by Lisa Oliver
“Sy’s not comfortable around people?” Dakar was guessing, and his analytical brain was already trying to work out why someone so attractive and with so much power had an issue being around others.
“Consider it a form of social development disorder, if you want to slap a label on it, Detective. Sy doesn’t handle crowds and is only comfortable around others when he’s fulfilling the duties of his position. He was told repeatedly by his father that the only people who’d want to get close to him would take advantage of him and his power. So, he doesn’t mix at all.”
“Surely, he must have had friends when he was a kid? What happened to them?” Dakar couldn’t imagine growing up totally alone. He was raised as part of a pack, and while he’d long since distanced himself from everyone he grew up with, he still had friends on the force, the occasional hookup when time allowed, and he rang his parents every Sunday.
“Sy is the sole heir of the York empire. His father didn’t consider anyone in this town of suitable social standing to allow in the house on a friends’ basis.”
“The poor kid.” The words fell from Dakar’s lips unintentionally, but Brock’s harsh expression softened despite his gaff.
“I can assure you, Detective, Sy is no child. He is far stronger than his father or grandfather before him. However, I simply wanted to warn you to be patient with him during dinner. Finding out he has a mate isn’t easy for him.”
Brock started to move down the long hallway and Dakar followed. “Do Necromancer’s even have mates? Do they feel the mate pull like shifters do?”
“Sy feels it,” Brock stopped outside of a door, lowering his voice. “He just doesn’t have a clue what it is. Your mate is entirely innocent, Detective which is why I’m asking you to be patient with him.”
After dropping that bombshell, Brock opened the door ushering Dakar into a small dining room. Sy was already sitting at the intimate table set for two. As Sy stood, a hesitant smile on his face, Dakar drunk in every detail. Dressed simply, in comparison to his Necromancer garb, Sy was wearing a light gray shirt that matched his eyes and plain pressed black pants. White sneakers peaked from below the pant cuffs and the only concession to his craft was the skull on his belt buckle. His damp curls framed his head in a casual effect and yet, Dakar could sense his tension and immediately wanted to put the young man at ease.
Young man? He’s seventy. He’s older than me by twenty years. Nevertheless, Dakar stepped forward holding out the gift he’d sweated over. “Sy,” he kept his voice low; the same tone known to have men dropping to their knees at twenty paces. “Thank you so much for your dinner invitation. I brought a small gift; it’s not new; it’s been in my possession for some time. I thought you might like it.”
Sy took the proffered book, his smile widening. “The Legends of Fenrir. Thank you. I’ve heard about this, but never read it. And it’s an early edition,” he added, opening the cover and reading the first page. Carefully shutting the book again, he looked up. “Are you sure you want me to have it? I imagine this is something special to you.”
“It’s a family piece,” Dakar chuckled. “My mother always told me never accept an invitation to dinner unless you took along a gift. I didn’t want to insult your chef by bringing wine or chocolate when I wasn’t sure what we’d be having, and your house is already full of flowers. I thought this might be more suitable.”
“It’s very thoughtful, thank you.” Sy laid the book beside his place setting. “Please, sit down. Perhaps you can read some of your favorite passages to me after we’ve eaten. If you can spare the time, of course.”
“It’ll be my pleasure.” Dakar sat in the chair Brock pulled out for him and rested his elbows on the small table. This close, he could feel his knees brushing against Sy’s under the table and his cock reacted accordingly. He didn’t think Sy could smell the arousal coming off him in waves, but from the wrinkle of his nose, it seemed Brock could.
“I’ll serve dinner,” Brock said formally. “Would you like anything to drink, Detective?”
Dakar quickly scanned the dinner table. There were no wine glasses. “A bottle of your local beer if you have one, or just a glass of water will be fine.”
Brock nodded and disappeared. Dakar noticed he didn’t ask Sy what he wanted. Sy’s tension increased slightly the moment Brock was gone, but seconds later he mirrored Dakar’s pose and managed a smile. “Tell me about yourself, Dakar. I can call you Dakar, can’t I?”
“I’d like that. What would you like to know?”
Chapter Seven
Sy was sure he was coming down with a fever. That was the only rational explanation he had for his clammy skin and the way his heart raced and his cheeks were burning. It was impossible of course. Necromancers never got sick. But that wasn’t his most embarrassing symptom. Oh no. His dick was so hard it ached right through dinner and was showing no signs of going down. It was only Wednesday. This had never happened to Sy before.
“Sy, are you feeling all right?”
Damn, it twitched again. At this rate it’s going to make a mess in my pants. Dakar’s a wolf shifter. He’ll smell it!
“I’m fine,” Sy said out loud, putting on a brave smile. He was a York. He could handle a bit of discomfort. “You have a lovely speaking voice. I could listen to you for hours.” See, I can say nice things.
“It’s been hours.” Dakar laughed and closed the book, putting it down beside him. “It’s very late. I really should think about going.”
“Is it?” Sy looked at his watch. 2:07. “Oh, my goodness, I’m sorry. You have to work in a few hours. Why didn’t you say something?” He jumped to his feet, sure etiquette demanded he do something towards the end of a date although he didn’t know what exactly.
“I didn’t realize it myself.” Standing, Dakar straightened out the creases in his pants, highlighting a healthy bulge in his crotch. “I’ve had a lovely time this evening, thank you.”
Damn, that man’s smile would melt my boots. But wait, he’s leaving. Oh no. I have to say something. “Will you come again tomorrow? Or sorry, that’s probably too soon for you. Can you come again at your convenience?” That should be all right, shouldn’t it?
“Sy, you know we’re mates, don’t you?”
Batwings and swizzle sticks. He’s holding my hand. When did he get so close? Sy looked up and nodded. “Brock told me your wolf thinks I’m his…your mate. Is that why I feel like I’m getting the flu?”
“Hmm.” Dakar looked serious but Sy could see the twinkle in his eyes. “Let me see.”
He put his hand on Sy’s forehead and Sy’s spine tingled. “A little flushed but well within the bounds of normality.” He lowered his hand and cupped it around Sy’s neck, his finger running up and down Sy’s jugular. “Heart rate is running rapid, but it is warm in here.”
Why is my dick responding to his voice? What kind of magic is this? Then Dakar did the unthinkable, at least to Sy. He put his hand right over Sy’s groin. His hard dick! “Oh, my stars, don’t.” Sy pushed Dakar’s hand away. “I’ll embarrass myself.” But it was too late. Sy’s whole body shook as his balls unloaded and a warm stickiness developed in the front of his boxers.
His mouth fell open as Sy’s mortification was complete. He didn’t even have time to appreciate the afterglow. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…I have to go. Come again tomorrow.” Turning sharply, Sy ran out of the room. Brock was lurking in the hallway and he almost ran into him. “See my guest out, please,” he yelled over his shoulder. Sprinting up the stairs, Sy slammed the door of his bedroom behind him, tugging down the zipper of his pants and peeling the soggy boxers away from his groin.
“How could you do that to me?” He yelled at his unrepentant dick that was now all curled up pink and cozy. “I was having a lovely time and you ruined it.”
His dick didn’t answer. No. It was probably already taking a nap after enjoying a post-coital cigarette. “Fucking dick!” Sy fumed as he tore off his clothes and went into the bathroom t
o find a clean wash cloth. “You’ve never done this before,” he scolded as he ran the water until it heated up. Scrubbing furiously at the semen stuck in his curls, he continued to rage. “Seventy years I’ve been alive. Seventy freaking years and not once, not ever, have you misbehaved so badly. I don’t get hard when I’m out. I don’t get hard when I’m with other people. What were you thinking? That is not appropriate dinner behavior.”
Catching sight of his reflection in the mirror, Sy groaned. “He’s going to think I’m a right nut job. The one time, my first ever date, if you can call it that, and you had to go and spoil it.” He flicked his dick and then winced and grabbed his groin because doing that shit really hurt.
“I thought it was a lovely date,” Dakar’s voice came from behind him.
Sy froze, refusing to turn around. “Please tell me I’m hearing things. Please tell me that lovely voice is just a figment of my imagination.” He carefully moved his hands away from his groin, hoping not to draw attention to it.
“Can’t do that, I’m afraid sweetheart, but damn, I’m glad Brock told me where you were.”
I’m naked! Sy clicked his fingers only to find he was dressed in his favorite pajama pants. The soft ones with bunny rabbits on them. “My humiliation is now cast in concrete,” he said burying his face in his hands.
“Hey, hey, don’t be like that, sweetheart. It’s all okay.” Big warm hands pulled his from his face. With no other option Sy buried his face in the chest standing right in front of him. There was a lot of it and it smelled really good. Sy might have nuzzled a bit, but he stopped himself as soon as he realized what he was doing.
“How much do you know about mates, sweetheart?” Dakar asked quietly.
“Well, I know that when a man loves a woman and they get married and….” Sy desperately tried to remember the birds and the bees talk his mother gave him when he was twelve.
Dakar’s chuckle sent that darn shiver down his spine again. “I don’t think any of that applies to us, do you? True mates don’t care about gender and neither one of us are likely to get pregnant.”
“Is that what we are? True mates?” Despite what his butler had said, Sy thought true mates were fairy tales like the ones Brock used to read to him before he learned to do it himself.
Dakar nodded. “Come on, let’s find someplace to sit down. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“But we have, we did, talk I mean.” Sy let Dakar lead him out of the bathroom and over to the bed. Shell-shocked and embarrassed about his behavior, Sy still had time to notice both sides of the bed had been turned down. Brock had never done that before. A slight push on his shoulder and Sy sat down, Dakar sitting heavily beside him. Sy noticed they were still holding hands and was about to ask about it, when Dakar started to speak.
/~/~/~/~/
The last thing Dakar ever expected when he found his mate, was that he’d need to explain the sexual attraction that automatically thrummed between two people fated for each other. Sy’s mini meltdown, which was so darn cute, let him know this was the first time in his whole life, Sy had got hard being around another person. No wonder the poor guy was so confused about his body’s reactions.
“Sy, what’s going on with your cock is perfectly natural. I’ve had a hard dick since I walked into your house.”
“You have? You did?” Dakar was pleased when Sy peeked down at his crotch. He didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about.
“Yes,” he continued. “It’s what happens between mates. The fates give all mated people a way of recognizing when the one they are fated for is near. With shifters, I just have to catch a whiff of your scent and my dick perks up.”
“All the time?” Sy’s eyes were huge. “How do you get anything done? Isn’t it uncomfortable? I couldn’t stop wiggling in my chair while we ate.”
Dakar had to swallow his chuckle. His adorable mate was serious. “Didn’t you get hard-ons when you were a teenager, just for no reason at all? Or wake up sticky from a wet dream?”
“No.” Sy’s frown caused a cute furrow between his eyes. “I know my teenage years were a while ago, but I’m sure something like that would’ve been remembered.”
Making a note to talk to Brock about Necromancer physiology later, Dakar decided his mate needed reassurance more than anything else. “What you’re going through is perfectly normal. It encourages us to get closer to each other, physically. When two people claim each other, it’s done through sex. As a shifter, I will want to bite you, to leave my mark on you. I’m not sure what magic users do to claim someone, but you’ll find yourself instinctively doing it while we’re intimate.”
“I’m not sure I know how.” Sy rubbed his free hand on his pajama pants. “Is there some sort of rule book or etiquette manual for this kind of thing? Step-by-step instructions?”
“It’s instinct, babe.” Dakar gave into the urge he’d had all evening and pulled Sy into his arms. The poor man was trembling, and he wasn’t sure how much of it was nerves and how much of it was arousal. The scent of it was intoxicating. Inhaling deeply, Dakar managed to say with a growl, “you can’t do anything wrong if you follow your instincts.”
“Like this?” Slipping one arm around his neck, Sy half climbed, his mouth hot and clumsy, but fuck he smelled and tasted so good. Using both hands, Dakar cupped Sy’s head, trying to slow him down. Then he squeaked, he actually damn well squeaked and it all had to do with the foreign hand groping his crotch.
“Did I do something wrong?” Sy’s eyes were wide and there was a touch of hysteria in his voice. “You touched me like that.”
“Nothing wrong,” Dakar swallowed hard. “It’s just, your touch; it’s so…so…so makes me want to come. I’m having real trouble not throwing you on the bed, ripping those pj’s off and claiming you right now.”
“Don’t you want to claim me? I thought that was why you followed me to my room.” Seventy-year-old Necromancers who pouted should not look so sexy.
“Sy, babe, have you thought about this?” Sy hadn’t moved his hand and Dakar was hard pushed not do to some hard pushing up against that warmth. “Once claimed you’ll never get hard for anyone else again…”
“I don’t get hard for people now except you, apparently.”
“We could never get divorced, you could never be with anyone else except me…”
“I haven’t been with anyone. Why would I start looking now I’ve found you?” Then Sy stopped and his mouth formed the perfect ‘O’. “It’s you who’s not sure. I bet you’ve been with lots of people. You don’t want to tie yourself down to a social reject like me.”
“Don’t say things like that about yourself….”
But Sy scrambled off him, his gorgeous face a mask. “It’s fine. I understand. I apologize for my appalling behavior. You should go now.” Sy waved his hands and Dakar felt a blast of magic before he found himself sitting in his car.
“Well, damn.” Dakar thumped his head on the steering wheel. “That didn’t go the way I expected.” He looked up at the tall, dark house, imagining his mate curled up on his huge bed. Brock’s words after Sy ran off flittered through his mind. The boy is stronger than he knows, and fragile enough to break with one kiss. Don’t fuck this up. Go slow.
It was those last two words that had Dakar turning the key in the ignition. It was late. He had to be at work in four hours and he needed to sleep. Sy needed time to come to terms with having a full-time mate because there were still a lot of other things Dakar hadn’t mentioned. Like how he’d become like Sy’s shadow and be hellishly protective. How that was going to work when he had such a demanding job still needed to be determined. With one last look at the lit top floor window, Dakar headed home.
Chapter Eight
Sy ignored the familiar light clinking of bone china tea cups, the smell of toast and the sound of Brock opening the curtains. He wasn’t getting up and no one was going to make him. After his embarrassing behavior the night before, he didn’t think he’d ever get out o
f bed again. How could I have been so stupid?
“I know you’re awake and for the three thousand and sixteenth time this year, you are not stupid.”
Flinging back the covers, Sy glared at his unflappable butler. “Do you know what I did? Do you know how badly I behaved? I used magic on him.”
“And it was nicely done. He landed safely in his car. It could have been a lot worse.” Brock handed over his tea cup. Passion Flower. Brock was worried about him.
“He doesn’t want to claim me.” That was the part that upset Sy most of all. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit he wasn’t sure how he would cope with a mate in his life, but the feelings Dakar invoked in him were new, exciting, and addictive. Apart from Brock he’d never been able to converse so freely with another person and Brock didn’t make his cock hard. Sy wanted to see what else happened between fated mates. If last night was any indication, his life promised to get a lot more exciting.
“Did he use those exact words? That he didn’t want to claim you?” Brock deftly took away his cup and handed him his toast.
“No.” Sy munched in silence for a moment, reliving what ranked as his second most embarrassing memory so far. “He was going on about how I wouldn’t be able to, you know,” just thinking about it made him blush. “Be close to anyone else if he claimed me and that he didn’t believe in divorce.” Looking up, Sy met Brock’s quiet gaze. “I didn’t know we were getting married. I thought he was here for dinner.”
Brock sighed and then in a move that shocked Sy almost as much as Dakar did the night before, he sat on the edge of the bed. “I thought your parents told you about mating habits of other paranormal species when you were young.”