by Kallysten
Petro’s nostrils flared, but his expression remained neutral.
“Like I said, she dumped me. From where I stand, there’s not much I can do or say about what she does.”
And that didn’t make sense either. She’d been worried, when Petro had gone off to distract the authorities. Paul may have been feverish at the time, but her fears had been all too easy to read in every gesture, every word. And later on, when they’d spent hours talking about nothing and everything, the same sad, wistful expression had touched her features every time Petro was mentioned. Paul could believe she’d broken things off with his brother, since Petro said it so plainly, but he couldn’t believe for even one second that things were truly over between them.
With careful movements, Paul raised his injured leg off the bed and pivoted to the side until he was able to sit up then stand. Petro rushed forward at once when his leg didn’t quite support him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, and if his voice was still gruff, his worry transpired through it.
“I’m getting answers, that’s what I’m doing,” Paul replied, resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder and leaning on him as he limped forward. “If I just stepped into a minefield, I’d rather know it sooner rather than later.”
“Minefield? What are you on about now?”
Paul didn’t answer; Petro would understand soon enough.
Half limping, half hopping, and with unexpected but nonetheless appreciated help from his brother, Paul followed the sound of voices to what turned out to be the kitchen.
“Are you sure about that?” Hazel was asking their host. “We wouldn’t want you to attract attention and get in trouble yourself.”
Elsa barked out a quiet laugh. “Don’t you worry about me, kiddo. This isn’t my first rodeo. I know just where to go for all the gossip, and no one will think anything of it. You kids just stay in, and if anyone comes calling, lie low and don’t open the door. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
She nodded to Petro and Paul as they walked in, then called her dog with a brief whistle and walked out the back door, locking it behind her.
“Where is she going?” Petro asked, at the same time as Paris noticed Paul standing there and cursed quietly.
“Sit down! I told you not to put any weight on that leg!”
He drew a chair from the kitchen table and Paul limped another two more steps to sit in it. His wound twinged a bit, but he was careful to keep any discomfort from showing on his face.
“I’m fine,” he said, but Paris huffed at him, unconvinced.
“Where is Elsa going?” Petro asked again, and this time Hazel answered.
“To the nearest town, to see if she hears anything about the police being on the lookout for us.” After a brief pause, she added, “Lunch will be ready soon. Paris and I made stew while she was out looking for you. We figured you’d be hungry if you were flying late into the night.”
Petro offered her a tiny smile. “You figured right, I’m starving. It smells good.”
Paul waited until Hazel had replied to that smile in kind, just to be sure he hadn’t imagined things, then he cleared his throat to get her attention. Locking eyes with her, he said in the most level tone of voice he could manage, “So. Let’s talk about your mate tattoo.”
It was as though the world came to a screeching halt around the four of them. It wasn’t only Hazel who was looking at him; even without looking at them, Paul could feel Paris’ and Petro’s heavy stares on him. None of them said a word, however, nor did they move. They seemed to be waiting for him, which suited him just fine. If things were going to change because of him, he might as well go all the way.
“You have three mates,” he said slowly, his words softening in spite of himself. “There’s no denying that. And now you’ve found all three of us. My question is, where do we go from here?”
Hazel blinked twice, and her eyes briefly turned to Paris on her right, then to Petro behind Paul, before coming back to him.
“That’s…” Her voice wavered. She coughed lightly before starting over. “That’s not an easy question.”
“Isn’t it?” Paul asked, a half smile tugging at his lips. “But it should be, shouldn’t it? You love Paris, that’s obvious enough. You love Petro too, and I don’t care that you dumped him, I’ve heard you say his name and you won’t convince me otherwise. And me… I’m not gonna claim you love me, not when we just met, but last night… there could be something there. Am I wrong? About any of it?”
Again, she looked at the other men before turning her gaze to him once more. He hated how scared she looked—hated that he was the one who had brought this expression on her features—but he just had to know where they all stood. If she wanted to be with Paris only, he could accept that, but he needed to know. If she wanted to develop something with him, he needed her to say so explicitly. And for reasons he couldn’t quite understand, he needed to know where she stood with his brother. Maybe he should have been glad they’d broken up, but instead it made him question what he knew or thought he knew about mate tattoos.
It took a very long moment before Hazel finally answered, and when she did it was with a barely audible, “No. You’re not wrong.”
Behind Paul, Petro let out a shaky breath. Paris didn’t say anything, but the strangest of smiles was flirting on his lips. Catching Paul’s eye, he gave him a single, almost solemn nod as though to encourage him.
“So let me ask again,” Paul said softly, leaning forward in his chair and reaching out to take Hazel’s hand in his. “Where do we go from here?”
Her fingers curled around his own, but the next second she shook her head.
“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I don’t know where this can go. I don’t know how it could ever work. I don’t know if you’re ready to share me with two other men. I don’t know if Petro can ever forgive me for—”
“Only if you can forgive me,” Petro interrupted her, stepping forward until he, too, had captured one of her hands. “I’m the one who said no to sharing first.”
Tears were rising in Hazel’s eyes, but her small smile hinted that they were happy tears.
“Now might be a good time to mention I did some remodeling while you were gone on your mission,” Paris said out of the blue. “Well, I didn’t do it myself. I don’t know a thing about construction. But I found people who did, and they worked fast. I meant to show you when you came back, but it all happened so fast, we were on the road before I even knew it. All that’s left to do is a bit of paint and more furniture, but the essentials are there.”
Blinking the tears out of her eyes, Hazel turned a questioning look to him.
“Remodeling?” she repeated, sounding confused. “What do you mean?”
In a flash of insight, Paul understood what Paris was hinting at. He’d been looking ahead, beyond the idea of sharing a mate, and figuring out what it’d be like, concretely.
“Bedrooms,” Paul guessed. “That’s the remodeling you’re talking about, isn’t it?”
Paris nodded, grinning. Stepping behind Hazel, he wrapped his arms around her middle. However intimate the gesture might be, Paul didn’t feel jealous or left out, not when Hazel’s hand gripped his own tightly.
“There’s three bedrooms, now,” Paris said softly against her ear. “But I’ve had plans drawn for a fourth, if we ever need more room.”
For the briefest of moments, Paul wondered why they might need a fourth—after all, there were ‘only’ three names on her wrist. He got it soon enough; the prospect of bringing a child, or even several children into this complicated arrangement should have scared him, maybe. Instead, it filled him with unexpected hope.
“So what you’re saying is…” She took a shuddering breath. “We’re all going back to Sanctuary and living in the same house? And then what? I just… go in a different bedroom every night? You take turns at sleeping with me, like kids sharing a toy?”
“I don’t know about taking turns,” Petro said
, his words low but deep, “but I do know you’re not a toy, and it’s not a game. I don’t think we should keep tabs, do you? That’d be the fastest way to breed jealousy or resentment.”
“Agreed,” Paul said, throwing his brother a quick glance. “Whichever bed you choose on any given night, whether it’s just to sleep or for something else, I think it should be your choice. If you can trust the three of us to share you, then we should trust you to share yourself with us.”
“Agreed,” Paris echoed. “It’ll work itself out. As long as we keep communicating about it, we’ll be fine. All of us.”
Again, Hazel was silent for a long moment. When she finally said, “Okay. Let’s try,” her words felt momentous, like a vow sealing all of their fates. Paul was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one who felt the significance of that decision. Paris kissed her cheek. Petro raised her hand to kiss her knuckles. Paul, though, couldn’t help but push himself to his feet despite Paris’ hissed reprimand. The kiss he brushed to her lips—and the just as chaste kiss she offered him in return—were definitely worth a tiny bit of pain.
The next few moments, in contrast to that life-changing conversation, seemed almost too banal. Paris and Petro set the table together while Hazel carried the stew pot to the table, along with bread and a pitcher of water. Paul wanted to help as well, but three sets of glaring eyes convinced him to take it easy and remain in his seat.
Soon, they were all seated around the table and sharing a meal. Just hours after what might have been his last day alive, only moments after reconciling with his brother and finding a strange arrangement with him and another man concerning their mate, this felt to Paul like the weirdest meal he’d ever enjoyed.
And yet, at the same time, it reminded him of meals he’d enjoyed as a kid, as though it were his new family around him. Was it the loneliness of the past few years catching up with him, he wondered, or was it something real, as real as his feelings for this woman he’d just met? He didn’t want to examine it all too closely, not when he was feeling happier than he had in quite a while, bullet wound and all.
They were still lingering at the table an hour or so later when Elsa came back with grim news. The entire state was apparently on the lookout for them, with road blocks on all major roads and pictures of Paul, Hazel and Paris being circulated.
“Although if I hadn’t known who I was looking at,” Elsa said to Hazel and Paris, “I wouldn’t have recognized you two. It’s stills from surveillance footage, I gather, and you can barely make out your faces.”
Paul’s mug shot, on the other hand, was as good as these things ever got.
“We’ll fly home,” Petro said after Elsa was done with her report. “We’ll take the car after nightfall, drive it some distance away from this place so no one can connect it to Elsa, and then we’ll take flight. You up to it?”
The last was directed at Hazel, who agreed without reservations.
“Put a couple extra layers of clothing on you two for warmth,” he went on, glancing at Paul and Paris in turns. “Secure you and our bags with ropes so we don’t lose anything or anyone mid flight. Stay high enough that even if we’re spotted we’ll be in no danger. We should be home by early morning.”
Whatever objections Paul might have had, they disappeared at that simple word: home. They were going home. A new home for Paul, along with a new family… he just couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Petro and Hazel took flight from a field right as the sun was beginning to sink beneath the horizon. They soared into a sky lit with crimson and orange, large, fluffy clouds inviting them to climb high. They flew side by side, Paul on Petro’s back and Paris astride Hazel’s, both of them locked in with improvised harnesses.
In the past, when he’d flown with Hazel over Sanctuary, Petro had enjoyed doing loop de loops around her, plunging under her or soaring above in exhilarating flying games that filled his heart with sheer joy. There’d be no such games tonight, not with the passengers they carried, and not when they had a long distance to cross to get back to Sanctuary, hopefully before morning. But Petro didn’t mind. Why would he, when he knew he’d have plenty of chances to fly again with her in the future?
He didn’t know that he’d have dared ask such pointed questions as Paul had done, not when he was afraid the answer would only break his heart a little more. But he couldn’t deny that he was glad his brother had pushed for answers, and for a clear-cut decision from Hazel. It had almost seemed too easy at first, but then Petro had realized: it hadn’t been easy at all for her. She’d struggled to get to this point of acceptance. And he could only send his silent thanks toward Paris and Paul, both of whom had helped lead her down this path.
On his left, just a wingspan away, Hazel let out a short, low-pitched call. He turned his head to look at her as he continued to beat his wings in a steady, powerful rhythm. She was as gorgeous in her dragon form as she was in her human body, her dark scales glittering under the last rays of sunshine. Her wings were a little less wide than his own, her tail a little longer, and all in all she looked like the perfect representation of what a dragon ought to be.
Catching his eye, she let out a short burst of flames from a mouth that looked to be grinning. The next second, she angled her body upward, and disappeared inside a cloud. Petro followed her, and soon they were flying in what seemed like an entirely different world, the last glimmers of sunset forgotten now as a sky full of stars stretched above them.
They went on at a steady pace, Petro following his instincts as they guided him toward the place his inner dragon called home. A handful of times, they saw blinking red lights in the distance warning them that commercial planes were close by. Each time, they either climbed higher or dipped below the clouds for a moment.
Hours passed, although Petro might not have noticed without the deep weariness slowly taking him over. He was up in the sky and flying with his mate; he couldn’t imagine anything else he’d rather do.
There was still no hint of lightening on the eastward horizon when, on the edge of his vision, Petro saw the familiar shape of the high wall that enclosed Sanctuary. Even though it was a moonless night, his dragon eyes had no trouble distinguishing every detail. He called out to Hazel, who called back in reply; clearly she’d seen the wall too.
They’d already agreed to touch down right inside one of the gates; no need to startle the sentries and have them sound the alarm because two unknown dragons had flown straight into Sanctuary without warning.
Petro landed first close to the westward gate, with Hazel touching ground nearby only moments later. The sentries were already rushing toward them. Paul and Paris untied themselves and slid down to the ground, allowing Hazel and Petro to change back to their human bodies.
While so far the night had felt nicely refreshing, Petro shivered as the cool morning air hit his exposed skin. Without a word, Paul dug into one of the travel bags he was carrying and handed Petro a pair of jeans and a jacket. A few yards away, Hazel was getting dressed as well. Their eyes met across the distance, and Petro could have sworn he could see in her gaze the same stars under which they’d soared all night.
The sentries came and did their job, identifying the three Sanctuary residents and registering the new arrival. One of them offered the group a ride, to Petro’s relief; he didn’t think he could have walked all the way home, not when he was so tired from flying all night, and not when Paul was still limping and trying his best not to put weight on his leg.
They piled up in a jeep. Only when Paris started giving directions to the driver did it occur to Petro that ‘home’ today wasn’t his apartment, but Paris’ house. His stomach attempted to do a somersault, although it was hard to tell if it was in excitement or wariness.
He must have dozed off at some point, because next thing he knew Paul was shaking him awake. They were there.
“The two new bedrooms are in the back,” Paris said with a yawn when they entered the house. “They’re pretty much the same si
ze, and it’s the same beds in there, so you go ahead and pick where you want to sleep. Paul, I’ll come have a look at your leg in a moment.”
Paul and Petro stepped to the back of the house together, each of them opening a door. They looked inside the respective rooms, then at each other. Petro shrugged; it didn’t really matter which room they chose, did it?
“I’m going to take a shower,” Hazel said softly behind them. “I’ll join you in a little while, Petro.”
A jolt ran through him at those words. He looked back at her, but already she was stepping into what he presumed was the bathroom. As he turned back to his new room, he met Paul’s eyes. Paul smiled at him and nodded, offering a quiet, “Good night. Or morning, I guess,” before he entered his room.
Was it really going to be that easy? Petro could hardly wrap his mind around it.
He probably could have used a shower, too, but he was just too exhausted to do more than drop his clothes to the floor and climb into the freshly made bed. Even though daybreak had come, the heavy navy blue drapes blocked the sun out completely. Petro wondered if they were the same in every bedroom. He supposed they came in handy for a doctor who might have to help patients late at night and needed to catch up on sleep during the day.
Thinking about Paris now, when he was in his house, in this room that Paris had prepared for him, with Hazel about to join him, gave him the strangest feeling in the pit of his stomach, something at the same time dark and joyful, wary and thankful.
To his great surprise, he liked the lion shifter. They might not become best friends, but they were already on their way to being friends. He’d tried very hard to see a rival in him like he’d seen a rival in his brother for so long, but there wasn’t much of a point to it, was there? For better or for worse, they were all Hazel’s. And Hazel was meant for all three of them.
He’d wanted to wait for her. It’d been so long since he’d held her, kissed her… But after a night of fistful sleep in a barn, and a second night spent flying across the skies, sleep claimed him despite his best efforts.