Sunshine in the Dragon's Heart

by Jaime Samms

  The floppy shoes on his feet, more trouble than they were worth, tripped him up at every bump in the path, but he hadn’t had the heart to refuse the offer. Sunny must have misunderstood his earlier complaint to think his feet hurt. In fact, he was just so unused to this bipedal form, it made him clumsy.

  Hakko, the eldest of the hatchlings in his broodnest, had always warned he spent too much time in scales and feathers, hardening himself to the softer side of his nature. How he wished now that he had listened to those incessant “suggestions.” As he stumbled over another tree root, his big toe clumped into the unyielding wood, and Emile cursed.

  Sunny’s hand landing on his arm was both welcome and a scalding reminder of why he should really move away from the man. Only he didn’t, and a spark of crystalline light flickered between them.

  “Are you okay?” Sunny asked. He blinked but gave no sign he’d seen the shower of sparks. Given the way Sunny excited Emile’s magic, it was disappointing to realise Sunny was no more aware of the magic than most humans.

  “I am.” Emile tried not to let his irritation penetrate the words. He wasn’t irritated by Sunny, just by his traitorous body, his sore toe, and the idea that his manipulative broodnest companion might have been right about this.

  “We’re almost there,” Sunny assured him, replacing his support at Emile’s back.

  That was both better and worse. Any skin-on-skin contact called his magic to the surface far too easily. If he wasn’t careful, he might set them both on fire. The insulation of the blanket was a blessing. But the steadying hand low on his back, so comforting, made him long for things he probably shouldn’t.

  “I think I have some burgers thawed,” Sunny said, then cast a look over Emile. “But maybe soup….” He drew his brows down as his gaze skated over Emile’s torso.

  “Is there a problem?” At least he was getting a handle on the cadence of Sunny’s speech. He’d managed to smooth his accent out enough he didn’t sound quite so alien.

  “No, I….” Sunny’s smile this time was muted. “How long have you been out here?”

  Emile could tell him only a few days, but Sunny probably wouldn’t believe him. Even for his kind, Emile had grown thin. For a human, he would appear obviously underfed. His stomach snarled at the thought, and Sunny pursed his lips.

  “Soup,” he decided. “You need to go slow and keep the food down.” He guided Emile toward a narrow plank bridge arching over a lively creek. “This way.”

  Emil’s shoe caught under the first board, and he grunted, pitching forward a few slapping steps until Sunny caught him.

  “No rush,” Sunny admonished.

  A damp, heated breeze, like an echo of Hakko’s disapproval, blew against Emile’s back, and he glanced over his shoulder. The dog stopped in his tracks, a low rumble in his throat. Even Sunny furrowed his brow and glanced back the way they had come.

  “Hungry,” Emile blurted and moved quickly over the bridge, even while he scanned the trees and frowned.

  Sunny hunched his shoulders as he hastily followed, tugging the dog to heel as he made it to the other side.

  The dog lingered a moment, one front foot on the bridge, the other lifted, as though he thought about going back. The forest seemed to breathe out another heated waft of air, and the dog’s grumble rose in pitch.

  “Ferny.” Sunny’s stern command got the animal’s attention, and he trotted over to them. “Good boy.” Sunny led them both across the grass toward the house, ignoring the dog’s obvious reluctance to leave whatever he sensed in the woods behind them.

  Emile spared one last glance into the shadows under the leaves. There was nothing to see, but he didn’t need his eyes to sense Hakko’s presence. Had his broodnest companion actually followed him through the Fold? After all his zealous preaching about the dangers of opening their world up to the human plane on the other side, would he do such a thing? Surely not.

  But Hakko was strong. His magic did many things. It wasn’t impossible that he could follow Emile without ever physically leaving their homeland. It wouldn’t be easy, even for Hakko. But it wasn’t impossible.

  “Emile?” Sunny’s voice, all warmth and welcome, billowed over the shiver that had started under Emile’s skin. It calmed him. He rolled his shoulders and turned to follow.

  Behind him, the forest rustled, but he refused to look back.

  Chapter 5

  A SENSATION skittered over Sunny’s skin as they crossed the little bridge. It left his palms sweaty, his instinct divided between reaching the cottage and stopping to peer into the shade under the trees. He opted for forward momentum. As soon as Ferny and Emile had crossed the threshold, Sunny closed the door with a satisfying click.

  “There.” He rubbed the damp off his palms onto the fabric of his shorts. A little of his unease was soothed away by the click of the door behind Emile, shutting all of them inside. Strange to feel so protective over someone he didn’t know and who was technically trespassing on his private haven, but there it was. For the moment, the desire to keep the world away from Emile overruled Sunny’s lately developed aversion to people in general.

  He could only chalk it up to Fernforest’s odd behavior, the unfamiliar forest, and Emile’s obvious need. Emile was nothing like the soul-sucking media circus that had surrounded the accident and Sunny’s departure from the family business. He was a weak, perhaps lost man who needed help that Sunny could give.

  After motioning Emile to the tiny loveseat that served as his sofa, Sunny scraped curls off his face and wrapped a tie around as much of it as he could manage as Emile lowered himself onto it. “You sit. I’ll find you something to wear, and you can have a shower.” He paused next to the sofa. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call anyone? A friend? Family? I can take you to town to the clinic.”

  Emile stared at him for a long moment. Then he sighed. “I left home and family behind.” He offered a small, only slightly reassuring smile. “I am hungry, but I don’t need any… clinic?” He said the last with a small hitch at the end, like he didn’t quite recognise the word, but then snugged the blankets tighter. “Clothing would be good.”

  “Right. But if you change your mind—”

  “I will not.” Emile worked himself deeper into the sofa. It had to be more comfortable than the lumpy, mouldy cot. He pulled a few of the throw pillows closer with a sigh, creating a snug nest.

  Fernforest immediately hopped up next to him, curling his furry body against Emile’s thigh. The dog’s ease with his affection soothed Sunny’s remaining anxiety at inviting this stranger into his new home. He laid a hand on the animal’s head. Stiff fur tickled his palm, and he smiled.

  “Watch out for him, Ferny. I’ll be right back.”

  Ridiculous. Where was the guy going to go? What would happen to him in the amount of time it took Sunny to go up to his bedroom for clothes?

  He didn’t dare look down as he hurried to his wardrobe. He found a pair of cut-off track pants—ideal, since any of his pants would be inches too short for Emile and the drawstring would keep the garment from sliding off his lean hips. From his dresser, he pulled a T-shirt and the package of briefs he’d recently bought but hadn’t opened. On his way back to the main space, he fetched towels and necessities from the linen closet under the stairs.

  Emile was staring at his dog, hands cupped under his jaw, head cocked to one side. His eyes, bright and intent, seemed out of focus. The dog panted happily at him, occasionally flipping his tongue up over his nose.

  “Does he have anything interesting going on in there?” Sunny asked, tapping the top of the dog’s skull.

  Emile jerked his hands away. “Sorry. No. Nothing in there.”

  Sunny chuckled. “Really? Not even a story about that time he chased pigeons and ended up in Mom’s pool because he wasn’t watching where he was going?”

  Emile flushed. “No. Sorry.” He looked entirely serious. “Nothing like that at all.”

  “Okay, then.” Sunny held out th
e clothes, at a loss for how to take the man’s comments. “Bathroom is right through there.” He pointed to the door below his loft. “Take your time. I have to thaw the soup, so….”

  Emile rose and took the offered clothes and towels. “Thank you.”

  “Sure.”

  Dropping his gaze, Emile sidled past Sunny, dodging his shoulder aside so as not to make contact. What had happened, Sunny wondered, that left Emile alone and without even the clothes on his back? What made him nervous about touch? And how did Sunny frame that question when Emile had already shut down any mention of contacting anyone? He would have to ask. Eventually.

  He was turning his back, headed for the kitchen end of the room, still contemplating how to bring up such a delicate subject, when Emile spoke.

  “Your dog.”

  Sunny spun, maybe too fast, because Emile shuffled back a step, one hand up. Sunny sidled back too, leaving space between them. “Is he okay?” Sunny glanced at the mutt, who now sat on the couch, watching them, gaze shifting from one to the other.

  Emile smiled wide. “Very much, yes. He’s very bright.”

  “Yeah.” Sunny couldn’t help an indulgent smile at his little buddy. “He’s brilliant, actually. Well. For a dog.”

  “For many a creature, he is quite smart, but that isn’t what I meant.” Emile scratched Fernforest’s ears. “Is it, my friend?”

  The dog licked his fingers, thumped his tail, then cocked his head at Sunny.

  Why do I get the feeling there’s some joke on me that I’m not getting?

  And then he realised he was imagining some kind of conspiracy between his house guest and his dog. He shook his head. “I’m going to get your dinner started. Ferny, if you want to eat, you’ll find your ball, buddy.”

  Fernforest yipped and jumped down, beginning the hunt for his food delivery ball, which Sunny had hidden, this time behind the woodpile next to the door. It would keep the dog occupied and out from underfoot while he got the soup on.

  ONCE BEHIND the closed door of the bathroom, Emile let out a small sigh. He’d been holding his breath that Sunny didn’t ask any more about what he had meant. He wasn’t sure he could explain without using words like magic and fey and bloodlines. Fernforest wasn’t any more an ordinary dog than Emile was a run-of-the-mill human.

  Well. That wasn’t entirely true. Ferny was a dog, whereas Emile was not even a little bit human. With a sigh, he dumped his armload onto the chair—no, that was wrong. He picked up the clothes again and lifted the cover. The name for this water-filled little stool escaped him at the moment, but he understood its use.

  You’ll never learn enough to pass in their world, Emik-kik. Stop this foolishness and take what you’ve been offered.

  Hakko’s voice rumbled in his head even when there was no possible way he could be hearing it on this side of the Fold. Even right down to the hated child’s name Hakko used in place of the name given him on his hatching day. Emikku. It was a good name. Their Bearer, Bethakke, liked to translate it from its ancient tongue into modern speech and often called him their joy-chaser. Hakko, the chosen Sire of their broodnest, of course, delighted in reminding him the traditional meaning was something closer to jester.

  Like a king’s fool, he used to say. And I will be your king—or close enough—one day, Emik-kik. Best you stay on my good side.

  Emile snorted. What did it matter what any of them thought now? He’d made his choice. Emikku had flown to the stars with Bethakke on the night they had shed their last scale and feather. He was Emile now, and Emile he planned to remain.

  Even as he had that thought, a ripple of excruciating pain undulated along his spine. He jerked, the lid slipped from his fingers to close with a clatter, and he had to bite his tongue to keep quiet. Pushing his shoulders far back, he arched his spine and moaned softly. Magic dug into bone, pushing it outward to stretch his skin.

  “Blast.” Twisting, he arched until he could see the spines of his other form stretching the soft pink skin to its limit. Not good. From between his shoulder blades to midway down his back, his vertebrae had elongated to protrude in a wave of rounded humps. They were merely a shadow of the true spikes that coursed down his neck and back when he transformed to his hard scales, but no way would any human look at those humps and think them a normal variation on human anatomy.

  The stretch of skin stung where it turned white at the tops of the protrusions. He didn’t dare round his back even a little, in case he tore the delicate membrane. The last thing he needed was to try to figure out how to explain newly opened welts on his back as the blood trickled onto Sunny’s pretty black-and-white tiles.

  “Everything okay in there?” Sunny sounded close, and the door handle rattled.

  “Fine!” Emile swung around to face the door, but it didn’t open.

  “Heard the toilet lid fall.” Sunny chuckled, and the sound was endearing in its embarrassment. “Just making sure you didn’t fall in or something.”

  Toilet. Of course. “No. I’m fine. Just clumsy.”

  “Well, good to know.” There was a soft shushing against the door. “No rush, Emile. Just take all the time you need, okay? And let me know if you change your mind about a doctor or calling someone.”

  The calm in his words eased Emile’s panic, and he breathed in. “Of course. Thank you.” He listened to the padding of bare feet retreat towards the kitchen. The pain in his back eased, and when he managed another glance in the mirror, the spikes had diminished, though his spine was still too prominent.

  He frowned. Normally shifting was a seamless, painless magical process. When he controlled the magic. He’d witnessed the agony of shifters who were at the mercy of their magical transformations, and tried hard not to panic. All he had to do was maintain his grip on the magic and he would be fine. The shift to scales wouldn’t—couldn’t—happen if he didn’t will it.

  Humans’ disconcerting habit of washing in huge quantities of water aside, Emile was certain he’d have the magic under better control once he was feeling more himself and less like a dirt devil. He’d just have to endure the discomfort of the water, since he was pretty sure the smell of heated scales as he burned the dirt away would raise some serious questions for Sunny.

  It took some fiddling and intuitive leaps to figure out the knobs and levers that released water from the overhead sprinkler, but he managed. He stayed under the spray as short a time as possible and rubbed his skin pink in the effort to get it all off again.

  Dressing was quick, as the clothing was far less complicated than the fashions currently in favour at home. The odd packaging for the underthings made his skin crawl in its unnatural, slick, impenetrable texture, but the fabric itself wasn’t so bad. He was definitely a fan, he decided. There was some magic-resisting element to some of the clothing, but the bulk of the content came from natural sources. He could live with the unusual feel of the synthetics sliding over his skin if it came with the stretchiness that allowed for virtually no fastenings to fiddle with.

  Clothing had been a big deterrent to this form for him all his life. Few places in the enclaves he visited growing up allowed bipedal nudity. Ironic that his flight into the human realm had landed him in a culture where clothing was a must.

  He envied the water sprites and forest nymphs and dryads. As far as he could tell, even on this side of the Fold, they had a lot more freedom than his kind ever had. In fact, according to Fernforest—if he could trust the flitting thoughts of a dog—most fey had as much leeway as they liked, as long as they remained out of sight of humans.

  Humans, he had been informed, were a scary lot. But not Sunny. Fernforest was wildly in favour of Sunny. It was the best recommendation Emile could ask for.

  Chapter 6

  SUNNY WASN’T going to wonder too hard why, fresh out of the shower, Emile still smelled like forest light and cool earth. He knew it wasn’t his shower gel. That was unscented. No, he didn’t have to know why. He would simply enjoy that it was so.

  “He
re you go.” He set a bowl of soup on the table in front of Emile and pushed the plate of soda crackers closer before picking up the empty bowl from the place across from him. “Take your time. If you eat too fast, it might mess you up. Not eating for a long stretch makes your guts do weird things when you do eat again.”

  Emile nodded and eyed the bowl.

  “Lentil mostly,” Sunny offered.

  “Meat?” Finally, Emile picked up the spoon, but instead of eating, he poked around in the bowl with it.

  Sunny’s heart sank. “Ham. Are you a vegetarian?”

  The way Emile’s lips curled back from his teeth, he looked positively feral. The snarl stirred Sunny’s gut, tiny licks of interest igniting in his belly.

  “Hardly,” Emile growled. He scooped up a spoonful and swallowed.

  “Careful! It’s hot!” Sunny almost grabbed his wrist to stop him but managed to curb the impulse.

  “Oh. Um. Yes.” Emile blew across the top of the bowl, pursing his lips to a pretty O. “I guess it must be.” He stirred the soup, but the next mouthful was just as large, and eaten with as little care. The guy must have a cast-iron mouth.

  And really. Sunny had to stop obsessing over his mouth.

  “It’s delicious.” The spoon disappeared past his lips once more, heaped with chunks of ham.

  “Thanks.” Sunny blushed, heat rising to his hairline. Hastily he turned back to the stove to serve his own meal.

  So many impulses to control, not the least of which was one to protect. He didn’t understand that at all. Attraction he got. But this urge to protect Emile confused him. He’d come here to be alone, and here, on his first day in his new sanctuary, he was feeding a strange—intriguing, yes, but strange—trespasser at his kitchen table. He should be eager to get rid of him. He was eager to get rid of him. He’d feed him and send him on his way. As soon as Emile was stronger, of course. And rested. Then Sunny would send him along.