I have to snicker at his response though. “That your way of saying you want to go again? Because I had to cast and…” Turns out working magic affects sorcerers in weird ways. Sometimes it’s the greatest high in the world, sometimes it’s like raking yourself over hot coals, sometimes it’s as if everything’s suddenly composed of tomato-flavored Jell-O, and sometimes it just exhausts you so completely you can’t even be “inspired” to enjoy a quiet moment with your boyfriend.
Fingers gently run along the side of my face before he kisses me, and Dwarves take a bit of getting used to in that department, considering they have much thicker tongues than humans. If they aren’t careful a French kiss can produce the same effects as sticking a finger down your throat, which can make for a very awkward end of a date when you’re a college freshman. I will admit I didn’t find it disgusting when Ozzie told me about it because I was too busy laughing. Luckily for me I haven’t had to see whether or not he was actually telling the truth.
After he breaks the kiss as tenderly as he can, his hand leaves my face to inspect the effect on my groin. “Damn it. You weren’t kidding.” He grumbles a few seconds before looking at me. “Well, I’m going to do something to you, at least. Roll over on your stomach.”
My eyes widen at that. “Uh…Oz, I really don’t think that’s a good… I mean, I’d like to but I’m exhausted and sore and…”
The Dwarf maneuvers on the bed, and shortly after I’m pinned, my thighs straddled by his legs, his manhood resting against the cleft of my ass. I try to process what the hell’s going—
“Oh God…”
There’s a moving pressure along my back, finding all the tense spots and working them out, my body flooding with relief. Considering I’m a sorcerer, I’ll resist the urge to make a magic-fingers pun.
“Tell me where to go.” He snickers, leaning down to kiss the back of my neck before resuming his tour of my aching back. “Or should I just follow the moaning?”
My response is as unintelligible as it is encouraging.
His hands work along my back for a few minutes, leaving me a half-awake puddle. “More relaxed?”
I grunt in the affirmative.
“Good.” Only his fingertips touch my back now, drawing randomly curving lines. “My father’s returning from Germany tomorrow, and he’ll likely want to meet you.”
“Okay, get off my back.” I wriggle and scootch over so we’re both on our sides, though Ozzie is conveniently not making eye contact. “Likely want to meet me? Does he even know we’re dating?”
The Dwarf chews his lip in response and half-shrugs. “Sort of.”
“Does he know I’m a guy?”
He shakes his head.
“That I’m a sorcerer?”
Another headshake.
“Ozzie, does he even know I’m human?”
He shrugs fully now. “Figured it wouldn’t matter. You’re a guy, not like we’d be having kids.”
I sigh, rub my face. “What exactly does he know, Oz?”
“That I’ve been seeing someone for almost six months. And that I have feelings for them and…” For this, he does meet my eyes. “That I care about them, deeply.”
“And you waited until now to spring this on me? That he’s coming back?”
“Well,” he says, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling, “I didn’t find out until earlier today.” He glances at the clock on the night table. “Make that yesterday.”
“Why? I thought he was building a car or something for your Queen.”
“Don’t know, but it must be something important for him to come back on such short notice, and it’s likely not about a car. Hell, the garage is just a hobby shop for him, pretty much.”
Already I’m starting to wonder about what happened at Under the Bridge, but I don’t want to bring it up just yet. “What does your dad do usually, then?”
He chuckles. “Weapons. Armor. What else? We’re Dwarves, remember? Always a demand for Fae-steel swords, vests, plate, maces, you name it.”
Fae-steel, or steel forged without the inclusion of iron, is one of the great secrets of the Dwarves, as they’re the only ones who know how to smelt and work the metal. Not only is it lighter than steel, it’s also stronger, and takes enchantments better than any metal out there. According to Ozzie, it’s also used rather frivolously, such as a Fae noble demanding nineteen-inch Fae-steel spinners on his Lexus simply because he can afford it.
“So, the Fae are arming up? Why? What’s going on? Anything I should be worried about?”
Ozzie shrugs. “I don’t know. Ever since that half-blood got knighted a while ago, things have been touchy in court. I don’t have many details, since people like me aren’t appreciated at formal functions. Don’t see the big deal about it, myself. At least he was half-sidhe.”
Ozzie’s technically only half-Dwarf, since his mother is a human from Texas (hence his slight accent), but Dwarves are the only ones who can work Fae-steel, so such “deficiencies” are often overlooked. Apparently other half-blooded Fae aren’t granted the same luxuries. Besides, it seems the only thing his human heritage has afforded him is being a foot taller than the average Dwarf.
“But would they get violent over it? I mean, willing to kill?”
“Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen to me, and they’ll hardly bother you. They may hate sorcerers, but you’re the Lightning Rod, James. You’re as much royalty to the nobles as the Crown Prince.” He shrugs. “All else fails, if my father disapproves of you, I’ll tell him I’m dating the Ra’keth. That’ll shut him up fast.”
The only downside is that it’ll mean one more group of people knowing that I’m not just another sorcerer, but rather the sorcerer. The Ra’keth, the Sorcerer King, named the Lightning Rod by some traumatized dead people who witnessed me shooting a goddess in the face with magic. It’s bad enough that I’m trying to avoid meddling from dragons, I hardly want the Fae taking an interest in my life. Like I told Spence, dealings with them never turn out well for the human.
Ozzie unfortunately takes my moment of brooding the wrong way. “Listen.” He rolls back onto his side, cupping my face in his large hands. “That’s not the reason you’re in my bed tonight. Even if you were a vanilla human, I’d still have asked you to lunch.” He winks and lowers his hand to stroke my backside. “Like I said, I’m a sucker for redheads and you’ve got a great ass. Plus I found a decent group to game with for the first time since college.” He rolls his eyes. “If only our cleric could get his shit together.”
I have to snerk at that. “Well, it is his eleventh character in six months, he probably just needs time to learn the class. He was getting the hang of that paladin, strangely enough.”
Ozzie quirks a brow. “Really? That idiot tried to play a dragonslayer in a game being run by a dragon.”
“Probably his idea of a joke. Figures that it was a trick when he played his best character ever.” A few seconds pass without a reply, and when I look to Ozzie he appears nervous. “Everything okay?”
“Nothing, just uh…sometimes I wonder why he even bothers coming to game night if he hates it so much.”
“My guess is that he wants to mooch that imported beer. Besides, he’s my friend, Ozzie. We’ve been through a lot together.”
“I know.” A couple seconds pass. “I know.”
“Oz, be serious, is everything all right?”
His expression is meek for a moment. “What’s your opinion on surprises?”
“God, it’s bad enough you sprang your dad on me. Who else is coming?”
He shakes his head quickly. “No, it’s more…the solstice is in a couple days, then Christmas, and it’ll be six months for us. That’s a lot of milestones in one week. I was thinking about doing something special, but the last time I tried to surprise you… Well, it wasn’t supposed to be a surprise but…”
I arch a brow. “You mean when I found you on the observation deck of Victory Tower dressed for a quickie in public?” I lift his chin for him to look at me. “That was Spencer’s idiot brother’s fault. Nearly got you killed too.” I lean over and kiss him gently. “Anything you want to do will be great. Just remember that stuff tends to happen around me, especially out there in the real world, so nothing too elaborate, okay?”
Wait, talk of milestones, wanting to do something special, wanting me to meet his dad…
“Ozzie, are you planning on proposing?”
That understandably catches him off guard, flustering him through several broken sentences before he replies. “No. Not that you’re not… I mean… It’s only been six months. My father courted my mother for three years. I mean, you’re…and…” He looks away, blushing, before sheepishly asking, “If I did, what would you say?”
“I’d…” God, how do I answer this? “I’d say it’s a big step. And there are a few other ones we could take in the meantime. I just think we’re not really there yet. How about we start a little smaller?” A beat passes. “Were you going to ask?”
Before he can answer, the silence is broken by a crashing sound from outside the bedroom. I don’t have time to react as Ozzie practically leaps out from under the covers, nude, and reaches underneath the bed to retrieve, well, a shotgun. He holds a finger to his lips while he carefully and quietly pulls open a drawer in the night table where the shells apparently are. He then points off at the wall, which is confusing, until I realize he’s pointing toward the front door.
And here I thought this part of Grunstadt was a nice neighborhood. There aren’t any voices outside the bedroom door, but I do hear movement. Ozzie beckons me to his side, and I slip over the edge as smoothly as I got in. His voice is barely a whisper. “Get under.” He points at the dark space beneath the bed.
“What’s going on?” I keep my voice just as low.
He shrugs and points under the bed, insistent. Frankly, I’m not a fan of letting my boyfriend face God knows what, but I’m running on empty, so hiding might be the best option.
I glare at him as he loads another shell. “Don’t you dare get yourself killed.”
Working my way under is easier said than done, as the frame’s set a few inches lower, considering the bed’s normally occupied by Dwarves. I manage to get a view of the doorway, or at least the bottom of it, and through the gap at the bottom I can barely make out the shape of feet. One person just outside. I stick my hand out on Ozzie’s side and tap him on the ankle to get his attention, and then show one finger and point it at the door.
What I hear next?
First, the shotgun getting pumped.
Then? Ozzie’s voice gets a little deeper, a lot more Texas in his accent. “Whoever is on the other side of that door, be aware that I have adequate cover and a 12-gauge loaded with double-aught. It would be in your best interest to kindly get the fuck out of my house before you find out how good I am with it.”
The response is a long sigh, higher pitched than I expected, but lacking any sort of accent. “Since we’re dispensing with advisories…” The voice is male, a bit rough, but still on the higher end of the tonal scale. “I doubt the shot would penetrate the door. The bullets from my gun, on the other hand, will. I would ask you to release His Majesty from his captivity, and perhaps your death will be quick. Not painless, of course, but quick.”
Understandably that takes both Ozzie and me by surprise, though the Dwarf is the first to speak. “If you honestly think I’ve got the Crown Prince in here, you’re sorely mistaken. Besides, I hear he prefers satyrs.”
A growl of exasperation, very unlike the voice that had spoken, follows. “Release the Ra’keth, Dreamblood, or see the consequences of crossing a dragon.”
“Oh God damn it all.” I squirm out from under the bed, looking toward the door. “I’m not a prisoner, you idiot! And if you honestly do have a gun, you damned well better put it away.” I get to my feet, picking up my clothes and motioning for Ozzie to stand down. I glance toward the still-closed door. “You people were supposed to leave me alone. I made an agreement with Jutte about all of this.”
Jutte’s the Broodmother of the Crimson Flight or, put simply, the head honcho for the Red Dragons. She’s also the mother of my loftmate and former boss, Davinicus, though he prefers Dave. Dave’s father is Argentus the Opulent, head of the Silver Dragons, and Dave takes after him in appearance.
Grumbling as I get dressed, I eye the Dwarf a second. Quite a hairy chest on that one. “Not that I don’t appreciate the view, but you might want to put some pants on, Oz.”
Once he complies I open the door, where I do in fact find a man holding a gun. Well, not technically a man. Dragons, once they’re powerful (i.e., rich enough), have the ability to take a humanoid form, which more often than not resembles an elf.
This one is tall, slender, has alabaster skin and snow-white hair, light-gray eyes, is wearing a milky-white suit with no tie and holding a forty-five with a pearl handle, though the gun is at his side currently. Upon seeing me, he pushes past me into the room, sniffing the air (and growling softly at Ozzie), and once he finds it sufficiently safe, drops to one knee in front of me, bowing his head.
“My apologies, my liege, I was not informed of the circumstances of your staying here. If I had known you were…” he sneers in disgust as he regards the Dwarf again, “…occupied…”
I roll my eyes at him. I don’t know if it’s because Oz is a guy or a Dwarf, but I don’t much feel like getting into it. “Yes, yes, whatever. Who are you and why are you breaking down doors?” When he looks up at me, I glare down. “You are paying for that, you do realize.”
It’s always weird, meeting dragons. To them, sorcerers rank (only slightly) beneath their god, and the Sorcerer King, me, well…I’ve had…differing experiences with them. I’ll just leave it at that.
“I am known as Parivian the Algid, my liege, though you may address this form as Parry.” He smirks slightly, and there is a reason. As a sorcerer I can do just about anything with someone’s name, but I can do even more if a being lacks a name at all and I give them one. It’s because of this that a once well-regarded member of the Crimson Flight can’t take his humanoid form without being referred to as Stuffington Fluffypants the Third, Esquire. Unfortunately all of dragonkind caught on to that oversight, hence the smirking. “I am here because the council requests a meeting.”
“A meeting? You broke down my door over a meeting?” Ozzie is yet to put down the shotgun, and I look to him pleadingly. With a snort, he lays the gun on the bed and sets to finding a shirt.
“Tell them I’m not interested, Parry. You may go.” I wave him off and take a seat on the bed, rubbing my face.
“I’m afraid I can’t convey a refusal, my liege. You will have to address them yourself. I am not nearly so worthy as to carry a missive from the Lightning Rod.”
“Well, I don’t care. Deliver the message anyway.”
The dragon shakes his head. “My apologies, sir, but I am not wor—”
“Then I deem you worthy. Deliver the message.”
He lowers his gaze at that. “You honor me, Your Majesty, but unfortunately that privilege can only be granted by the council itself.”
I have to blink at that, but the wheels are turning in my head. “Let me guess, that’s likely the reason you were sent, right? Because if you can’t carry my refusal, I have to refuse them in person and they’ll get what they want anyway?”
The dragon shrugs meekly, even when I curse under my breath.
“Where?”
Parry rises to his feet. “I am to take you there personally, sir—”
“The hell you are.” Ozzie comes around the bed. “I’m not letting you take him anywhere he doesn’t want to go.”
I place my hand on Ozzie’s shoulder, squeezing affection
ately. “I’ll be all right. Dragons are the least of my worries. Just another fun job perk of being the Lightning Rod. Besides, you’ll likely want to get that front door fixed before your dad shows up, right?” I lean down enough to kiss him. “Thanks for having my back, though.”
The dragon scoffs slightly at that, but otherwise remains silent. Ozzie eventually nods and gives quite a warning glare to Parry before walking the two of us to the front doorway. After receiving another glower from the Dwarf, the dragon grumbles, taking out a wallet and handing Ozzie a credit card. “Pay with that, I’ll return later to retrieve it.”
Ozzie takes the card, inspecting it. “Not worried I’ll run it up for my trouble?”
The dragon snorts, a white, cold mist issuing from his nostrils. “Dwarves may be many things, but not a one of them is a cheat when it comes to wealth.” He narrows his eyes at Ozzie. “You’ll uphold that reputation, of course?”
I step between them to break the mutual glares. “Can we just get this over with, please?”
With that, Parry and I leave, and descend the stairs to the street, where I find a new-looking Saab parked in front of the building. I glance at him after we both get in and buckle up. “You drive?”
He nods. “I only recently became powerful enough to take this form, but I figured it wise to study your methods of transportation, especially in a city. Flying is no longer as effective as it was.” The dragon looks pensive before saying, “Is it true, my liege, that you chose the Snow Clan?”
“Huh?”
“That you honored us with your choice.”
I arch a brow. “Still not following, Parry.”
“Your draconic form.”
Oh that. One of the neat tricks I picked up from the dragons was the name of dragonkind itself. In a moment of desperation (I was thrown off the roof of a skyscraper), I traded my name for that of a dragon and subsequently wrecked a Starbucks. “I haven’t done that in a while.”
Like six months because, the last time I did, I nearly forgot I was human. But the milky-white suit, the white hair, the cold breath, the title of “the Algid”—it’s safe to say he’s a White Dragon, snow, as opposed to fire breathers, which is the same kind of dragon I turn myself into.
Breaking Ties Page 2