by SJ Himes
Gave us a chance? Us? Creeper alert!
Ballacree was trying to get in his personal space, the taller man seeming to hover over him. Angel swallowed his irrational fear of the medical wizard and stopped backing away. He put the fae book on a nearby shelf, and stood his ground. He lifted his chin, and met the clearly crazy eyes of the sociopath in front of him.
“I am going to fuck you up if you take one more step, Doc,” Angel warned. “Pretty smart predator, aren’t you? Stalking potential victims at work where they’re presumably helpless or warned against using magic in the hospital. Seeing me here, surrounded by very reactionary artifacts and magic supplies that could light up if the wrong spell hits them; must have been a perfect opportunity. But let me make one thing very clear. It’s Necromancer Salvatore, you crazy fuck, and I don’t need my magic to kick your ass.”
Something must have clicked in the doctor’s lizard brain that his prey wasn’t all that vulnerable. He blinked, and took a long, slow step away from Angel after a tense moment. Angel didn’t advance in return—there was no need. He kept his face emotionless, impassive, and hardened. He was not vulnerable, nor defenseless, and never anyone’s prey. “Try this on me again, or anyone else, I will know. And I won’t let you escape. Run, now, while you still can.”
Ballacree gave him a shifty, yet thorough glance that made Angel want another shower, and then backed up again. Angel said nothing—this was all on Ballacree now. Angel had his athame, and while the blade was meant for casting, the edge was dragon-tooth sharp and long enough to stab clean through a man. He had no problem using it in self-defense.
Ballacree must have seen enough to convince himself Angel was not worth it, and the medical wizard turned away, and left the backroom. Angel watched, able to see the doctor vacate the store and walk down the street through the windowed front, then out of view.
Milly all but ran to his side, vibrating with rage. “Was that creepy guy the doctor from the hospital?”
“Yes, he was,” Angel said quietly, grabbing the fae book from the shelf and putting it under his arm. His heart was racing and he felt dirty. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in Simeon’s lap and let his lover soothe away the nasty feeling of Ballacree’s eyes running over his body.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Milly. Not my first stalker, unfortunately.”
Angel took out his cell, and typed up a short email, sending it to O’Malley. Angel had stalkers before, years ago, not long after the end of the Blood Wars. Necromancer groupies and humans obsessed with practitioners latched on to Angel as either a hero or a murderer—and fanatics came in all shapes and sizes. He got rid of them, eventually, either through the passing of time, or throwing them in jail. One or two met less than pretty ends—it wasn’t murder if it was self-defense. He learnt that lesson early and often as a teenager.
Detailing the encounter, Angel sent the email, then put his smartphone away. He would tell Simeon in person. “I need to pay for your fae porn, then we have to get to the office. We have students coming in soon.”
“It’s not porn.”
“Whatever lie you have to tell yourself.”
Angel took a breath, and let it out, glad he could smile and mean it. He was still mad, but it was dissipating faster than usual. Holding on to anger was exhausting. Milly was standing next to the attunement crystals, the gems glowing a silvery gray and white. Milly’s affinity was for air, the wind, and weather-magic, and the crystals reflected her affinity back out to the world. It was beautiful.
Angel grabbed one of the larger crystals, which flared with hellfire green in his hand, and cringed at the outlandish price. Daniel’s affinity had yet to make itself known—but that was fine. Daniel was only twenty, and at an age when a sorcerer’s powers hit their normal range and settled, and affinities were made known. Angel and Isaac, like many Salvatores before them, had their affinities come on them early in their teen years. The crystal may provide Daniel with some insight and a welcome distraction.
Milly gave him a searching glance, as if to make sure he really was doing all right. He gave her a short smile, wrapped his free arm around her shoulder, and walked them to the counter to pay.
Simeon narrowed his eyes, while Angel gave him a sweet, slow smile that made parts of his anatomy very happy. Sweet was rarely a word applied to his Leannán, but in this case, with that devilish glint in his green-brown eyes and the wicked slant to his lush lips, Simeon knew it was the right word.
His blood tastes of spice and fire, peppermint and cinnamon. Heat and sweetness. Strength and vulnerability.
“Flirtation and tempting me will not distract me from the topic, a ghra,” Simeon drawled, and he chuckled with satisfaction at the way his words made his mate shiver. “That foolish mortal has been stalking you. He must be stopped, whether by mortal law enforcement or by my hands. This behavior cannot be allowed to flourish—it only gets worse.”
Angel gave him a half-shrug, and Simeon was alternately proud of his mate’s unconcern and left frightened by it. Angel was formidable—but he could be hurt. His body was still mortal, easily damaged and broken. Not even a full-fledge Leannán bond was bullet-proof.
“I told O’Malley and he pushed a restraining order through,” Angel said, stepping right up to him, his shorter mate tipping his head back to make eye contact. “Not that it’s going to do any good but then I’m not worried. I’ve got a mate who’s sexy as fuck and deadly, who loves me. And a dragon who likes tearing the faces off crazy assholes. I’m good.”
Warm breath over his face, sweetened by tea and Angel’s scent made him moan softly, and he leaned down, sniffing along Angel’s neck, nuzzling the smooth, heated flesh. Angel’s bravado and nonchalance was as endearing as it was frustrating. Though the way his mate all but melted against him when he nipped on the silky skin just behind his ear made Simeon think less about potential dangers and more about how it felt to pin Angel down and fuck his sweet, tight arse. Too long since he had the pleasure, Simeon laved at the spot, nipping it again, making Angel moan and shiver. The scent of arousal filled the air, heavy in sex pheromones and Angel’s specific scent, spice and sweetness.
A vibration and tiny pinpricks with a solid weight crawled onto his shoulder, and Simeon sighed, pulling back from Angel. Eroch settled on Simeon’s shoulder, staring intently at them, the little dragon’s whole body vibrating from the force of his chirring purr. A small puff of smoke came from twitching nostrils, and yellow eyes glowed while Eroch sniffed and investigated Simeon’s face. A couple pokes at Simeon’s cheek, and Eroch pulled back, settling his leathery wings along his back and grooming his neck ridges, content now to ignore them both.
Angel laughed under his breath, and gently nudged Eroch off Simeon’s wide shoulder, the tiny dragon hissing a complaint as he took to the air. The underground garage of the Tower was a cavernous space filled with less than a third of the vehicles it could potentially hold, and the dragon’s chirps echoed off the concrete columns and ceiling. Eroch landed with a distant thump on top of the Master’s personal car, a blood red Porsche with black matte accents, and the alarm sounded. Eroch screeched, and blew a long lick of flame at the car’s hood, before taking off again in a frenzy of disgruntled squeaks and flapping wings. Smoke rose from the blistered paint on the once pristine car, and Angel choked on a laugh as Simeon sighed quietly.
“I won’t say a word,” Angel laughed, hugging him.
“We won’t need to,” Simeon said, pointing up at the cameras placed along the ceiling at regular intervals. “The clip will have already been seen by the communications hub up in security, and Batiste will be getting a text any moment.”
“Oops?” Angel shrugged, smiling.
“We should get home, before my master decides to call me back upstairs to discuss the habits of your familiar.” Simeon took Angel’s hand and tugged him toward his private car, the low black Jaguar
waiting with seemingly restrained lethality. Angel went around to the passenger’s side and got in, holding the door open for Eroch, the little dragon zipping in from wherever he had been causing mischief. Simeon got in the driver’s seat, and turned the ignition.
“I love your car,” Angel said, clicking in his seat belt and holding Eroch in his lap. “Why don’t we use it more often?”
“Because I cannot have my wicked way with you while driving, so we use the clan drivers and the limo?”
Angel smiled at him, and sank happily into the soft leather seat, sighing in contentment.
“We could get you one of your own, a ghra, so you need not rely on taxis anymore.” Simeon broached the subject carefully, wondering how Angel would take the suggestion. It was not a matter of money—Angel was wealthy. Substantially so, in fact, to the point he had more than he or his brother could spend in a lifetime. The fact that Angel rarely used his family money and used his teaching income for expenses said a lot about the man his mate was, and Angel never really spent the money on anything big. Angel paid for his household expenses, and the needs of his brother and apprentice, and that was it.
It was only the property taxes on Salvatore Mansion that Angel used his trust fund money to pay for, and the rest lay languishing, accruing interest and dust.
Simeon took them from under the Tower, heading back through downtown toward Beacon Hill. It was a twenty-minute drive, though faster when they made the trip, most residents at home in bed while they were both still out and active.
“I think my license is expired, honestly. I haven’t driven a car since I was twenty.” Angel shifted, hugging Eroch to his chest, the little dragon sniffing at his face with soft, happy chirps. “It’s a nice thought. I have two designated spots in the back alley I never use, aside from when you bring your car home, like now.”
“What kind do you want?”
“Can I have this one?” Angel asked, yawning. His mate was tired, and the soft seat and warmth pouring from the dash were relaxing him, his heart rate slowing. “It smells like you.”
“Certainly, my love.” Simeon would give Angel anything, anything he wanted, regardless of what it was. Even the world. He knew Angel enjoyed his scent, as the man stole his pillow every morning when Simeon got out of bed. Giving Angel his car wouldn’t be a hardship—as his Leannán, Angel co-owned everything Simeon possessed. He was certain Angel had no idea, and that was one more thing they needed to discuss.
The drive through the city was relaxing, Boston lit up despite the late hour, the streets empty, a fine coating of fresh snow covering everything, and the Jag left tracks in the virgin snow. Eroch was sleeping, a hint of sulfur and blood hovering about Angel’s familiar, and Angel’s own scent and the beat of his heart told Simeon that Angel wasn’t that far off from sleep himself. Simeon made sure the heat was up, and navigated the tight streets of Beacon Hill, passing the statehouse, and turning a block from the apartment townhouse, twisting the sleek car through the confines of the rear alley to pull into one of Angel’s unused parking spots next to the rear entrance.
Simeon turned the vehicle off, and gently rubbed Angel’s shoulder. His mate blinked and yawned, noticing they were home. They unbuckled, and Simeon made it around to Angel’s side of the car after the doors were shut and he locked it, roping an arm around Angel’s shoulders to guide his sleepy mate and his slumbering burden inside.
Angel unlocked the rear door, and they stepped into the narrow back foyer and faced the even narrower staircase that went up four flights. Angel was on the third floor, in the largest of the apartments. The stairs were too narrow for more than one person to go up at a time, so Simeon swept Angel up into his arms and took the stairs as fast as he could. Angel was tired—he voiced no complaint at being tended to in such a way, and it gave Simeon a warm, satisfied feeling to care for his mate.
Angel was by now used to his speed, and his heart rate stayed even and steady. Simeon got them to their door in moments, and he tilted his head, hearing two sets of heartbeats within. His mate’s fledglings were home, and Simeon tapped the door with his shoe, hoping whichever one of them was closest would hear. He could put Angel down and use his own keys, but Angel was moments from sleep, and his mate needed a quiet and peaceful night.
The wards hummed, at such a pitch even Simeon could hear, and Angel mumbled and shifted in his arms. The door opened a few inches, and the wards made a soft hissing noise. Isaac peered cautiously out the door, and he opened it fully when he saw it was them. Long accustomed to Angel’s wards, Simeon carried his mate over the threshold, feeling the wards welcome them home.
“Is he okay?” Isaac whispered, the young man’s expression of worry and a twinge of fear making Simeon pause and give him a short nod in assurance.
“Your brother is just tired,” Simeon replied, and Isaac’s shoulders slumped in relief. He got out of the way, and the fledgling shut the door. He felt again that odd sound-sensation, and looked back, to see Isaac checking the wards. Usually Isaac raised the wards and that was it—he was giving them more attention, and Simeon was interested in why. “Has there been trouble?”
Isaac jumped, and gave him a guilty look. “Um, no. Not really. Uh, Angel told me about the stalker guy. I don’t want some sexual predator breaking in while we’re sleeping.”
Simeon gave Isaac soft smile, and the lad relaxed. “Thank you, Isaac. Get some sleep, yes? I will be on guard tonight. Take yourself off to bed. You too, Daniel.” Simeon gave the apprentice a stern look where he sat on the couch, and Daniel stood immediately, then headed for his room with a wave.
Leaving the fledglings to put themselves down for the night, Simeon carried Angel and Eroch to their room. He shut the door behind them with his foot, and Eroch leapt from Angel’s arms, diving into the bed and wiggling under the covers out of sight. He took a chance on squishing the tiny beast, and lay Angel down on the bed, his mate limp in slumber, his handsome and almost pretty features relaxed and smooth.
Simeon moved gently but quickly, removing Angel’s clothing and then sliding his mate under the covers. Angel barely reacted, aside from grabbing Simeon’s pillow and dragging it close, burying his face in the downy white pillow and giving a happy sigh. Simeon stripped, leaving on a pair of silk sleep pants, and then left their room. He prowled through the apartment, taking his time to scent the air, the drafts in the hall and living room, clearing each area as he went. All the windows were locked, runes appearing in brief flashes on the glass at certain angles. The streets outside were empty, due to the late hour and the increasing snowfall. Simeon padded soundlessly down the narrow hall, pausing outside both boys’ rooms, hearing them breathe slow and deep, both fledglings asleep. No scents but their own on the air currents under the doors, and no foreign heartbeats.
Satisfied their home was secure for the moment, Simeon returned to Angel, shutting and locking the bedroom door, before heading to the en suite bathroom and making sure the window to the fire escape was latched. It was, and Simeon checked the snow on the iron and steel landing, looking for disturbances. There were none, and Simeon peered down at the side street below, listening. He could hear, if he wished, the heartbeats of the other mortals in the building, but he reined in his senses, focusing them outward, looking for anyone who may be outside in the cold, far too interested in Angel’s apartment.
Nothing, but that may change. Stalkers rarely concerned themselves with practicalities when they grew increasingly focused on their targets, and the skewed romanticism of mooning over an unrequited love in the winter night might appeal to some. Not to mention the fae lord and his troll, who for unknown reasons decided to attack Simeon and try to kill him. There were six vampires missing, and not even Batiste could find them. The threats posed by both a mentally disturbed mortal and powerful supernats were enough to warrant extra caution on his part.
Simeon returned to bed, and slid under the covers. Angel mumbled in his
sleep, crawling until he lay draped over Simeon. He smiled, hugging Angel to him, and enjoyed the warm, limp weight and the thrumming of blood through Angel’s body. It was a symphony of sensory delight, and Simeon relaxed, floating in the edge of slumber and wakefulness. He didn’t need to sleep, but he could relax.
Morning came too early, though from the angle of the sun it was closer to noon than dawn. Angel yawned, his jaw cracking, and he sat up, pushing back the covers. The curtains were pulled back, the room bright and sunny. Blinking sleep from his eyes, Angel wasn’t surprised to find himself alone in bed. Simeon was always up before him—there were rarely any mornings in which he woke in Simeon’s arms.
“I need to chain him to the bed,” Angel said under his breath, and a chuckle at the door made him look up. Simeon was coming in the room, carrying a tray. He shut the door with his shoulder and brought the tray to the bed, setting it on the nightstand before leaning down and kissing Angel on the forehead.
“Breakfast in bed?” Angel asked, puzzled. “Did I give you a blowjob in my sleep?”
Simeon chuckled, standing back up and pulling the blankets back. “You did not, though I would never say no to such an honor. Milly called, said she wasn’t feeling well and that she wouldn’t be in. Before you ask, I believe she has a small cold, and is not being held hostage in her apartment. Now run to the bathroom, a ghra, while I fix your tea.”
“Yes, sir,” Angel saluted, and stumbled from bed, heading for the bathroom. Eroch was in the sink, lounging. “I don’t need a cat—I have a dragon.”
Eroch flapped his wings, giving him the stink eye while Angel used the toilet. Angel chased him from the sink by opening the bathroom window enough for the dragon to slip outside to the fire escape, and the squawk of pigeons and the voosh from a flaming torrent told him the Pigeon Wars were back on. Eroch fed himself adequately while decimating the flying rat population. Angel washed up, then made his way back into the bedroom.
