by Jenn Burke
He knew what he looked like, and he knew what he sounded like, but that was the extent of his knowledge of Aidan Bishop.
Noise in the hall by his door prompted Aidan to set the mirror aside. He gripped the blanket as a man and a woman, both wearing suits, entered his room. Nassim trailed behind them, his glower even darker than before.
“Mr. Bishop?” the woman said. She wore a navy blue suit and a white shirt—plain but well-tailored. Her blond hair was short, and she wore no jewelry. “I’m Detective Sara Hough from the Ottawa Police. This is my partner, Detective Kenneth Morgan.”
Aidan sat up a little farther and tucked the blanket more closely around his legs. “Hi.”
Detective Morgan was as put-together as his partner, if not more. He wore a tailored dark gray three-piece suit paired with a light yellow shirt and gold tie, a color combination that flattered his light gold skin. The suit perfectly accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He might have been older than Hough, or not. Aidan couldn’t tell.
“We have a few questions for you,” Hough said, her tone pleasant and professional. “It shouldn’t take long.”
“You’re aware he has amnesia?” Nassim grumbled from his usual corner.
“The doctor informed us,” Morgan replied with just the right amount of sympathy. For some reason that made Aidan’s shoulders twitch. “And you are…?”
“Nassim Kader, the CEO of Tuninas Software. Aidan works for me.”
“I see.” Morgan pulled a notepad from the inner pocket of his jacket and flipped through a few pages. “You filed the missing person report.”
“Yes.”
“According to the missing person report, Mr. Bishop, the last time anyone saw you was at your workplace on the evening of April twenty-three—last Monday,” Detective Hough said, referring to her notepad. Aidan had gleaned that from conversations he’d had with Nassim—he went missing on Monday and was found on Friday evening—so he waited for Detective Hough to continue. “Mr. Kader reported that you told him you were meeting a friend, but you didn’t share who or where you were meeting them.”
Aidan looked at Nassim, but there was nothing in his expression that confirmed or denied what Hough said. He directed his attention back to the detective. “I don’t remember.”
Hough hitched herself up to half sit on the edge of Aidan’s bed. “Okay. Can you tell me what you do remember?”
“Walking out of the woods. I was naked.”
“That would have been chilly,” Morgan said with a chuckle. “Do you know what happened to your clothes?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did you get there?”
“I don’t know.”
Morgan shared a look with Hough. “Nothing?” he asked gently. “Are you sure?”
Didn’t they understand that he’d been trying to remember what happened? Every time he did, every time he found nothing in his memories before walking out of those trees, he felt unmoored, untethered. Alone. He shivered. “Nothing.”
“Okay,” Hough said. “I’m going to share some names with you, all right?”
“Sure.”
“Nadine Bishop.”
“Same last name—a relative?” He shook his head. “I don’t know her.”
“Ryan, last name unknown.”
Aidan shrugged. “No.”
“103 Topwood Street, Unit 312.”
Aidan frowned. “That’s my address, isn’t it? Nassim showed me a copy of my driver’s license.”
“From his employment file,” Nassim clarified.
Oh. That’s where it came from.
“Those names…. Who are they?”
Hough tapped a finger on her notepad. “The name Ryan came up a few times when we asked around in your neighborhood. Seems to be a friend of yours, but we haven’t been able to track down more information or a solid description. And he didn’t come forward to us looking for you.”
So in other words, he wasn’t much of a friend. “And Nadine?”
Hough hesitated.
“She was your mother,” Nassim supplied. “You told me about her. In passing.”
“Was?”
“She died twelve years ago,” Hough said. “I’m sorry.”
There was a lump in Aidan’s throat, but he had no idea how it got there. Or why. The name didn’t mean anything to him. It didn’t trigger any images of someone who could be his mom. It was just empty. Kind of like he was.
“Do you have a picture?” he asked, his voice raspy.
“Sure.” Hough laid her notepad on the bed and pulled out her smartphone. She tapped and swiped the screen a few times and then handed it over.
It wasn’t a good picture. The lighting sucked, and there was no life to the background. It was probably from her driver’s license. That would explain her lack of smile and the bags under her eyes.
The woman didn’t have red hair. Hers was brown, with a lazy wave to it. It drooped around her ears, skimming her shoulders. Her skin was just as pale as Aidan’s, but without the peachy undertone and freckles. It looked almost sallow. But her eyes were the worst, nearly lifeless, dull, washed-out blue.
“I don’t know her.” He handed the phone back. No one commented on the fact that his hand was shaking. “How—how did she die?”
“Cirrhosis of the liver.” When Aidan looked at her blankly, Hough explained, “She was an alcoholic.”
“Oh.” And he didn’t remember. Forgetting the pieces of himself was bad, but somehow, not remembering his mother was far, far worse.
“When I interviewed your coworkers earlier this week, they said that you were fun to be around and a solid part of the team, but distant. They didn’t know where you lived or if you had any friends outside of work.”
Aidan tugged his blanket higher, or tried to. Hough’s weight made it impossible. She took the hint and stood up, and he followed through with his action. He wanted to pull the blanket up over his head and hide from the implications of her words. “So… I don’t have any friends?”
That moment came back to him when he’d realized he didn’t know his name or his voice. He didn’t know the men walking up to him or where he was or… anything. In that moment, he’d realized how alone he was, and this new revelation was like twisting the knife.
“He’s got me,” Nassim said and quickly added, “and everyone at Tuninas.”
“Right. Well.” Hough tucked her notepad away. “I’m glad this case ended with a found person in good condition.”
Nassim pushed away from the wall. “Ended? You mean you’re closing it?”
“He’s no longer a missing person, Mr. Kader,” Morgan said.
“I understand that, but—what about where he was? What happened to him?”
“There’s no evidence of foul play,” Hough said, her tone reasonable.
“But his memory—”
“There’s nothing to indicate any crime was committed.” She raised a hand to forestall another of Nassim’s questions. “If Mr. Bishop’s memory returns and he recalls something criminal, we’ll happily investigate. But until then we need to focus our efforts on finding other missing persons, as I’m sure you can understand. Have a good day, gentlemen.”
Both Aidan and Nassim watched the cops depart. When they were gone, Aidan didn’t look up at Nassim, though he felt Nassim’s dark gaze on him. He wondered if he should thank Nassim for stating he wasn’t alone, but he couldn’t drum up the energy to do so. All he wanted was to close his eyes and pretend his head wasn’t a mess. Maybe… maybe when he woke up, he’d know the world again. He’d know himself. Everything would make sense and he could work on fixing his life… changing the fact that he was so alone.
He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until the head of the bed jerked and started to lower. He blinked, expecting to see a nurse, but it was Nassim standing over him. Aidan couldn’t read his expression. It seemed to be equal parts fierce, determined, and… tired.
“You’ll be released tomorrow.”
His voice was just as businesslike as it was with the cops. There was no hint of the bumps and hitches it had on the grass next to the Tuninas building. “The doctor doesn’t want you staying on your own, so you’ll be coming home with me.”
Because he was too much of a loser to have a life, to have actual friends, his boss had to step up. “I’m sorry.”
“No. You won’t say that to me again.” Wait—was that a flare of red in Nassim’s pupils? “Whatever happened, the important thing is you returned to m—us.”
“Your eyes….” Aidan shook his head. “And now I’m seeing things.”
“Did they show my fire? Understandable. I’m not completely at ease right now, you could say.”
“Fire? I don’t—”
“I’m a dragon, Aidan.”
“Dragon,” Aidan breathed.
In the same way that he retained the basic knowledge of language and worldly events, he knew mythological creatures of all sorts were real—gryphons, unicorns, minotaurs… dragons. They had their own rules and laws and their own kingdom too, led by the Gryphon King. They were part of regular human society, but removed, and other than the basics, humans didn’t know much about them.
“Should I be afraid of you?” He didn’t think so, but… screwy perceptions.
The fire in Nassim’s gaze instantly diminished. “Never. I….” He flexed his jaw. “No.” A soft breath left him, almost but not quite a sigh. “Rest.” He offered Aidan a weak smile, gave a nod, and turned to the door.
“Wait!” The word came out with more than a tinge of panic, and Aidan had to stop himself from reaching for Nassim.
But if Nassim left—he’d be alone.
“Stay?” he whispered and cleared his throat. “I mean, not all night. But… until I fall asleep?”
Nassim was expressionless, and for a moment Aidan thought he’d deny him. He was a busy man—a CEO. He wouldn’t have the time to—
“Of course,” Nassim said and settled into the uncomfortable-looking chair beside Aidan’s bed.
Something in Aidan’s chest relaxed. His lips curved, the first real smile he could remember giving someone. “Thanks,” he said and closed his eyes.
He was almost asleep when he heard the quiet “You’re welcome.”
Chapter Two
AIDAN’S first hours out of the hospital passed in a blur. Nothing seemed quite real, from the town car that picked him and Nassim up, to the drive through streets that felt familiar but had no attached memories to explain why, to the arrival at a monstrosity of a downtown apartment building that suited the dark, stoic personality of the dragon sitting beside him. The gothic exterior, complete with gargoyles, was probably meant to pay homage to the Parliament buildings a block or so to the north, but Aidan just found it creepy.
Not that Nassim was creepy. He was just… there, a quiet, brooding presence on the black leather seat beside him. Aidan was beginning to think that almost-frown was Nassim’s default expression. He’d yet to see Nassim smile or laugh, though he supposed the current circumstances weren’t all that conducive to joyful emotions.
Whatever its source, that ever-present frown was not an auspicious start to his cohabitation for the next however many days… weeks. Dr. Singh had been vague on how long he would require supervision, and he didn’t push her for a deadline. He didn’t need a countdown to being alone again ticking away in his head.
Past a pair of guards at a massive desk to a private elevator where Nassim swiped a key card, and up to the top floor. Of course Nassim lived in the penthouse. The elevator opened directly into his apartment, which Aidan knew wasn’t a usual thing. It meant Nassim’s apartment was the only one on that floor. It was exclusive and probably huge, and—Aidan couldn’t make his feet step out of the elevator.
Nassim turned to face him, looking far less tired than he had the previous day. He wore a brown suit with a lavender shirt that sported a bold floral tone-on-tone print, and standing in the midst of what Aidan could only call luxury—dark wood flooring, a west-facing wall consisting of nothing but floor-to-twenty-foot-tall-ceiling windows, and art on every solid wall Aidan could see—Nassim looked perfectly placed.
“You’re not a vampire, Aidan. You don’t need to be invited in.”
Aidan looked down at the sweatpants, T-shirt, and hoodie he wore. Even if he were dressed like Nassim, he couldn’t shake the sense that he would never belong in a place like this. “I—”
The elevator chimed in case its occupant needed a reminder that one did not stay in the elevator unless one were traveling from floor to floor. Giving a quick shake of his head, Nassim stepped toward Aidan and extended his hand. “You’re tired. Come with me, and I’ll show you to your room.”
Aidan hesitated long enough for the elevator to chime again, but he took Nassim’s hand and let Nassim draw him into the apartment. Nassim’s skin was hot, almost feverish, but then, he was a dragon. It was probably normal, and it felt good—calming. Some of his anxiety faded as he realized Nassim didn’t have to offer his hand. He did it to help Aidan.
He followed Nassim’s lead and kicked off his shoes near the entryway closet. A gentle tug on his hand invited him to trail after his host.
His boss was holding his hand. It should be weird, but… it wasn’t. Aidan didn’t want to let go. It was Nassim who noticed he was still holding on, and he remedied it with a quick clearing of his throat and a gesture at the kitchen that meant he had to let go.
“The most important rooms for you to know right now are the kitchen.” They continued down the hallway. “The bathroom.” A smaller room, of course, but no less sparkling. “And the guest room. Consider it yours for as long as you want it.”
Nassim moved to the side to allow Aidan to wander through the door into a room that, well, it didn’t have as much personality as what he’d seen in the living space. It held a queen bed with a white wooden frame, covered in a fluffy white duvet. Wide-slat blinds covered the large window on the other side of the bed, and there was a simple desk next to the door. Everything looked crisp and new, and even though the bed was plain, it was about the most wonderful sight Aidan had seen.
“We’ll get some things from your apartment tomorrow,” Nassim assured him. “Go. Sleep.”
Aidan didn’t have it in him to argue. He hardly noticed the click of Nassim shutting the door, and he didn’t even strip down all the way before he climbed between the covers. He fell asleep in the middle of wondering where Nassim’s bedroom was.
A CLANG of a pan, chased by a muffled curse, nudged Aidan to full wakefulness the next morning. He lay in bed a moment, half-remembered thoughts—dreams? memories?—racing into nothingness as he looked around the room. Sunlight crept past the edges of the blinds, but it was tough to say what time it was.
There had been dinner at some point. Aidan woke up enough to join Nassim in the kitchen and slurp soup out of a bowl, but he couldn’t say what sort of soup it was or even if he wore a shirt to the table.
On the plus side, he felt much better after hours of solid sleep, uninterrupted by nurses and tests.
He stumbled across the hall to the bathroom, relieved himself, and considered his still-unfamiliar face in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Fully rested, he felt more capable of facing the world and all of its uncertainties. Really, all he could do was what Dr. Singh had advised—live his life. Or, well, discover his life was the first step, he supposed. He knew his name, and for the moment, he wasn’t alone.
It was a start.
He went back into the guest room—his room—and spotted a notebook on the desk and pens in a cup. His fingers itched to pick one up, so he gave in to the urge, flipped the notebook open, and wrote Aidan Bishop at the top of the page. He could make a list of everything he discovered about himself, and maybe it would help on the days where the world didn’t seem so conquerable.
The first thing he wrote?
Apparently I like to make lists.
It made him grin because, yes, itemizing his thou
ghts felt right.
I’m optimistic.
Also true. He felt very positive this morning. Living his life didn’t seem quite so insurmountable. It wasn’t going to be easy—oh, that was something else to write down.
I’m not naïve.
Moving forward was going to be a challenge, but he could do it.
He tapped the pen against the paper for another couple of seconds, but another crash from the kitchen prompted him to abandon his list. It would be there later.
He wandered down the hall, stretching, only to freeze midextension at the sight of Nassim on his knees, his ass in the air as he searched a bottom cupboard for something. The image of round, muscular buttocks, firm handfuls under thin heather-gray sweatpants, with no underwear lines to mar the fabric, made his mouth go dry. And his groin tingle.
Holy shit.
“I’m gay,” he breathed.
“What?” Nassim jerked up and smacked his head into the top of the cupboard. Curses in a language Aidan didn’t know spewed from his lips. It didn’t make him any less hot.
Oh my God. “Just—just a second.”
Aidan raced back down the hall and into his bedroom and skidded to a stop in front of the desk. Breathing hard, he wrote another line in his notebook.
I’m gay. Really, really gay. Oh my God, that ass.
“Aidan? Are you—”
“I’m good! Be right there.” Aidan underlined ass twice and closed the notebook.
When he returned to the kitchen, Nassim was rubbing his head and leaning that magnificent butt against the counter. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Oh yeah, fine.” Aidan tried for casual, but he was pretty sure he missed by a mile. He wasn’t quite sure how to handle the sudden rush of physical attraction—for his boss, no less. The guy who’d offered up his apartment so Aidan wouldn’t be alone. Doing anything could only lead to horrible awkwardness. “I should probably be asking you the same. How’s the head?”