by JD Ruskin
We were both heaving for breath, panting, him with his hands braced on the wall, head back, eyes closed, shivering, riding the wave of aftershocks rolling through his body. And me behind him, hands still gripping his hips, my body suddenly freezing.
I could not have moved if my life depended on it.
“Web.”
“Doc.”
“I don’t want to put more on your plate, you know, but I really need to—”
“It’s my house as much as yours, ain’t it?”
“Yes. It’s more yours than anyone’s. When any of the rest of us isn’t here, it’s okay. But when you’re not here, Web, it’s empty. You make this house a home. You’re the one we all love and need. You’re the strong one.”
I slid from his body, his muscles releasing me, and turned him slowly around to face me. My hands went to the thick chestnut hair, pushing it out of his eyes so I could see them. “Then lay all your crap on me, all right? I can take it; I’m strong. Please let me shoulder it, Cy, whatever it is, whenever it is. It’s my right as your partner, as the man you love. Respect me enough to trust me with the bullshit as well as the good stuff.”
He nodded.
“Yeah?”
“Yes, Web,” he said, nearly collapsing in front of me so I had to grab him and help him to the bed and dump him down on top of it. He was sprawled out in a heap of sated man.
I sat down beside him and stroked his hair, smiling down at him. “Lemme go get you some water.”
“Not yet,” he said, taking hold of my hand. “Let me roll around in my alone time just for another minute.”
“They’ll move out eventually,” I said, fingers tracing over his eyebrows, “and you’ll miss them somethin’ fierce.”
“I love them all, and I love them being here,” he assured me. “But I would also like for you to put me over the kitchen table sometimes too.”
“That’s gross,” I teased him, laughing.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.” I sighed, rolling over on top of him, straddling his hips, sitting over his groin. “We need to carve out a bigger chunk of time for us. I will work on it the minute I get back from soccer camp with Tris.”
“I sound like a needy piece of crap,” he said, his hands on my thighs, sliding over them.
“You love me and you want alone time with me. How is that needy?”
“But I have to understand that I share you with four other people.”
“We will carve out more time. Just don’t stop talkin’ to me. I have to know everything that’s goin’ on in that head of yours because you ever thinkin’ that you’re anything less than necessary is crap.”
His hands were clutching at my thighs. “Jesus, Web, your body is so hard. I love touching you.”
“Are you listening to me?”
“You look so good, so healthy and beautiful, your whole body… it’s like you were carved out of stone or something.”
“You ain’t listenin’ at all,” I groused at him.
“I am.” He chuckled, hands lifting, reaching for my face.
I bent over so he could reach me and ease me down into a kiss. It was a blur after that.
I WOKE in the night because I was cold, and when I reached for him, I came up with chilly sheet instead of warm body. I lifted my head and saw him standing at the window wrapped in a blanket, staring out at the faraway lights of the city.
“Not bored of your life, are you? Wish you were back out there, on the prowl?”
He looked at me over his shoulder. “No, I’m just glad we got things straight tonight. I wanted to know where I stood, been wondering for a while, and you told me. I know you love me and you need me and that not wanting to be in control all the time, of everything, doesn’t make me weak.”
“No, it don’t.”
He nodded. “I brought you a bottle of water for when you woke up.”
“Thank you,” I said, still watching him.
“I can deal with you being gone now that I know where I stand.”
“You always knew, inside, didn’t ya?”
He looked back out at the lights as it started to rain. “I hoped. I never wanted anything like I wanted you, Web. Only piece I was missing to make my life how I always wanted.”
“Christ, aim higher next time.”
He was scowling when he turned, and I started laughing.
“You’re such an ass. I’m trying to have a moment here.”
“Oh.” I grinned at him. “Sorry, by all means, have your moment.”
“Well now I can’t, dickhead. You ruined it.”
“C’mere.”
He flipped me off.
“You’re gonna make me get up?”
He stalked over to me, the irritation rolling off of him, and when he was close enough, I grabbed his hand and pulled him down into my arms.
“I want the blanket.”
“So you’re just cold.” He was indignant.
“Yep.”
“You didn’t want me at all?”
I grunted.
“Maybe a little?”
“Maybe a little,” I agreed as he lifted up, only to align our bodies before he lay on top of me.
“So you’re going to keep me?” he asked as I put my hands on his face, easing him up higher so I could kiss his throat, which I loved to do. It made him shiver every time.
“I’m the orphan,” I told him between kissing and sucking, my teeth dragging over his skin jarring him, his hands clutching at my shoulders as the sensations rolled through him. “You gotta keep me.”
“It’s all I ever wanted, Web, you know that.”
I did. “Well, you ain’t gonna run me off. I reckon I’m here for good.”
“I’m counting on that,” he said as he bent to kiss me.
I knew he was. So was I.
MARY CALMES lives in Lexington, Kentucky, with her husband and two children and loves all the seasons except summer. She graduated from the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, with a bachelor’s degree in English literature. Due to the fact that it is English lit and not English grammar, do not ask her to point out a clause for you, as it will so not happen. She loves writing, becoming immersed in the process, and believes without question in happily ever afters, and writes those for each and every one of her characters.
By MARY CALMES
Acrobat
Again
All Kinds of Tied Down
Any Closer
With Cardeno C.: Control
With Poppy Dennison: Creature Feature
Floodgates
Frog
Grand Adventures (Dreamspinner Anthology)
The Guardian
Heart of the Race
Ice Around the Edges
Judgment
Mine
Romanus
The Servant
Steamroller
Still
Three Fates (Multiple Author Anthology)
Timing • After the Sunset
What Can Be
Where You Lead
Wishing on a Blue Star (Dreamspinner Anthology)
Change of Heart
Change of Heart • Trusted Bond • Honored Vow • Crucible of Fate
L’Ange
Old Loyalty, New Love • Fighting Instinct
Mangrove Stories
Blue Days • Quiet Nights • Sultry Sunset
A Matter of Time
A Matter of Time: Vol. 1 • A Matter of Time: Vol. 2
Bulletproof • But For You • Parting Shot
The Warder Series
His Hearth • Tooth & Nail • Heart in Hand
Sinnerman • Nexus • Cherish Your Name
Warders Vol. 1 & 2
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
THIS WOULD not have been possible without help from the ladies of Ladywood, the discussion group/book club/bowling team that never bowls. But it would never have existed at
all if not for those who came before.
To the original Bertie, and his Godric.
FACTS ABOUT DRAGONS:
1. They have existed since before the first written human records in almost every human culture.
2. They “came out” around the turn of the last century when the other magical Beings started to emerge from hiding both during and after the First World War, though many did not come into public view until the mass exodus of Beings from the countries torn by war and strife during the Second World War. This includes Russia, China, Northern Africa, the islands of the Pacific, and most of Europe.
3. Like fairies, they are said to possess powerful magic.
4. ?
THE DRAGON was staring at him.
Arthur couldn’t move. He actually, literally couldn’t move. His legs wouldn’t carry him. He was certain that if he even tried to back up, head out the door, run toward his bike, he’d collapse to the floor and then… and then he wasn’t sure what would happen, but it probably wouldn’t be good. Best-case scenario, he wouldn’t get the job, and he needed this job; worst case, the dragon might eat him.
It didn’t matter what he’d read. It didn’t matter that there hadn’t been a reported case of a dragon eating a human for decades. None of that mattered because Arthur got one look at that dragon’s size, at his strong jaw and his white, wicked teeth and knew that the dragon could swallow him whole if it wanted to.
If he wanted to, Arthur corrected himself, only a little hysterically. The dragon was a he, was a Jones of all things, and no one with the last name Jones should be threatening. When Arthur left Professor Gibson’s office with the contact information, he had even thought it was funny that the dragon in need of an assistant was a Dr. Jones. Dr. Jones was even a historian—maybe not an archeologist, but close enough. Arthur actually had a tiny feeling of hope, as he prepared for this interview, that this job might not be too terrible, that he’d get it even without the best qualifications, that maybe it would give him a chance to get ahead of everything for once, give him room to breathe.
He swallowed air then choked and wondered if his face was now red. It was embarrassing, but it could have been the heat in here and that was what he would say if asked. He was so hot. The fall air outside had left him chilled even after pedaling halfway across town, but the startling heat inside the house was starting to make him feel dizzy.
If he fainted, either from fear or from the heat, it wasn’t going to get him the job. He needed this job, he reminded himself. He made himself think of the phone calls, the letters, and his sister counting on him. He looked back at the creature studying him from the upstairs landing.
The creature, the dragon, stared back for another moment, and then opened its mouth so a long forked tongue could loll out. Arthur quickly looked elsewhere, anywhere but at that open mouth and those teeth. They made him think of saber-toothed tigers or daggers carved of ivory.
The banister was of dark wood, with sloping balusters that unfortunately did not block his view of the dragon lying—standing—on four legs as it peered at him. It seemed frozen, as if Arthur had startled it, which made no sense because Arthur would swear that he’d heard a rough voice bark “Come in” when he knocked on the front door.
Not that he knew if the dragon could talk like that, and not that he was quite ready to look at its mouth again. He focused on the claws instead: sharp, sharp, black-tinted talons, five on each hand, or paw. Seeing five claws depicted in dragon art was important to many dragon societies—he remembered that from the reading he managed to get in on the subject before today’s interview, the reading he had done late at night while jotting down a quick list of irrefutable facts about dragons. Arthur knew it was nerdy, but he’d always liked lists and facts, and he’d enjoyed doing the research for today so he wouldn’t make a fool of himself. Clearly, he’d been unsuccessful.
He inhaled a deep, heady breath of warm air and heard the sound of the dragon doing the same. Arthur tried to think about his list of facts again.
The number of claws a dragon had in any depiction of him was a sign of nobility: the more claws, the higher the rank. Or it had supposedly been, back before dragons walked as freely among humans as they did since the other Beings came out of hiding. Arthur remembered that fact and focused on it. Facts were steady, even if they could change. It was why he liked learning and why he picked a major that left him surrounded by books. Facts were calming.
He lifted his head to look at the dragon again. The dragon’s body was a little bigger than a large man’s, with the tail making it even longer. There were wings at its back—small, leathery wings like those of a European dragon that couldn’t fly—but unlike a European dragon, this dragon had a mane, ebony black and somehow lighter than air as it shifted in an imperceptible breeze. The mane looked soft, like the tiny beard under the dragon’s chin. That beard was something usually only found in Asian varieties of dragon, Arthur remembered distractedly. This dragon was built more like an Asian dragon too. No towering height as it stood on its hind legs, no fat belly, no plates down its back like the old pictures of what dinosaurs looked like; it was sleeker, exactly like a big lizard, with the famed gleaming, shining scales down its back that rippled like water when it moved.
Legend held that dragons had eighty-one scales on their back, and each one held more magic than most humans could ever hope to touch. The legends also said dragons liked to feast on those who would attempt to take one but would give them freely to those they deemed worthy.
Arthur swallowed. The dragon hissed, making Arthur jump. He tried to push away the thought of stolen scales and the exorbitant prices people paid for black-market dragon parts. He imagined this dragon in pieces for sale and felt ill. Money wasn’t something that should matter that much, but he knew it was and always would be to some people, to desperate people.
He thought of his sister again, and the messages on his phone. Then he frowned and looked right at the dragon, since it was still looking right at him.
The dragon—Dr. Jones, Arthur forcefully reminded himself; this was Dr. Jones—pulled its tongue back into its mouth and flared its nostrils. Arthur had two distinct impressions; one, that the dragon was smelling him, the way reptiles scented the air, and two, that the dragon found him amusing.
Maybe it was those eyes. He couldn’t look away from them once he met them. They were almost all pupil. Big black spaces that shone and had impossible layers. Like agate, like molten gold or lava rock, they gleamed as blackly as the silvery onyx of those scales, with only a thin circle of pale brown to show the dragon’s eye color. The dragon had long eyelashes, flirtatiously long, Arthur decided, and then he felt the heat in the house all over again with a sudden awareness of his body, of how he was standing.
He moved. He didn’t think he was imagining the glittering of those dilated pupils; he just didn’t know if it meant he was supposed to be lunch.
They said dragons no longer ate people, but Arthur’s gut knew that was only mostly the truth. The fluttering in his stomach said the truth was that dragons didn’t eat people anymore unless the dragon was provoked or someone tried to steal its treasure, and—as many states operated under the Castle Doctrine, which said a man’s home was his castle and he had the right to defend his property—such behavior would be totally acceptable in most courts of law.
The problem was the matter of how much the dragons might enjoy it. All of mankind’s uneasy relationship with magical Beings could be summed up in dragons: worshipped and feared across the globe since the dawn of time.
Arthur’s legs were still weak, which made him think about falling to his knees. This in turn reminded him of the last few lines of one of the articles on dragons he’d glanced through, where the author wondered if dragons had truly been praised for their wisdom and benevolence, or merely to appease their terrifying hunger.
Hunger. Arthur was hot, dizzy, and breathing too fast. This dragon wanted to consume him whole, he was suddenly certain of it. His che
st tightened, his heart thundering even as his mouth went dry, and he reached out, vaguely recalling childhood stories about knights battling dragons; wishing for any kind of defense. A shield maybe, since he wouldn’t use a sword.
The moment he moved, the dragon’s mouth fell open wider in what Arthur could only describe as a grin, and then those long eyelashes swept down over one eye in a definite wink.
“My apologies,” the dragon rumbled slowly as a hint of smoke scent carried down to Arthur, who was gaping. “But I thought it best that any applicants confront the beast, as it were, head on.”
Maybe it was the quiet British accent or the soft apology or maybe just that bold wink, but Arthur put his hand down and cleared his throat so he at least wouldn’t seem as stupid as he probably looked a second ago.
“Dr. Jones?” He let out a long breath and watched the dragon angle his head at him for another moment in a move not unlike a cat—perhaps a Cheshire cat with that grin—before Dr. Jones moved back in a sinuous motion. Only when he turned did Arthur register the statue on a table behind him on the landing. It was a stone gargoyle. It had to be there as a joke.
Arthur opened his mouth to ask, but the dragon was moving away, heading down the stairs, and unless Arthur came forward he couldn’t keep it in sight. He flicked his gaze back to the gargoyle, which looked dusty even at a distance and had the same relaxed grin. Strange for a creation intended to guard and warn and frighten.
The dust all over the stone wasn’t that unusual, as Arthur learned when he carefully took a few steps into the room and looked around. He wasn’t sure whether to call it a study, a living room, or a library. It could have been any of those. If the room had a defining feature, aside from the great fireplace against one wall or the short swords covered in cobwebs on display by the door, it was the shelves and shelves of books. They all looked old, but that could have been due to the dust covering every surface. Even the table against the back of the velvet couch by the fire looked like a relic.