by Jaime Samms
They walked—Emile’s hand still firmly clasped in Sunny’s—directly through the centre of the clearing. The place was infused with old and stable magic of a kind that his dragon knew well enough to respect. If it didn’t exactly calm the dragon, it at least had it sitting back, behaving, for which Emile was grateful.
“Trees,” Emile said, thinking out loud that the magic felt so stable because it was stable. As stable as, say, an ancient willow anchored in fertile soil on the edge of an excitable brook.
“Trees?” Sunny glanced at him, then at their surroundings.
“They calm me,” Emile said.
They calmed the dragon. The magic under their feet was the willow, he was sure of it. If its dryad wasn’t asleep—and he was fairly certain now that it wasn’t—then it would be extremely powerful, given the age of the tree itself. That would explain the liveliness of the water sprites and the appearance of a dryad in the flesh. So to speak. The pine nymph he’d seen was about as corporeal as they ever got, in his experience. And he hadn’t expected to see anything like it on this side of the Fold.
“Me too,” Sunny said and his expression lifted. Some of his good cheer returned, if not the lethargy. “Let’s go find out who’s poking around under ours, shall we?”
Ours. Emile glanced at him, but if Sunny had said it on purpose, he wasn’t admitting it. He was once more focused on the trees as they stepped under the first branches, following the narrow path that would lead back to the house.
Chapter 14
WHATEVER HAD so wildly excited his dog, Sunny saw nothing as they strolled back to the house. The feeling of being watched, though, that wasn’t his imagination. He didn’t think it was a person. It didn’t feel threatening, but it was definitely there. And whatever was watching them didn’t bother Ferny.
At the bridge, he stopped to look back the way they had come. The forest made only the regular forest noises. Sunlight filtered down through the aspen and birch leaves, just as it should, leaving gold-streaked motes of dust in its wake. A light breeze made the aspen leaves dance delicately.
But someone had been on his property. Whoever it was had ignored his calls. Sure, it might have been someone innocently following a path, walking their dog or enjoying the summer day. It didn’t matter. It was his land, and what if he wanted to, say, walk around on it naked? He shot a glance at Emile.
“You seem unhappy.” Emile pulled his hand free of Sunny’s. “Perhaps we should not have—”
“That is not what I’m upset about,” Sunny insisted.
“Then what?”
“What if whoever was wandering on my land saw us?”
“This is a problem?”
“It’s a problem because it’s our business. It’s my space, and no one else should be on it.”
“You didn’t seem to mind my being here,” Emile pointed out, taking a step back. “Was I wrong about that?”
“No. Of course not. You’re different.” Though he still had no idea what about Emile was different. He didn’t want to examine that too closely because Daisy would have something to say about him letting his better judgement be overruled by some undefined feeling he couldn’t explain.
But his instincts were right this time. Daisy would love Emile. Wouldn’t she?
“Sunny?” Emile squeezed his shoulder, and Sunny blinked at him.
The look of concern on Emile’s face hinted that it might not have been the first time Emile had said his name. “Sorry.” He swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat and turned away from the woods.
Emile was different. He wasn’t after anything of Sunny’s. Look around. Sunny didn’t have anything Emile—or anyone else—could possibly want. A tiny house in the middle of nowhere. A crazy-sweet dog and a whole lot of trees. And Emile showed no signs of leaving any time soon, and that, weirdly, was perfectly fine with Sunny.
“Let’s get back.” He took Emile’s hand. “Are you hungry? I never did make us anything to eat.”
EMILE FOLLOWED Sunny up the yard to the house in silence. Whatever was on Sunny’s mind, it was best to let him work through it. No rocking his precarious boat. Especially not since his dragon’s lethargy was already wearing off. Even a good orgasm, it seemed, wasn’t enough to withstand whatever it was this place did to his magic.
He had a few ideas about all the things they hadn’t quite seen out there. He’d come through the Fold when there was still a bit of snow in the shadiest parts of the forest. Now it was full summer, and he had to wonder. He felt more magic in the air than he had when he’d first arrived. Was that because of the season’s change?
Warmer weather brought more of the fey, more of the delicate creatures out at home, and that was often enough to make the world feel like a more magical place. Maybe it was the same here.
Or maybe his own presence or his disturbance of the Fold had awakened something latent in the world, like the willow dryad. Maybe the unrest of his repressed dragon stirred up other uneasy power in the forest around him.
He didn’t want to think too hard about a third option—that Hakko was somehow responsible for the creatures they had sensed, that Fernforest had apparently witnessed, but that they hadn’t quite seen. If Hakko could send something through the Fold to hunt Emile down, something capable of besting a dragon, Sunny and everything he loved would be in danger. Emile wanted to believe Hakko would never risk the exposure of so much to humans who wouldn’t understand, but then, he hadn’t expected Hakko’s resistance to letting Emile leave their home the last time either.
If it hadn’t been for Ananth stepping to his defence after the star-watch ceremony and their more rational argument for letting Emile mourn their Bearer in his own way, Hakko would still hold the keys to Emile’s freedom. Ananth had pressed Hakko to let them both have the freedom to leave the broodnest for a time, to shake off the sadness. The argument had eventually swayed Hakko, as it must with the entire House and so many members of the smaller Enclaves they were responsible for listening to the disagreement.
Once free of the city, Ananth had instructed Emile to meet them on the bluff above the city before Autumntide, issued their cryptic warning, then flown off. He regretted fooling Ananth and slipping away to cross the Fold without warning them he was leaving, but he hadn’t dared share his plan with anyone. And, he reasoned, he likely would never see them again anyway, so if they were angry, it was unfortunate, but he’d been willing to pay that price for his liberty.
Back inside the house, Sunny was quiet a long time, face troubled as he puttered at the kitchen counter.
“Do you need help?” Emile finally asked. He was accustomed to sitting in his nest of cushions and books watching while Sunny cooked, but there was no reason for that any longer. He wasn’t ill. He had his strength back. It was more than time for him to pull some of his own weight. He was more than a house guest to be waited on, and after their time under the willow, they had a connection they hadn’t had before.
“I’m fine.” Sunny’s tone was flat. He didn’t turn to face Emile but continued working. There was a substantial pile of sliced cheese on the cutting board next to the dwindling block.
Emil expected to feel jealousy over Sunny’s obvious and sudden preoccupation. Instead he wished he could do something to bring back the lazy rapport they’d shared under the willow. He wanted to see Sunny’s smile make a reappearance. He wanted to feel his magic again.
Chapter 15
THIS ISN’T rational. So someone walked across my land. They didn’t hurt anything. He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling. It felt like anger. But he suspected it was something else. Something deeper. He glanced at Emile, who was watching him closely. “What?”
“I want to help.”
It was hard to tell if Emile meant help with the food or help with whatever was clearly bothering Sunny.
At his feet, Fernforest whined, a sound that emanated from deep in his chest.
“Sorry, buddy.” Kneeling, Sunny cupped the dog’s face, made kissy
noises at him, and ruffled his fur until Fernforest touched noses with him. “I shouldn’t let it get to me, right? It’s a forest. Things live there.” He tried to smile, but no matter how rational an explanation he tried in his head, he just couldn’t make himself believe whatever they had just missed seeing out there was all that benign. And if it was just another person, well. He’d already let Emile into his life and nothing terrible had happened, so why was this such a big deal?
Closing his eyes, Sunny leaned close and breathed in the scent of his dog’s fur, pressed his cheek to Fernforest’s neck. “You are so much better company than other people, I swear.”
The subtle sounds of bare feet hitting the floor and padding across the room to him reminded Sunny he wasn’t alone with his dog. Part of him wanted to kick Emile out before he got any more attached. Before Emile revealed some unforeseen agenda to prove Sunny was just a means to an end.
Part of him wanted those few, sweet moments under the willow tree back.
Emile brushed long fingers over the top of Sunny’s hair as he passed, but he said nothing. He picked up the cutting board with the bread and cheese, carried it to the stove, and set it down. As Sunny knelt next to the dog, Emile frowned at the appliance. He ran his fingers in circles over his chin as he contemplated, then reached to turn a knob.
Blue flames sprang up through the iron grate on a front burner, and Emile yelped, jumping back, nearly knocking the cutting board to the floor. Only impossibly fast reflexes caught it before the food went flying.
“Well, that isn’t right,” Emile muttered. He tipped his head to one side, considering the flames, a delicate frown wrinkling his forehead. Without regard for the danger, he moved to turn the knob again.
“Hey!” Sunny sprang up, grabbing his elbow. “Careful!”
“I’m sorry!” Emile took a step away from him. “What did I do?”
“Just let me—” Sunny clamped down on his ire. “Let me turn that down before you set your hair on fire or something.” He did that, then fetched margarine from the fridge. “You want to help, you can butter the bread.” He passed the tub to Emile and pointed to the top kitchen drawer. “Knives in there.”
Emile took the margarine, fetched a knife, then leaned a hip on the counter, arms crossed, the margarine tub in one hand still, the butter knife in the other. “I agree that your dog is very good company,” Emile said, tone so neutral it made Sunny’s chest hurt.
He hadn’t said that to imply anything to Emile. He’d sort of forgotten the other man was there, so focused was he on his dog and the unsettled feeling in his own gut. “Emile—”
Emile held up a hand. “I’ll ask this once. I know I landed in your lap and you felt you had no choice but to help me, and I feel bad about that. If you want me to leave, I will. First thing in the morning, I will move on. All you have to do is say.”
“No. That isn’t what I want. I didn’t mean you when I said that. I just meant—” He sighed but made a conscious effort not to offload his paranoia on Emile. “Mom always told me I spent too much time alone,” he said, focusing his attention on lining up the slices of cheese. “She worried I wouldn’t make friends when I was a kid, then that I would never find a boyfriend when I got older.” He shrugged. “I never really thought much about it. I didn’t want or not want friends. I was perfectly happy by myself. Daisy and I always got along well. I liked hanging out with her. I never really thought about it beyond that.”
“Sunny.” The click of stainless steel on the countertop alerted Sunny to the fact he’d closed his eyes. He’d been looking so far inside himself and his memories, he hadn’t even noticed.
The heat, when Emile touched his shoulder, was no less than it had been that afternoon, despite Sunny’s tumultuous emotions.
Heaving in a breath, Sunny plunged on. “I was happy with my small life. My people. Daisy. Her assistant, Bobby, who practically lives in her back pocket. Mom and Da—” A physical pain gripped his throat, as it always did when he tried to talk about his parents. He tried to swallow around it, but that didn’t ease it any.
“Sunny.” This time Emile stepped right into his personal space and wrapped Sunny in his arms. “You don’t have to say anything else.”
Only somehow Emile’s embrace—maybe not having to look him in the face, maybe the fact Emile couldn’t see his—made talking easier.
“Bobby was great for Daisy when they died. She had him to help her do the work, sure. But they’re more than that to each other. And he was her rock. She didn’t need me to get through it like I needed her.” He leaned a little more of his weight on Emile, who tightened his grip.
His arms were strong, stronger than Sunny expected given his recent convalescence, but it seemed he was feeling better by the moment. He held Sunny, his chin resting lightly on the top of Sunny’s head, his body a firm support.
“I spent most of my time with Mom in the greenhouses, collecting data from the plants, managing the other staff there. We were a good team. When I had to go back and work, and she wasn’t there… and then Daisy was always holed up in her office with Bobby. I know she was doing what she had to do to get through it and still keep the company running, but it hurt. I didn’t have anyone like that. I couldn’t go in and tend the plants Mom had worked with, always expecting to see her, talk to her, and instead having all those eyes on me, feeling sorry for me. It was too much.”
He gulped and once more closed his eyes, taking some time to breathe in Emile’s heated scent of spice and spruce and sun-warmed earth. The closeness calmed him, and he went on.
“A while after Mom and Dad died, when the company was still reorganising, I told Daisy I had to leave for a while. She wasn’t happy about it, but she needed someone running the nurseries who was focused. I tried, but I was a mess. So I left. I packed everything up, and after a month of not hearing from me, she stopped by my apartment. I was sleeping on the floor in the middle of piles of boxes. I wanted to go but had no place to run to.
“It was Daisy who actually convinced me to look for something to buy that had space to garden. She hoped getting back to the plants someplace that didn’t always remind me of Mom might help.”
Emile rubbed his back and pulled him in tighter. “It is hard to lose the one who created you.”
“Yeah.” Sunny sniffed and steeled himself enough to pull free of Emile’s embrace and go back to making the sandwiches. He set the pan on the burner and focused on it. “Anyway, when she realised I really was going, that I’d found this place, she hired a company to finish packing up all my shit, move it out here, and set up the house.” He swiped a hand over his face. “You want to butter that?”
Emile glanced to the bread he pointed at. “Of course.” He did as asked without speaking further, spreading an air of serenity that enticed Sunny into continuing despite the pain of remembering how lost he’d been.
“I was mad at first. Her letting people dig into all my stuff. But it was just stuff, you know? Books, dishes, linens. They didn’t move the important things. The pictures or the gardening tools or anything really personal. And once I saw the place in person, even when it was still empty, I knew this was my home. This was where I belonged. Daisy didn’t really get it. She doesn’t like it being so far away, but she was made for that company, to run it. She’s better at it than the folks were, and she loves it. She’s in her element, and she has Bobby.
“Dad would have been so proud of her.” He sniffled again, causing Emile to glance over at him. “And anyway,” Sunny let out an enormous sigh. “Everything went tits-up after Mom and Dad died. I just wanted some peace, and now there are strangers in my woods, and I don’t want creepers on my land. There’s nothing here for them anyway.” He snorted. “Unless someone wants my trees.”
“You have some wonderful trees,” Emile murmured as he handed over a slice of bread, buttered on one side.
Sunny placed it into the pan he’d set on the burner. As he spoke, he concentrated on laying out slices of cheese to cover
the bread.
“I worked there because I loved working with my family. With Mom especially. Then she was gone, and it killed me to go there every day knowing she was never coming back. I was an asshole about it. It was poisoning my relationship with Daisy, because I wasn’t pulling my weight. It got easier when I stopped going in every day. I still miss them, but at least out here, I have peace and quiet.”
“Until I came along.”
“But I love you being here,” Sunny blurted, the words out of his mouth before he had time to think about holding them back. “I wake up in the morning and there you are, sleeping in your little nest. Ferny loves you.” He cast a fond look at the dog, who had one leg straight up in the air and his head down, lapping happily at his own ball sac.
Fernforest stopped what he was doing to look up at them. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, and he grinned.
“Seriously?” Sunny asked.
Emile chuckled. “Trust me, you’d lick your own balls, too, if you could.”
Sunny chuckled because the image of Emile twisting to reach his ball sac was funny. “You sound pretty sure about that.”
Emile made a noncommittal grunt and turned all his attention to the bread and butter. The pink staining his cheeks was adorable.
ARE YOU insane, Emikku? Yes. Yes I am. Flame’s sake. Licking your balls? He gave himself a mental shrug. It wasn’t like he was the only dragon in existence who engaged in a bit of self-gratification just because they could. Dragons were hedonistic that way, which was one of the reasons he liked the form so much. He could indulge in his emotional side far more easily in scale and feather than skin.
Things just made more sense without the encumbrance of forethought, or worse, afterthought, to muddy the pure emotion of a situation.
He heaved a sigh and tried not to bring attention to the flaming heat in his cheeks as he handed Sunny slices of buttered bread. He couldn’t read in his scale form, could he? Or make fried cheese sandwiches, or care that his host was upset. Or comfort him. Because he wanted to comfort Sunny very badly.