by J. R. Ward
#goals
As she moved carefully out of Peyton’s arms, he surfaced briefly from his rest to mumble something that sounded like “Where going?”
“Bathroom,” she said quietly. “You go back to sleep.”
He nodded against the pillow and let out a mutter of affirmation.
Standing over him, she wanted to smooth his tousled blond hair and erase the black circles under his closed eyes. She was willing to bet that he had stayed up most of the day to watch over her, and she hated the position she had put him in.
But she was glad, too. She was…relieved, kind of the way you would be after you excised an infection. It hurt like hell to get the boil cleaned out, but afterward? Clean was like bright sunshine in what had been a dark, damp place.
“You are so much more than I thought you were.”
And that was true not just because she had underestimated him from the start. It was because he had this way of hanging in with her, of seeing her, of supporting her without smothering her.
It was an incredible commentary on who he was to her…when the male who she had conceived her young with was not the one she had gone to with the pain of that death. No, it had been Peyton.
Peyton was the only one she had wanted. Had trusted. Had needed.
She had fallen in love with him.
And admitting that didn’t feel scary, actually. Which was a shock.
“I will name her and I will go back there,” she said softly. “And maybe you will come with me someday so I can introduce you two.”
In accepting him into her life, she wanted him to go with her back there sometime. It was not only a part of her, but had been the defining term for what had felt like the longest while.
Tiptoeing into the loo, she shut herself in the toilet room, took care of business, and then washed her hands and dried them. As she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she was surprised that she appeared exactly the same. You’d think some of the inner transformation might have translated into different-colored eyes or hair that was of another style.
But no, it was still her.
And that was rather the point, wasn’t it. Since the miscarriage, there had been two sides to her: What had happened and the pain, loss, and grief that went along with it—and then everything else. The latter had been responsible for existing and navigating the world at large. The former had been this shadowed entity that had haunted her. And she had protected both with a hard shell.
Because either she kept all the contradictions held in tightly or she wouldn’t have been able to function from the splitting apart, the falling apart.
After telling Peyton her story and crying it out, the two halves seemed to be integrating a little. She wasn’t sure how to explain it.
Who the hell knew.
“I’ll see you in class,” she said to Peyton as she came back out and put her boots on.
He mumbled again in his sleep and then roused well enough to properly focus on her. “Class? See you in class?”
“Yes. In class.”
As she leaned in and kissed him, she had the urge to say, “I love you”—and the impulse was so strong, she nearly spoke the three words aloud.
In the end, she settled for “I can’t wait.”
“Me, too.”
“Go back to sleep. You have at least an hour, maybe a little longer, before you have to get up.”
“Wish you didn’t have to go.”
“Me, too,” she parroted.
Over at the door, she took one last look at him. His lids were back down and he let out this long, slow exhale as if all were right in his world.
She felt the same way.
Out in the hall, she headed down for the stairs, striding along, her head both muddled and strangely clear. There was so much she hadn’t expected, from him and from herself…
It was as she came to the stairway that she realized she had made a mistake. In her distraction, she had gone right instead of left and ended up not at the head of the staff stairs, but rather the main, grand staircase.
“And who, may I ask, are you.”
She turned around. The male who had spoken was dressed in a three-piece suit that was dark as a shadow. He had thinning hair that was the same color as Peyton’s and autocratic features that would have been considered handsome but for his expression of total disdain.
“Well?” he demanded as he came toward her. “An answer, if you will.”
Up closer, she thought…no, Peyton’s father wasn’t as handsome as he appeared to be at a distance.
“I’m a friend of your son’s.”
“A friend. Of my son’s. Well. Has he paid you for your services, or are you looking to steal the silverware on the way out.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I am not a whore,” she snapped.
“Oh. Forgive me,” he drawled. “So you just spent the day with him for free? That must mean you are hoping to become his shellan—but allow me to cut your aspirations short. He is to be mated unto a female of appropriate bloodline this week, so I’m terribly sorry, my dear, but there is no future for you with him.”
“Mated?” she whispered. “What are you—”
“He has consented and he has met her. And lest you think there will be a role for you on the side, I must disabuse you of that notion. Go ply your wares elsewhere. Off you go. Good night.”
She stumbled back, the words not translating into any comprehensible meaning.
“Not that way,” the male barked. “You are not front-door material. You must use the rear stairs—”
Novo turned and ran down the grand red and gold carpeted expanse, her feet flying over the steps as Peyton’s father continued to yell after her. At the front door, she fumbled with the locking mechanism, freeing herself just as a male servant came running in from some other place in the house.
Bursting out into the cold, she slipped and fell in the snow. Got back up and continued to run across the lawn, leaving a messy trail in the pristine snow.
Her heart was pounding and her head was swimming. Mostly, she was aware of being in pain once again; the reprieve she’d had, her head popping up out of a proverbial churning ocean for a breath of sustaining air, had lasted no time at all.
She did not cry, however.
It was the cold in her face that coaxed tears from her eyes. Only the cold.
Saxton was late for work. As he rushed up the farmhouse’s basement stairs, he was pulling his suit jacket on at the same time he tried to fasten the buttons on his shirt. Things did not go well, any efficiencies lost in the face of attempting to do two jobs at once.
“I have your toast!” Ruhn called out by the sink. “And I put your coffee in your mug!”
Saxton skidded to a halt. The male was spectacularly naked, and all Saxton could think about was how he had ridden that…posterior region…to very great delight twice during the day. No, three times, including what they had just done in the shower together. Which was the reason for the lateness.
“How am I supposed to leave the house with you like that?”
Ruhn, always a rule abider, for once had no time for flirting. “Come, you will be late! I do not want it to be my fault.”
Saxton would have joked about that, but his love was so earnest that such levity was liable to be in poor taste, no matter the intention.
“Promise me, when I return, that you will be dressed exactly like this?”
“Saxton, eat.”
As a plate was shoved at him and his travel mug waved in his face, he just stood there, shirt half buttoned, jacket askew.
And p.s., what a great word…“askew.” It sounded just like the disorder it described.
“Saxton—”
“Promise.”
“Fine! I’ll be naked as you please!”
“A thank-you.” He bowed a little and quickly righted all that was wrong with himself. “And I am awaiting our reunion with bated breath.”
&nb
sp; “I shall be here.” Ruhn smiled. “I’m working on the cellar today.”
“You are going to have this place like new by the time we leave.”
“That is the plan.”
Saxton paused. “I love you.”
The kiss Ruhn gave to him was like his breath, easy and necessary. “I love you, too,” the male said. “Now go—wait, your proper coat is over there on the table!”
“I don’t need it. I have you to keep me warm.”
Minutes later, Saxton dematerialized…and re-formed at the rear entrance of the Audience House. Immediately, as soon as he walked in the kitchen, he knew he was out of sync. The doggen had already taken out the trays of Danish and turned on the restaurant-sized coffeepot, and there were voices down in front, civilians having already arrived for their appointments.
“Shit,” he said as he skidded through the staff hallway’s flap door and jumped into his office like it was a pool.
The coffee mug went down on the partner’s desk and it was only then that he realized he’d taken his piece of toast and his plate with him. He put the plate down as well, and threw the toast in his mouth, grabbed the folders, which—thank God—he’d set out before he’d left to go home to—
“Wrath is going to be late.”
Saxton swung around. Blay was standing in the doorway and dressed for guard duty, his clothes casual, his loose, zip-up fleece hiding all kinds of weapons. His red hair was still damp, as if he, too, had just arrived from his home, and the cherry Danish in his hand took Saxton back to Sunday evenings when they’d just woken up.
But it was extraordinary.
The appearance of the male, the recollection of their past, carried no pain. Not even nostalgia, really. It was more like part of the grocery list of prosaic events Saxton had lived, like when he’d bought a new suit from his tailor, or the last time he himself had had a Danish here at the Audience House…or even the fact that, yes, indeed, his own hair was also a little wet.
The absence of complication was a peacefulness that he drank in.
Saxton took the piece of toast out of his mouth. “I am so glad. I’m late as well. I just couldn’t get out of—” He stopped there. “Anyway. We’ve got a full docket. What’s his arrival time?”
Blay shrugged and finished his last bite. “I’m not really sure. Everybody who’s here to see him is being understanding. I guess George threw up his breakfast, so Wrath is calling in a vet to make sure that the poor guy didn’t get into anything.”
“Oh, no.” Saxton patted around for his phone. “I should call the house—no, wait. I don’t want to interrupt. Nothing can happen to that dog—”
“Nothing can happen to that dog.”
They both laughed. And then Blay got serious.
“Listen, my parents are so grateful for what you and…Ruhn…have done for Minnie. I guess you’ve taken care of those developers? Minnie is such a wonderful female, and the situation has been really bothering Mahmen and Dad. You know how my mahmen is. She’s a worrier.”
Saxton went around and sat down. “You have the two best parents I have ever met.”
“They love you.”
“And I love them.”
There was a quiet moment.
“I’m really happy for you and Ruhn, by the way,” Blay said softly. “And I hope that doesn’t sound weird. It’s not meant to be, I swear.”
“I, ah, I didn’t know anyone else was aware of us. Not that I was deliberately keeping it a secret or anything.”
“Minnie told my parents.”
Saxton took a deep breath. And then he reached for his travel mug, slid the top over, and took a sip. The coffee was just the way he liked it, sweet and not too harsh.
Somehow, the fact that Ruhn had made it seemed to put the male here in this room.
“May I be honest?” Saxton said.
“Always. Please.”
He looked up at his old lover. “I’m happy for me, too. It’s been hard.”
Blay came a little farther into the room. “I know it has been. I didn’t know how to help, what to do. I hated seeing you hurting like that. It just killed me.”
“I tried not to show it too much. I thought I did a pretty good job at that.”
“But I know you.”
“Yes, you do.” Saxton ran his finger up and down the metal flank of the mug. “I was not expecting him. Ruhn, that is. At all. I didn’t think I would ever…feel like this again, and it changes everything. He is—okay, fine, it sounds corny, but he’s my other half. It’s happened so fast that my head is spinning and it’s terrifying sometimes, too—but more than anything, it’s brought me such joy and happiness.”
“It only takes an instant,” Blay murmured. “When it’s real, it’s like turning on a light switch. Click, and then there is illumination everywhere.”
“Yes. That’s it.” Saxton found himself smiling up at the male. “I’m at peace. I was thinking about leaving, you know.”
“Caldwell? You were?”
“I didn’t have a lot to look forward to. I mean, setting up all this”—he motioned around the office—“was a great distraction. But when it started running right and was less demanding, I began to drift. The harbor appears to have presented itself once more, however.”
“He’s a good male. I didn’t know he was gay?”
“He didn’t, either.”
Blay chuckled a little. “You can be irresistible. I know this firsthand.”
“I am complimented by that, kind sire.” Saxton put his hand over his heart. “Quite.”
They both laughed—but then a pair of doggen hustled by in the hall, jointly carrying a Shop-Vac, the hose of which bounced along the floor.
“Oh, God, no,” Saxton muttered as he got back up and went across to the office. “That bathroom better not have let go again.” He stuck his head out into the corridor. “What has gone wrong?”
The two servants stopped and bowed, and the one on the left said, “The toilet upstairs.”
“We fixed it,” the other confirmed. “But there is water on the floor.”
“I’m going to have that replaced. Thank you. Continue on.”
The pair of flushed and happy doggen trundled off as Saxton turned back again. Looking into the eyes of Blay, he smiled.
“All is well.”
“All is well, indeed,” the male said as he reached out and squeezed Saxton’s shoulder. “Very well—”
“Oh, excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Saxton looked over. One of the trainees, Peyton, son of Peythone, was standing in the open jambs with an expression of urgency, his weight shifting back and forth on his combat boots as if only the upper half of him knew he’d come to a stop.
“It’s no problem.” Saxton stepped back. “Come on in. Do you need something?”
“I’ve got an issue.”
Blay clapped palms with the trainee and then glanced across. “I’ll let you know as soon as Wrath gets here.”
“And also about George.”
“Absolutely.”
Saxton waved and so did Blay, and then he took a moment to measure his new place in life, his proverbial new address, which was such an improvement over his previous abode.
All truly was well that ended well.
Then he refocused and went back around to his seat. “Tell me what’s going on and how I can help?”
—
Peyton had woken up alone, but he remembered Novo saying good-bye to him—and then he’d had to snap into action because he’d slept through the alarm on his phone. He hadn’t even bothered shaving. He just showered, threw his clothes on, and cracked a window, dematerializing to the Audience House.
Even though he was going to be late to the pickup, and would probably miss the bus to the training center, he had to take care of this first.
“May I shut this door?” he said.
Saxton, the King’s solicitor, nodded. “Of course.”
After they were closed in toget
her, Peyton paced back and forth in the narrow area between the file cabinets and the built-in shelves.
“My father wants to mate me to a female and neither she nor I consent. We’ve talked things over. I’m in love with someone else, and she is…” He didn’t think it was appropriate to share Romina’s story. “She wishes to remain single. The problem is…our sires have come to some kind of financial agreement and we’re worried they will execute it and we’ll be stuck.”
“So your father is paying a dowry, then.”
“No, he’s getting paid.”
Saxton showed surprise. “Really. Okay.”
“My sire has been trying to get rid of me for years,” Peyton said dryly. “It’s like a garage sale. Except I gather my price tag is considerably higher than five dollars.”
“And just to be clear, both you and the female do not consent. She is firm on that as well.”
“Yes. But from what she told me last night, our sires have made an appointment with the King. They’re coming here. I don’t know when, except it must be soon. My father’s been down to South Carolina, where the other family lives, a number of times already.”
“Peythone is your sire’s name?”
“Yes.”
Saxton signed into a laptop, and after some typing, he sat back.
“They do have an appointment.”
“When?”
“I can’t tell you.” As Peyton started to protest, Saxton held up a hand. “Ethically, I have to be careful not to violate any confidentiality. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help you.”
“Can we stop it?”
“I’m assuming the female has gone through her transition.” When Peyton nodded, Saxton said, “Good. So you both are legally of age. My initial thought is that you are not even third parties to such a contract. Two adults who have a meeting of the minds can bind each other to an agreement, but such an agreement cannot encumber anyone else who does not have an interest or consideration in its terms.”
Peyton rubbed his eyes. “I’m not following?”
“Your sires can agree to whatever they want between the two of them. But that agreement can’t be used to compel you or the female into actions you would not voluntarily assume on your own. Unless you or the female are accepting part of this payment?”