by Megan Derr
As suddenly as that, Johnnie was reminded of the scratches on Bergrin's chest, the nasty bruise across his lower back, his bandaged arm—all injuries incurred saving Johnnie.
"Just forget it," he said flatly. "You need rest, or you will be completely useless as a babysitter instead of mostly useless."
Bergrin's mouth tightened, and he stood up slowly, stiffly. When he was standing, Johnnie was suddenly, painfully aware that he was close enough to touch—to kiss, and he fought a strange urge to laugh at the idiotic observation. But he remembered how Bergrin had looked half-naked, and how soft his face had been in sleep, the way Alec had brushed the hair from his face in a way that Johnnie certainly could not.
How deeply he had obviously slept alongside Bergrin, despite the limited confines of the couch.
He did not want these thoughts, he certainly did not need them. He was still sorting out his hot to cold feelings for Elam, and the mystery of Eros. He did not need to lust after a bodyguard whose regard was still low enough he seldom called Johnnie anything but 'Highness' and 'Prince'.
"I'm fine," Bergrin bit out. "I haven't failed in my duties so far, Highness—"
"No, you have not," Johnnie snapped, cutting him off, irritated beyond all reason by that fucking 'Highness'. "You perform your duties perfectly, right down to the letter, babysitter. If hunting imps would provide you with a welcome respite, then by all means go hunting. Summon your replacement and go." Not waiting for a reply, he turned sharply and stalked off to his bedroom, closing the door sharply behind him. Then he locked it.
Alone, he tossed his cane on the bed and then stripped out of his clothes. He contemplated a shower, but that would require going back out into the main room. Being a prisoner in his own bedroom grated, all the more because he had done it to himself, but seeing Bergrin right then grated more.
Making a face at himself, Johnnie propped his cane beside his bed, then climbed beneath the blankets and buried his head in his pillows.
Though he had expected to toss and turn, he was asleep within moments.
He woke some time later, feeling warm and disoriented. A moment's fumbling, however, revealed his own bed, and a familiar weight pressed against him from behind, arms wrapped firmly around him. "Eros?"
"Johnnie," Eros rumbled, voice heavy with sleep but still rich with that hot-toddy quality that drove Johnnie wild, even though he hated admitting it had that sort of effect. Eros' mouth trailed along his throat, soft kisses interspersed with sharp bites, and Johnnie was suddenly very much awake.
Eros rolled enough away to lay Johnnie out flat on the bed, then moved close again, straddling him, bending to take his mouth in a kiss that was soft and slow, but made Johnnie ache all the more.
He wanted to say no, enough, stop—he was so tired of only being fucked in the dark—but he could not bring himself to do it. Instead, he simply looped his arms around Eros' neck and held him close, kissed him deeply, spread his legs eagerly when Eros demanded it, whimpering for more as Eros prepared him.
When Eros finally slid inside and began to fuck him, slow and hard and deep, Johnnie could only dig his fingers into hard muscle, whimper and moan and cry for more, muffle his scream in Eros' mouth as he came.
They lay panting in the dark, skin slowly cooling, until Johnnie shivered and Eros drew the blankets back up over him.
"Will there ever come a day when you will stop hiding in the dark?" Johnnie asked wearily. Was this how whores felt, night after night? But that was nonsensical and melodramatic, and he dismissed the thought irritably.
"No," Eros replied. "I like you in the dark. Only I can see you, and you have no choice but to focus on me."
Johnnie said nothing, merely pulled the blankets up higher and buried his face in his pillow. He felt a soft kiss pressed to his cheek, and then knew he was alone again.
Bitter loneliness made his chest hurt, and he tried to burrow still further into his bed, his blankets. He was so damned tired of secrets.
*~*~*
Johnnie was sipping tea and pouring over every plane travel book he owned when he felt a sudden prickle of awareness. Looking up, he set his tea down so hard he half-expected the cup to shatter. He glared at Bergrin.
Bergrin only smirked. "I found your imp, Highness. Did you want him brought to you, or did you want to go see him?"
"We are going to see him," Johnnie said. He finished his tea in one swallow, then rose, adjusting his red shirt, black and silver paisley vest, moving swiftly to the bedroom to fetch his jacket and other going out clothes.
Back in the living room, he eyed Bergrin. "You look exhausted. But your eye looks better."
Bergrin looked briefly startled, but then simply shrugged. "I'm fine, Highness. I sent the temporary bodyguard home. Should I call him back?"
"Did I say that?" Johnnie snapped. Honestly, he had never even bothered to go and see the replacement. He had absolutely no interest in meeting the man.
"Should we summon your friend?" Bergrin asked. "Phil?"
Johnnie shook his head. "Let us see what we can do ourselves. Hopefully, there will be no further kidnapping attempts."
"I should be so lucky," Bergrin muttered. He tugged on his cap. "Would you at least try—"
He broke off as his phone started ringing, and pulled it out, eyebrows going up as he glanced at the caller ID. Before Johnnie could ask, Bergrin answered it with a, "Hey, Pop." He fell silent, listening as his father spoke, face growing increasingly grim.
A moment later he hung up, and returned the phone to his jacket pocket. "My father says that while he's not one hundred percent certain, he is eighty-five percent certain that your dad didn't destroy whatever the fuck he made."
"He did not destroy it?" Johnnie echoed, suddenly feeling cold.
"No," Bergrin said. "My father thinks he simply hid it."
"Damn it," Johnnie said. "I wonder if my father knows that."
Bergrin shrugged. "We can ask him later. Right now, we still need to go speak with that imp."
Johnnie nodded. "Where is he?"
"Relatively close, actually. About nine blocks northeast, in a neighborhood even I avoid when I can. So if I tell you to do something, Highness—"
"I know," Johnnie snapped. "Do not worry, babysitter. I will try to avoid your getting injured a third time in the line of duty." He turned sharply on his heel and strode out of his apartment and down the stairs.
"Good morning, Johnnie," Peyton greeted. "G-man."
"Peyton," Johnnie greeted. "Would you tell Micah, whenever he shows, that we went to go speak with the imp who troubled him before? I do not know how long it will take."
Peyton nodded. "Sure thing. You two take care, huh? Ain't no fun seeing you so worn out and beat up all the time."
Johnnie shrugged, and settled his fedora more firmly on his head. "It is the inevitable result of being a dashing detective and his arrogant bodyguard."
"I'm arrogant?" Bergrin demanded. "Who wears two thousand dollar suits in the low-rent district of the city and doesn't see a problem with that?"
"And what?" Johnnie retorted. "I should wear jeans and a goofy cap?"
Bergrin glared. "My mom gave this hat to me, so shut up about it."
"It is a very cute hat," Johnnie said in his haughtiest tone, then strode out of the bar amidst Peyton's laughter. Outside, he asked, "Which way?"
"This way, Highness."
Johnnie fell into step alongside Bergrin, gripping his cane in one hand. "How did you find him? I know you excel at finding things but—how do you do it?"
"It is not something I can really discuss, Highness."
"But you told me about your mother," Johnnie said, feeling hurt for no good reason. "Even my father thinks she ran off, when obviously she did not." He felt even worse when Bergrin offered absolutely no reply.
He had missed something, Johnnie thought, and that irritated him. He was smart, he was observant—and he had thought after all that had recently happened, since waking up in Alec's house, t
hat something had shifted between them.
It seemed he had been wrong, however. Since last night, it seemed they had slipped back to the way they had been at the start. The silence in regards to Bergrin's mother seemed to indicate any reply would be an unpleasant one.
He had thought it a show of real trust, that Bergrin had talked about his mother—but it was quite obviously something he regretted. "Do not worry," Johnnie said bitterly. "Whatever misgivings in sharing the confidence, I will not share your secret. I might despise them, but I understand when it is not my place to share one."
When Bergrin turned to look at him, Johnnie jerked his gaze away, really not interested in whatever ice would be in those damned hazel eyes. A hand fell on his shoulder, but Johnnie pulled away, snapping, "Do not touch me."
"Johnnie—"
"Oh, look at that," Johnnie said, rounding on him. "It knows my name and can actually use it."
Bergrin's mouth tightened. "It?"
"If I am to be a Highness, you are an It," Johnnie retorted.
"Why are you so mad at me?" Bergrin demanded. "I'm still bruised because of you, I got maybe two hours of sleep because of you, and if your father finds out I'm taking you straight into danger on purpose he'll gut me and all I get from you is snapped at and called an It?"
He reached out again, but Johnnie stepped out of reach. "All you do is whine about me being a burden; all you do is shove in my face what an onerous duty I am. I thought—" He bit down on the words, refusing to be so weak as to admit that he had thought they might be friends. "I am sorry I am such a bothersome Prince and I am definitely sorry that I invaded your home because of duty and I am sorry you regret telling me about your mother. If I am nothing but one travail after another to you, by all means recall your replacement and make him my permanent babysitter."
He stormed off down the street, but remembered as he reached the intersection that he did not know where they were going.
"Damn it, Johnnie—"
"Twice in a row, wonders never cease," Johnnie muttered, then looked up reluctantly as Bergrin reached him. "Still here?"
"Goddamn it, Johnnie—"
"Three times in a span of five minutes, it is a miracle."
To his everlasting astonishment and outrage, Bergrin reached out, grabbed him by his arms, and shook him—hard. When he was released, Johnnie swung out with his cane, only further annoyed that he only hit Bergrin because Bergrin allowed it. "Do not do that again," he hissed. "I told you not to touch me."
"Stop being such a fucking brat and give me a chance to speak!" Bergrin snapped. "I can't fucking apologize if you're not going to stand still to let me!"
Johnnie stood rigid, glaring at him.
Bergrin let out a long sigh, yanking off his hat to rake a hand through the hopeless tangle of his curls, then shoved the hat back into place and finally said, "I'm sorry, all right? I was just trying to harass you. I never meant I actually hated watching out for you. I don't. You are the most difficult job I've had in a long time, but that doesn't mean I dislike it."
"Fine," Johnnie said, even though it was not, because all he had really done was clarify that Johnnie was not a bad job. "But if I become too cumbersome a duty, by all means let me know."
"Oh, for—" Bergrin yanked his hat off again, somehow managing to still hold onto it as he sank both his hands into his hair. "Johnnie—I'm not watching out for you because I have to, you have to know that. I don't get beat up and almost killed just because it's my job. I mean, yes, okay, it's damned hard to tell the Dracula no and live to tell the tale, but if I could not stand you, or being with you around the clock, I'd tell him no."
The knot in Johnnie's chest eased a bit at that, even if he did not completely believe what Bergrin was saying. "So what about your mother?" he asked, and he did not want to ask because he was going to hate the answer—but he needed the answer, even if hurt.
"You don't like secrets," Bergrin said. "I thought—" He stopped, mouth tightening. "But you're so angry about secrets, and I thought maybe involving you in the secrecy surrounding my mother was simply one more thing you resented."
Johnnie's ire eased at that."It is the only secret anyone had told me, at all, without my having to dig it up or throw a fit about it first."
Bergrin rubbed the back of his neck, looking briefly embarrassed. "Uh—I didn't really think about it. Just seemed like I should tell you. Um. I'd tell you more, I think, but I'd have to talk to my folks first. I might be their kid, but it's ultimately their secret first."
Johnnie nodded, able to understand that even if he wished Bergrin would just tell him—but sort of happy that Bergrin wanted to tell him. He would take that, for now. Dismissing the matter, he cleared his throat, then asked, "So where are we going, exactly?"
Bergrin hesitated a moment, as though he was not quite certain he was finished with the conversation, but only said, "Turn right here, then down three more blocks. It'll be a dumpy looking brown building; our friend is on the third floor, in the back apartment."
Nodding, Johnnie led the way across the street, then down the three blocks. He was painfully aware whenever Bergrin lightly touched his back, a protective gesture as they traveled into the increasingly seedy neighborhood.
He tried not to wonder what it might be like to be touched that way affectionately, all out in broad daylight where anyone could see, and his companion would not object to being seen. More and more, though, he was realizing that just was not ever going to happen.
"Something is wrong," Bergrin said as they reached the brown building they sought and stepped inside. He motioned for Johnnie to remain just inside the door, and wandered deeper into the building himself. It was so rundown it should probably have been condemned. The rats were not even bothering to be sneaky as they crawled across the floor. The whole place smelled of piss and stale booze and overall rot.
"Something?" Johnnie echoed dryly. "I would hazard to say the list is a good deal longer than that."
"No, not that," Bergrin said, looking up the stairs, back to Johnnie, an odd timbre to his voice as he said, "I smell death."
"What—"
But before Johnnie could say a word, the few lights in the hallway went out, leaving them in near-absolute darkness.
And suddenly, there on the floor, visible only in the dark, was the spell cage into which Johnnie had unwittingly stepped.
Some of the lights came back up, then, leaving the spell cage partially visible. At the end of the hall, a man stepped out. He reeked of so much magic that Johnnie barely pulled out his handkerchief in time before he was sneezing into it—once, twice, three times.
Eyes watering, he kept the kerchief over his face, muttering through it. "Sorcerer."
Movement at the top of the stairs briefly drew Johnnie's attention, and he looked up to see two figures—a man, and the ominous shape of a dragon, still lurking in the shadows.
Bergrin moved protectively in front of Johnnie, suddenly holding the knife that Johnnie never actually managed to see him draw. The smell of magic grew stronger, too strong for Johnnie to smell it properly—all he could do was sneeze.
"So you are the dream child I have heard so much about," the sorcerer said, looking at Johnnie. "I was told that getting to you was difficult, as there was a particularly vigilant guard dog with you these days." He flicked a glance at Bergrin, and sneered. "Not so difficult at all." He snapped his fingers, and the man and dragon at the top of the stairs slunk down them. The dull yellow light of the stairwell lamps made the dragon's black scales gleam.
Johnnie barely noticed, more interested in what the sorcerer had just called him. Dream child? But he did not voice the question aloud, not wanting to admit to ignorance and reveal a weakness.
The spell, he thought suddenly. It had been a nightmare spell that had bounced off him. Johnnie glanced down at the spell cage holding him, the lines of it only barely visible in the yellow light. It included marks to keep in dream plane creatures. But that was absurd—this was the m
ortal plane. There were no dream creatures here.
Except the sorcerer had called him dream child.
And a nightmare spell had bounced off him.
And Johnnie did not dream.
That was too much coincidence.
Johnnie was yanked from his thoughts when the sorcerer spoke again. "So, guard dog. How would you like to die? I can tell you that after the last time, the dragons are dying to make you lunch."
Bergrin only laughed. "The method does not matter to me. If you are trying to scare me, sorcerer, you're failing miserably. Death does not scare me; certainly the threat of death does not."
