Cutie and the Beast

by E. J. Russell

  David stomped out of the office, through the waiting room, and into the hallway. “It’s not your chance to take, you pigheaded man,” he muttered.

  “Call me all the names you like, you won’t change my mind.”

  In the elevator, Alun stayed plastered against the far wall, as if David might infect him with a brain-eating fungus. When they reached the parking garage, David headed for his own car, but Alun stepped in front of him, herding him toward the Land Rover as if he were a freaking sheep.

  “I can drive myself, Alun.”

  “No.”

  “Are you planning to take me to work tomorrow? To the grocery store? To the movies? How am I supposed to retrieve my car? You have a troop of minions waiting in the wings to handle the grunt work?”

  “Get in the car, David.”

  “I hardly think the drivers on I-5 at this time of night care what I am unless I cut them off. Think my achu-gobbledegook can cure road rage? Because then it might be useful except for being another excuse for you to be emotionally unavailable.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Oh, don’t even start.”

  “Fine. Get in my car.”

  “Whatever. Jeez.” David stormed over to the big-ass SUV, opened his own damned door, and climbed in. Without assistance—So there, Dr. Knows-Best. I’m not freaking helpless.

  For most of the drive, David stared at his window, arms crossed, watching Alun’s reflection in the glass. Alun gripped the steering wheel, hunched forward as if he could urge the car to move faster. So anxious to get rid of me. But then David caught his convulsive swallow and his uneven breath. Could he have been as frightened as I was? Remember, he’s still in pain. Confrontation won’t help.

  David shifted in his seat until he faced Alun. “Hey.” He kept his voice gentle. “Don’t you think you might be overreacting just a tad about this achu-doohickey stuff?”

  “No.”

  Breathe, David. No confrontation. “We’ve both had a pretty full day, so I’ll let that pass. For now. But tomorrow at work we need to seriously talk about it.”

  “You’re not coming back to work.”

  David goggled at him. “What? Why? The supe cat is out of the bag, mine included, so it’s not like there’s anything to cover up anymore.”

  “Exactly. You’re vulnerable. Jackson knows what you are, and he’s not likely to keep his mouth shut. After the disaster at the Revels, the whole Seelie Court knows. How long before the Unseelie hordes find out and come for you as they came for Owain?”

  “How will my being unemployed save me from that?”

  Alun flexed his fingers around the steering wheel. “You’ll have to go into hiding. I’ll have Mal talk to the Queen. See if we can—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I am not going into some fairy WITSEC program. This is my life. My home is here. My aunt—”

  “Not anymore. Everything’s different now.”

  Not really. Apparently I’m still the guy who causes chaos all around me, then ends up alone.

  When they pulled up in front of David’s house, Alun slammed the gear shift so hard that David winced. “Stay in the car until I come around.”

  “I don’t think so.” David threw open the door and jumped down, leaving Alun to close the dang thing if he was so all-fired anxious to be a chauffeur. He stalked up the sidewalk.

  “David. Stop.”

  He vaulted up the two steps to the porch and whirled, the height of the porch enabling him to look down on Alun for once. “Why? So you can pretend you care?”

  “Didn’t tonight teach you anything? Jackson was ready to kill you to activate his shifter gene.”

  David stared into Alun’s face. “Would it have worked?”

  “Perhaps. I don’t know—and that’s the point. Nobody knows, not even you, but those who have heard the rumors, the legends—no matter how unlikely—will try them. All of those tales end the same way—with the death of the achubydd.”

  “You want to know what I think?”

  Alun’s brows lowered further—if that was even possible. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “I think the only way to find out if any of that crap is true is to try it.” Alun recoiled, ready to spew more of his alarmist manifesto, but David threw up a hand. “Hear me out. There’s no way the achu-hoo-hah could have lasted as long as they did if every time they healed somebody, they died.”

  Alun opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. “You . . . might have a point.”

  “Of course I do. It’s just like Mr. Czardos and his blood aversion, or Mrs. Tomlinson trying to force Benjy to collect stuff he’s not interested in. You never ask. You never consider that there might be ways other than your moldy oldies.”

  Alun crossed his arms, his feet planted like the roots of an oak. “Go on.”

  David hesitated. He knew this next bit would be painful for Alun, but it was time for him to face it. “How long were you and Owain lovers?”

  Yup, there it was. The pinched mouth, the tight jaw, as if he were both bracing for a blow and recovering from one. “Nearly a year, by the stars of Faerie.”

  David raised his eyebrows. “Stars are different there?”

  “Time moves slower. It takes longer for a full revolution of the heavens there than in the Outer World.”

  “So in Outer World terms that would be . . . what?”

  “We rarely ventured out of Faerie.”

  David huffed an exasperated breath. “Estimate, then. Just a ballpark. I don’t need freaking decimal precision.”

  “Time doesn’t always move at the same pace—”

  “Alun. You’re stalling. How. Long?”

  “Three hundred years . . . or perhaps a bit more.”

  Jeez. Three hundred years? Or more? David couldn’t manage three days. “I don’t suppose it was a platonic relationship? That you were content to worship him from afar?” Alun shook his head. Dang it. “Two years or three hundred, it hardly matters. The point is he was never harmed by any of . . . what you did together.”

  “Perhaps,” he grumbled.

  “Don’t perhaps me, Dr. I’m-Always-Right. You know what I think? I think he got just as much from you as you got from him. Like . . . like biofeedback. A symbiotic relationship.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Well obviously I don’t know for sure, but when I help somebody, when I know I’ve made a difference, I get a huge rush. I don’t feel depleted or used or exploited. I feel fulfilled. If that’s my achu-whosis crap creeping out of the woodwork, then imagine how someone who actually knows what to do with it would feel.” He descended the steps. “I know you lost your one true love in a horrible way, but people recover from grief. That’s one of the reasons you’re a shrink, right? To help people recover from grief, from guilt, from trauma.”

  “Look how well I did with Jackson.”

  David rolled his eyes. “Not even you can cure bat-shit crazy.” He reached out, but Alun dodged before his touch could land. David sighed. “You had the holy mother of trifectas, Alun—grief, guilt, and trauma. But after two hundred years of beating the crap out of yourself, aren’t you ready to move on? Don’t you want to move on?”

  “Oak and bloody thorn, yes.”

  “That’s the first step in recovery, right? Admitting you have a problem and that you want to change?”

  Alun’s lips finally relaxed into an almost-smile. “Psychologist, shrink thyself?”

  Go for the gold, David.

  “You said you felt as if you’d been gutted when you found Owain’s body—as if that dreadful scar”—which you no longer have—“was from a real wound. Alun. Tell me the truth. Who cursed you?”

  Alun stared straight ahead, his fists clenched tight at his sides. “I told you. I don’t know.”

  “Well think about it, then. Who could it have been? Owain was . . . was gone by the time you woke up, and his murderers were nowhere around.”

  “The rules of Faerie—”

  “Uh-uh. Not
buying it. From everything I’ve learned, Faerie doesn’t effect change—it’s all about preserving the status quo. Something—or rather, somebody—had to trigger the curse.”

  “Blast it, how many times must I say it? There wasn’t anybody else. I was the only living person in the circle.”

  David nodded, waiting for Alun’s other size fourteen to drop. Come on, baby. You can get there. One, two, thr—

  Alun sucked in a breath, eyes widening. “Goddess preserve me. I—I did it. I cursed myself.”

  I knew it—and so did you, deep down. “So now you have to forgive yourself. Owain would want you to. If I were him, I’d want you to.”

  He shook his head. “No one could be that selfless. He’d want me to suffer.”

  “Really? If he was that horrible a person, then screw him—he’s not worth it.” And I can be exactly that selfish, because I’m not letting you go. “Two hundred years, Alun. I’d say you’ve paid your dues.”

  Alun hung his head, and as if David had suddenly developed some kind of weird x-ray vision, he could see the paths of pain in Alun’s body, flowing out from his head and circling his heart like a cage of red thorns. Hot damn, was this what an achu-guy could do? Instant diagnostic ultrasound? Awesome.

  And just as he could see the pain, he knew—one hundred percent without question—that he could do something about it. He advanced on Alun like a tiger stalking a really surly deer.

  “What— Stay away.”

  “No.” He grinned. “How does it feel to have someone tell you no for a change? And you can’t even run away, like you’ve been doing all day. What if some homicidal fairy is lurking in the shrubbery, waiting to have its way with me?”

  “David, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Maybe not entirely, but I know doing nothing is not an option. Never touching you? Also not an option. So suck it up, Dr. Doom. You’re about to become a practical demonstration.”

  With the bone-deep certainty that Alun would never let him be hurt, David flung himself forward. As he’d planned, Alun caught him around the waist, holding him tight against that broad, scrumptious chest, at the perfect height for a little mouth-to-mouth wrestling.

  He grabbed Alun’s face and dove in. God, that mouth. It didn’t matter whether he was in beast mode or beauty mode, that mouth still drove David wild. Alun moaned, clutching David tighter, the hard ridge of his erection hot against David’s belly, and took two giant steps toward the house until David was plastered against the porch railing.

  David gasped as Alun ground their cocks together. “Remember that whole ‘psychologist shrink thyself’ thing? Don’t take that too literally.”

  “Dafydd . . .” Alun’s voice shivered down David’s spine. “You said I lost my one true love. You’re wrong.”

  “But—”

  “He wasn’t my one true love. He may have been my first. But he wasn’t my last.”

  This time, Alun took the plunge in a kiss that would have buckled David’s knees if he weren’t suspended between Alun and the porch. Yes! A wave of euphoria crashed over David, swamping his senses. They traded tongues, shared breath, touched everywhere that clothing allowed. No barriers. For the first time, he’s not keeping me out.

  David still sensed that lasso of thorns around Alun’s heart—tight, but maybe not as tight as it had been? Because he doesn’t belong to Owain anymore. He belongs to me. With every kiss, David willed Alun to believe it too. It’s time, Alun. Let him go. Set yourself free.

  Then, like the snap of a steel cable—although the sound rang only inside David’s head—the bonds burst, and David could feel it—the flow of golden energy from Alun to him and back—nothing in the way, no guilt, no pain, no regret. Alun’s moan morphed into a possessive growl and his kisses grew positively voracious. Yes!

  Finally, though, David had to pull away before he passed out from hypoxia, and he leaned his head against the porch, eyes closed. His chest felt twice as broad, his mood so light he was surprised he didn’t float off above the rooftops. Damn, dopamine is some good shit.

  Then he opened his eyes and nearly slid down the post.

  Alun was beautiful again.

  No more orc-tastic brow ridges or outsized jawbone. No mangled Sir Ian McKellan nose. He was even more gorgeous than after the potion because that persistent worry-wrinkle was gone from between his brows. And he did it all himself—well, okay, with a little pep talk from me.

  David traced the perfect cheekbones. “Welcome back.”

  Alun’s eyes widened, and he clapped a hand to his forehead, felt the bridge of his nose, the angle of his jaw. “What—” He let go of David and backed away. “I never agreed to this. You had no right to drain yourself for my benefit, to let me feed on you like a thrice-damned parasite.”

  “Check your assumptions, Dr. Fatalism. All I offered—all I fed you—was the truth, something you’ve been avoiding for the last couple of centuries, give or take.”

  “No. The energy exchange, when we touched, when we kissed—I should have recognized it.” He passed his hand over his face again, fingers visibly trembling. “This is what I was afraid of. You sacrificing yourself for me. If I had drained you—”

  Before David’s eyes, the bones started to bubble underneath Alun’s skin.

  “Hey!” David grabbed Alun’s shirt front and pulled him back. “None of that. I made exactly zero sacrifice.”

  “I don’t believe you. Something happened.”

  “Of course it did. You happened. You finally let go of the past, of your misplaced guilt. Furthermore, I am the complete opposite of drained. I’m . . . I don’t know, empowered. Like you were finally opening up to me. I mean, do I seem dead to you?” He pressed his still-hard cock against Alun’s thigh.

  Alun almost smiled—almost. “But Owain . . .”

  David clenched his teeth. Getting really, really tired of hearing about perfect martyred Owain, and if that makes me a terrible person, I’ll own it. “What about him?”

  “Doesn’t he deserve to be remembered?”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” David rested his head against Alun’s chest for a moment. “Remember him, yes. But don’t immolate yourself on his funeral pyre. Honor his life—not his death.”

  Alun’s chest heaved under him. “Goddess, you’re right. I almost never think of him, only our parting and its aftermath.”

  “Exactly.” He leaned back so he could see Alun’s face—his beautiful, uncursed face. “So how does admitting that make you feel?”

  “Feel?” Alun blinked, raising his hand until his fingers hovered over David’s cheek. “I feel . . . reborn. But you—”

  David pressed his fingers over Alun’s lips. “Stop right there. I feel better than I have in years. Maybe my whole life, so don’t go all guilt-ridden on me again.” He tapped Alun’s jaw. “It’s not a good look on you.”

  This time Alun managed a full-on smile that turned David’s knees to jelly. “I thought you said my looks didn’t matter. It was my attitude that was the off-putter.”

  “That was when I thought you were a victim of circumstance and accident, but, baby—self-pity? Uh-uh. I love you, but I don’t hang with whiny guys.”

  “I love you.”

  Alun felt as if mead were flowing in his veins instead of blood. Goddess, those words carried more magic than the One Tree itself. Hearing them from Owain had made him feel extraordinary. Powerful. Unstoppable. Hearing them from David, though—a completely different feeling, as if he were just like anybody else—just as deserving, just as worthy of being loved.

  If that wasn’t magic, nothing was.

  Could he finally be free of the curse of his own guilt, his own transgressions? Had he truly found redemption in this incredible man? Could his exile truly be over?

  But did he want to return to Faerie, to his old duties and responsibilities? He’d built a life in the Outer World despite his curse. He had purpose here. A lover here. He stroked David’s neck, ran a fingertip along the wing of h
is eyebrow. A lover who will be in constant danger. Surely, if Alun had his old resources, his Sidhe powers and connections, he could find a way to protect David. A frisson of alarm crept up his back. Suddenly, the street seemed too open, too indefensible.

  He gathered David close and whispered, “Invite me in.”

  David chuckled. “Good point. If we go any further out here, we’re liable to get arrested.” He kissed Alun again, then pulled away to dig his keys out of his pocket. When he let them into the house, though, the living room wasn’t empty. One member of the druid circle, a plump woman in jeans and a pink sweatshirt, was sitting on the sofa, tying up bags of herbs with red twine. She set them aside and rose, her expression somber.

  “Aunt Peggy.” David held out his arms to her, obviously expecting a hug. “I didn’t know you’d be here this evening.” He peered through an arch into the dark kitchen. “Have you and Aunt Cassie been—”

  “You’re not wearing your earring.”

  “No.”

  “Your worry stone? Are you carrying that?”

  “No. You don’t have to front with me anymore. I know what I am. I’m not trying to mask it anymore.”

  She raised one hand to her trembling mouth. “That’s why.”

  “Why what?”

  “I’m sorry, David. But Cassie is . . .”

  David paled and swayed drunkenly on his feet. Alun rushed across the room and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Easy, cariad.”

  “Is she—” David gulped and shuddered under Alun’s arm. “Is she gone?”

  “Oh, my pumpkin.” She grabbed his hands. “No. Not yet. But she’s in a coma. You see, not all of your protections were held by those talismans. Cassie did a lot of the work herself. That’s why she’s been failing. As you’ve grown older, it’s gotten harder to keep your power damped down, and the spells have taken more of her energy. She’s older now too, so she doesn’t have the same reserves.”

  “You mean she doesn’t have cancer?”

  Peggy shook her head.

  “She never did?” David was still trembling under Alun’s touch, but this time it didn’t feel like fear. It felt like fury. Why do I know what he feels? But as surely as he knew his own name, he knew that David was furious.