by Cardeno C.
“I’m not living.” The Siphon licked his lips. “But I’m not dead.” Sighing deeply, he whispered, “I want to be.”
The conflicting statements made no sense.
“You say you want to live but then say you want to die.” Hugh looked into the Siphon’s eyes, hoping to find an answer. When he couldn’t figure it out, he asked, “Why did you hang yourself?”
“I’m a Siphon. I can’t live.” The blue-eyed gaze dropped. “Dying’s the only way out.”
A foreboding chill ran down Hugh’s spine. The Siphon dying would mean Hugh’s own death. He wouldn’t allow it.
To carry a Premier’s power, a Siphon had to remain close to him at all times, so Hugh could monitor the Siphon most of the time. But Hugh slept, showered, fucked. He couldn’t watch the Siphon every second of every day. Bringing in pride members to guard him wasn’t an option because it would alert them to Hugh’s vulnerability, which would cause turmoil among the pride, and even worse, it would risk outsiders finding out about it, which would expose a vulnerability that could easily be exploited.
Eight decades of Hugh’s leadership and hard work had paid off—he hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d listed Berk’s attributes to the Siphon. Berk was a Premier Pride, meaning it was stronger, wealthier, and happier than most prides. It also meant other lions desperately wanted what they had, and if they smelled blood, they wouldn’t hesitate to mount an attack. Showing weakness would endanger the entire pride.
Since age twenty-three, Hugh had dedicated his life to protecting the Berk pride. If he didn’t get to the bottom of the Siphon’s issue, his life and the pride would be in jeopardy. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. But to fix the problem, Hugh first had to understand what it was.
Chapter 2
For what might have been the first time, Hugh looked at the Siphon. Really looked at him. He was, by all indications, an average lion. Close to six feet tall, about a hundred and sixty pounds, brown hair, golden skin. The only difference was his eyes—Siphon blue instead of the usual brown, hazel, or amber. And they were desolate. Those eyes brimmed with sorrow and exhaustion.
Clearly, Hugh needed a game plan. But he wasn’t likely to make progress while the Siphon was in that condition. They both needed sleep, so he said, “It’s still early. Let’s go back to bed.”
He got up and walked out of the room, the Siphon trailing him as usual. When they reached the bedroom and the Siphon walked toward the doorway to his adjoining room, Hugh said, “You’ll sleep in here tonight.”
The Siphon turned around and looked at him wide-eyed.
“I can’t leave you unsupervised,” Hugh explained. Though he wasn’t a deep sleeper, he still needed to keep the Siphon out of trouble when he wasn’t paying attention.
“Oh.” The Siphon bit his lip and darted his gaze around Hugh’s spacious room. “There’s only one bed. Where should I…”
“I’ve shared this bed with half a dozen lions at once.” Not for sleeping, but screwing used more space than sleeping so it wouldn’t be an issue. “There’s plenty of room for the two of us.”
“Okay.” The Siphon flicked his gaze from the bed to Hugh and then looked down at the plush carpet. “But I need to take a shower first.”
He’d gotten out of bed, had a drink of water, and come right back to bed. Why did he suddenly need a shower? Hugh began taking a mental inventory of the bathroom, thinking of what the Siphon could use to make another attempt on his life.
“After what happened earlier, I’m sweaty and I don’t want to dirty your bed,” the Siphon added by way of explanation.
Upon closer observation, Hugh noticed the Siphon’s hair was matted down around the edges. Their kind were fastidious about cleanliness, so the assertion likely was true. Regardless, Hugh would keep an eye on him.
“Go ahead,” he said.
With a quick dip of his chin, the Siphon turned around and hurried to his room and the attached bathroom. Hugh followed at a more leisurely pace. When he entered the bathroom, the Siphon was standing over the toilet.
“Premier?” he said in surprise, his cheeks coloring as he twisted sideways, hiding his groin.
Public nudity was common for lions. Aside from being naked when they shifted between forms, they had sex whenever the mood struck, regardless of whether other adult lions were present.
“I’m not leaving you unsupervised,” Hugh repeated, but the nervousness in the Siphon’s blue eyes bothered him enough that he turned around. “There. You have privacy.” Not that he understood why the Siphon needed it. “Finish up. The sun will rise soon, and I’ll have to get to work.”
Protecting the safety and happiness of the Berk pride was Hugh’s job, and he took it seriously. Having a strong, visible Premier ensured the prosperity of the pride and sent a message to those outside their territory that attacks wouldn’t succeed. His lions needed him to manage disputes, give advice, and oversee the cohesiveness of their extended family. That meant his door was always open. On top of that, Hugh made it a point to visit pride members in their sprawling, communal homes. With nearly two thousand lion shifters in Berk, he was busy from morning, when people rose, to late evening, when they settled into their dens.
After several seconds, he heard liquid hitting the bowl and then a flush. Hugh flipped around to see the Siphon shrugging out of his white oxford shirt with his tan chinos already pooled around his feet. He stepped into the shower, closed the curtain, and then turned on the water.
“Make it fast,” Hugh muttered, more because he was uncomfortable standing around waiting on someone than because he was in a particular rush.
After a couple of minutes of silence, save for the running water, Hugh looked around the small room and decided to make good use of his time by checking for things the Siphon could use as weapons. First, he looked under the sink: toilet paper, an extra bottle of shampoo, a box of soap, and a tube of lotion. Nothing potentially fatal. Next, he examined the medicine cabinet: toothpaste, aspirin, a razor, and extra blades. He picked up the box of blades and looked it over, considering whether the Siphon could use them to slice his wrists. He had reached the conclusion that he could and he’d therefore need to use an electric razor instead, when the Siphon spoke from behind him.
“It won’t happen.”
Hugh flipped around, still holding the box of blades. “What won’t happen?”
“Slicing my wrists.” The Siphon nudged his chin toward Hugh’s hand. “That’s what you were thinking, right? That I’d take those blades to my veins and finally find freedom?”
That wasn’t actually the terminology Hugh would’ve used to describe an act that would destroy him and everyone he dedicated his life to protecting.
“That can’t happen,” the Siphon said, his tone noticeably disappointed.
“You’re saying you wouldn’t cut yourself?” Hugh asked disbelievingly. If the Siphon was willing to hang himself, admit to Hugh that he wanted to be dead, and describe his demise as freedom, he was likely to try another suicide method.
Completely ignoring Hugh, the Siphon gripped his towel, which was draped around his shoulders like a cape, said, “Excuse me,” and then scooted past Hugh into his bedroom.
Having his questions disregarded was unheard of, making Hugh wonder what had brought about the Siphon’s sudden personality change. Then he realized that despite the Siphon being his shadow for over a decade, they hadn’t talked much. In fact, Hugh was hard-pressed to remember a single conversation they’d had before the previous hour. Instead, he said they were going somewhere, and the Siphon followed silently, always remaining close enough to hold Hugh’s power. That aspect of their interaction hadn’t changed, so perhaps the Siphon’s personality was the same as always. There was no way to know.
Spending his life leading the Berk pride meant having very little downtime, so Hugh was glad that, as the Premier, he lived alone. In addition to eliminating any concerns about favoritism and potential jealousy between lions who would surely vi
e for his companionship if they believed that to be an option, having his own home gave Hugh space and time to relax without worrying about anybody. But as he stood alone in the bathroom, he realized that had changed. He now had to worry about the Siphon.
He resented losing his only bit of free time, but whatever bothered the Siphon put the entire pride at risk, which was unacceptable. Hugh would make that clear to him. But first, he’d give them both a break for the night. Tomorrow—or later that day—was soon enough for a conversation. Feeling calmer for having a plan, Hugh marched into the Siphon’s bedroom.
He stood in front of the dresser, stepping into a pair of inside-out sleep pants. His long-sleeved T-shirt hung on his slender frame, also inside out.
“Your clothes are on the wrong way,” Hugh pointed out.
“The seams bother me.” The Siphon pulled a sweatshirt over his head.
“You normally dress with your clothes the right way.” Otherwise Hugh surely would have noticed before now.
“When I’m awake, it’s fine, but I can’t sleep with them rubbing against my skin.”
Once they were in their respective rooms for the night, Hugh didn’t see the Siphon so it was possible he had always slept that way. The sensitive reaction to a part of clothing other people didn’t notice struck Hugh as odd. Then again, he slept nude so maybe it was normal. Either way, it didn’t matter.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“I just need my socks.” The Siphon opened another drawer and pulled out a thick pair of socks.
“We’re indoors,” Hugh said. “Isn’t that a little overkill?”
“I get cold.”
Another odd statement because lions ran hot in both forms. In the winter, Hugh rarely turned on the heater, and in the summer, he kept the air conditioner going nonstop.
For a moment, he wondered if the Siphon was sick. Illness would explain being cold and achy and maybe the strange behavior too. But carrying a Premier’s power meant a Siphon didn’t get sick. Except in the face of severe violence or separation from each other, a Premier and Siphon were said to be immortal. There weren’t enough Siphons in existence to test that theory, but in over ten years, Hugh couldn’t remember the Siphon coughing or sneezing. Then again, he wasn’t sure he’d have cared enough about something so mundane to notice it. And unless it related to the Siphon’s plan to kill him, Hugh still didn’t care.
“Let’s go,” he said once the Siphon finished putting on his socks.
He flipped around and walked through the adjoining door into his bedroom, the Siphon at his back. He stepped over to the bed, tugged the cover off, and slid underneath the top sheet. After punching his pillow until it was in his preferred shape, he lay down and thought about whether he should restrain the Siphon in some way that’d alert him if he attempted to leave the bed.
Sitting up, he saw the Siphon on the far end of the bed, curled into a ball with the sheet pulled up to his neck. Odd. He was odd. But based on the circles under his eyes and his slumped posture, he was likely to sleep much longer and deeper than Hugh, whose need to be ready to snap to attention and tend to the pride made him a light sleeper. Deciding he could monitor the Siphon sufficiently by sharing a bed, he didn’t disturb him to tie rope around his wrist.
Seemingly seconds after he fell asleep, movement woke Hugh. Adrenaline pumping through his body, he shot to a sitting position. He jerked his gaze around the room and confirmed everything was as it should be except that, unlike other nights, he was sharing his bed. He looked to his side and saw the source of the motion: the Siphon, still curled tightly under the sheet, was trembling.
“Are you okay?” Hugh wasn’t accustomed to dealing with the Siphon, but a scared pride member was a scared pride member. He was the Premier; he ensured the safety and comfort of the pride. And technically, the Siphon was part of the Berk pride. “Wake up… Uh—” He temporarily tripped over the lack of name to add to the end of that sentence. “Siphon, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”
“Not sleeping.” The barely audible words were whispered from beneath the sheet.
“You’re shaking.”
The sheet rustled and then the Siphon popped his head out.
“Why don’t I have a name?”
Disconcerted by a question so closely matching his own thoughts, Hugh growled, “You’re the Siphon.”
“But why don’t I have a name?” The Siphon’s teeth chattered as he spoke. “Everyone else has a name. You’re the Premier and you have a name. Two names. Hugh Langley. I’m the only one who doesn’t have a name.”
The Siphon’s mind worked in an unusual way, but for Hugh to resolve whatever was plaguing him, he had to understand the stranger in his bed.
“It bothers you?” he asked. “Not having a name?”
“People have names.”
“People?” Hugh repeated.
“People. Lions. Everyone has a name.”
The Siphon was the Siphon no matter what anyone called him. If a name resolved his issue, the Siphon could have a name.
“What do you want to be called?” Hugh asked.
“I can have a name?” the Siphon said breathlessly, his eyes wide. “Really?”
“It’s just a name,” Hugh muttered, rolling his shoulders to get rid of the sudden tightness in his muscles.
“What do you think my name should be?”
Hugh opened his mouth to say the name thing was the Siphon’s idea so he had no idea what it should be, but even in the dark room, the Siphon’s blue eyes sparkled with excitement and Hugh couldn’t bring himself to do anything that would take away that hopeful expression.
“What about John?” he said, throwing out the first answer that came to mind. “Do you like that name?”
“John,” the Siphon repeated the word slowly, as if he was testing the feeling of it on his tongue. “John is a nice name.” He scrunched his eyebrows together in consideration. “John.”
“Or maybe Johnnie,” Hugh found himself suggesting as he thought about the air of innocence around the Siphon. “It suits you better.”
“Johnnie. Johnnie Langley.” The Siphon’s face brightened. “I like it.”
Langley? The Siphon was going to use Hugh’s last name instead of his own mother’s?
Adult lions had sex with whoever appealed and was interested at the time; there were no lines, no barriers, and no resulting obligations. The one exception was when a female decided she wanted a cub. In that circumstance, the female carefully picked males whose genes she found appealing. For their part, males were generally honored to be chosen for reproduction so they happily agreed to the advances of any breeding female. To ensure successful procreation, females mated with a handful of potential sires so the ultimate male who fathered a cub wasn’t known. Male lions lived with other males while females and cubs lived together alongside other mothers and cubs, with cubs taking their mothers’ surnames.
“You don’t want to take your mother’s name?”
“I don’t know who she is.”
“How is that possible?”
With a sigh, the Siphon rolled onto his back. “They knew when I was born.”
After taking a few moments to consider the comment and what it meant, Hugh said, “Everyone recognized you as a Siphon at birth?”
“Yes.” The Siphon nodded. “You know, because of my eyes.” He tapped his fingers over one closed eyelid. “They saw blue, knew I was a Siphon, and kept me away from the others.” He swallowed loudly. “Or at least that’s what I assume happened. It’s not like anyone told me, but for as long as I can remember, the pride kept me contained in what was the safest house on our old pride lands.”
“They took care of you.”
Slowly turning his head toward Hugh, the Siphon pinned him with those blue eyes.
“They wanted to make sure nobody took me and nothing happened to me before I became an adult and could siphon a Premier’s power. The pride was dying off and they needed me to attract a Premier. That’
s what they said.”
“So the pride took care of you,” Hugh repeated, hoping to remind the Siphon of everything the pride had done for him so he’d stop trying to implement his destructive plan.
“That’s how you see it.”
Squeezing his fists in frustration, Hugh tried to keep his tone even when he asked, “How do you see it?”
“You want my opinion?” the Siphon asked, his voice squeaking as he arched his eyebrows.
“That’s why I asked,” Hugh bit out, the circular conversation and inability to get to the root of the problem frustrating him.
“My opinion—” The Siphon rubbed his lips together. “Is that people who care about you, give you a name.” His lips curled up slightly at the corners and his eyes fluttered shut. “Johnnie Langley.”
With a contented-sounding sigh, his body relaxed and he fell asleep, effectively ending their conversation and leaving Hugh no closer to an answer about what to do than he’d been before he went to bed.
Chapter 3
Ten uneventful days later, Hugh was almost ready to let his guard down. He had kept up with his usual duties to the pride and his visits to their dens, but he had eliminated social interactions after dinner in favor of going back to his house where he could stop pretending there wasn’t anything wrong. That time had given him opportunities to talk with the Siphon, and though Hugh still wasn’t sure what had made him snap, he hadn’t seen any indication of a recurrence. A niggling voice in the back of his head told him the storm was still brewing and the Siphon’s soft smiles were nothing more than temporary cloud cover, so he didn’t completely relax. But temporary or not, Hugh welcomed any respite from the worry that the Siphon was biding his time for the first opportunity to kill them both.
That reduction in worry allowed Hugh to step into his own room while the Siphon finished bathing. They were getting ready for dinner at one of the dens occupied by females who didn’t have cubs. He’d showered while the Siphon waited in his bathroom, and then he’d allowed the Siphon to go to his own quarters and bathe while Hugh supervised. But after looking at himself in the mirror for three minutes with no distractions, he had noticed a pinhead-sized spot on the corner of his shirt, so he dashed into his room to change. When he heard the water turn off through the wall, he headed back to the Siphon.