by C C Dowling
Diplomat. Ruling body. Council. Father’s place. Sounds like a bunch of responsibility to me. If he thinks this is going to get me to come home, my father doesn’t know me at all.
Pushing everything else aside for the moment, I latch on to the one thing that isn’t about me. “You said my dad’s a dragon. I’m a dragon. But you’re Fae. Why didn’t he come himself, or with you? Why send you alone? Are the Fae servants of the dragons?” He had to have known I wouldn’t believe any of this. Who the hell could?
Creed grumbles under his breath—a word that sounds like hardly. “No. Dharklings and Lightlings don’t serve one another. We typically don’t mix at all unless it’s Council business.”
“So, we’re enemies?” I ask, ready for some kind of action. At this point, I’m either going to fuck Creed, or fight him. Either way, I’ll release some steam.
“We aren’t exactly enemies, more like two sides to the same coin. Both are necessary to maintain balance. I’m a Called, a soldier sworn to serve my queen and the Council of the Nine. I took an oath. Of duty. And honor. And other things.” He shifts in his seat, as if he’s uncomfortable in his own skin. Or pants. Actually, he isn’t in his own skin. He’s in his human suit.
I can’t fucking believe I just thought that. With a straight face.
I know the moment Dhru’s going to say something smart-assed. Her nostrils flare, her lips twitch, and her mouth opens. The mystery is what she’s going to say.
“So, what are you? Like, my fairy godmother? Er, father?”
I growl again. Fairy. I hate that word. “Does it look like I have glittery wings and a wand?”
Her eyes flick to my crotch and damn if my blood doesn’t follow suit. “Shaft, maybe.”
She’s taunting me. Actually fucking taunting me. Does she know what she does to me? Does she feel the pull, too? No. It’s impossible. It’s all in my head, perpetrated by my severely neglected libido. I’m a Lightling. She’s a Dharkling. I swore an oath.
“I don’t grant wishes, darling. I make nightmares.” I cringe. Not the wittiest comeback. Still, it’s not like my blood’s feeding the brain inside my skull.
Her playful lips tilt down, her brow scrunches together. “Call me darling again, and I’ll be your nightmare.”
Just like that, the tension between us breaks. At least for a moment. I have to get control of myself. Get her to her father. Walk away and never look back. Never think about the fact I considered breaking my oath for her, considered tearing down the foundation of laws I’ve spent centuries enforcing. Laws that keep us apart.
In this moment, it feels worth it to lose my ideals, and my head, for one taste of her mouth. The feel of her nipples against my tongue. My fingers and cock sliding between her wet folds. But I won’t make her a criminal before she ever steps foot in the Shadow Lands. I’ve killed Fae, dragons, demigods, and demons for the same treasonous actions. I’m a man of duty. Of honor. Nothing should be more important.
“Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.” Throwing the car into drive, I slam on the accelerator, kicking up tire dust in my wake. As if I could ever drive fast enough to escape her.
I can try.
The instant his tires hit my driveway, I fling the door open and head for the house.
“Dhru!” His voice is all authoritative, stopping me in my tracks. Since when have I ever responded well to authority?
“What?” My teeth snap shut on the word, but I don’t turn to face him. He can kiss my ass.
“Take only what is necessary. What is sentimental. Where you’re going, you’ll have every luxury, but you won’t come back here. Not ever. The human part of your life is over.”
“Right. Like I’m letting you take me to Never Never Land.”
“You have ten minutes.”
“Or what?” God, I hope the next words out of his mouth are a threat.
His lips tickle my ear and his arms snake around my waist. Fuck. I never heard him move.
He turns me around to face him, using his massive height and width to intimidate me. Or try. It isn’t intimidation I feel when I run my gaze across his dark, enticing flesh. His shaved head. His strong jaw. Broad shoulders. Full lips.
“Or I’ll come in there and drag you out, whether you’re ready or not.” His eyes, like liquid pools of black fire, blaze a trail of heat up and down my body. “Dressed or not.”
He drops whatever voodoo makes him look human, but only for a second. It’s enough to appreciate his beauty. Silver tribal scrollwork, only more refined and ancient than that, shines against the deep, rich dark of his skin. His ears elongate, like delicate daggers, and his facial structure changes. Stretches in a way that definitely isn’t human. Higher cheekbones. Angular jaw. Sloped forehead. He’s fucking gorgeous, and I hate him for being fucking gorgeous.
I should argue, tell him I’m not going anywhere with him. He doesn’t get to boss me around. I’m usually the strong one, the one in charge. But damn, maybe I need to be manhandled for once.
I step into him, pressing my body against his very strong, very hard length. I press against the rest of him, too. I open my mouth to say something smart-assed. Instead, I pull his lips to mine. Fuck, what am I doing?
His eyes widen and his body stiffens. His tongue lashes against mine, once, before he pushes away, holding me at arm’s length. His face, usually so expressive, is stone cold.
The instant his tongue connected with mine, lightning surged down my spine, frying every nerve. The coiled hunger within reared its head. But now, with space between us, it’s easy for me to deny it, to deny that his rejection has hollowed a pit in my stomach too dark and dangerous to face.
“Really, Dhru? In our fucking driveway?”
Shit. Helen. I was too distracted by fairy-boy to notice her car next to the garage.
My heart breaks all over again when I turn to face her. I’ve avoided her for months over this feeling right here. It’s why I won’t heal. Why I can’t face what I’ve done.
Her deep mocha eyes stare into mine. Lips that I’ve kissed, that have kissed every inch of me, twist in anger. Tendrils of her thick, curly black hair fall across her forehead. The briefcase she always uses for court days drops from her hand as she crosses her arms. I know this look well. It’s her high-powered prosecutor look, the one she pulls out for the worst defendants.
“It’s bad enough you’re screwing half of Vegas. Do you really need to bring it home, shove it in my face? Do you think, after everything, that I deserve this?”
She’s right. She deserves better than anything I can give her. I fucked up. I should apologize. But that isn’t my style, admitting I’m wrong, and if anything Creed says is true, after today, Helen will never have to put up with my shit again.
Without a word or the ability to look her in the eye, I stride past her, push through the front door, and head straight to my room. Jesus, her scent is everywhere. Jasmine and rose. I might be able to close my door in her face, but I’ll never be able to completely shut her out.
“Dhru.” She bangs on the door. “We need to talk.”
An inferno blazes under the surface of my skin, the way it had in Becca’s apartment. Closing my eyes, I lean my back against the wall and slide down. Not now. Not now! Shit. Not with her.
“Go. Away.” I try my best not to sound cruel, but bitch-mode is my normal. Nothing that comes out of my mouth is ever nice.
“Talk to me, please.” Her hand beats on the flimsy piece of wood that separates us by so much more than inches. Her tears smash against the floor like broken glass, shattering the space inside me that’s hers. Only, I shouldn’t be able to hear her falling tears. “Are you in trouble? Do you owe this guy money? For once, don’t shut me out. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
A breeze caresses my neck, like breath from a volcano’s mouth. Vegas air. I look toward the window as Creed climbs in, then shuts it. More silent than a ninja, his eyes ask the question, “Is everything okay?”
Fuck, why can’
t they just leave me alone?
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,” I answer both of them. I want, more than anything, to believe that.
Helen’s voice deepens, sending chills up my spine. “Dhru, honey, nothing’s been fine since Clara Belle died.”
A scream of pain bellows forth from the most wounded place in my soul at the mention of her name. Clara Belle. My heart twists, and melts, and breaks, until the sensation of loss is all I can feel.
Warm, strong arms—gentle, considering he’s some kind of fairy warrior—pull me into Creed’s lap. He cradles my head against his chest. I push against him, but he’s so fucking strong. I’m not going anywhere, and if I’m honest with myself, being held while I fall apart is exactly what I need.
Sure, I hate that Creed is seeing the side of me that’s weak and utterly broken. But right now, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but my failure and grief.
Whatever beast lives inside me, dragon or something darker, pushes to the surface. Scales cover my arms. Claws push through my favorite pair of boots—damn it. I loved those boots.
I can no longer deny the truth in Creed’s words. Can no longer blame the drugs and alcohol Aiden gave me. Those have long since burned out of my system.
Placing his hand on my chest, just above my heart, Creed chants in a language I’ve never heard before. The rhythm has a soft, song-like quality to it, and he’s quiet enough that Helen can’t hear.
The moment he starts, the beast within settles. Hell, it’s practically purring. There’s something else, too—something below the beast, deeper within. Hidden. That’s the place Creed’s voice calls to. The place that longs to be seen, to be touched by him in a way only he can. It doesn’t take away the pain of now. Nothing could do that. It’s more like a promise that everything won’t always be so shitty.
“Open the door, baby,” Helen says, tears of her own grief and pain evident in her voice. “I can’t stand to talk to you with so many walls between us.”
Despite whatever the fuck’s going on between me and Creed, my body involuntarily moves to Helen’s request. To please her. Something I used to want to do with every part of me. Before I knew about these other parts.
I reach a clawed, scaled hand for the doorknob. Creed holds me tighter and shakes his head. He’s right. I can’t let Helen see me like this. As much as I hate it, from now until forever, there will only ever be walls between us. Not to shut her out, but protecting her from me. From whatever I am.
I cry, not holding back my sobs. Creed’s arms tighten around me, providing comfort without being possessive. “It hurts so much to hear her name,” I say to the door. My stuffy nose and raw throat distort my voice. “It hurts that we lost her. I lost her. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Helen’s fingers lightly scrape the door, like she wants to get to me, but doesn’t want to push too hard. That’s just like her. I was always the one who was too hard. “Her death wasn’t your fault, Dhru.”
That’s where she’s always been wrong. Everything’s my fault. “Whose fucking fault was it, then? God’s? Clara’s?” Guilt and sadness turn to anger. It’s a pattern I know well. When everything gets to be too much, I fight my way out.
“Things happen. Pregnancies go wrong all the time.”
“It was my body. My fucking womb. I let Clara Belle die. How can you stand me, stand to look at me, when I killed our baby?” Every time I look in a mirror, I see a murderer who doesn’t deserve anything good in this life, especially someone as good as Helen.
Creed’s body stiffens at my confession, and I swear he stops breathing. I can’t begin to imagine the things going through his head. I wonder if, when he found me on the sidewalk, he thought this was how his day would go.
“When we lost our baby”—Helen’s voice breaks, and so do I, despite Creed’s efforts to hold me together—“I thought I was going to lose you, too. God, there was so much blood.”
Creed shifts under me. His massive hand rubs gentle circles on my back.
“You never saw. You never knew what Clara looked like. I did. I held her as she struggled for life, then never moved again.”
Creed wipes at my tears. It should be Helen. I should be in her arms. Only, that level of intimacy died with Clara Belle. I don’t deserve his comfort, or Helen’s kindness, but damn if I’m not grateful to have both.
Helen continues when I don’t say anything. How can I?
“By the time the paramedics arrived, there was nothing they could do. And it hurt. I thought getting over it would be impossible. But I had you. That’s what I told myself, anyway. Truth is, the person you used to be died when she did. We died. We just never figured out that we’re ghosts of our former selves. That we’re supposed to move on.”
Everything freezes. My lungs, my blood, my world. I’d spent every moment since Clara’s death pushing Helen away, separating myself in preparation for this moment. A moment I caused. No amount of sex, or booze, or pills, or fairy-elf tales of Shadow Lands could ever heal the space Helen occupies.
Occupied.
Helen’s shoes scrape against the hardwood as she stands. She tries the knob one more time. When it doesn’t turn, I can hear her disappointment in the skip of her heart and the sharp intake of breath. “It’s time we moved on, Dhru.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I fortify myself with the sham walls and victim excuses I use as armor to face the world. Pushing out of Creed’s arms, because I don’t deserve his comfort for what I’m about to do, I stand and talk to the door, thankful that I don’t have to look Helen in the eyes.
“It’s past time. When you get back, I’ll be gone. You’ll never have to see me again.” I lock eyes with Creed. I may not believe everything he’s told me, but I have to figure out what’s going on with me and he’s the best option I have. The only option.
“Take care of yourself, Dhru. I really do wish you the best.” The scent of Helen, of jasmine and rose, wafts under the door as she turns and strides down the hall, strides out of my life forever.
The instant Helen’s gone, Dhru dives for her closet. It reeks of hard liquor and marijuana, probably covering up stronger poisons.
The unmistakable sound of pills rattling in a plastic bottle sends fierce anger pounding to my head. “What the hell, Dhru?” I ask, using human slang. This realm is rubbing off on me. She’s rubbing off on me. Under my skin. In my blood.
I should never have calmed her with the lullaby my mother used to sing to me, the one that chased away my nightmares as a child. It’s too personal, and connecting with Dhru on a personal level is dangerous for both of us.
“I’m in withdrawal. I need something to steady my nerves.”
She needs something, all right. A swift kick in the ass.
I follow her into the closet. “You can’t keep running from your life, from what you feel.” Damn if that admission isn’t a solid punch to the nuts. “It will always catch up to you. Always find you. Trust me.” I’ve been a soldier too long to not know that truth. “If you want to talk about what happened, with Helen—”
She bends over, rummaging through a pile of clothes on the floor. I divert my eyes, determined not to stare at her ass. “Talk?” she scoffs. “Did you decide to hang up your warrior career and grow a vagina in the last five minutes?”
“You just officially broke up with your fiancé, and cried in my arms over the baby you lost.” I snatch a bottle of whiskey from her as she stands to face me. Holding it up, I say, “Let me be here for you. Let me listen. You’ve tried everything else.”
She snarls her lip. “I don’t need a fucking psychiatrist.”
“Maybe not, but you do need to let go of the guilt from losing Clara Belle.” Shit. She’s right. When did I become the psychiatrist she doesn’t need?
“Don’t.” She cuts me off, tears filling her eyes. “You don’t get to say her name. Never mention her again.”
She twirls the bottle of pills between her fingers. I hold out my hand, palm up. “Hand it over. I’m n
ot taking you to your father twelve sheets to a hurricane.”
She laughs—a deep, throaty sound that quickens my pulse. “I think you mean three sheets to the wind.”
I scoff. “Dhru, we both know you never stop at three.”
She extends her middle finger, then twists the lid off the bottle. “Fuck. You.” She throws her head back and opens her mouth.
I may not have the right, but that doesn’t stop me from stopping her. The second I knock the pills from her hand, she curls her fingers into a fist and swings. As a trained soldier, I easily see it coming. I could dodge. Block it. Twist her arm and force her to submit. None of those things are what she really needs.
A ripple of dragon power dances across Dhru’s flesh, making the sunset-yellow undertones of her skin shine like liquid mercury. In full dragon form, she could do real damage. But she hasn’t gone through the transition, so anything she does to me, I can heal from.
Adjusting my stance, I lock my jaw, ready for the blow. She connects, actually knocking me back a few inches. Impressive. No, more than impressive. It’s fucking hot. I lick the blood off my lip and step into her, filling the tight space of the closet with my bulk. My hands drop to her hips. I know I shouldn’t touch her, but I can’t help it. She doesn’t stop me.
“You get one. If you try to ingest any more of the drugs or alcohol you have stashed in here, you won’t get another,” I say, my voice low to hide my arousal. Wish my pants would do the same. Now isn’t the time to push something like that.
Her amethyst eyes, still rimmed in red, shift back to dark brown. Her scales and claws smooth into skin and nails. She pushes against my chest. I don’t budge. “You’re not my fucking father, not that I’d let that dragon dickwad tell me what to do, either.”