by Piper Scott
Hugh located the first mirror-like object and handed it to Everard, who proceeded to use it to examine Finch in ways Hugh had never thought a man should be examined. Flushed and unsure where to look while still being polite, Hugh turned around and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to bounce off the walls or fall into a heap.
“Well, how unexpected. We are very slick and quite dilated. Are you sure this is your first birth, paper shredder? You’re putting Perry to shame.”
“Quite certain,” Finch strained.
“In any case, you’re doing exceptionally well. Keep breathing. I’d tell you to make an effort to relax, but you seem to be doing that already. I can’t recall the last time I tended to a laboring omega so composed and collected.” Something blunt and accusatory planted itself between Hugh’s tense shoulder blades. “I wish I could say the same for you. Take a deep breath, brother. Hold it. Now let it out. All will be well. I have no idea how it happened, but you’ve found the most capable partner of any of us Drakes. Heaven forbid, were I to be struck dead this very second, there is no doubt in my mind your paperweight would do just fine. He’s very capable. Now—” Everard cut himself off. “Who the devil is that in the doorway?”
Hugh looked. There stood Gabriel, the pool boy. “Uh, special delivery for Mr. Drake?”
“Which one?” Everard inquired.
“Hugh,” Finch groaned, sounding like at any moment he might tear in two. “Give the blasted thing to Hugh, Gabriel, then get out. All of you, get out, or I swear I will pluck you all scale by scale until you’ve learned to be quiet.”
“It’s best we listen,” Everard said in a low voice as he steered Hugh out of the room. He shut the door behind them. “There’s still two hours at least before he’s ready, if what I saw during my inspection is to be believed. Take a small walk to compose yourself, then come back. I’ll look after him until then.”
“Oh, cool. That’ll be just enough time for you to smoke up. Have fun, Mr. Drake.” Gabriel shoved something into Hugh’s hand, winked, and booked it out of the hallway before Hugh could make heads or tails of what was going on.
“Smoke up?” Everard asked. “What the devil is he going on about?”
“I’m not sure. Everything today has been a blur, and not very much has made sense. What do you think of this, Everard?” He showed Everard what Gabriel had given him. It was a hand-rolled cigarette. “The aroma is reminiscent of something familiar, but I’ll be damned if I can remember what. It feels like my head’s on upside down and backwards. I don’t think I’d remember my name if it weren’t for Finch scolding me with it.”
Everard’s eyebrows nearly took flight.
“What?” Hugh asked. He clutched the cigarette to his chest to protect it from Everard’s thieving ways. “I don’t like that look in your eyes, Everard. You’re up to something.”
“I am up to nothing, brother. I’ll remind you that I’m on the job. You, however, are bound by no such obligation and should be up to all kinds of things, especially smoking that doobie.”
“That what?”
Everard clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. “Doctor’s orders. Your Rolodex was right in having it delivered. Go sit out on the stoop and enjoy it. If anything changes, I’ll see to it that you’re informed immediately.”
Hugh didn’t know what to think of Everard or his support of the pungent cigarette currently in Hugh’s possession, but he did know that Finch would never do anything to harm him. Perhaps it would be for the best if he took a second to breathe and compose himself before returning to Finch’s side. If the baby was still hours away, there was no harm in it.
“Make sure he knows that I love him, and that I’ll be back soon,” Hugh told Everard before backing down the hall. “If anything happens, anything, retrieve me immediately. I won’t be long.”
“I will,” Everard promised.
And maybe it was foolish, but Hugh believed him.
36
Hugh
Hugh sat on the stoop of his lair and looked at the cigarette. As it had no eyes it didn’t look back, but he couldn’t help but feel like it was judging him.
“Quiet, you wretched thing,” Hugh muttered. “I am very capable, I’ll have you know.”
The cigarette didn’t believe him, so Hugh taught it who was boss by willing a flame into existence and lighting it on fire. The tip burned cherry red. The cigarette had the last laugh, though, because as it burned it stank to high heaven. It was unlike the pipe smell Hugh associated with gentlemen’s clubs and coffee houses. Almost skunk-like. He wrinkled his nose and considered snuffing it out right then and there, but before he could, he was blinded by headlights as a vehicle crested the horizon and encroached on the horseshoe drop-off point near where he sat.
Upon closer investigation, Hugh discovered it was a minivan.
The vehicle slowed to a stop in front of him, at which point the passenger side door swung open and out hopped his brother Alistair’s mate, Ignatius. He was wearing plaid pajama pants and a billowy graphic t-shirt with print so faded, Hugh couldn’t hope to discern what had once been on it. Somehow, Ignatius had forgotten to put on shoes.
Hugh watched his bare feet as Ignatius hurried over.
“Hugh!” Ignatius exclaimed. “We heard the news. I—” He came to a sudden stop a little more than a foot away from Hugh’s position. “Uh, what’s that?”
“Oh, this?” Hugh flicked the cigarette. “Finch commanded me to use it, but I haven’t any idea why. I’m no smoker. Worse, I think the blasted thing’s gone rancid. It smells off.”
“I don’t know. It smells good to me.” Ignatius sat beside him on the stoop and held out a hand. “Want me to check?”
Hugh passed him the cigarette and watched the cherry glow as he took a drag. “I didn’t know you smoked, Ignatius.”
“Have you met my boys?” he asked while holding his breath.
What a bizarre thing to ask. Hugh had, indeed, met his nephews. Many times. While Ignatius was in attendance. He fixed Ignatius with a queer look that Ignatius didn’t notice—he was too busy blowing smoke into the sky.
The sound of a car door closing drew Hugh’s attention to the minivan. Alistair, hair messy from sleep, stepped around the vehicle and came to join them. He sighed when he saw his mate. “Love, what have I said about taking treasure out of our hoard?”
“S’not mine,” Ignatius replied as he handed the cigarette back to Hugh. “It’s hitting the same way ours does, though. Whew. You’re good, Hugh. There’s nothing off about that.”
Hugh frowned at the cigarette. “I’m afraid I’m terribly confused. Not much has made sense to me since I discovered Finch is hours away from delivering our firstborn. Is it always like this?”
“What, the weed?” Ignatius asked. “Indica strains generally don’t have that effect on people. I wonder if it’s a hybrid. How much have you smoked since you found out?”
Hugh’s mouth fell open. He looked at the cigarette between his fingers, then at Ignatius. “Excuse me?”
“Hey, no judgment here. We’re not exactly heavy smokers, but we’ve been indulging a little more than usual since a literal half-pound of it fell through the sunroof of our car on the way to the kids’ birthday party.” Ignatius paused and seemed to consider what he’d said, then hastily added, “The, uh, the kids were fine. Don’t worry. It was pretty easy to convince them that it was a bag of vegetables, and after that they wanted nothing to do with it. I am so lucky it wasn’t a big bag of weed brownies.”
“We keep it locked in a cabinet in our hoard,” Alistair added, as if it would help. “I imagine you won’t have to be so careful for at least a good six months, or however long it takes for an infant to start crawling. You should look into it to be sure. I must admit, my knowledge of child-rearing is minimal.”
Ah, yes.
Babies.
His baby, in particular.
The thought rammed itself back into the forefront
of Hugh’s mind and, despite the early morning chill, made him break out in a sweat. As a father, it would be his responsibility to know these things. A small, fragile life would depend on his expertise. The thought that a small, human-shaped dragon he loved more than life itself would depend on him for anything horrified him.
Desperate for some form of release, he took a puff of the cigarette. It hit him straight in the lungs. Coughing, he winced and fanned the air in front of his face. Alistair struck him several times on the back.
“Devilish stuff, isn’t it?” Alistair asked. “It burns its way through your lungs like dragonfire. The first time Nate introduced it to me, I thought I would self-immolate and die. Fortunately, that was not the case. Do you need some water?”
“No,” Hugh said, and took another hit. He remembered the smell now that it was on his tongue—he’d tasted it when sampling that nugget for Finch before the party. In comparison to the nugget, the cigarette was very small. There was no way Gabriel had squeezed the entire thing inside. “Will this be enough?” Hugh asked after his next exhale. “To ‘take the edge off,’ I mean. Finch was very clear that’s what this was intended to do.”
“Oh, dude, you’re gonna be just fine.” Ignatius bumped their shoulders together. “Congratulations on the baby, by the way. This sure as hell beats that outdated cigar tradition. Did you two ever find out if you’re having a boy or a girl?”
Hugh shook his head. Just thinking about details like that sent him into a mild panic. He sucked more smoke into his lungs, then thrust the cigarette at Ignatius, who shrugged and took it into his custody.
“I can see you’re worried, brother,” Alistair said. “But never fear. All will be well. I was worried at one time, too, with three unsanctioned eggs and a non-Pedigree omega to care for, but despite my blunders, I now have a beautiful family. Everything will fall into place for you. I know it.”
Hugh nodded stiffly and did start to feel a little better, but then he spotted new headlights on their way down the driveway and was plagued with indomitable anxiety. The Drakes were assembling to greet the new baby, and they’d all see how inept and unprepared he was.
“I need to go back to Finch,” he announced, rocketing to his feet. “Alistair, will you take care of whoever that is? Gather wherever you’d like—the sitting room, the ballroom, the dining room… it makes no difference to me. All I ask is that you respect my Finch’s privacy during the birth. I’ll have a member of the staff inform you when we’re ready to accept visitors.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll keep an eye out, too,” Ignatius promised. “I know all too well how little you Drakes care about privacy. It’s been years and I still haven’t been able to teach a certain lizard how to knock.”
Hugh nodded. “I’ll lock the door, then.”
The look Ignatius gave him was battle-weary and wizened. “It won’t help.”
“Well, I’ll try it, anyway.” Hugh wrung his hands. The headlights were getting larger. It wouldn’t be long at all before the next vehicle arrived. “Thank you both for running interference. From here on out, I’ll be with Finch. If there are any urgent messages you need to pass along, please have them delivered to one of the staff.”
“You got it.” Ignatius shooed him off with a wave of his hand. “Now get going before they get here and rope you into staying. And give our best to Finch.”
“I will.”
Hugh hurried off, but on his way into his lair, he heard his brother cuss. “Jessica just sent a text to let me know that Chaucer has eaten the decorative candle.”
“Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Christ. I’ll have you know that this is your fault. I never ate candles as a kid. Finch has the right idea. Next time, I want a baby.”
Alistair chuckled. “Of course, my love. I’ll see what I can do.”
Hugh shut the door and hurried for the staircase, but whether it was by virtue of the marijuana he’d ingested or the conversation he’d overheard, he felt much better about fatherhood.
Hugh was assailed by a pillow when he stepped through the bedroom door. It hit him squarely in the face and chased a shriek out of him before it tumbled to the floor. The pillow-thrower, Finch, glared at him, then sank onto the bed and screamed through his teeth. Everard had taken shelter within a makeshift bunker made of two tall dressers, the girls’ cage, and a large painting he’d removed from the wall that was acting like a roof. Several pillows were piled before the front-facing dresser. One pillow was on the painting.
Everard peered at Hugh through the bars of the cage. “Help.”
Hugh stood stunned for a moment, taking in the scene before him, then collected the pillow at his feet and the ones scattered around Everard’s bunker. He returned all of them to Finch, who appeared to be in the throes of a contraction and didn’t see him there.
“You must be tolerant of Everard, my love,” Hugh said as he set the pillows on the bed. “As pesky as he can be, he’s the only doctor we have.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Finch replied through clenched teeth, “Fuck that.”
It was jarring to hear Finch swear, but understandable given the circumstances. Hugh finished positioning the pillows, then climbed onto the bed and sat within arm’s length of his lover. A strange feeling was creeping through him, like goosebumps, but on the inside. It tingled in his arms and legs, his chest, his head, his face. It was particularly noticeable in his fingers and lips, where it buzzed like static.
“Everard,” Hugh said when Finch collapsed onto the bed following his latest contraction. “Why haven’t you administered anything to help with his pain?”
“He requested a natural birth.”
Another pillow struck the dresser. It collided with one of the ornate metal handles, which clattered against the wood, then fell to the floor. Hugh knew he ought to retrieve it, but the floor seemed awfully far away, and he was so comfortable where he was. The prickling static in his fingers was only getting stronger, and when he ran his fingertips over the back of his hand, it felt like absolute magic. If only Finch could feel it, too.
Inspiration struck like lightning. Hugh gasped. “I can help.”
“I would bloody well hope you can,” Everard said. “I can’t deliver the baby from behind the dresser.”
Hugh ignored his annoying brother and set his sights on Finch, who was glossy with sweat and narrow-eyed with suspicion. “Finch, I’ve had a wonderful idea. Do you trust me?”
Finch’s mouth twitched, but ultimately he said, “Yes.”
“Good. I promise, everything will be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”
Delighted with himself for his ingenuity, Hugh opened their mate bond as wide as he could and flooded it with the tingling sensation. Finch gasped, and a moment later his shoulders sagged and his eyelids drooped. He pushed the hair back from his brow with a trembling hand, then dropped his arm and sighed.
“Better?” Hugh asked.
Finch nodded.
“It feels amazing, doesn’t it?” Hugh dropped onto the bed beside Finch and grinned like a loon. “I was sure there wasn’t enough in that cigarette to do much of anything, but I only took three puffs and… well… apart from when I’m with you, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so good.”
“Mm,” Finch hummed, but didn’t otherwise reply. Hugh didn’t mind. Conversation wasn’t a top priority. All he wanted to do was bask in the ever-growing feeling of utter relaxation.
Across the room, a besieged Everard sneaked out of the bunker and cautiously approached the bed. He looked down at Hugh in what was either bewildered shock or mild repulsion. “I cannot believe your solution was to use the mate bond to get him high.”
“I can’t believe it worked,” Finch said with a snort. “Mm, am I able to push yet, Everard? I’m absolutely knackered.”
“Not yet, Post-It. Soon.”
Finch sighed and reached for Hugh’s hand, which Hugh gratefully took. “I’m glad you’re here
with me again,” Finch told him. “I’m glad that you’re my mate. A life without you is a life without happiness. All the drugs in the world wouldn’t be able to numb the pain I’d be in right now if there were another omega in your bed, having your baby.”
“Never.” Hugh brought Finch’s hand to his face and kissed it. “Never, ever, Finch. You always were and always will be the one for me.”
“Are you planning on keeping up the drunken, heartfelt confessions for the next two or so hours?” Everard asked. “Because if so, I’ll go grab a pastry from the kitchen and maybe a coffee while I’m at it.”
Hugh looked to Finch for guidance, for without him, he’d be lost.
“No,” Finch said. “I don’t need to say anything when I can feel his truth through the bond. I think I’d rather rest and be quiet.”
It sounded like an awfully good idea, so Hugh did the same. They lay in silence, vibing off each other’s presence and channeling their love through the bond until Everard approached the bed again and told Finch that it was time to push.
37
Finch
No sooner had Everard announced that it was time to push than a pain ripped through Finch that not even his second-hand high could mitigate. He screamed in pain and clenched, curling up on himself from the agony. It felt like he was being ripped apart.
“I could take away the pain, paper clip,” Everard told him in an irritatingly calm tone of voice from the foot of the bed. “Let me use my magic to ease your contractions. Hugh’s ingenuity will only take you so far. You’re in need of a healer’s touch. And before you argue, let me remind you that magic is entirely natural. If you’re fine with what Hugh’s done for you via the mate bond, there’s no reason to resist my healing magic.”
“I can help,” Hugh said, possibly to himself, because Finch was in no mood to listen to anyone. “Here, Finch.” Hugh took Finch’s hand and a cooling wave of magic spread through him. It wasn’t enough to do away with the pain he was in, but it helped. It was only when Everard stepped in and laid a hand on Finch as well, adding his magic to Hugh’s, that Finch found any relief.
