The Druid Next Door

by E. J. Russell

  “You mean, she—” Bryce swallowed convulsively. “Could I have refused? If I’d wanted to?”

  Mal shrugged. “Couldn’t say. Although as far as I know, it’s never been done.”

  “So an irresistible force. If I have the same power, that means I— That you—” No matter how he looked at it, how he tried to deny it, the truth was inescapable. “This wasn’t your choice, was it? I’ve as good as raped you.”

  “What?” Mal’s face pinched with confusion. “Don’t be daft.”

  “But—”

  “Our bond is different. You’ve never used the power voice on me, and trust me, I’d know. Maybe you have to pass your druid O levels before you qualify, or some shite.”

  “Are you positive? Have you behaved that way before? Begged someone to allow you to blow him? Begged to get fucked? Promised a guy anything? Everything?”

  Mal wouldn’t meet his eyes, and if that didn’t tell Bryce what he needed to know about consent, then none of Mal’s glib words would hide the truth. “No,” he muttered. “You’re the first.”

  “A first time for me too.” Bryce was suddenly too hot in the sun, despite the cool breeze on his back. He ripped his hat off and threw it on the grass. “Aren’t we just so fricking special?”

  “You’ll not convince me you’re a virgin.”

  “Hardly. But I’ve never—” Why was this so hard to admit? “I’ve never topped anyone before.”

  Mal’s mouth fell open. “You’re joking. Nobody can aim like that. Not their first time.”

  Bryce sat down on the grass, facing the slough. “Guess I’m a fucking prodigy.” He let his arms flop over his knees. “What the hell are we doing, Mal? I’m so turned around and irritable this morning, it’s as if my clothes are lined with sandpaper.”

  “You are a wee bit fractious.”

  “Yeah, well you accused me of seducing David. David, of all people, so I’d say you’re not much better.” Was this the result of the potion, of trying to withstand Mal’s pull? If this was Cassie’s notion of “managing,” he definitely preferred the unmanaged state.

  Of course you do. Unmanaged gets you Mal, on his knees.

  Mal chuckled, a low, seductive burr. “Maybe not. But you could make me better. So. Much. Better.”

  That does it. Screw resistance. “Really?” Bryce rolled to his knees and faced Mal, creeping forward until a bare half inch separated their mouths. “Are you ready to beg me for it?”

  Bryce’s belly knotted. What the fuck am I doing? He tried to back away, but Mal clutched his vest, holding him in place.

  This close, Mal’s eyes were impossibly blue, bluer than the lupines nodding in the grass along the shore. He licked his lips, and the edge of his tongue touched Bryce’s mouth, igniting the fires that had lain banked since he’d woken from the tea-induced stupor yesterday to hear Mal conspiring with a monster.

  From the way Mal’s pupils dilated, swallowing the blue in a sea of black, he felt it too. I could take him now and he wouldn’t resist. Right here on the grass, the sun on our skin and the water murmuring at our feet.

  The water. The blighted water. Full of dead fish.

  Yeah, that was a mood-killer. Bryce disengaged Mal’s hand to retreat and sprawl on his back. “God damn it, anyway. What the hell is the matter with me?”

  “Listen, mate.” Mal scooted over to sit tailor-fashion next to Bryce’s hip. “We have to talk.”

  “You think?” Bryce threw his arm over his eyes, both to shade them from the sun and to block the sight of Mal’s too-beautiful face.

  “I need you to do me a favor.”

  “At least you’re asking, not begging,” he muttered.

  “Not that kind of favor, you twit. I need to get back into Faerie. Tonight.”

  Bryce lowered his arm. This was it. The chance for him to find out whether Mal would come clean at last, to prove there was something in this relationship beyond enforced fae subservience coupled with his own awakening desire to be a controlling asshole.

  “Why?” Please, Mal. Please tell me the truth.

  “I—” Mal’s breath caught, and Bryce could swear he felt his own throat closing, pain lancing from the base of his spine through the top of his skull, fire burning in the palm of his hand. “To— Shite. “ Mal hunched forward, his good hand in his hair.

  Is he experiencing this same pain? More? And what the hell is causing it? Bryce laid his hand on the back of Mal’s neck. “Shh. Take it easy. Breathe.”

  For a moment, Bryce thought their heart and lungs would synchronize again, but the alignment stopped just short of perfect harmony. Damn it.

  Mal’s breath evened out, though, and he raised his head to meet Bryce’s gaze. “Can’t you just take it on faith?”

  “Considering you lied to me about our last Faerie excursion, I’m not sure why I should.”

  “Please, Bryce.” Mal sat up straight, his expression earnest. Political candidates would give a kidney and their first born to project the same honesty, but Bryce wasn’t buying it. Not yet. Not without a good-faith token. “You may think I’ve hidden things from you. And . . . well . . . you’d be right. But there are reasons for that. Good reasons.”

  “Your reasons?”

  “Not only mine.”

  Finally, a truth. Not the entire truth, but given the weird sympathetic pain when Mal had obviously—though unsuccessfully—tried to divulge information, Bryce was willing to grant that other supernatural agencies might be at work here. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  Mal glanced at his hands once, then back at Bryce’s face. “You have to believe me when I tell you that if we don’t get into Faerie now, tonight, bad things will happen. You can take the mickey out of me all you want; I’ll tell you anything, spill my guts, tell you the story of my life—”

  Bryce closed his fingers on Mal’s nape, just a tiny squeeze, because—at last—he saw a way out of this tangle of recrimination. “All right.”

  Mal blinked. “All right?”

  “Yes. Tell me the story of your life.”

  “Shite, Bryce, we don’t have time—”

  “Not all of it. One thing. One thing you’ve never told anyone else. One thing you can offer me in exchange for my trust.” Bryce held his breath as emotions chased across Mal’s face: denial, resignation, and maybe—if Bryce wasn’t projecting—a little bit of hope. “Just one thing, Mal. How hard can it be?”

  How hard could it be, he asks. Mal eyed Bryce, sitting next to him with that earnest tree-hugger expression on his face, no hint of druid black in his eyes. If Mal was going to do this, he had to do it on his own, of his own free will.

  Fecking free will. What’s it ever gotten me?

  Briefly, he considered tossing some tale of one of his club escapades, but he doubted Bryce would count that as acceptable payment for something as valuable as his trust—and for risking his life again in Faerie. Because Mal had no illusions. Between Steve’s demands, the Queen’s undoubted ire, his own exile status, and Rodric as the loose cannon out to get them all, the danger was very real.

  Mal glanced at the sun. His window of opportunity was shrinking rapidly. If he wasn’t inside the Stone Circle at twilight to summon the Queen, there’d be no stopping that maniac Steve from hauling Gareth in.

  The sad thing was, Gareth would probably jump at the chance. Mal hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Bryce that fae could hold a grudge, and nobody held a greater grudge against the Queen than Gareth. He wouldn’t care what he forced her to do—and he might actually be able to force her. If he brought Gwydion’s harp with him, his song would hold more power inside the Stone Circle than she did.

  But if Gareth took that step in anger, in grief, in vengeance, he’d be exiled from Faerie permanently as an oath-breaker. Gareth might spend all his time in the Outer World now, but he had a choice. Mal knew what it was like to be stripped of choice, and he didn’t want that for his brother, no matter what the cost.

  Gareth.

  That w
as the one thing that would satisfy Mal’s own sense of what was due to Bryce and what they might have together someday—assuming they lived.

  “I betrayed my brother.”

  Bryce’s eyes widened, his brows climbing halfway up his forehead. “Alun?”

  Mal almost laughed—almost. “As if anyone could betray Alun. He never does anything wrong. No. Gareth.”

  “Tell me.”

  “This was years ago. Millennia, if you want to get particular. Back when Annwn was still the Welsh underworld, with Arawn its king, and three wet-behind-the-ears y Tylwyth Teg brothers were trying to make their place at court.”

  “Before the Unification, then.”

  “Aye. Alun and I, we spent our days training for combat. Wars were expected back then, even common, and Arawn needed soldiers. We were good at it, meatheads that we are—that is, Alun was bloody brilliant, and I worked my arse off to try to be half as good.”

  “Surely you’re selling yourself short.” Bryce’s hand on the small of his back warmed Mal, enabling him to go on with the story he’d never even told Alun—and he’d never dream of telling Gareth.

  “You’ve never seen Alun fight. It’s like poetry.” He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. “Gareth is the youngest of us. Alun and I were already striplings by the time he came along, so he was always a bit isolated. We tried to take care of him, protect him, but to be honest, he always mystified us a bit. He went to the same training rounds as we did, but he never relished it. Then one day, he hesitated in a bout, and his opponent landed a blow that broke his hand.”

  Bryce winced. “Not good for a musician.”

  “Thing was, he wasn’t a musician then—or at least we didn’t know he was. He disappeared from the ring after the injury. Alun assumed he was off to the healers, but I followed him. I found him in the stables, huddled in an empty stall, singing to his hand. He healed himself. With a song. I knew then that he was a bard.”

  “You mean nobody had a clue before that?”

  Mal huffed out a half laugh. “He hid it well. He was afraid of what would happen if anyone found out. Once Arawn knew there was a potential bard in Annwn? He’d order Gareth into apprenticeship before you could say Llanfairpwllgwyngyll.”

  Smiling, Bryce scooted closer until their sides were touching. “I’m not sure I could ever say that, no matter how long you gave me. But why would that be a bad thing? Apprenticeships were the accepted way to learn a trade, after all. You and Alun were doing the same with your sword training.”

  “He didn’t want to leave us. Like I said, he was a bit of a loner. Not interested in dalliances with male or female partners, nor anyone in between. When he wasn’t with us, he kept to himself.” Mal took a deep breath. “But there was a war coming, a bad one. I didn’t want Gareth to ride into battle, because I was afraid for him. So I told Arawn his secret.”

  “That he was a bard?”

  “Yes, and what Gareth feared actually happened—Arawn sent him away to train. But since there were no living bards left to train him, Arawn had to recruit one from among the nonliving.”

  Bryce’s hand stilled on Mal’s back. “He was taught by someone dead?”

  “It’s debatable.”

  “Mal, you’re either dead or you’re not.”

  “Remind me to introduce you to the vampire council, if that’s what you think.”

  Bryce chuckled, shaking his head. “I keep forgetting I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

  “Were you ever? I thought you were from Connecticut.”

  “Never mind. Please.” He gestured with an open palm, very careful not to order Mal to continue. Thank you, mate.

  “The tutor he found was Gwydion ap Dôn himself—a bard who could charm the dead back into their bodies, a mage who could convince the very trees to go to war for him. A man who plunged two kingdoms into war so his worthless arse of a brother could commit a rape.”

  “Shit,” Bryce muttered.

  “Aye. Stellar role model, our Gwydion. He’d retired to his caer years before—Caer Gwydion, what you lot call the Milky Way. But he came back to train Gareth.”

  “I can see how that would be unsettling to a sensitive soul, but—”

  “That’s not all. Gwydion could only be called to a place bounded by death—Caer Ochren, the citadel of bones—and once called, the doors couldn’t be breached or he’d retreat to the stars again.

  “So—”

  “So I condemned my brother to a century of captivity with nobody but a legendary warmongering opportunist and the voices of the dead whose bones made up the prison walls. Nothing I could ever do for him would make up for that.”

  “But you kept him alive. He didn’t die in battle.”

  Mal attempted a smile. “I’m not sure he wouldn’t have preferred that.” He gazed into Bryce’s eyes and didn’t detect anything but concern—no judgment or revulsion. “Promise me you’ll never tell Gareth.”

  “Of course. I would never betray your trust.”

  “I know. That’s why I told you.”

  Bryce stroked Mal’s cheek once, a feather touch, before drawing away with a wry smile. “And that’s why I’ll go with you to Faerie.”

  Mal’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest. If this was what it meant to be a fae familiar—acceptance, a true exchange, the symbiotic bond Cassie had nattered on about—why in the flaming abyss would Mal want to deny it? “And that is why I’m taking you to bed. Now.”

  Bryce’s first reaction to Mal’s offer was Oh hell yes as his dick took definite interest. But then he nearly drowned in a wave of self-loathing. Is this how you repay his trust? He scooted across the lawn on his ass, putting more distance between them.

  “If this is quid pro quo for agreeing to go into Faerie, you don’t have to bother. I . . . I want to go anyway.”

  Mal prowled after him on his knees, making Bryce’s mouth go dry with desire. “Believe me, it’s no bother.”

  Scrambling to his feet, Bryce backed away. After that weird attack Mal had suffered (which was probably magic; everything else certainly was), he could accept that there were details Mal wouldn’t—or couldn’t—divulge. Yet Bryce desperately wanted to believe that when Mal had the choice, he’d do the right thing, make the right choice.

  Just as I have to do. No more giving in to his temper or his passions or his desires. He knew how to control himself—he’d had his entire life to learn how.

  “We agreed to keep our distance.”

  “That was your idea. Know what I think? Distance sucks.” Mal stood up and stalked toward Bryce, eyes dark with desire. He grabbed Bryce’s vest and pulled him close, nuzzling the angle between his jaw and neck. “This is much better.”

  Bryce shivered. So much better. He was tempted—God, so tempted. And for that reason alone, he had to resist. “Please. Don’t.”

  Lifting his mouth from Bryce’s skin, Mal murmured, “If you don’t want me—”

  “Want you?” He barked out a strangled laugh. “Good Christ, Mal, what do you think? You took care of me. You took me on an adventure that I’d never have found on my own. You saw me for what I was when I didn’t even know. You’re ill-tempered and hotheaded and foulmouthed and—”

  “Don’t hold back, mate. You’re making me blush.”

  Bryce laughed. “And as snarky a son of a bitch as I’ve ever met. But you’re strong—strong enough to survive losing everything you ever had and not give up. You’re also the most beautiful man I’ve ever met, so yes, I want you. I want everything you’ve got to give.” He gripped Mal’s wrist. “But, in return, I’d give you everything I’ve got too. Not that it’s much.”

  “Not much? Are you crazy? No, I take that back. You’re definitely crazy, but you’re also an untrained druid with more power than Cassie’s seen in a couple of centuries.”

  Bryce stroked Mal’s hair. “But, see, that’s why I can’t take the offer. You’re not making it because you want me. You’re making it because you’re under t
he influence of the fae-druid biological imperative.”

  “That’s a load of—”

  “David told me you never bottom. You never beg. Men beg you.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “So when I . . . when you let me fuck you, when you blew me in the garage, it wasn’t your choice, don’t you see? I made you do that, because of some genetic modifications that your elder gods forced on the fae at the beginning of time.”

  “Bollocks to that. You didn’t.”

  “You can’t deny you’ve never done anything like that before. And lord knows I never have. I’ve never felt that way. That need to possess, to . . . to . . .”

  “Master?”

  “Yes,” Bryce said miserably. “It’s so fucking wrong.”

  Mal laced his fingers with Bryce’s. “What if it’s fucking right?”

  “You can’t know that. Not for sure. You’re under the spell or suffering from a supernatural instinct or whatever the hell it is.”

  “Who cares what it is?” Mal grinned and tugged on his hand. “Stop beating yourself up.”

  “It must be affecting you. God knows I still feel it—this need to . . . to . . .”

  “To what? To have me under you? To pound my arse until I scream and come all over your belly?”

  “Shit.” His cock responded to the suggestive burr in Mal’s voice and popped to hard attention in his briefs.

  “Or maybe to fuck my face, push your cock so far down my throat that you stop my breath. Is that what you want?”

  “Augh! Don’t.” But he sounded feeble even to himself.

  Mal moved closer. “If we have to fight so hard against it, if it makes us into the surly arseholes we’ve been all day when we deny it, maybe that means it’s the right thing for both of us. I mean, I know what I’d rather have in my mouth, and it isn’t that damn tea of Cassie’s.”

  Bryce remembered how perfect it had been with Mal—the exact opposite of the discontent that had plagued him all day. “So you think the way we feel, what I’m dying to do to you, with you—”

  “True desires laid bare.” Mal smiled wryly. “Pisser, isn’t it?”