Sunshine in the Dragon's Heart

by Jaime Samms

  Chapter 9

  EMILE REMAINED perfectly still, glad when Sunny didn’t push, instead returning to the kitchen. At least that way, Emile could keep the scales on the back of his hand hidden, and the burning itch of them emerging wouldn’t tip Sunny off if it showed on his face. With Sunny’s back to him, Emile could concentrate on easing the scales back where they belonged—hidden under a veil of magic.

  Halfway between where Emile sat and where Sunny worked, Fernforest settled into a squat, gaze fixed on the door. The dog knew, even if Sunny was remaining willfully ignorant.

  Or was he?

  Talk. And tell him what?

  You know that weird breathing forest thing that just happened? That’s my intended mate watching us from a magical realm. He’s spying on me, trying to work out how to make me go back so he can enslave me to carry a new brood. Brood of what? Oh. Right. Dragons. Did I mention I was a dragon? A sort of gender-fluid dragon princeling. But I ran away from certain… expectations because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life doing what other people tell me to.

  He couldn’t stay here.

  He’d never planned to stay longer than the few days it took him to get his strength back. This new development made him even more certain it was time to go. Hakko was getting bolder. Or more desperate. But either way, remaining so close to the place where he’d crossed was dangerous. If Hakko figured out where the Fold bent over itself enough to allow passage from one world to the other, there was no telling what he might send through after Emile.

  Not to mention he was beginning to think his proximity to that opening was allowing magic to seep through, mix with the native energy, and interfere with his ability to get his inner dragon under control. Every morning he woke with his magic searing gouges through his psyche, and he had to grapple it into submission. He was getting better at it. There were no more spontaneous shifts of extremities from human-shaped to other, at least, but often he remained cocooned in a blanket on the couch, hiding scales or feathers that would prove awkward to explain. The torn pillow had been bad enough, and when Sunny had reprimanded Fernforest for that, Emile had felt bad. Fernforest had given him a cold shoulder for most of two days.

  He’d been forgiven eventually, but at some point he had to figure out what he was going to do next. Going back under the Fold wasn’t an option. The lengths Hakko was apparently willing to go to get him back made that obvious. Emile was beginning to suspect that the strange way his magic was behaving had more to do with Hakko than the human side of the Fold. If he went back, there would be no second chance to run.

  So he had to go forward. But to where? If he didn’t get hold of his wayward magic, he didn’t dare go near more people. He didn’t know for sure if it was just Sunny, or if any contact with humans would make his magic spike in wild and unpredictable ways. Or if that was Hakko’s doing in some way. But if his few brief physical contacts with Sunny were anything to go by he had to be cautious. It was a convenient excuse not to leave this idyllic, safely human-free spot. Well, human-free except for Sunny. But he wasn’t going to look at that impulse too closely.

  He’d never known anyone like this man who glowed like sunshine and made his heart race. Somehow Sunny’s tiny patch of cultivated, tamed ground in the midst of acres of nearly pristine old-growth woods and clear streams had a magic of its own. That magic had Sunny’s touch all over it, and Emile was hopelessly ensnared.

  And how is that any better than the gilded cage Hakko would build around me?

  At home he’d faced relentless pressure to accept both sides of himself. He’d been assured his bipedal form was as strong as his dragon, though at home many of his people only wore skin when they were too tired, too sick, too old, or too much in their heads to carry the weight of their scales. They tried to convince him the Egg-bearer he was destined to be was as virile as the Sire that was to be Hakko’s role. As an Egg-bearer, his softer, scale-and-feather form would be celebrated. And as much as he preferred his hard-scale form, that wasn’t untrue.

  Egg-bearers were protected, coddled, even. He would spend his life shrouded in luxury, given his every possible desire. Except freedom. His need for freedom, for the forests and streams and open spaces, would be forever taken from him and replaced with decadence in a pretty, opulent prison. They’d wanted him to embrace his inner scholar to make up for the fact he’d never be allowed beyond the outer walls of Hakko’s beautiful home. They wanted him tame. Controlled. Content to be their Egg-bearer, then their Hatch-guardian, and to accept his place in the halls of their pretty castle until he was ready to return to the stars as their own guardian had.

  He wasn’t about to give up scale and feather or skin. The magic made both forms his right. Steeped in the magic on the other side of the Fold, his scales made him stronger than most, his skin more beautiful, and the transition between as effortless as a thought. No one had understood his choice to remain in hard scales and feathers as much as he did, and certainly no one understood why he eschewed his soft scales for the harder, heavier form he most preferred.

  Not that it mattered. His choices were his own, and he’d left in an attempt to keep them that way. He hadn’t anticipated the way his magic and the odd, strangely unpredictable magic on this side of the Fold would play havoc with the shift that had always been so effortless.

  “You’re awfully thoughtful.” Sunny stood in front of the couch, holding out what had, over the week, become Emile’s mug. He didn’t know what “My other dog is Chickie” meant, but he liked the golden-eyed image of what was maybe the close-up of a wolf’s face. There was the soul of something powerful and loyal in the drawing that reminded him partly of Fernforest, and partly of the wilder things he’d left behind the Fold.

  With his back resting on one arm of the couch so he could watch Sunny pour and doctor their coffee, Emile had let his feet poke from under his pillow nest. As soon as Emile took his drink, Sunny sat, thigh covering Emile’s toes. The contact, even through Sunny’s shorts, eased some of Emile’s tension.

  Fortunately the hand that had sported a few iridescent orangeish scales on its back just a few minutes earlier now only had an irritating itch to remind him he still wasn’t quite himself. The hot breath of the forest on their heels had distracted his concentration enough that some of the magic Sunny’s touch excited had seeped through. Fernforest had taken Sunny’s focus off Emile just long enough to allow Emile to hide the anomaly under the covers.

  There was no visual sign of the scales or the ridge of tiny feathers that had trailed up the side of his forearm now. The feathers themselves had molted almost as soon as they had appeared, and Emile had managed to secret them into a pocket. He would take them to the bathroom and flush them, with Sunny none the wiser, as soon as he could.

  The thought that he couldn’t tuck them in next to his newly acquired books saddened him, but he felt the time to reveal his true form hadn’t come yet. He would have to deal with the disappointingly small collection of things in favour of keeping Sunny’s help. For now.

  Accepting the offering of coffee, Emile cradled his sore hand against his stomach. He had no shame in admitting the beverage was one of his very favourite discoveries of what the world on this side of the Fold had to offer. A lot of everything else was confusing, but coffee was a definite plus. He sipped, feeling Sunny’s eyes on his face.

  “I can’t understand how you have any skin left inside your mouth,” Sunny mused as he blew across the top of his drink. “It’s like you don’t feel heat at all.”

  Emile could hardly admit that heat meant very little to him. Cold was more problematic, and water…. He shivered. “I guess I’m tough.”

  “Not gonna lie, my friend. It’s a little bit freaky.”

  You don’t know the half of it. Emile just smiled and took another sip.

  For a few minutes, they sat in companionable quiet. This had become Emile’s favourite part of their day—sitting quietly, sipping coffee, and silently agreeing not to mention all the th
ings they weren’t talking about. It should have been awkward but never had been until today. This time, after the phone call Sunny had received—or maybe it was the unsettling brush with magic Sunny would have no explanation for—the silence was troubled. Whatever he was thinking about, Sunny was clearly unhappy. His brightness had been dimmed, and his closeness, which usually excited the magic always running just under Emile’s skin, had a different, more disturbing effect.

  The power Emile drew on to change between forms pulsed, a hard, heavy beat thudding against his chest, not quite in sync with his own heartbeat.

  Sunny swallowed, and Emile’s attention caught on his throat. He noticed the pulse there and felt the magic shift, beat, fall into rhythm with Sunny’s heart. It was odd. For a few moments of utter stillness, it was like two hearts beat in his chest, slightly out of sync, their rhythms uneven and at odds. And then they weren’t. They still beat separately, distinct from one another, but the magic fell into a counterpoint to Emile’s slightly slower beat, complementing it, no longer sizzling and roiling just beyond his control, but relaxed and calm. Still there, the power thrummed with potential, but for the first time since he’d slipped to this side of the Fold, Emile didn’t fear it might spike out of his control.

  Chapter 10

  CALM WASHED over Sunny, not erasing the unease the morning had brought but making it feel less daunting. He closed his eyes and let out a bone-deep sigh. “I’m not sure where to start,” he admitted finally.

  “Start?” Emile’s feet shifted under his thigh, and Sunny glanced at him. Late-morning sunlight caressed his face, lighting his eyes, causing a sparkle in their depths. Sunny was reminded of a pair of sapphire earrings his grandmother had once given his mother for Christmas. She’d given them back, asserting that she’d rather have something more practical and that there was no reason to spend so much money on adornment.

  Sunny closed his eyes and beat back the wave of sadness. His grandmother had replaced the earrings with the Land Rover Sunny now drove. It was one of the last things she had done for their family and had seemed trivial at the time. Sunny wondered now if things might have been different had his parents been driving it instead of the tiny electric car his father preferred.

  “What is it?” Emile leaned forward, touching fingertips to Sunny’s face. The heat of each fingertip was a distinct, searing spot of excited heat, and Sunny turned into the touch without thought.

  “Nothing you can fix,” Sunny said after a moment, words thick with syrupy bottled emotion. A sigh seeped from him. He blinked and looked at Emile again. Sunlight looked so good on him, his pale skin pearlescent where the rays brushed it. The blue of his eyes softened with compassion.

  “I would try,” Emile whispered.

  “Why do I know that’s true?”

  Emile sat forward, setting his mug on the table. “Because it is.” He brushed his lips over Sunny’s cheekbone. Instantly the fire from his fingertips burned deep into Sunny, and a peck on the cheek was nowhere near enough.

  Sunny turned his head, lighting his gaze on Emile’s parted lips. “I need to kiss you,” he whispered.

  Emile’s lips curled up at the corners. “Need?”

  “I think so, yes.” He licked his lips and imagined pulling back, giving Emile room. The thought pained him, and he closed his eyes. “Please.”

  Emile kissed him, at first gentle, no more than a soft touch of his lips to Sunny’s as his long fingers cupped the back of Sunny’s neck and held him in place. Sunny opened to him, willing him to apply more pressure. With a soft sigh, Emile licked delicately, like he was waiting for something.

  “More,” Sunny breathed against his lips.

  Emile’s consent was a soft-whispered “yes.” So Sunny planted his mouth over Emile’s and drove him back against the arm of the couch. He licked along Emile’s lower lip, eliciting a tiny gasp. The sound and taste of him made Sunny’s blood rush. He ran fingertips over Emile’s jaw, trailing them along hard bone under satiny skin, revelling in the heat that spread through him as he touched.

  Emile sighed again, tipped his head enough to allow Sunny to slip fingers back into silky hair.

  And Sunny was lost. Between the kiss and the sensory appeal of Emile’s hair sliding through his fingers, the sparks of heat dancing between his fingertips and Emile’s skin, he couldn’t pull away if he wanted to.

  He didn’t want to.

  EMILE FLUTTERED between Sunny’s brightly lit world of sunshine and his own uncertain control over his magic. If he let Sunny control the kiss, he risked the magic slipping his grip. It roiled just beneath the surface, sparking and fretting, pushing at the bonds he kept on it with every touch of Sunny’s fingers along his jaw, his throat, his nape.

  Just as Emile thought he might lose that small sliver of control over the chaos, Sunny eased off, cupped his cheek, and gazed into him. “Huh.” He puffed out the nonword, then grinned. “I should let you up.”

  The idea of it suddenly panicked Emile, and he shook his head, eyes wide. “Wait.” He placed his hand over Sunny’s on his face. “Stay there.”

  “Okay.” Sunny kissed the very tip of his nose. “Take a breath.”

  “Yes.” Emile let his eyes drift closed as he concentrated on the whirling maelstrom of magic and emotion battering in his chest. The heat was almost too much, and he couldn’t believe Sunny didn’t feel the constant flow of sparks and incandescent light flashing between them at every point their skin connected.

  “Okay?” Sunny asked, worry seeping into his tone.

  “Fine.” Emile heard the tightness in his voice and concentrated until he could once again focus on that dual thump of heart and magic in his chest. Finally, he opened his eyes, managed a small smile. “Been a weird morning.”

  Sunny’s face fell and he sat back. “It has.”

  Immediately Emile’s magic flared, rising in a tidal wave of searing heat and pain through his chest and stabbing bright spikes into his head. He groaned and clutched at Sunny’s arm to ground himself before the agony ate through his last thread of control.

  “I’ve got you.” Sunny stroked a hand over the back of Emile’s neck and leaned close to press their foreheads together. “What is it?”

  “Feel….” Better. I feel better. He leaned into Sunny and let out a heavy breath. “Tired,” he admitted. Slowly the magic regained its rhythm, attuning itself to his heartbeat and to the pulse of Sunny’s blood Emile could feel where his fingers brushed Sunny’s wrist.

  “Then I should let you rest.” Sunny made to move, let him go, maybe was even posing to rise, but Emile stopped him with a tightened grip on that faint pulse that seemed to speak to his magic.

  “Stay.”

  “Okay.” Careful not to let go, Sunny manoeuvred himself so his feet were tucked up at the end of the short couch, with Emile’s legs draped over his lap. He slid an arm under Emile’s back, yanked free a few books that he tossed to the far end of the couch, then pulled at Emile until his cheek rested against Sunny’s shoulder. The couch was too small for them both, but somehow Sunny made it work. Emile melted against him, relief pouring through him as his magic settled to a manageable, if constant, ebb and surge that kept time with their mingled heartbeats.

  “Better?” Sunny asked after a few minutes.

  “Yes.”

  Sunny pressed a kiss to Emile’s hair. “Me too,” he whispered. “Me too.”

  Chapter 11

  EVENTUALLY EMILE asked, as he always did, what Sunny had planned for the rest of the day.

  “Gardening, I hope. If the weather holds out. That wind this morning was weird.”

  Blithely, Emile allowed Sunny to pass what he’d recognised as a magical surge of energy off as weather. The truth was “weird” in ways Sunny wouldn’t believe. “I like watching you garden,” he said instead of challenging the assumption. He wasn’t sure why he said it. Or why it was true. It looked like backbreaking work. A twitch of movement against his hair had Emile imagining Sunny’s sweet smile
.

  “That why you came out today? To help? Or to watch?” There was amusement in his tone.

  “Mmm.” Emile snuggled closer, giving in to the fog of sleepiness. “Looks hard. But rewarding.”

  “It’s satisfying to see the work progress. To see a change from what it looked like when you began a task to what it looks like at the end. I like creating something from nothing more than a bit of dirt and some horse shit. I like doing it with my own two hands.”

  “Yes. Progress. Success you can see. I like that.” Growing green things—life from next to nothing—was a magic all its own. Not one Emile excelled at.

  The idea of nurturing life in his own body was alien to him. He’d had suspicions about Hakko’s determination to have Emile as his Bearer. The night their own Bearer had left them, Bethakke had warned Emile that the other Houses were drawing further from the Corcaird House. That they didn’t trust Hakko. Bethakke had counselled Emile to be wary, ask questions, study their House’s history, and above all, trust his other broodnest companions’ opinions on Hakko.

  When Ananth had suggested Emile leave Hakko’s home immediately after Bethakke’s star-watch ceremony, he had agreed. Crossing the Fold hadn’t been on his agenda that night. He’d planned to be better prepared, at least to have clothing for after he’d taken his skin form.

  Hakko hadn’t afforded him that choice.

  “I take it your last job was less results-oriented,” Sunny asked, reclaiming his attention.

  “My last occupation had no appreciable way to measure success.” What success was there in reading dry, boring tomes of fey histories, House conquests, following the lengthy root systems of intertwined family trees just to keep himself occupied? And when he was called on to do anything more than sit and read? It was to stand at Hakko’s side, the picture of obedient adherence to a social system he abhorred. To proudly hold up the tradition and pretend he was happy to be the branch from which would spring the next generation. Once he accepted the eggs from the other Houses, incubated, and bore them, he would be their only support. The donators of those eggs would disperse back to their lives, and he would be left to rear their young alone.