated to such an endeavor was worth it.
Not with how uncertain things were with Wangji and Wuxian, and likely would be for some time to come.
Though that was no reason not to start making a name for himself within the Pits, even if he had to put it off until the next round of championships.
Despite all the whispers during his break and afterward, it didn’t seem like a real crowd had gathered to watch the courtship bout between Bloodborn and the merrow gheyo, which was all to the better as far as Mingjue was concerned.
Maybe because they considered the outcome a foregone conclusion, but on seeing that neither gheyo - alpha or ACE - was outfitted with a sharp from what Mingjue could see as he settled onto one of the hard benches set up, he wasn’t so sure. Taking on a champion wielding their chosen weapon was one thing. Taking them on with nothing but fangs and claws - theirs or your own - was a different matter altogether. Mingjue wouldn’t say that he was less deadly without Baxia, but…
A weapon helped give a gheyo - or any dragel, really - one step of removal from immediate bloodlust.
There was a stark difference between drawing blood with a weapon than doing it with your own claws and fangs, with the latter being far more primal.
Intimate.
From Mingjue’s seat, it looked like each of the pair had brought a second to play referee - which was probably wise given how they would be fighting their own instincts as much as each other and might need someone to intercede if they let themselves fall too deeply into their own bloodlust.
Then he took in who else was present, and had to fight the instant need to send a message to Xichen and their brothers: as the gheyo alpha, the titled champion, in question apparently was none other than the alpha who’d been courting the powerful submissive that had caught all three of their attentions. Not that Mingjue himself didn’t find the cute little thing eminently fuckable. He did. He’d like nothing more than to have those acres of pretty ivory skin laid bare between himself and Xichen.
But there was, like the difference between fighting with weapons vs. claws, a world of space in between being willing to flirt, court, and even bond with someone versus a being that called out to your very soul.
And Stiles Gajos-Stilinski had done just that to both Mingjue’s bonded as well as Wangji and Wuxian, for all that they hadn’t done more than send a token since, the submissive absent from the Hunt after his demonstration.
Seeing the corresponding claim marks on three necks down by the ring, and the aquamarine token hanging from the merrow’s necklace, Mingjue now knew exactly what the pretty powerful creature had been up to, though he noted that his wolf was missing.
With Mingjue’s interest well-and-thoroughly piqued, he settled in to watch the bout between the gheyo alpha and what he was starting to think might be an ACE given how powerfully the gorgeous creature hit back against the alpha that was almost as massive as Mingjue himself.
Hah.
And Huaisang always said that Mingjue had no nose for information gathering.
Showed what he knew, the nosy little brat.
“Another one?” Ariki whispered low into Stiles’s ear, intentionally pitching his voice register under what most gheyo would be able to overhear.
That Taran and Mesmyr were currently trading vicious blows - but hadn’t even drawn first blood yet, with how they’re testing each other to his eyes - and there were a good dozen random observers talking amongst themselves helped. His golden eyes flicked over to the big bastard of a gheyo - Ariki wouldn’t be putting any bets on his rank without having met him, but that male nearly dripped dominance - who’d slid onto a bench one tier up from the actual floor of the sparring ring to watch Taran and Mesmyr tear into each other.
A big bastard of a gheyo who, unlike everyone else who’d shown up to watch the courtship spar, was spending as much time eyeing Stiles as he was the match going on in the ring.
Stiles hissed, digging the tips of his fingers - but no claws, so he wasn’t really upset - into the arm that Ariki had flung across his chest as the sub leaned back into the beta’s chest to watch his alpha and intended-ACE dance around each other. In part because - beta snuggles! But also because without Teddy there, Ariki was entrusted with both protecting Stiles while Taran was fighting but also with keeping Stiles from trying to interfere if his instincts got too wound up.
Teddy being a pareya without a gheyo parent, he wasn’t all that comfortable visiting the Pits as the level of bloodlust present in the very atmosphere could be unsettling to a dragel who wasn’t used to it. Add in Teddy’s better-than-average sense of smell due to his werewolf heritage, and he’d be one bonded who likely would avoid the Pits unless actively supporting one of their own during a fight. He would venture into the Pits if he had to, but it would never be high on his list of favorite or preferred activities.
Which meant, of course, that as soon as Stiles was in a new part of Nevarah and a bonded or two down, someone who made all of Stiles’s instincts perk right up appeared out of nowhere.
In this case, the gheyo that Ariki had pinpointed in almost no time, with how fluent in Stiles the beta was growing.
“Look at him and tell me you don’t wanna climb him like a tree.” Stiles murmured right back, also careful to keep from being overheard - by both the gheyo in question and his gheyo who were at least done playing around from the low growl Taran just gave as a slash of razor-sharp merrow claws flashed along his blocking arm, claiming first blood. No need to rile them up any further than they already would be by the proving spar they were engaged in. And as his liking for pretty had already put him on the backfoot once, he wasn’t about to move on another potential courtship - no matter how tempting - without more than just liking the gheyo’s muscles or wanting to play with his long fall of chocolatey hair held up in a high ponytail.
Stiles nudged his perception away from passive information gathering and into actively taking stock of the fuckable gheyo, he got back a sense of interest towards the spar in general but also him in particular.
Which just made him want to blush, especially when the fuckable gheyo tilted his head a little towards Stiles and away from the fight with a smirk that he didn’t know if he wanted to claw it or kiss it off of him.
Cocky gheyo bastard.
Stiles sniffed, pointedly turning his gaze towards his gheyo and blocking the random bit of wank-bait out of his peripheral vision.
With excellent timing, as it turned out, as as Stiles turned his head, Taran and Mesmyr hit each other with a unison-strike, his alpha claiming his own first-blood (which was excellent, as it meant their circle wouldn’t be dealing with a pouty, upset alpha in need of soothing) while Mesmyr took his second.
Stiles purred in appreciation, settling back against Ariki and nibbling at his lower lip as his low-burning want started to kindle higher at the sight the pair made.
Deadly, dangerous, beautiful gheyo.
And soon, just like the gorgeous alpha holding his own against a true elite warrior of the merrow, about to be all his.
Taranis couldn’t shake off the suspicion that by allowing claws over sharps that he’d played right into Mesmyr’s claws as if the beautiful ACE was this effective with no weapon but the ones granted by dint of being dragel, he hesitated to think of how lethal he must be with a sharp in hand or magic in play.
Not that he could blame the ACE for setting up their back-and-forth to give himself the advantage, if anything it was a delightful insight to just how vicious Mesmyr would be as the circle’s sword.
He was Bloodborn, the uncrowned champion of the Nameless, trained by some of the deadliest fighters in Nevarah - and even so, he struggled in pure combat without magic or weapons against his submissive’s chosen ACE. It made him want to set up a fight between Mesmyr and one of the blood titles, if only to see what Mesmyr was really capable of in a spar. Not Zandian. He didn’t want one or the other or even both to die, but he would like to see what the member of Crimson Tide could do when instincts weren’t in play. As a courted ACE, there would be a tiny voice in the back of his mind keeping him from going for the kill unless he had a genuine problem with Taran strictly from Taran’s bond to Mesmyr’s open soulbond.
Causing true harm, let alone lethal damage, to Taranis would hurt Stiles too deeply for Mesmyr’s instincts to truly allow him to lose himself entirely into their match.
Shame.
Taran would’ve enjoyed that fight, had circumstances not conspired against it.
On the plus side, if Mesmyr was the quality of ACE that Stiles’s soul was drawn to, that was good for Zandian, as even among elite gheyos finding a creature as lethal as Mesmyr was rare.
On the down side, Mesmyr was a merrow ACE, and with Zandian’s issues with merrow, Taranis couldn’t predict which way his friend would react once he found out that Stiles’s first choice of ACE was a member of Crimson Tide.
Arielle-bless whichever ACE might wind up in the middle of Zan and Mesmyr if his friend chose to pursue Stiles regardless of his pretty, lethal, highly problematic for Zandian ACE. They’d need an unbreakable will and a high tolerance for sorting out bullshit to balance out the two of them. (Taran couldn’t admit, even to himself let alone Stiles, why Zan was constantly on his mind when it came to thinking about the potential of Stiles having three suites.)
Almost as if Mesmyr could sense that Taran’s attention had wandered against his will to thinking about a gorgeous example of a flame-head, Mesmyr caught Taranis’s arm on the next strike rather than use an arm-block, and dug in his claws to the side of his wrist, a vicious, glittering look of pleasure in his indigo eyes.
“Third blood, alpha.” His smirk was all teeth as he slowly let go of the larger dragel’s arm. “I win.”
Mesmyr was mildly disappointed that the alpha was blatantly unsettled in his instincts. Fighting him when he wasn’t in top form wasn’t against the purpose of a courtship spar, as even with being unsettled the alpha had managed to blood him which rarely happened outside of spars with his family. He could accept such an alpha, who clearly adored their shared submissive and wasn’t afraid to get his claws dirty, as the leader of his circle.
Whether he’d accept his authority over gheyo matters would have to wait. Both for additional spars and for the alpha to get his instincts sorted out. He’d take him on, see what happened, but until Taranis Maruke proved himself as a gheyo beyond a shadow of a doubt, Mesmyr would stay prepared to have to fight him on gheyo matters until he could grant Bloodborn the unhesitating trust that his rank tended to expect from at least the gheyos of his circle.
That was the trade-off for getting involved with landwalkers he supposed.
No sooner had the pair disengaged, Maruke stepping back with a conceding tilt of his head, than an armful of lithe submissive had rammed into Mesmyr’s side, Stiles not content to wait a moment longer to reward the winner.
His instincts were purring with satisfaction. His chosen ACE, his soulbond, was fierce. Was vicious. He held his alpha to a single-strike, taking the match three-to-one, and proving to Stiles’s demanding nature that his soul had chosen well and rightly for Stiles.
It was night-and-day compared to when Taran came to claim him, when Derek allowed Taranis to make his claim without a fight.
Where then Stiles’s nature had demanded that he face off with Taran using his own fangs and claws, not content until Taran bested him and he’d gotten his scar onto his intended alpha, with his ACE - his first ACE - Mesmyr had proven himself thoroughly within the parameters of his courting match.
Stiles knew how dangerous his alpha was. Knew it down into his blood and bone and soul. So for Mesmyr to handily prove himself at least equal if not more lethal than Taran…it didn’t just speak to his instincts, it roared at them.
As if obeying a silent signal, Ariki let loose of Stiles the same moment that Taranis stepped back away from Mesmyr, conceding the spar to the ACE, and then Stiles was gone, darting over to fling himself into the ACE’s arms.
Without hesitation, Mesmyr’s arms came up and caught Stiles around his hip and thigh, steadying the ferros submissive as he nipped his way up a lean indigo-skinned neck, arms firm around deceptively slender shoulders. To the ignorant eye, the merrow ACE looked like he might blow away in a strong breeze. To anyone who knew who and what they were looking at - or Stiles, who was copping one hell of a feel of muscle and strong bones hidden under concealing tailoring - Mesmyr was lean like a young bamboo stalk: slender and flexible, but could bend and take significant pressure before snapping back and punishing whatever attempted to break it.
Mesmyr shifted his armful of Stiles and then shot a questioning glance at Maruke even as Stiles whined and did his best to shatter the ACE’s considerable control.
The alpha sighed and gave a little roll of his eyes as the beta, Ariki, came and hauled him off towards the medic, giving an almost-hidden handsign.
A moment later, both ACE and submissive were gone, disappeared in a splash of water from their avid audience and seeking out privacy for the kiss - for the bond - that they’d been denying for the previous near-torturous hours.
Stiles had no more noticed the portal clearing and the feel of the beach house wards surrounding them than he had the very breath stolen from his lungs, Mesmyr at last giving in and giving him the kiss - their first kiss - that he’d been quickly becoming desperate for.
It lasted forever and also not long enough, the taste and feel of Mesmyr, of his ACE, almost hypnotic in its seduction.
More than enough so that Stiles lost track of everything that wasn’t the ACE who held him as if he was weightless, moving him through the beach house and seeking out the merrow-aligned resting room that Teddy had set up.
A second kiss followed the first, then a third.
Then Stiles couldn’t think about anything as silly as counting, when he was being taken over, like a riptide stealing him out to sea, under the lips and fangs and cock of his ACE.
Shift-twist-CLICK.
His soulbond.
His Mesmyr.
Across the city, a message orb chimed softly in the ear of someone who had a vested interest in the antics of the burgeoning Gajos-Maruke Circle.
“The cute sub chose his first ACE. Most likely bonding-in even as we speak.”
“Who?”
“Mesmyr of Crimson Tide.”
“Fuck.”