by Alexis Davie
Brin spat and rinsed, put her toothbrush down, and slipped out of her clothes. Then she looked in the big round mirror again, standing up straight, looking herself up and down. She was almost as pale as Garrick, her eyes a warmer kind of green, a little cat-like. Her red hair set off her freckles. Her heart-shaped face was no longer girlish, she realized, mirrored in the heart of her full lips.
There had been boys, of course. A couple of them. And there had been the enforced dates with Xander, who had been handsy to the point she’d had to tense her whole body against his advances and tell him she wanted to wait. And she did—she wanted to wait until she could get the hell away from him and find someone she was supposed to be with. Someone she really wanted.
She just hadn’t expected, well, a dragon king. It was stupid, anyway, Garrick must see her as a kid. They could help one another, was all. But she couldn’t help herself; she was imagining him, now she’d seen him out of that stupid suit. She was thinking about his hard to read eyes, his lovely shoulders, and what it would be like to pull his vest up, touch his lightly haired stomach, trace his hipbones. She had pretty much seen him naked after his change the evening before, and she could imagine, too, what those long pale fingers of his would feel like stroking down her sides, playing with the band of her underwear and slipping down inside her panties—
A crash from outside broke into Brinley’s reverie. She pulled her own hand away from her underwear, from her hot wetness.
“Damn it!” Garrick’s irritated voice came from the hallway. “Sorry, taking out the rubbish. As you were.”
Brin was blushing at herself in the mirror. No, not as she was. Shower time.
It was one of those ridiculous rainforest showerheads. The water was hot and glorious after yesterday’s horrible weather, her hangover, and her cramped sleep. She let it fall on her upturned face, eyes closed, and it was a while before she began to actually wash and realized the shower door was open. The bathroom was soaked. Ugh. She was an idiot. At least it was a distraction. Quickly, she pulled the door shut and washed her hair, soaped, rinsed, and turned off the shower. Thankfully, there were plenty of towels. She used a couple to mop and left them in a pile, assuming that was the done thing in the flat. It certainly seemed as much from the state of the place when she’d got there yesterday.
Room mostly dry, Brin looked for her clothes. Ah, the clothes she had forgotten to bring with her. And yesterday’s were soaked and in a pile with the towels. Well, this was ridiculous. Even more thankful than she had been for the size and thickness of the towels, Brinley wrapped herself in one and leaned out the door of the bathroom. She couldn’t see Garrick in the big living room/kitchen. He was maybe still taking out the rubbish He had seemed to be having trouble with.
She decided to make a run for it. In the living room, Brin leaned over and began rooting around in her bag for clean underwear. She glanced up to look out the huge windows and assess the weather; sunny. A dress would do.
“Oh!” Brinley spun around on her still-damp feet and nearly slipped over. “Why are you so… naked?” Garrick stood in the hall to his bedroom in just his underwear, a comb in his hand. His hair was wet. “I’m, uh… not used to visitors. I have my own bathroom.”
“Who has one bedroom and two bathrooms?”
“I used to have parties, but I don’t like people staying. Unless they’re staying in my… I mean, I do! Obviously.”
Brin realized she had lacy underwear in her hand. There was nowhere to hide it, she was in a towel. This really was ridiculous. “I forgot clean clothes. Also, I got your bathroom really wet, sorry.”
Garrick shrugged. “Wet stuff dries.” He walked further into the room. Still, all she could feel from him was reflection. The occasional flash of something grey and cold… the dragon, she guessed, and then that hot want she’d felt in the bathroom.
Brinley began walking towards the bathroom.
Garrick said her name. She was beside him, turned to him. She was definitely blushing again. She could feel the space between them.
“Yes?”
“I just thought maybe you need more clothes than just those knickers?”
Brin looked at the lacy nothing in her hand. Shit. “Oh… yeah… I’ll…”
But Garrick’s hand was on her bare, still slightly damp upper arm. His breathing was quick, shallow. She looked up at him, at those dragon eyes she had thought of as cold, but… Suddenly, she realized she hadn’t been looking at a pane of glass with Garrick. She hadn’t been seeing herself reflected. The attraction was his, the hot need, the fascination.
“Oh…” she breathed. Garrick hadn’t moved, and there was still only one point of contact. He blinked one of his slow, unusual blinks.
“Am I… mistaken?” he asked, keeping his hand on her arm, his growl quieter than she had yet heard it. He seemed almost nervous. She realized she had been holding her breath, and it was all she could do not to take an obvious gasp of air. She shook her head.
“No,” she said quietly. “Not mistaken. I just… I usually can see… you’ve caught me off guard.”
Garrick nodded. “I could feel you poking around, reading me. You’re a powerful empath, aren’t you? Why are you so… well, so clumsy with it?”
Brinley dropped the underwear she was holding and reached her hand out to Garrick’s side, stroked up to his ribs. His soft, warm skin felt wonderful against the back of her hand, and he bit his bottom lip in obvious pleasure at the light touch.
“Maybe we could talk about that later?” Brinley suggested, and she let go of her towel, letting it drop to the ground, revealing her whole naked self to Garrick. He looked her up and down and then muttered an expletive under his breath. The desire in his eyes painted them a whole new color, a more golden kind of green, as he leaned down to her and kissed her, cupping her face in his beautiful, slim hand. He caressed her cheek, lightly bit her lip as their tongues met, fought softly, and she moaned.
Then Garrick lifted her up. He was tall enough, and she was small enough, that this was the only logical way for them to deepen the kiss. Her legs wrapped around him, and she could feel him, hard, pressing into her. When she responded by pushing closer to him, it was his time to moan, hold her there with one hand on her arse.
She pulled away from the kiss for a moment to say, “Bedroom!” in a tone that was surprisingly commanding. Garrick nodded and walked down the hall with her still lifted and wrapped around him, kissing his neck. In the bedroom, he laid her down surprisingly gently on the huge white bed and kissed her mouth again, her neck, collarbone, one breast and then the other, and then he was cupping them and kissing down her stomach to her hips, a nibble of her thighs, and between them to where she was far wetter than she had been imagining this in the bathroom earlier. His tongue sent shockwaves through her, something like fireflies, bobbing and weaving and reaching every inch of her skin.
“God,” she moaned, “I’m glad you’ve had so many years of practice…”
Emerging from between her thighs, Garrick almost laughed before he kissed her. He tasted of her, salty and sticky and just a little sweet. He was still kissing slowly, carefully, exploring her, but Brinley couldn’t stand to wait any longer. She pulled at the band of his boxers, and he wriggled out of them, still ferociously kissing her. His lips were chapped, rough. As he got out of his underwear, he had to move his body away from her, and then he was there again, pressing against her, throbbing and hard. He made noises he clearly couldn’t help as he moved on her, and his leg parted her thighs, pressed into her, her wetness coating his thigh, the fireflies collecting below her bellybutton. She whispered his name in his ear, almost in surprise this was happening. Surprise it was so unbelievably perfect. She had never felt pleasure like this.
Brinley pushed Garrick’s shoulder, flipping him over. He let her and soon was lying on his back, deep in the thick duvet, like they were doing this on a cloud. The sun coming through his bedroom window lit him until he almost glowed. His eyes, fixed on hers,
were another color again. A translucent, sea-glass color.
She guided him into her, and he whimpered. His hands on her hips weren’t pushy, just helped her keep her rhythm as she moved for herself, planting her hips to have him deep inside her and then pulling away so that every time, there was another shock of hot joy. And then he held himself in deep. He sat up and flipped her onto her back, not letting them lose their connection. He held her hands down above her head, kissing her breasts. One hand moved lower, and soon, she had all but forgotten where she was. She was lost in the sun coming through the window, the fireflies that were now more like a fire, and her whole body tensed in a final shock of pleasure, with Garrick responding to her tense body, gasping and cursing in her ear, his sweaty body pressed to hers, until their breaths slowed in unison and they were lying beside one another, limbs hooked together, and she was tracing the lines of his beautiful, androgynous face with a thumb.
“That was unexpected,” Brinley managed. Garrick smiled and kissed her gently.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry I called you little witch.”
She smiled. “It’s accurate. I mean, I’m a small woman. A small witch.”
Garrick looked thoughtful before he said, “Yes, but I think you might be… well… brilliant.”
Brinley looked at him for a moment longer, and then rolled away, reaching the edge of the big bed. She stood, pushed her hair behind an ear. “We have work to do, right?”
7
Garrick
Garrick pushed himself up on his elbows in the bed. Brinley had rolled to the edge suddenly, like she was trying to get away from him. Like he’d done something wrong.
Garrick’s mind was a muddle. It had been a long time since he’d done… that. He’d fucked people, obviously. He wasn’t a monk. But not like that. And now she was… well, she was leaving the room.
“Yeah,” Garrick called after her. “What’s the plan?” Shit, he sounded needy. What was happening? He stood and opened his wardrobe. He pulled underwear on, and he was about to go for one of the suits when he thought of Brinley taking the piss the day before. He shook his head lightly. He hadn’t really meant to, but he grabbed a t-shirt, last night’s jeans.
In the living room, Brinley was sitting cross-legged on the floor. She was wearing a dark green sundress. She seemed to glow in it, pale skin, red hair, the sunshine after yesterday’s rain, and the big spell book in front of her on the coffee table.
“So,” she said, and she tucked her bobbed hair behind both ears. Garrick was fighting a smile. She was being business like. “It seems like we both have problems, and they’re… well… tandem? My father wants me to marry Xander and to calm him down and consolidate power, and you need to stop him to get… what is it, a council? Off your back. My memories of our conversation last night aren’t the clearest.”
Garrick nodded, walking over to her. He sat down opposite her, on the floor. His hands rested on the coffee table.
Brinley tapped the book. “We have the advantage over my father right now, because we have this. There’s nothing he cares about more in the world.”
Garrick felt his eyebrows raise. “Not… his daughter?”
Brinley smiled. “No. Maybe if I had been a son… but even then, he really loves this book. It’s basically what makes him a high warlock. It’s the spells of my family going back generations. At least if I were a boy, I would have learned more of them. There were a lot of lessons to make me marriage material. I’m pretty good on the harp, though.”
She was funny. Garrick hadn’t noticed that yesterday. Or maybe he had, but he hadn’t wanted to. He laughed at the harp thing. “Really?”
Brinley nodded and tucked her hair again. It was really a little too short to stay behind her ears, but she was determined. “Yeah. Oddly, it doesn’t come in handy much. When I was being made to court Xander, I never once played for him.”
“What do you mean, made?” Garrick asked, worrying about her despite himself; not really, at this point, in control of his mouth. Brinley waved a hand, almost rolled her eyes,
“Politics,” she said. “You must know all about it. Let’s work on our plan, shall we?”
“Are we robbing a bank?” Garrick smiled. He’d been smiling a lot today.
“No,” she said, “but I do think you should go and see what’s going on down south? For your sake and for mine. Bit of recon. You can pretend it’s a bank robbery, if you like.”
Garrick felt in his pockets. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
“Can I have one?”
He nodded, stood up, and walked over to the counter, where there was a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. One of the perks of being an immortal was the smoking. Returning to the table, he handed her a cigarette. She looked amazing lighting it, blowing the smoke around her, softening her edges, as if in a dream.
“Okay,” Garrick said once he’d lit his own. “So… how do I recon? Where am I going, and who am I following? Do I have to cut holes in a newspaper to spy?”
Brin cracked a smile now. It lit him up inside—it was such a new feeling he almost made a noise. Almost let out a breath at it. He might have made a mistake letting this witch into his life, his home, his bed.
“Just go to the restaurant Xander’s father runs, and maybe my father’s club. Pretend you aren’t a five-thousand-year-old dragon king and the master of all the immortals for thousands of miles? They won’t recognize you, will they?”
Garrick shook his head. “They might know my name, but I assume I won’t use that? I haven’t been… out at functions and such in a long, long, long time.”
“Over 500 years?” she asked. “My dad is about that age.”
Garrick cleared his throat. He was ten times her father’s age. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and locked it firmly in a filing cabinet for later. Then he shrugged.
“Think we’re good. I’ve been a hands-off kind of a leader for a while. And before that, it was all thrones and delegation, and we didn’t have social media, so. Well, he might have seen a painting…”
“An accurate painting?”
“Nah.” Garrick pushed his hair back, put his head to the side as if he were posing—an artist’s model. “They tended to kind of up my attractiveness a few levels. At some points, they added a beard.”
She looked up at him. “Yeah. I expected a dragon king to be a bit more, well, intimidating, if I’m honest. I didn’t expect to run into you in a crappy pub, but if I were to imagine…”
“Okay, okay, I’ve had my moments, thanks.” Garrick wasn’t lying, but for some reason, her saying that annoyed him this morning. He was feeling… well, he was feeling. That in itself was a turnup for the books. Brinley raised her eyebrows, clearly catching the irritation in his tone.
“Keep your hair on, mate,” she said. “Don’t need the big scary dragon for today’s activities. You need to blend in. Don’t wear anything weird. And don’t insult anyone.”
Garrick gestured irritably at his clothes. “Drink quietly in a corner? I can do that.”
Brin rolled her lovely eyes. “Not too much drinking? You need to know what’s going on and not do anything stupid. Can you manage it? Xander works the bar on Sunday mornings, supposed to teach him humility or something, but I think it’s to human-watch. Can you handle asking normal questions? Just watching him and his dad interact?”
He wanted to emphasize his age and experience again, but that felt weird now. He also wanted to touch her. Brush her cheek, at least. He crossed his arms.
“Yeah, I can probably manage.” Light sarcasm would have to do.
“Give me your phone,” Brinley said and held out a hand.
“I don’t have one.”
The witch laughed. “Right, I get it, you’ve lived a long life, and you like old suits and old whiskey. But you have a phone. You must. How else do you know what’s going on?”
“I have informants. And I go to the pub and listen, and, obviously…” Garrick stood up. His ankles hu
rt from digging into the concrete. He went over to what looked like a long, low cabinet and opened the top. Inside was a beautiful record player, and on the other side, a radio that he now clicked on. It was tuned to a news station.
“Really? You aren’t fucking with me?” Brin stood up and came to join him. “Do you have a computer?” Garrick shook his head.
“This is as far as I bothered getting. It was hard to keep up post industrial revolution. People move so fast. Guess they have to, with their tiny little lives.” Brin shot him a look. “I mean tiny in length! I’ve no problem with them. They make the best music and, like you said, whiskey—”
Breaking news!
The radio cut into their conversation, ads turning quickly to a seemingly unscheduled broadcast. They both turned to look at the radio, as if staring hard would tell them more.
Strange scenes in South London turned to chaos when fires broke out seemingly spontaneously in several bars and nightclubs last night. There has been no explanation for the fires from emergency services. The only injuries, as far as we know, were minor burns. Vicky Jarvis is on the scene….
“Yes, thanks, Simon, I’m here with a bartender at The Fancy Squirrel, a popular Dulwich pub. Simon, can you tell our listeners more?”
“It was… uh… this sounds crazy, I know, but it was coming out the taps. People’s bowls of nuts were just catching alight, too… I’ve never seen anything like it…”
Without saying anything, Garrick flicked off the radio. He closed its lid.
“That’s Xander,” Brinley said. “Why isn’t my dad doing anything?”
“I don’t know, but I know they’re trying to get our attention.”
Brin shook her head, “They’re just messing around, they’re idiots, they’re not—”