by Rhea Watson
Alecto snorted and shoved her other foot in deeper. “Oh my gods, you fucking drama queen.”
The tussle that followed, Alecto poking at him with her toes and Gavriel barely putting up a fight to stop it, offered a far better distraction than the film. I remained the steadfast neutral, refusing to tap in for either side when asked, and watched it all unfold with an affectionate grin, laughing and eventually diving to save the precariously placed cheese plate before it toppled off the back of the couch.
Mind awash with plans for tomorrow night—for a trip into the countryside to find our missing leader.
And when I did, I’d make Alecto’s heart feel just as whole as mine did this very moment.
7
Jack
Exactly two weeks after my life turned upside down, someone knocked on my front door.
Well, not my front door, per se—the flat above the village pub’s front door, the space technically mine, the rent paid in full for the next three months.
That was the minimum the Clemonte legal army anticipated it would take to get my case before the high council: ninety bloody days. Four of those miserable days thus far had been spent flitting between my London town house and my father’s estate; those that followed had landed me back here, holed up in a studio rental above the Caladh village pub, surrounded by an entire mountain range of legal textbooks, documents, and human tech.
Given a student had been outright murdered on my watch, the high council of academies had every right to consider my termination. However, what they had done, showing up with a letter signed by my assistant headmistress and a known coven rival, was illegal. Father’s chief solicitor had said as much: I had been owed a trial and a hearing before I lost my job.
A job that wasn’t just, you know, bagger at a local food shop.
A supernatural academy’s headmaster was a revered and, above all, prized position in the community. Candidates were chosen with the utmost care, and every headmaster in the last century had retired peacefully.
Termination was unheard of—but here I was, the subject of witch gossip rags yet again, the magical press just as savage as the human tabloid hounds.
Another knock, softer this time.
No one came up here. As the only flat on the second story, I had the entire floor to myself and had already turned down the maid service. Not only that, but it was half past ten in the evening: Had some drunk pubgoer wandered beyond the Restricted Access sign on the door at the bottom of the stairs again?
Frowning, I set tonight’s reading aside, then picked my way through the stacks of parchment. Mother had sent a care basket—naturally—and my sisters had already sent perky, positive letters; they all sat on the tiny laminate kitchenette counter tucked in the corner. I’d gone from living in the castle’s largest suite—to this: a dingy studio, a pullout couch, a lavatory not of this century.
My self-loathing insisted I deserved it.
My rage hissed something else entirely.
Laughter roared from the pub downstairs, carrying through the floorboards, the music at an acceptable volume tonight so that the walls didn’t tremble. The noise should have bothered me, but given I barely slept these days, my body healed but beyond exhausted, I didn’t mind it.
In fact, it made me feel… marginally less alone.
Silence would have been deafening.
Crossing the dimly lit space, only the wall lamps on either side of the pullout couch on, I crept to the door and hunched to peer through the dusty peephole.
There, on the other side, was a… chin?
A dimpled chin.
With light blond stubble.
Seconds later, an ice-blue eye stared back at me.
“Hello, Jack.”
Confusion slithered down my spine, paranoia insisting this was a trap. Still, I unbolted the door, the chain creaky, its rust staining my fingers, and wrenched it open.
Sure enough, there stood a grinning Bjorn Asulf, tall and limber, hands clasped behind his back. Casual, dressed for a night at the pub, he wore a tapered pine-green peacoat, open to a white shirt underneath, then a pair of dark jeans and brown loafers.
I, meanwhile, looked like I’d crawled out of a pit. Gone were my suits, hanging neatly in the bathroom so they didn’t wrinkle in the tiny wardrobe, replaced with jogging sweats and a nondescript grey tee.
“Found you,” the vampire drawled, head cocked, aura pleasant—like a breath of fresh air, honestly. Bjorn always brought with him a sense of stability, solid as a mountain and calm as still waters. Ancient. Respectable. Despite what the others whispered behind his back, this vampire had immense value—professionally and personally. I blinked back at him, chest suddenly tight: he had gone out of his way to track me down. He cared. He—
He stepped aside on the shadowy landing, surrounded by grey stone walls and a rickety wood floor below, stairs at his back—and Alecto.
They complemented each other, my submissive and her vampire, for she too wore a tailored peacoat—maple brown and buttoned against the spring chill. While Bjorn’s jeans were dark, verging on black, hers were a faded blue, her runners aged and lovingly worn.
Her curls wild as the highlands and free as my heart longed to be.
“What…?” I shook my head, insides a mess, panic colliding with relief, fusing into something that made my palms sweat. “What are you two doing here? Has something happened?”
“Everything happened,” Bjorn said smoothly. He then motioned to the witch behind him, who stood fidgeting with the leather purse strap that cut across her figure. “Someone just misses you.” His chuckle filled the landing, that silky rumble drowned out moments later by another uproar downstairs. “Well, we all miss you—but not in the same way, I think.”
The fingers coiled around her purse strap twitched a greeting, followed by a whispered “Hi.”
With my head firmly stuck in the legal clouds, I just stared back, struggling to process that she was here, on my doorstep—that Bjorn had brought her because she missed me. Slowly, I looked to him to play mediator, to take my stunned silence and translate it into something acceptable. Bjorn’s grin brightened playfully instead, and he turned back to plant a tender kiss on Alecto’s cheek.
“I’ll just be downstairs,” he murmured against her temple—and if there was one thing that could finally bring me back to Earth, it was that. Bjorn… kissing her. He…
I blinked hurriedly as the vampire shuffled down the narrow staircase, swathed in darkness, the lone bulb overhead flickering on Death’s door.
It made sense, of course.
Yule—I’d seen them dance, seen the way they looked at each other, held each other.
Even before then, Bjorn’s glances across the table at staff meetings spoke volumes.
It seemed Alecto had finally caught up.
A great deal had happened in my absence; the thought landed like a dagger to the heart.
Like a siren’s fucking trident slicing up my wrists. A chill washed over me at the memory, and I crossed my arms, wishing I had opted for a sweater or jacket—something to hide the faded scars.
Seamus hadn’t had enough time to baby my flesh back to perfection, so there they were, two waxy slashes from the worst night of my life, branded on my skin forever.
Left alone on the tiny landing, Alecto and I continued to stare at each other, first like strangers, then as old friends. With a shake of my head, for I was being bloody ridiculous, I stepped aside and motioned for her to come through.
“Sorry, come in,” I managed. It took every bit of self-control I possessed to not grab her as she slipped by, her body brushing mine—to not snap a hand around her arm and haul her to me, bury my face in her hair and just breathe. Instead of all that, fantasies quashed, I squished back against the doorframe to let her pass, then shut the door gently behind.
Déjà vu sparked when I found Alecto surveying my new living quarters, something she had done months ago in my academy suite, hands knitted primly behind her ba
ck. Slowly, she circled back around to me, eyes wandering before eventually settling on mine.
“Alecto,” I started softly, ashamed of my circumstances, of my appearance, of the massive bags under my eyes and the explosion of paperwork everywhere, “you didn’t have to—”
She pounced before I could get the rest out, up on her toes to throw her arms around my neck. Everything inside stilled, her body strangely powerful against mine despite the size difference, her hug bone-crushingly tight. Arms at my sides, I stood there for a long moment, processing, wondering if I ought to discourage this.
Gods, she smells good.
Letting it all go with a massive sigh, I scooped her up and buried my face in the crook of her neck.
I’d had many hugs over the last two weeks—more than the last two years, actually. Family, friends, even neighbors I stumbled into outside the town house who barely knew the story saw fit to embrace me—me, some hulking bear of a warlock, as if a hug could fix it all.
But with Alecto, it did.
None of them felt as good as this, as her arms around my neck, her scent all-consuming, her curves delicate and pillowy against my hard lines. Unlike the rest, Alecto Clarke softened the blow. Dulled the knife’s edge. Calmed the storm and shut out the world.
Gods, I’d missed her.
No denying it.
I missed knowing she was there, in the same building as me, both of us doing our duty until we came together for something uniquely ours. I missed her wide eyes and her shy smiles. I missed her squeals of pain and her tearstained cheeks. I missed her giddy little food-dance whenever I whipped out a scrumptious spread for aftercare.
I just missed… her.
And now that I had her in my arms again, I never wanted to let go.
Never wanted her to leave this pathetic rental—
Until she started to shake.
And not with shivers of excitement, either. Shuddering, palpable trembles that cut right to my core.
Panicked, I set her down and smoothed her curls from her face.
“What is it, little one?”
Five words that shattered the floodgates. Alecto let out a sob, eyes shut, then clapped her hand over her mouth and shook her head. Shit. As soon as I crouched down, she broke apart. Stable, yes, her legs strong, her shoulders back, not needing my steadying grip on her arms; I held firm anyway, refusing to let her go, refusing to let her suffer this alone.
“I’m so s-sorry, Jack,” she stammered, her eyes still lost to me, tears leaking through the clenched lids. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Alecto, stop.” I couldn’t take it. I wasn’t strong enough right now to fix this. “Please, just breathe—”
“About everything.” Liquid gold finally flashed my way, her ragged gasp heartbreaking. “A-all my fault—you and Alice.” Her breath hitched at the name that haunted my dreams, and she almost choked on it. “She died, Jack.” Alecto grabbed at my forearms. “I-I couldn’t save her…”
“Hush now,” I murmured as I wiped her cheeks dry, then cupped her chin, my grip solid—my authority lacking. “You did everything you could, do you hear me?”
Sniffling, she twisted out of my grasp and rolled her eyes. “D-don’t baby me, Jack. Not now. Not with this. It’s m-my fault you’re here.”
“It’s not,” I insisted, frowning as she dragged her nose along her coat sleeve. “Really, it isn’t.”
“But—”
“It’s not,” I repeated, rougher this time, a little of the Dom in me rising to the surface, just enough to quell whatever nonsense she had been reciting in her head, over and over, since that wretched night. Convincing herself that the wrong party had been punished, that I was blameless in everything that happened. “This has been in the works for quite some time now. My failings…” Gods, tough to admit it aloud despite hearing my father hurl every last one at me already. “My mistakes at the academy and Iris’s fanatical determination to return to the status quo…” I took her by the chin again, tipping her head back so that she had no choice but to meet my unflinching gaze. “It is not your fault.”
Alecto responded with a quivering lower lip and a glint in her eye that gave away her disbelief—her unwillingness to accept that she was blameless. After all, she had filed a report with security immediately. If she took anything from this, it was not to assume those around her would do the right thing. Someone should have made me aware. The security report should have gone straight to my desk, not Iris’s, not anyone else in that administration wing.
Beating herself up got Alecto nowhere.
“Repeat it back to me,” I growled, needing to kill this unhealthy train of thought once and for all. She stared up at me, teary-eyed and defiant, but broke a few moments later, my patience rewarded.
“I-it’s not my fault.”
“Good girl.” I dragged her close, unable to stand not having her pressed against me a second longer, wrapped in arms that would always protect her, that would ward away the evils of this world if she let me. Sighing softly, I bowed my head and nestled my nose into her curls. “Good girl.”
Emotional as the reunion made me, I kept it all inside, determined to be someone’s rock in this disaster.
Slowly, her fingers worked up my back, drifting along until they twisted into my shirt and held tight. Alecto turned so that her cheek pressed to my chest, listening to my heartbeat like we had just finished the most intense scene of our lives.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, her croaky whisper shattering the illusion that I was in control—that it wasn’t my world crumbling at my feet but someone else’s, someone who deserved this nightmare. A humorless chuckle slipped out before I could stop it.
“Well, uh…”
“Yeah,” she said with a nod and a hollow laugh of her own, “sounds about right.”
Some of the exhaustion I tried to hold at an arm’s length tiptoed in, and I stepped back, gesturing toward the parchment-strewn couch.
“Come on—let’s sit down.” I quickly tied things, stacking parchment, closing laptops, and locking tablets. By the time it was up to my standards, the mess had just migrated toward the kitchenette, leaving a bit of space for company on the pullout couch, my linens and pillows tucked on the other side of the far-most armrest between the couch and the wall.
“They’ve put up a ward,” Alecto remarked as she set her purse on the coffee table and unbuttoned her peacoat. Nothing but a simple charcoal-grey shirt beneath, scoop-necked and long-sleeved; she had made the trek out here with comfort in mind, not seduction. Not fun.
I could appreciate that.
“Yes, so I’ve heard.” I eased back and set my legs to the side to allow her to shuffle by. “I have a team working on it—on everything. Legally, my termination was against witch law, but the circumstances have made it… a bit of a grey area.” I glowered down at my hands, at the Clemonte family ring on my pinky. “I had a right to defend myself and my actions.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Alecto perched on the opposite end of the couch. “Does that mean you’re coming back?”
“Well—”
“Or, at least trying to?”
“Gods, yes.” I faced her, wishing my upbringing would permit me to lounge. Instead, I sat rigid and militant as always, shoulders back, spine straight—a contrast to her slumped posture. “Even if they won’t grant me the position again, I’ll petition every powerful figure in the community to ensure my replacement shares my values. Lives are at stake—I know that. Students shouldn’t leave a reform school more… more…”
“More fucked-up than when they arrived?” she offered, eyebrow quirked, her thoughts aligned with mine—albeit less eloquently worded.
“Yes,” I said, fighting a grin. “That.”
Nibbling at her lower lip, Alecto made herself more comfortable across from me, leaning on the thin couch cushions, the backrest just a wooden board and the mattress below paper-thin. As the silence stretched on, punctuated occasionally by more laughter from
the pub, I couldn’t bring myself to extrapolate on the depressing state of my professional existence. It was all I had thought about these last two weeks, all I had ruminated on for months leading up to the inevitable.
“So,” I started with an awkward half-smile, “you and Bjorn?”
Alecto shrugged. “And Gavriel, actually.”
“And Gavriel?” Gods, wasn’t one man enough? Both genders had the right to take on as many lovers as their heart desired in some supernatural circles. The Clemonte line adhered to a strict monogamy stance, just as they were staunch patriarchists when most covens favored the matriarch.
But I’d always thought I was too busy to give my soulmate everything she needed—my attention, my time, me.
Perhaps an arrangement where I had others to take care of her heart in my absence was… ideal.
Preferred, even.
I had… never entertained it before, still a bachelor a year off from forty because the thought of choosing some dull society witch to live out a traditional life with had never exactly excited me.
Never set my soul on fire.
“Does that intimidate you?” Alecto asked with the brattiest of smirks. Her attitude caught me off guard, brain so waterlogged with legal text it was sluggish on the uptake.
“Should it?” Clearing my throat, I gestured between us, humor falling away like always when righteous responsibility reared its ugly head. Even if the thought of two other men keeping her company, taking care of her, tending to her heart while I maintained some independence interested me, she really shouldn’t get attached. It wasn’t ideal when I was her headmaster, and it was ten times worse now that I verged on social pariah. “Alecto, perhaps you and I should discuss what we—”
“You’re not my boss anymore,” she stated, arms crossed, defiant from the top of the springiest curl down to her tippiest-toes. “We’re not doing a scene right now. You’re Jack Clemonte, and I’m Alecto…” Her breath caught, and she licked her lips. “Anyway. I came here to see you. To make sure you were okay. Not my headmaster. Not my Dom. You.”