by Imogen Sera
He licked her then, long and soft, one slow continuous movement all the way up until he reached her clit, and he paused there to swirl his tongue around her. Her hips bucked again, and she was holding his head desperately to her, and her jaw clenched and she called his name as she came, her hands and arms shaking while her fingers threaded through his hair.
He continued there; licking, sucking, nibbling gently, and before long she was melting again. He moved down, slightly, and his tongue was there at her entrance. A moment later his tongue was inside her, fucking her, deliciously and relentlessly, and she was quivering and moaning desperately and calling for him. He came up to hold her until she finished trembling, kissing along her neck and shoulder.
When she came back to herself she saw the raw need in his face, so she kissed him hard and begged him to fuck her. He obliged and positioned himself at her entrance, and as he pushed into her, all she could think was how delectably he fit in her, stretching her and filling her; as he began to move inside her, all she could do was cling to him and think of how exquisitely perfect this was.
Afterward they lay together; kissing, whispering, caressing, laughing. Ingrid’s eyes grew heavy, and the last thing she thought was that this was the happiest moment of her life.
Twenty-three
Helias awoke as the sun was setting and noticed immediately that Ingrid had disappeared.
He wasn’t too surprised, she wasn’t the type to lounge around when things needed to be done, and he smiled at the uncharacteristic memory of her reclining in the grass, the sun on her face. He had wanted to swoop down immediately and carry her off to bed, but he was glad he’d shrugged off his baser instincts. She had been so relaxed and happy, and he had even seen her laughing with her friends. It was a bittersweet sight.
Tarquin’s research on the shrine had led to the same conclusion as his own, and Helias was becoming convinced that the only way to cure the corruption and cure the ill was dragon fire. He was also convinced that the manor house couldn’t survive it, and Ingrid would lose the only home she’d ever known. He knew that she would agree to sacrifice the house without much thought if it would save lives; but he also knew how much she loved her home and he was delaying telling her what he had discovered until there were no other options.
He rose and dressed quickly, then followed the smell of dinner to the table. As he sat next to Ingrid, she didn’t look up, and he was surprised to see that she was absorbed in conversation with Tarquin, who was seated on her other side. Augustus and Caelian weren’t present, so he supposed that Ingrid must have taken pity on his strange youngest sibling. Helias placed his hand on her back and she jumped slightly, then looked at him and laughed.
“Sorry,” she said, “I contemplated waking you, but I decided you needed sleep more than food.” She pressed her lips to his palm quickly. He grinned down at her; he adored that little ritual of hers.
She turned her attention back to Tarquin, and as he listened, they were making awkward small talk, but it was clear that Ingrid was making quite an effort with his favorite brother, and he loved her more for it. She turned back to Helias after their conversation lulled, and leaned over to whisper to him.
“I have so much to update you on, come to the infirmary with me after this?”
He nodded, curious about the location, and settled into his dinner. He felt much better this evening; he’d stretched his wings, fucked his mate, and caught up on sleep. There were still many decisions and tasks looming before him, but he was prepared to face them now.
Dinner ended, and Ingrid and Helias started their trek to the most remote wing of the house.
She paused in front of the door. “This is complicated, I— ” she sighed. “I’ll just let him explain.”
She pushed open the door, and Helias was surprised to see Caelian seated at a large table, hunched over a huge book, adding something to a small bowl.
“Ingrid!” Caelian said, pushing the book back from him and standing, and Helias felt a little kick of jealousy at the way his brother was grinning at her. He pushed the ridiculous emotion aside as Ingrid pulled him through the door.
“How’s she doing?” Ingrid asked Caelian, looking concerned.
He sighed. “No change from this morning. I thought she seemed like she was improving.” Sorrow flooded his eyes, and Helias was confused about why the health of a human would be affecting his brother so much.
Ingrid smiled gently at Helias’s confused face, and pulled him over to the nearest occupied bed. There were at least ten patients in here, and he understood how the resident nurses were always so busy.
“This is Margaret,” Ingrid said gently, gesturing down to the sleeping woman. She looked awful, her face covered with the plague’s signature boils. Her long yellow-blond hair was braided neatly, but her skin was pale and her breathing slow.
Caelian came to her side then, kneeling next to her. “Helias,” he said, not looking away from Margaret’s pitiful face, “Margaret is my mate.”
Helias’s eyes widened. “You’re sure of this?”
Caelian nodded, and looking at his brother’s slumped form and swollen eyes, Helias saw the truth of it. He imagined Ingrid briefly in this state, and banished the thought. It was too painful to contemplate.
“Is she going to recover?” Helias asked Ingrid.
She shrugged and he could see unshed tears in her eyes. “She’s been hanging on much longer than most do. Two days ago I would have said no, yesterday I thought she would. Today I don’t know.” She rubbed the unconscious woman’s arm affectionately.
Helias took a deep breath. He had hoped to put this off longer, but he couldn’t put his brother’s mate’s life at risk by delaying any longer. “I can fix this,” he began. “Tarquin has come to the same conclusion as I: destroying the shrine will end the plague and cure these people,” he gestured around the room.
“How do we destroy it?” Ingrid asked, looking determined.
“Dragon fire,” he said, avoiding meeting her gaze.
“Lucky thing we have dragons then,” she said, smiling slyly at him.
He felt sick then. “That’s not all. Ingrid, I believe it will—”
Lily burst into the room then, madly calling for Ingrid.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Ingrid asked, looking alarmed.
“The baby’s coming.”
Twenty-four
Ingrid had taken charge quickly. Caelian would stay and look after Margaret, and Lily had been dispatched to prepare the horses. She had looked at Helias incredulously when he insisted on flying to town to fetch the healer.
“You think that a dragon can land in the middle of town, after dark, and then a naked, strange man can talk the midwife into coming with him?”
He seemed to appreciate her point, but he insisted on riding with her. She rolled her eyes at his protectiveness, even as it secretly sent a tiny thrill through her.
They rode quickly and arrived in town in less than a half hour. Ingrid knocked loudly on the door of the house that she knew the midwife resided in. Helias bounced nervously next to her.
“Relax, love,” she murmured. “Babies take time.”
“I’m excited,” he said, grinning down at her.
Her heart melted at that, and she took his hand in hers and squeezed it.
After there was no response, she banged on the door loudly again. “Please, we need the midwife!” she shouted.
There was a shuffling sound behind the thin door, and a tremulous old voice answered. “Come back in the morning. It’s not safe in the dark.”
“We can’t wait until morning, there’s a woman in labor. It’s perfectly safe out here.”
“She can cross her legs until morning. It is NOT safe, dragons have been spotted.”
Ingrid sighed. “Agatha it’s me, Ingrid, from Dragongrove. I’m here with a friend and I promise you’re safe with us. This woman has never had a baby before and she needs you.”
“It’s Ingrid?” She cou
ld practically hear the sneer in her voice. “I’ve heard of what’s going on in that house of yours. He told everyone. Dragon fucker.”
Ingrid’s eyes widened and her fists clenched. “Listen you old fucking hag,” she punctuated the word with a hard kick on the door. “Get out here right fucking now or so help me I’ll—”
“Agatha,” Helias suddenly boomed in a low voice that she’d never heard him use before. “Open the door.”
Ingrid was shocked when she obeyed. Helias stepped into the small house, stood over the old woman, and positively glowered down at her. “Get your supplies,” he said in that strange voice. “We leave in five minutes.”
The hateful old hag looked defiantly up at him; and suddenly power was radiating off of his huge body, and fire flashed in his eyes. The woman scuttled off obediently.
He stepped back outside to Ingrid and she gaped at him. He shrugged self consciously and pulled her close.
“That’s an interesting trick,” she said.
“I feel a little bad about this,” he murmured into her hair.
Ingrid shrugged. “Annie needs her, I don’t know what else we’re supposed to do.”
He nodded, still looking uncomfortable.
“She won’t give us trouble, will she?” Ingrid asked.
He shook his head. “She’ll obey until I let her stop. After my nephew is here, I’ll bring her back with a pile of gold to assuage my guilt.”
Ingrid kissed his palm softly. “Don’t feel guilty.” She thought a moment. “Who do you think she meant when she said he?”
Helias shrugged and Agatha emerged from her house then, a doctor’s bag at her side.
“Can you ride with her?” he asked, looking at Ingrid.
Ingrid nodded, and moments later they were on their way.
•••••
“No babies ever,” Ingrid said, looking pointedly at Helias. They were sitting on the floor outside of Annie’s room, and in the past hour, the moaning inside had turned into grunting, and now nearly endless wailing.
“Some babies?” he replied, looking purposely pathetic.
“This feels like a conversation that we shouldn’t have outside of a laboring woman’s room.”
Helias laughed and pulled her closer. Augustus was in the room with Annie and Agatha, and also, oddly, Mira. Annie had asked for her, and Mira had seemed flattered to be chosen to offer support.
Lily and John were in the hallway chatting pleasantly, as was Tarquin, who was not chatting at all. Most of the other residents were in the parlor, and Ingrid could hear laughter and chatter drift up the stairs occasionally. There was a palpable excitement in the air, there hadn’t been a baby born at the house since Ingrid’s younger sister. This one was even more exciting, somehow, and Ingrid had overheard bets from the downstairs about whether the baby would be born with wings.
Caelian was in the infirmary with Margaret but he’d asked to be kept updated. Rebecca had volunteered gladly for the role of messenger; the poor girl hadn’t realized that he had eyes for no one but his unconscious mate.
The night wore on, and eventually John and Lily left, and only Tarquin remained. Ingrid was finally able to convey her odd conversation with Annie, and Helias had a strange look in his eyes. He asked if Annie had described her guard, and seemed disappointed when Ingrid shook her head.
Ingrid pressed against him, and suddenly her stomach was flip flopping and her body felt too small to hold her.
“This is exciting,” she said taking his big hand in hers. “Can you feel it in the air? It feels like change.”
He glanced at her strangely. “You’re not usually one to acknowledge feeling something in the air.”
She shrugged. “Lily’s rubbing off on me.”
Ingrid must have drifted off, because she woke a time later resting comfortably on Helias’s lap. The door to Annie’s room was open, and from inside there were hushed, angry voices. She looked up at Helias in alarm, and his jaw was set determinedly.
“Helias, what’s wrong,” she breathed, sitting up quickly. “What happened?”
“It’s a boy,” he said flatly, then gestured for her to go into the room, and she did, scarcely daring to breathe. There was Annie, looking exhausted and dazed, but well enough, and Augustus standing next to her, hand on her shoulder; and there on her chest was the precious baby, and Ingrid could see that he was breathing. She whispered a silent prayer of thanks, and then she held back a gasp as she saw his tiny face. He was perfect—with a pouty little mouth, a tiny upturned nose, and dark eyes that were already open.
He was perfect—except for the telltale boils that covered his perfect face.
Twenty-five
Helias was gone when Ingrid left the room, but Tarquin stood outside the room facing her.
“Do you know what you have to do?” he asked, and she nodded.
She went straight to the library. She found Helias there; pacing, muttering to himself, misery all over his beautiful face. He turned to her when he heard her come in, and he looked at her as if he wanted to break down and cry.
“We have to do it now, Ingrid,” he said before she could cross the room to him. “It has to burn now.”
She nodded, and kept her distance. He was agitated.
“You don’t understand,” he began, “It’s dragon fire. It won’t...it won’t leave anything untouched.”
She watched him, waiting for him to elaborate, eyes wide.
“We have to do it, but I can’t hurt you like this,” he said, shuddering.
She walked to him then and let him envelop her in his arms. “You mean the house, don’t you?” she said, her head pressed against his chest.
“The house, the grove...I don’t know.”
She shivered. “When will you do it?”
“Soon, it has to be soon, we don’t know how the illness will affect a new baby and—” he made an odd jerking movement then, and Ingrid realized it was a sob. Her heart felt like it was breaking.
She pulled back from his embrace and held his face between her hands. “Half a day, alright? Noon tomorrow. That gives us time to move the patients and some time for the residents to remove their belongings. If the baby seems to take a turn for the worse then we’ll do it as soon as the patients are safe.”
He nodded and took a deep breath. “I should be comforting you,” he said, holding her hand.
“Shh,” she said, smiling at him. “This is my house and I’ll decide what happens here.”
He held her against him for a moment before she pulled away again.
“I need to get word out,” she began. “Will you find Caelian and let him know the plan?”
Helias nodded.
“Have him start preparing the patients to be moved. We’ll probably need you and your brothers to actually move them, it will be much faster...” she trailed off. “I’m just thinking out loud. Find Caelian, I’m going to find John.”
She set off then, determined. There was a deep ache in her chest when as she walked down the hall, wondering if that was the last time she would ever set foot in her father’s library. She pushed the painful thought aside and strode off toward the parlor.
•••••
Ingrid had sent Ian to town to return Agatha with her payment, and to try to bring back as many carts and horses as possible, promising to pay their owners well for the favor. He had done his job well; there were sixteen carts of various shapes and sizes, and almost all of the patients had been carefully moved to open land just north of Dragongrove.
Margaret still remained, as did Annie and her baby, but they were next to be moved. After that, the residents would have the remaining two hours to collect their things; then they would join the patients there once time was up, so that they were a safe distance from the dragon fire. Beyond that, Ingrid wasn’t sure. She looked around at her friends, at the people she’d made into her family over the last eight years.
Ingrid pushed the thought carefully from her mind, so as to not reel
from the consuming pain in her chest. Helias was watching her carefully whenever they crossed paths during the morning’s work, and she forced a smile onto her face every time she noticed.
Finally, all of the patients were moved. Augustus and Caelian remained with them while the others emptied the house of what they could. Helias and Tarquin were tasked with saving what they could from the library, and an entire cart had been reserved for the ancient tomes.
Helias kissed Ingrid passionately before setting to his task, and then she had wandered slowly to her room, wondering how she could possibly choose what to save.
She would have chosen to save it all, stone by stone, each as precious to her as the last; if only she’d had the time. She opened the door to her room and surveyed it as if she was seeing it for the first time. There was her mother’s vanity, complete with her hand mirror and perfume. Ingrid had never worn the perfume, but she liked to spray it sometimes and shut her eyes to pretend her mother was near. The perfume then, and the mirror. They were both small enough to not be a burden.
A portrait of her father hung above the fireplace, and she pushed her stool over to retrieve it and add it to her pile. On the other wall there was a smaller portrait of her whole family, even Emily, although she had only been an infant when it was made. She removed it and smiled sadly as she rubbed her fingers over the once so familiar faces that were nearly faded from her memory.
There was a ledger on the table in the corner that she had carefully not touched all these years. She lifted it now and blew off the dust. The book itself wasn’t special to her, but inside was her father’s handwriting. She held it to her chest briefly and added it to her growing collection.
