Rohan cleared his throat. “Even if Eridan’s hindbrain got… fixated on you, can’t you fix it? Are you not supposed to be the greatest mind adept on the planet?”
Idhron’s expression was unreadable. He dropped his gaze and was quiet for a while.
Warrehn nearly growled with impatience.
“Theoretically, it is not impossible,” Idhron said at last. “It will be difficult, but I believe I can block the part of his brain that is unique only to throwbacks.”
“Then do it,” Warrehn snapped.
Idhron gave him a flat look. “Are you seriously suggesting that I modify your brother’s brain without his consent?”
Warrehn scoffed. “Please. As if you haven’t done worse things.”
Although Idhron was still looking steadily at him, his telepathic presence tightened around Eridan’s, to Warrehn’s annoyance. “I have,” he said. “But not to my own apprentice.”
Warrehn didn’t like the possessiveness of that statement.
“You messed with his mind before,” he gritted out.
Idhron’s lips thinned. “Blocking a few memories is not the same as modifying one’s brain. In your ignorance, you are comparing the incomparable. Besides, the point is moot. Due to the extensive protective measures on Eridan’s mind, such invasive modifications can be done only with his explicit permission.”
He glowered at Idhron, but before he could say anything, Eridan finally moved.
Rubbing his face against Idhron’s throat, he mumbled, “Master.”
Warrehn’s stomach twisted. Fucking hell, he was beginning to hate that word. It wasn’t just the word; it was the way Eridan said it.
Idhron’s attention turned fully to Eridan. “Does your head hurt?”
Warrehn’s brows furrowed. While he wouldn’t call Idhron’s tone soft exactly, it was warmer than he’d ever heard it.
“A little,” Eridan said, sounding sleepy and dazed. “It’s better.”
Idhron’s fingers buried in Eridan’s hair and massaged his scalp. “Here?”
Eridan made an affirmative noise, still sounding completely out of it. “I missed you, Master.”
The line of Idhron’s mouth tightened. He said nothing, something almost like frustration flickering in his eyes.
Warrehn exchanged a look with Rohan before clearing his throat. “How are you, Eri?” he said, walking closer and standing behind Idhron so his brother could see him.
Eridan opened his eyes blearily and stared at him, his eyes a little confused. His pupils were still blown, his gaze not quite focused.
“Sometimes I wish you never found me,” Eridan mumbled.
Warrehn flinched, feeling like he’d been stabbed in the gut.
“Or never gave me to him in the first place,” Eridan said, his eyes glazing over. He put his head back on Idhron’s shoulder and sighed, sounding absolutely miserable. “My thaal broke.” He pouted. “Will you make another for me? I want another, Master.”
“I suppose I can.”
“Will you get me another purple one? I know they’re rare, but I want a purple one.”
A sigh. “I will.”
Warrehn couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had never thought Castien fucking Idhron, the Grandmaster of that creepy Order, could be so… indulgent, but he couldn’t think of a different word to describe this.
He had known in an abstract way that Idhron must have been somewhat fond of his brother if he had come alone to get Eridan from his kidnappers, risking his own safety, but Warrehn had never actually seen them interact in normal circumstances. Granted, Eridan’s mental faculties were definitely impaired at the moment, but Idhron’s definitely weren’t. And yet he was sitting there, with Eridan in his lap, putting up with Eridan’s inebriated babbling and indulging his spoiled demands.
Wondering if he was going crazy, Warrehn looked at Rohan, but he could see the same bewilderment on Rohan’s face.
Rohan shrugged.
“Please, Master.”
Warrehn frowned and shifted his gaze back to Eridan.
He found Eridan and Idhron just looking at each other. They seemed to be having a silent conversation between themselves, which only served to irritate Warrehn further.
“No,” Idhron said at last.
“But Master,” Eridan drawled, all huge violet eyes and pouted lips.
Warrehn was honestly surprised Idhron continued to put up with this. He had never thought that man had any patience for someone’s whining.
Instead of snapping at him as Warrehn had half-expected, Idhron took Eridan’s chin, his fingers pressing against his telepathic point.
Eridan trembled, his eyes slipping shut and his lips parting. “Master…”
Warrehn couldn’t see Idhron’s face from that angle, but he could see a muscle pulse in his jaw as it tightened.
“Look at me, Eridan,” Idhron said, his voice quiet but commanding.
When Eridan lifted his eyelashes, Idhron said, “I am going to open our bond, slowly. I will open it only enough to make your hormones settle. You will not be greedy. You will take what I give you and will not ask for more. Is that understood?”
Eridan’s brows furrowed. He nodded eagerly.
Warrehn wished he could look away—this looked uncomfortably intimate—but he couldn’t. He was responsible for his brother, and he didn’t trust Idhron with him, especially when Eridan was in such a vulnerable state.
He stretched his senses, trying to monitor what Idhron was doing, but he could barely sense anything besides the fact that Idhron’s telepathic mark became more interwoven with Eridan’s, wrapping tighter around him, like a giant snake around its victim.