The Druid Next Door

by E. J. Russell

  “Always about balance with you lot, isn’t it?”

  “Everything is about balance, Lord Maldwyn, as well you know. The bond strengthens that which we already desire, but the tea will allow you to reflect without its magnifying effects. You’ll be able to objectively consider whether having those desires fulfilled offsets the fact that you and Mr. MacLeod will be effectively joined for eternity.”

  “You mean like with your invisible chain?”

  “Much more effective. This chain will be of the mind—and of your own making.”

  Bryce plucked at the blanket over his knees. “Can I ask you something, David?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re studying to be a psychiatric nurse practitioner.” David nodded. “Does that mean you know something about . . . well . . . aberrant psychology?”

  “Some. But I know more from working at Alun’s practice. Why?” He grinned. “Are you feeling the urge to commit delicious, wicked acts with Mal?”

  Heat rushed up Bryce’s neck, and he buried his face in his hands.

  “Oh my God. You are.” David scrambled off the footstool and dropped on the sofa next to Bryce, placing a comforting arm across his shoulders. And considering David’s nature, the comfort was probably literal. “Sweetie, it’s okay. Mal provokes that kind of reaction in every guy he ever meets. They fling themselves at him. It’s really kind of remarkable.”

  “You mean, he’s a top.”

  “Thousands of club boys can’t be wrong.” David’s eyes clouded at Bryce’s no-doubt guilty expression. “Or can they?”

  “Regardless, I’ve never been that kind of guy. You know. Dominant. Masterful.”

  “Tell me another one, honey. I looked you up.”

  “You what? I don’t—”

  “You single-handedly pushed the reclamation proposal through the Metro Council. Then you browbeat every contractor who worked on the project. They’re terrified of you.”

  “That’s ridiculous. We all worked together because we were committed to seeing everything done right.”

  “No, baby. You were committed. They just jumped when you said ‘frog,’ for fear you’d have their ’nads for breakfast if they didn’t come through. Know what your students call you?”

  Bryce screwed up his face. “Dorky Professor MacLeod?”

  “Nope.” David leaned closer. “The Environator.”

  “They don’t. They couldn’t.”

  “They can and do, because you never give up. You’ve so got a dominant personality, but my guess is you’ve never tried it out on a boyfriend.”

  “A boyfriend?” Bryce scoffed. “I can barely get a date that doesn’t want to—”

  “To what? Alpha you to death? Believe me, I know all about it. I mean, look at me. I’m the poster child for twinkhood. Luckily, my husband knows from experience that appearances can be deceiving.”

  “But even if I’ve got the . . . the inclination, Mal doesn’t have the reciprocal need. Does he? I mean, you said yourself that he attracts guys who want to be topped.”

  “And he never stays with any of them.” David tapped his chin with one long finger. “Hmmm. Maybe there’s a reason for that. Between you and me, I think Mal has classic middle-child syndrome. Because, let’s face it, when your big brother is, you know, Alun, and your little brother is the last freaking true bard in Faerie, you might have a slight inferiority complex.”

  “He’s not inferior. He’s brave and strong and—”

  “Oh, honey.” David squeezed Bryce’s shoulder, and Bryce had the uncomfortable feeling that the contact allowed David to read every shameful thought in his head. “You’ve got it bad for him, don’t you?”

  Bryce shrugged out from under David’s hand and sat up, his head swimming a bit from the sudden change in altitude. “I know it’s stupid.” And now he knew it wasn’t just stupid—it was dishonorable, if not borderline illegal. “I’ll get over it.” Maybe.

  “Don’t be too hasty. He’s never been happy with any of those other men, so he’s obviously been searching for something.”

  “I’m pretty sure what he found was not what he was looking for.” Biologically induced sexual submission. Every alpha male’s dream.

  “Sometimes they have no clue what they’re looking for. They’re all ancient. I mean like beginning-of-time ancient.”

  “Hard to compete with that.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Because their traditions are so old, so ingrained, they have a hard time thinking outside their particular box, no matter how sparkly or filled with jewels it is. They assume, because they never had to question before. Their lives had certain . . . well . . . I won’t call them rules, because they’re not that immutable, no matter what the stubborn idiots may think.”

  Bryce couldn’t help but smile at the exasperation in David’s voice. “I take it you’re speaking with personal knowledge of one stubborn idiot in particular.”

  He grinned. “Maybe. But Alun isn’t the only one. Mal is just as bad. Even Gareth, for all he lives in the Outer World and interacts with humans more than supes. Although,” David leaned forward, glancing around as if to make sure they weren’t overheard, “did you know that the rest of his band are all shifters?”

  “That’s— That’s—” Bryce shook his head. No matter what the consequences of his heritage, or of his meeting with Mal, he couldn’t deny that this stuff was seriously cool. Finding out that a lot of the stories he’d loved as a child, when Gran had spun tales for him at bedtime, were actually based in truth? Awesome. Come to think of it, maybe that was why she’d told them, to educate him for his eventual induction into druidry. “Wow.”

  “I know, right? But Gareth is the worst when it comes to biases. I mean, don’t even start with him on romantic interactions between the fae and other species.”

  Bryce glanced out the window. “So does that mean he’d object if—”

  “If you and Mal got together? Maybe. But Alun and I didn’t let it stop us, and given that Mal is just as stubborn as his brothers, he probably wouldn’t either. That is, if it’s real and not just something . . .” he waved a long-fingered hand, his nose squinched up in thought, “casual and convenient.”

  Bryce remembered the look in Mal’s eyes when Bryce had pushed inside him. The way he’d moaned and begged. Nope. Not casual. But maybe not consensual either.

  “So. You were saying. Stubborn idiots.”

  “The thing is, they’re not built to look for solutions that might not have existed at the dawn of time. The Outer World has changed pretty rapidly, just in the last fifty years. The supes don’t move that fast. They can’t. It’s not in their nature. So the fact that both of us were raised as humans gives us a perspective that they lack.” David’s eyes grew clouded—as in seriously, as if clouds were rolling in his irises. “Fae politics are twisted beyond belief. One-upmanship, struggles along nationality lines between the Irish and the Scots and the Welsh, with everybody terrified to display the slightest weakness for fear it’ll knock them down in status. Their problem is that they don’t have anything to do anymore, so they act like a bunch of teenage girls, although that may be doing teenage girls everywhere a mega-disservice.”

  “Sounds like the same problem King Arthur had. That’s why he came up with the Grail quest.”

  David’s eyebrows shot up. “You know, that’s a very interesting point. The fae could probably do with a good quest of their own these days.”

  Speaking of quests, Bryce suddenly had an overwhelming craving for salt. He stood up and wobbled a bit.

  David steadied him with a hand on his elbow. “Whoa there. You should rest for a while longer. You took quite a jolt.”

  “I’ll be okay.” Yeah, and isn’t that a load of crock? “I just need a quick snack.”

  David snorted. “We’re in Mal’s house, and I didn’t bring any takeout. What kind of quick snack do you think we can find?”

  “Can’t hurt to look.” He hobbled into the kitchen, not as stea
dy on his feet as he’d like. Cassie and Mal were still in earnest conversation, halfway down the slope. Wait a minute. “How can Mal be so far away?” And why does that feel so wrong? “Did Cassie do something?”

  “She always does something, this time probably so you could rest while she puts the fear of the gods in Mal.”

  Bryce frowned. “She doesn’t need to do that. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You don’t know Mal. I’m sure he did any number of wicked things. With him, it’s all a matter of degree.”

  Bryce opened the pantry. It was worse than the refrigerator, with a lone jar of pickles standing in a solitary state. Christ. If Cassie didn’t relent and unfetter them, he’d have to drag Mal to the grocery store. He grabbed the pickles, opened them with a pop, and offered them to David.

  “Pickle?”

  David shook his head and grinned. “I only eat phallic food in front of Alun. Otherwise, it’s just a wasted opportunity.”

  Bryce’s cheeks heated. He’d never considered pickles suggestive, but now all he could picture was Mal, moaning with Bryce’s cock in his mouth, his eyes pleading for more. Stop it, MacLeod. Just eat the damn pickle. He fished one out just as Mal and Cassie walked in the back door.

  Mal stopped stock-still in the doorway. “You opened the pickles.”

  Bryce froze with the pickle halfway to his mouth. “Sorry. Were you saving them? I just needed something salty and this was all you had.”

  Mal’s eyes darkened, and he stalked across the dining room. “You’re free to devour anything you find here, including pickles.” He stopped just far enough inside Bryce’s personal space to make it obvious his closeness was intentional. With his gaze fixed on Bryce’s face, he drew a large pickle out of the jar and sucked half of it into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing.

  Bryce’s mouth dried, and he forgot about the dill in his own hand. He leaned forward, but the sound of David clearing his throat brought him back to his senses.

  Christ. He couldn’t do this. Mal wasn’t in full possession of his faculties, and Cassie’s tether made it impossible for him to escape. Was he even capable of making his own choices anymore? Bryce needed more information, and he needed it now.

  “Cassie. Can we talk, please?”

  “It will have to wait.” She set a neat packet of herbs on the counter, “This is for you, to counteract the effects of Rodric’s attack. Use enough leaves to cover your palm, steep for five minutes, and drink every drop. It will make you sleepy, but it will restore your vitality.”

  “Okay, but I really—”

  “Now, regarding your ill-considered bond with Lord Maldwyn.”

  “You—you know about that?”

  “You are my apprentice. Of course I know. Although it’s scarcely the secret you believe.” Holding out a scrap of paper filled with crabbed writing, she directed a keen glance at the pickle jar still in his hand. He hastily set it down and accepted the paper. “This recipe is for another tisane. You have all the ingredients in the supplies I sent you earlier. Follow it exactly. You and Lord Maldwyn must both consume exactly one cup this evening, and one each following morning and evening until I tell you otherwise. It will allow you to manage the bond’s effects.”

  “It will?” That was a relief—maybe. But manage was as far a cry from eliminate as it was from irreversible—and Bryce still wasn’t sure which direction he wanted to go. “About that—”

  “Anything else can wait until tomorrow. Or . . .” She tilted her head—was that the beginning of a smile? “You could always question Lord Maldwyn. He is, after all, your tutor.”

  The ping of David’s cell phone interrupted before Bryce could demand a better answer. “It’s a text from Alun. He’s home, but he has to leave again soon. He says they’ve found the traitor.” He looked up at Cassie. “May we go, please, Auntie? I want to see him before he disappears again.”

  “What does Alun have to say about the traitor, then?” Mal asked. “Is it Rodric?”

  David keyed in a message and frowned when a beep signaled a return. His smile wavered, and he cast a furtive glance at Mal from under his lashes. “He doesn’t say. But I really need to get home. Auntie, I don’t mean to hurry you, but—”

  “Calm yourself, Davey. We can go.”

  Bryce reached out, but let his hand drop at Cassie’s stern glance. “I really need to talk to you.”

  “Consider this another apprentice assignment, Mr. MacLeod. A lesson in self-reliance and problem-solving. We need to discuss nothing that can’t wait.”

  David hurried her out the door, a hand under her elbow, although considering the staccato cadence of her cane, she didn’t need much help.

  Bryce stared at Mal. Alone again. Still tethered, which meant they’d be sharing a bed again. Could Bryce restrain himself? Keep himself from testing whether Mal would do again what he’d done before? From perhaps trying to push it further, to see if he could demand it of Mal before Mal begged?

  Or demand that Mal beg.

  No. No, that was wrong. Everything he’d ever done, everything he’d ever believed about personal liberty, said it was wrong to hold that kind of power over another human being.

  But he’s not human, an insidious voice whispered. And neither are you.

  But, no matter what, he refused to turn into a monster.

  Despite Mal’s difficult conversation with Cassie, despite her warnings about the permanence of the bond if he and Bryce had sex again, he wanted nothing more than to drag the man to bed.

  No. Strike that. He wanted Bryce to drag him, so he steeled himself to stay away from Bryce, to resist the compulsion.

  But, as it turned out, he didn’t have to make any effort at all because Bryce never got close enough to test his damnably weak resolve.

  Bryce busied himself following Cassie’s orders, brewing up three cups of tea. He pushed a steaming cup across the breakfast bar. “Here. Sorry you have to suffer through this too—the stuff smells foul.”

  “Druid concoctions always do. But they work—although sometimes the side effects are worse than the ailment.”

  When Mal collected his cup, Bryce backed away, keeping a minimum five feet of airspace between them. In one way, Mal was grateful. He’d given over thinking he had any willpower whatsoever where Bryce was concerned. In another way, he felt strangely hurt, as if he were reliving the first days after Unification, when he and his brothers had discovered how many ways the Daoine Sidhe could find to shut them out of court life.

  He swirled the tea in the cup. Part of him didn’t want to drink it, wanted to see how things progressed. What if Bryce could fill the void in Mal’s soul that he hadn’t realized was there until the first time he’d kneeled at Bryce’s feet?

  The other part, the sane part, told him to drink the swill and be done with this. Return to his old personality. Finish Steve’s bloody tasks, lift his curse, and go back to his life as he knew it.

  But what did that really offer him? Yeah, he’d prefer to have two functioning hands because managing with one was fecking inconvenient. But the Enforcer’s job? Even if he were whole again, the job wasn’t his, not with Alun back in the picture. Alun would never relinquish his position as Queen’s Champion, not because he relished it—he fecking hated it. But he never shirked a responsibility. He’d taken the job, and he’d do it to the best of his ability and according to his code of ethics, which were sometimes damned annoying.

  Bryce was still hovering at the other side of the kitchen. Judging from the way his mouth was pinched and his eyes were squinted, he’d already drunk his tea.

  So. One half the spell was already in motion. “Cheers, mate. Here’s to managing the bond.” Mal clenched his eyes shut and gulped the stuff down. “Gah! That is revolting.”

  “You’re lucky. You only had to drink one potion. The other one was even worse. I—” Bryce blinked at him. “I think I’m going to . . .” He listed to one side—and kept on going, his eyes rolling back in his head.

  “Shi
te!” Mal leaped up and caught Bryce against his chest before he could hit the floor. “Nice work, Cassie,” he muttered. “‘It will make you sleepy’ indeed. Why not say the thrice-damned stuff will knock you out cold?” He hauled Bryce to the sofa and laid him down, arranging his arms and legs carefully. He couldn’t resist brushing his hair off his forehead, stroking his lean face. Maybe the antifamiliar tea didn’t take immediate effect, because he didn’t feel any lessening of his attraction, even with Bryce unconscious.

  A blast of air fluttered Bryce’s hair, and Mal whirled, instinctively shielding his body.

  Steve was looming by the fireplace, the open box in his hand.

  Mal snorted in disgust. “Oh. It’s you.”

  “You’ve done well, Lord Maldwyn—better than I could have hoped.” Steve snapped the box closed and tucked it under his cloak. “Tomorrow at dusk we make our final move.”

  Mal glanced down at Bryce, whose breathing was mostly regular. This time he’d at least already been lying down when Steve’s arrival knocked him out. “Bryce isn’t exactly in prime twig. We may need to wait.”

  “We cannot. It must be now or you default on the bargain, and you know what will happen then.”

  Mal’s temper rose. “Listen, you bloody bastard, you’ve given me nothing but half-truths and mystic warnings. If you expect me to dance to your piping, you need a better bloody tune.”

  “A metaphor I’d expect more from your brother.” Steve laced his fingers together, leather gauntlets creaking. “Perhaps I should approach him after all. I thought you had the most to gain from the bargain, but Gareth has remarkable potential as well.”

  Mal lurched forward. “You stay away from him. He’d never agree to help with anything that smacked of Unseelie interest.”

  “Even if I threatened what he loves most?”

  “He’s already lost what he loved most. Now he’s making do with what he’s got left, so you leave him the bloody hells alone.”