by Ophelia Bell
He scrubbed his hands over his face and stared at the sky, trying to gather the courage to admit his affliction. Looking at Ignazio again, he said, “The damage to my hip and groin went pretty deep, but the poison itself went even deeper … it spread.” He looked down his torso and cupped himself between the legs. “I can’t …”
“Fuck …” Ignazio breathed.
“Yeah, that pretty well sums it up.” Bryer let out a shaky laugh. “So I appreciate the well-intentioned help, but it wouldn’t do me any good if I found her.”
Ignazio studied him with pursed lips. “There’s got to be a way to fix it. Maybe finding your mate is the key to … I don’t know … to waking up your dick. We should at least try.”
“You know what? Just forget it. I don’t need your help! You’re wasting your time trying to find me a mate when you should be finding your own. Go back and beg Gerri for her help. I don’t care. I’m a lost cause anyway.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Dammit, will you lay off? Why …” He trailed off, looking at Ignazio and narrowing his eyes. “None of this makes sense for you. This … magnanimity … you are usually all about winning, all about getting the girl. There’s no way in hell you’d let go of this bet so easily, unless …”
Ignazio tensed and glanced away with a little shake of his head. “I don’t know what you’re thinking …”
Bryer’s throat tightened, his skin growing hot with rage. “You fucker. You found her, didn’t you? That’s the only explanation. You already know who your mate is, but you’re holding back. For what? Out of some misplaced pity? I don’t fucking need your fucking pity, all right?”
He turned away, took two steps and stopped, too pissed to move because he was afraid he’d break something—and none of the objects within reach were his to break.
Ignazio cursed softly, and a moment later, Bryer heard his friend’s footsteps fading away.
18
For the next several days, Bryer seemed to avoid Ignazio whenever possible. Ignazio sensed his friend’s hostility through their link, so even during training sessions, their interactions were volatile. It pissed Mondaro off to no end to have the pair of them so at odds, but no amount of effort would prompt Bryer to speak to Ignazio beyond monosyllabic responses when they sparred.
Bryer even avoided him during meals, which threw Pomona off, at first. But by the second week of Ignazio eating alone, she seemed unfazed. She served his supper with an understanding smile and a pat on his shoulder.
“He’ll come around.” She set a second plate at the end of the table and pulled up a chair, sitting down to serve herself.
“You don’t have to keep me company,” he said.
“Why not? I’d just be eating alone, anyway, and I miss our after-dinner talks. Do you want to talk about it?”
“It’s … complicated.”
“Did you consider apologizing?”
He stopped chewing his food and stared at her. Swallowing, he said, “Why do you assume I did something I should apologize for?”
One eyebrow lifted over her pretty brown eyes. “Because you’ve had your proverbial tail between your legs since you two got back from that party last week—separately, I might add. And he’s the one giving you dirty looks, not the other way around. I’m guessing you did something to wound his pride.”
With a groan, he leaned back in his chair and pushed his fingers through his hair. Knowing the woman in front of him was the core of the issue made it hard to share, but he also desperately needed to get it out. Opening up to Pomona all summer had been as natural a thing as flying.
He let out a sigh and looked at her, deciding that he’d tell her as much as he could, just to get it off his chest. “I’m such a fucking ass. I was trying to help, but just made things worse. And he needs help I can’t offer, but I know the truth is going to hurt worse, you know? We’ve always had each other, and that’s been enough, but now it suddenly isn’t.”
“Hmm,” she said, nodding. “Sounds like you’ve got an issue with him needing more than just the two of you, too. Sometimes friends just aren’t enough, or your career just isn’t enough. You need more, and it’s hard to admit it because more just means more complicated. I know I’d like to keep my life simple, and I’ve managed to for a long time, but you reach a point where simple just doesn’t cut it.”
Ignazio’s heart beat faster the more the truth of her words hit home. He needed his friend, but Bryer absolutely needed more, and Ignazio knew it. He just hated the idea of giving up what he and Bryer had together.
Had he been sabotaging his friend’s well-being by withholding how much Bryer needed to find a mate—and why it needed to happen? He’d been aware for some time that Bryer hadn’t gotten the message from the doctor that a mate might be the key to his full recovery. Ignazio had had no idea the extent of his friend’s injury, though. Not until Bryer’s confession at the party.
“I’m not sure what the fuck to do now.”
“Maybe start with the truth? I get the sense that whatever you did, you had the best intentions. Neither of you strike me as malicious men. I mean … I had nobody when I moved here, and you two have made me feel so welcome and wanted. And I don’t just mean that first night.”
Her eyes flashed with humor, but he saw an underlying ache deep beneath the surface that mirrored Ignazio’s suppressed need for her. Don’t wait, the matchmaker had said, but he couldn’t come clean about Pomona being his mate yet. Not when his relationship with Bryer was so tenuous.
But if they both found mates, that would be the end of their escapades. The end of the best times of Ignazio’s life, when the pair of them would challenge each other’s sexual prowess—often with the same women. Especially with the same women. He’d tried sex without his friend egging him on, or working the females up even more, and it was ultimately empty and unenjoyable beyond the very basic physical release.
“The truth … it’d be a lot easier to tell him if he’d agree to stay in the same room with me for more than a minute when we’re not training.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding. “I think I can help with that.”
She cleared their empty plates and then motioned him to follow her into the kitchen. Pulling up a stool, she pushed him down onto it, then went to the stove, opened the oven, and peeked inside. His nostrils flared at the scent of whatever delicious dessert she had baking, and when she turned around and saw him, she winked.
“What?” he asked, confused by her sly expression.
“This is part of the plan,” she said, then put a finger to her lips. She pulled another steaming dish out of a warming oven and carried it back through the kitchen doors. As they swung shut behind her, he caught a glimpse of Bryer sitting down in his regular seat and giving Pomona a weary smile.
Whatever she had planned, he hoped it worked.
19
Pomona set Bryer’s supper in front of him and pulled up her seat for the second time that night. She had no idea what had gotten between the two men, only that they desperately needed help. And if there was one thing she was sure of, it was that food could cure all ills in some fashion, if you knew how to use it.
She wanted to comfort them both—take them in her arms and hold them until their worries disappeared. Her deep need to see them happy hadn’t been so apparent until they were suddenly unhappy, and for no apparent reason. All she could deduce was that something had happened at that party they’d gone to.
She’d never expected to feel this strongly about an employer. But she’d realized a few weeks in that what they had between them was so much more than simply a professional relationship. Perhaps that first night of intimacy and their honesty that followed had irrevocably altered things for the three of them, but she wouldn’t have changed a thing, even though she knew deep down that she could never have what she’d only recently begun to wish for.
She’d never truly enjoyed spending time with anyone as much as she did with Bry and Ig. With each new
day, they had surprised her.
The Precious liqueur had only been the beginning of their gifts. Their dessert conversations often included talk of old favorite recipes and new ones she wanted to try, if only she had a certain ingredient she didn’t have in the pantry. Within a day or two, a mysterious package would arrive with her name on it. After the first one, they continued to come at regular intervals only a few days or a week apart.
Last week’s had been a small paper package with a bow on it, which upon opening she’d discovered contained some strange, knobby, fruit-like things. Nova Aurora truffles. Can’t wait to taste what you do with these. —Bry & Ig, the note attached had read. It wasn’t until later that night when she looked them up that she realized how exceedingly rare and valuable the ingredient was—even more so than Earth truffles were—though not nearly as rare as the liqueur had been.
The week before that, she’d received an unusual tropical fruit whose juicy flesh tasted like the perfect mix of chocolate and raspberries, which she’d made into three distinctly different desserts to find out which the men preferred.
Her heart ached for them after seeing them so at odds the last two nights, and she’d decided it was time to pull out the big guns. Now all she needed to do was get them to sit down together.
“Delicious, as always,” Bryer said as he swiped the last morsel of food up on his last bite of dinner roll and popped it in his mouth. He eyed the kitchen doors longingly, but Pomona wasn’t going to serve dessert just yet.
His gaze moved to her and flickered with some indecipherable emotion before he reached for the wine and refilled his glass. He gave her an apologetic smile. “I know, I should drink less, but you’re making me wait for dessert, so I need something to dull the craving. Whatever you’ve got waiting in there smells fucking amazing.”
“It is fucking amazing,” Pomona said. “But you’re right. I’m holding out until you tell me what’s going on between you and Ig.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, you cruel temptress. I even cleaned my plate tonight—not even a taste?”
“You can have all you want if you spill,” she said.
“All I want, hmm?” he asked, his heated gaze sliding over her.
In spite of how her entire body warmed in response, she’d gotten used to his suggestive retorts and saw through them now. At first, she’d interpreted them as an effort to put her at ease—to make light of the three of them losing control that first night—but over the weeks, she’d begun to understand how much more they were. She sensed that they were some kind of armor he used to conceal a deeper insecurity, and whatever it was must be the wound Ignazio had poked.
She crossed her arms over her chest, deciding to call his bluff. “You want me? Fine, I’m yours. But not until you talk, okay? What the hell did Ig do that was so terrible you’d stop speaking to him?”
Bryer shut his blue eyes. “Does that mean you’re on his side now? What did he tell you?”
“I’m not on anybody’s side! I mean … you both matter to me, more than you know. This thing eating at you both, whatever it is, isn’t worth losing what you two have had for so long. You’ve been best friends your entire lives. What the hell could be so awful that you’d jeopardize that kind of history?”
He stared down at his drink and in a gruff voice said, “You wouldn’t understand if I told you.”
“Try me.”
He gave her a pleading look, but still didn’t talk.
“All right,” she said. “If you won’t talk to me, talk to him, but I’m holding dessert hostage until you do.”
She stood and walked into the kitchen, leaving him staring after her with his mouth hanging open. Hoping like hell this would work, she retrieved the set of three ramekins from the oven with the desserts.
Ignazio watched her set them on a tray. “Well?” he asked.
“Follow me,” she said.
She walked back through the doors, carrying tonight’s dessert with Ignazio behind her. Bryer stiffened when his friend came in, and the two men stared at each other without speaking.
“This …” she nodded down at her tray, “… is one of my specialties, and something you haven’t had yet. If you want it, you will both sit and work out whatever this is.”
“Bry …” Ignazio said, his voice rough and vulnerable. “She forced me to sit in there with it and not taste it. Have some sympathy, man. I’m sorry for my bullshit. I had no idea what you were going through.”
“You lied to me.”
“No … I didn’t. Not exactly. Nobody else knows. Nobody. I just … shit …” He looked at Pomona. “Is it all right if we have a minute?”
Pomona raised an eyebrow at Bryer.
He nodded, then pointed at the dessert. “I’ll stay as long as you promise to bring that back.”
With a relieved smile, she nodded. “Just say the word, but you’d better both still be here, or I’m eating it all myself.”
She turned and headed back into the kitchen, certain that two pairs of eyes were fixed on her ass as she left. What made the situation even more difficult was the fact that half the time, she caught them looking at her like she were dessert. If having her was what they really needed to sort things out, she’d offer herself, as long as it set things right between them.
Sitting with her party planning notes, she spent several minutes simply making lists for her final preparations. There were only two more days before the event, and with all the big names in the shifter world on the guest list, she intended to impress the lot of them. As much as she increasingly hated the idea of leaving these two men she’d come to care for, this job wasn’t permanent, so she wanted to make sure the food at this party was memorable.
20
Bryer eyed his friend, noting Ignazio’s discomfort. He wanted to be happy for him, but found it difficult to muster any joy over his friend’s recent revelation.
“Who is she?” he asked.
“I’d rather not say yet.”
“So you admit you found her. Your mate, I mean. So you’ve won. Tell me why we need to have this conversation at all?”
“I haven’t won. I told you, nobody knows. She doesn’t even know yet. Nobody’s won the damn bet until one of us has mated … can we at least agree on that?”
“Why the fuck are you waiting? That’s what kills me. You can be damn sure that if I knew who my mate was and could actually mate her, I wouldn’t wait.”
Ignazio clenched his fists and took a deep breath. “And you shouldn’t, either. I’ve been an ass of a friend to you this summer, and it took Pomona highlighting my mistakes for me to realize I have to tell you the truth. Not about finding … my mate … but about something the doctor told me after your injury. I assumed you knew at first, but … well, if you did, there’s no reason you’d be so reluctant to win this damn bet.”
A sharp sensation pierced Bryer’s chest. There were more lies? He wanted to get up and walk out now, but he’d promised Pomona he wouldn’t. It had less to do with wanting her dessert than … well, than wanting her. Her respect. Mating her might have been impossible at the moment, but he had to hope it wouldn’t be a permanent problem, and he wouldn’t be able to face her if he didn’t follow through with this.
“Tell me,” he growled.
“You need a mate, brother. The doctor said it might be your only chance to motivate your dragon into helping you fully heal. That’s why I made the damn bet in the first place. I didn’t think you’d take the doctor’s advice without some—I don’t know—some incentive. The idea of settling down has never appealed to either of us. I wanted you to win because I knew it would mean you being able to get better. I never gave a fuck about myself. I never expected I’d find my mate.”
“So why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“Because finding mates means the end of us, one way or the other. If we wind up with different women, that’s a divide we never had before. I don’t see us coming back from that.”
Bryer’s dragon twist
ed in agitation at the suggestion of its brother-in-arms being taken from it.
“I don’t like that thought any more than you do, but what do I do? Stay crippled? I’m not at a hundred percent. So, you’re telling me that if I mate a female—if I can even get to the point where that’s possible—I can heal. But at what cost? We lose what we have if our dragons form a soul bond with someone else.”
Ignazio sat down in the chair across from Bryer, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “I know. It’s a fucking dilemma and a half.”
Bryer refilled his wine glass and pushed it across the table to his friend. “You need this.”
With a wry chuckle, Ignazio nodded. “Don’t I ever.” He guzzled the wine, then glanced at the kitchen doors. “I know what we really need right now. Something only the perfect woman can offer.”
“Wait …” Bryer said before Ignazio made it to the doors to call Pomona back in. “What are we going to do?”
“We start by calling off the fucking bet. I think we agree we’ve already got the perfect chef, which was going to be the prize, anyway. Hell, we have two of them if Pomona stays.”
Bryer’s gut lurched at the idea of her ever leaving. “Then what?”
Ignazio shrugged. “That’s up to you, but I’m not mating anyone until you’re better.”
“Will you at least tell me who she is?” Bryer asked.
Ignazio stared at the kitchen doors, seeming to consider the question, but ultimately, he shook his head. “After you’re better, all right? I’d rather not bring her into the mix until I know you’re good. Until I know we can start the next season and move on with our lives. Fair?”
Bryer relaxed. It wasn’t an ideal solution, but he supposed it was the best he could hope for. And no shit he needed a mate, but what good did it do to know who she was when he couldn’t follow through?
21