Healing Dance

by Samantha Cayto

  “God, he’s gotten so big,” Ric added, gesturing toward Idris.

  Dafydd managed to shift his gaze back to his son. He picked up a napkin and scrubbed away the mess on the baby’s face. “Yes, little monsters grow fast.” He froze and forced a smile to his face. “Sorry, that’s your dada making a stupid joke.” He continued with his cleaning.

  Ric sat down on the other side of the highchair. “I don’t think he understands quite that much.”

  Dafydd flicked his gaze at the man. “Don’t underestimate him. I don’t.” He pulled the tray away, unhooked the straps and hauled Idris into his arms.

  The weight of the child as he settled him on one hip, the warmth of the small body, so reassuringly human, set him through a series of emotions that he’d become used to. There was a shot of revulsion, quickly overridden by a fierce sense of protectiveness, a dash of pragmatism and finally a spark of love that was growing with slow determination. The dizzy array of feelings galloped through him in a second, leaving him somewhat unsteady, as usual. There was really only one way to tamp down the wild emotional ride.

  His thoughts strayed to the rooftop, which led him to eye the doctor. Should he bring up the topic of medicine? No. His stash wasn’t that low and Harry hadn’t refused to give him more—yet. Besides, he didn’t like how his life with Dracul had made it second nature to plan and scheme about how he might exploit a man’s weakness to get something he needed. He was disgusted that his first thought upon seeing someone who’d been nothing but kind to him was how to play him.

  He really should leave. Ric deserved to have an entertaining night at the club. He didn’t need to hang around with someone who was anxious to get away. It was on the tip of his tongue to say good night, when the doctor spoke.

  “How are you doing?”

  Dafydd looked briefly into those kind, deep-brown eyes. He read concern there, genuinely so. “I’m that fine. Truly,” he added when those eyes conveyed doubt.

  “Are you having any lingering pain?” This was a question he asked each and every time, as if somehow remaining Dafydd’s doctor mattered to the man.

  “None whatsoever. You did a good job of it, Doctor.”

  “Ric,” came the gentle reminder, as always.

  Dafydd ignored the correction. “You’re here for a spot of fun, I imagine. Friday nights are busy, but there are lots of pretty boys out there who’ll show you a good time.”

  He winced inwardly. Now why had he gone and said such a stupid thing as that and with a tone that sounded very much like he hoped the opposite would happen? It was none of his concern what the doctor got up to.

  “Oh, um, I came to speak with Alex, actually. Nothing’s wrong,” he added quickly, because Dafydd hadn’t been able to keep alarm off his face.

  It was silly, really, but he didn’t feel safe, not with Bran and Petru loose in the world. “Truly?”

  Ric nodded. “Yes. Just some human shit, that’s all. Except—”

  “What is it, mun?” Dafydd couldn’t help asking.

  Idris let out a squawk, telling him he was squeezing the boy too hard.

  Ric held out his hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was only wondering if you knew that Brenin is on his way.”

  Dafydd frowned. “I do, yes.” He thought Lucien had mentioned something about it that morning, but with his head fuzzy and Idris fussing, he hadn’t paid much attention. “He’s all right, though?”

  Ric smiled and nodded. “Fine. Alex says he and Malcolm are taking a break. A vacation. A holiday,” he amended.

  “Oh, yes.”

  Not that Dafydd had the faintest idea of what the concept really meant, nor did he care. Back in the days before Dracul, people didn’t do such things. But for that hideous fateful day, he would have more than likely spent his whole life within the confines of his little village and thought nothing of it.

  “I’ll be that glad to see him again.”

  “Will you? I mean, do you think it will trigger bad memories?”

  Dafydd almost laughed at the idea that any one person or thing could conjure up the awfulness of his life, as if he didn’t remember every day what horrors he’d been through. Brenin was, if anything, a bright spot, a reminder of the one time he’d managed to successfully thwart the monster. But the look of concern on the doctor’s face forced him to swallow down the impulse.

  He made his lips turn into some semblance of a smile. “No. It really will be good to see him. I hope he’s doing well.”

  Ric’s face lit up in a genuine smile. Such a handsome man he was, not that Dafydd noticed such things anymore. “Good. If it turns out not to be the case, please remember that I’m here if you need to talk to someone.” He paused. “You have that phone Alex gave you, right?”

  Dafydd nodded. “I have like three numbers in it and yours is one of them. I expect I’ll be fine, though. No worries, hey?”

  Ric stepped closer to him, close enough that Dafydd could smell the perfume he was wearing, although unlike in the old days, it didn’t mask anything foul underneath. The man’s natural odor was clean and fresh. It reminded Dafydd of the meadows he used to scamper in as a boy.

  “I do worry, though, Dafydd. Very much. Please at least text me if you’re feeling… I don’t know, anything that bothers you, day or night. Do you know how to do that?”

  “Sure. Demi showed me how.” He stared down at the top of Idris’ head, unable to look the man in the eye. “I won’t need to. I’m fine, like I said.”

  He tried to make the lie convincing, but when he dared to look at Ric, he could see that the man wasn’t fooled. He felt both dismay and relief and wondered if, in his dark moments up on the roof, he’d ever dare to reach out to this man for help.

  Chapter Three

  “The skyline looks so different from this approach.” Brenin stood by Malcolm’s side in the center cockpit as he steered his magnificent yacht carefully into Boston Harbor.

  “Och aye, we’ve only ever seen it from the air. This is even prettier, dinnae you think?”

  Brenin heard the forced cheer in his lover’s voice and his constant guilt ate at him. This was all his fault—the lazy trip across the Atlantic, even when there were a million matters to attend to back home, the way Malcolm was tiptoeing around him, trying not to startle him, always peering at him to glean Brenin’s mood. It seemed to change by the hour, sometimes cheery, other times sad, and occasionally chopsy enough to set his own teeth on edge.

  How can he stand me? Brenin was heartily sick of his own volatility.

  Making himself lay a hand casually on Malcolm’s arm, he said, “It is, yes. I do hope Alex doesn’t mind us dropping in like this.”

  Malcolm took his eyes off the water for a second to smile down at him. “Dinnae fash yourself over that, laddie. Alex’s door is always open to his family. He’s like a gran in that regard. And I bet Emil’s got milk and cookies out already. They like nothing more than company, the lot of them.”

  “Val, too?”

  “Well, maybe not him. But Mackie for sure, I’m thinking.”

  “Yes, it will be nice to see him again. All of the boys, really.” He cuddled up closer to Malcom’s big, hard body. There was comfort there, and more, so long as he was the one to initiate the contact.

  Malcom made no move other than those necessary to steer. He’d become attuned to Brenin’s needs in a way that was almost heartbreaking. After such a good start, where the man had showed Brenin the joys of two men sharing passion, things had changed. It was hard for Brenin to accept Malcolm’s overtures without some hesitation. At first he’d thought he was hiding it. Then it had become clear that Malcolm had noticed. The man rarely touched him without a lot of visual warning and moving slow enough for Brenin to object.

  To make up for his ridiculous sensitivity, Brenin tried as often as he could to show that he still loved the man and wanted him.

  He dropped his head against Malcolm’s arm. “It will be good to see Dafydd again, too, of cour
se. I hope he’s coping well.” The irony of his statement, given his own turmoil, wasn’t lost on him. Malcolm, naturally, didn’t point it out.

  “I only ken that he’s taken to caring for Idris, as I’ve said. Alex has been short on details. I expect Dafydd will be pleased to catch up with you. He may not feel as if he can talk to any of those around him.”

  Brenin thought of the doctor, Ric Paz, and wondered if that were true. No one had said anything about the man, except that he’d helped them bring down one of Dracul’s sons a couple of months before. News that Dafydd had been the one to kill the hybrid had been particularly terrible. No matter what the junior monster had done, he’d still been the man’s son. Regardless, Brenin didn’t need anyone to tell him how the doctor felt about Dafydd. He’d seen for himself the way the doctor had looked at Dafydd while they’d remained at Malcolm’s castle.

  Home, he reminded himself, and he did love it and the people there. “You think Darling, Cook and Doc MacPhee are truly all right on their own with that hellion in particular?” The hybrid they housed was a trial for both his human father and the rest of them.

  Malcolm chuckled. “They’re fine, laddie. Dinnae fash yourself. With help from the village, they’re barely going to miss having us. Put aside any concern, please. For my sake?” He glanced down and the worry in his eyes squeezed Brenin’s heart.

  Brenin rubbed his cheek against Malcolm’s bare arm. Here in their own little world, they both wore summer-weight kilts and nothing else. He hated the idea of having to dress normally once they docked.

  “I promise to have fun. No worries. We can be proper tourists, something we couldn’t do before.”

  “Aye, that’s right. I don’t know the city myself, so it will be fun to explore it together.” There were a few seconds of silence before he added, “I want you to be happy, Brenin.”

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “I know. And I am. I’m just tired, I think, from all the work. It has been harder than I expected. You were right about that, but what else could we do? Those poor men and boys need us.”

  “Aye, you’re a kind-hearted laddie, that’s for sure, and I love you for it. I love you, Brenin. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Of course. I love you, too. Let’s put our cares away and enjoy our time in…Beantown, is it?”

  “Aye, that’s what they call themselves, although why they boast of something you can have every day for breakfast is beyond my ken.”

  Brenin giggled. It felt good to experience genuine mirth. Now, if only he could get back to the way they were before, where Malcolm’s touch was all he craved and the horrors of Dracul were behind him.

  They kept the banter to a minimum as Malcolm entered a slip in the Black Falcon Terminal with a sure hand and deft skill. He was a marvel by any estimation, and Brenin was proud to be his lover. A cruise ship was docked right next to them, waiting to head out somewhere fun and warmer than Boston. That was what this dock was normally used for and Malcolm, naturally, had bribed his way in when other spots were either taken or too small for his ginormous yacht. A bunch of people stood by the rails, staring down at them. Brenin didn’t miss the way many pairs of eyes stayed glued to Malcolm’s every movement, first when he’d been bare-chested, then later as they disembarked. Even wearing a T-shirt, he cut a drool-worthy figure as he flashed a fair amount of long, muscular leg through his kilt. The scars he bore from their battle in Wales only added to the man’s rugged beauty.

  They walked onto the dock in nearly identical clothing, and lest anyone think somehow that they were brothers, Brenin reached out to clasp Malcolm’s hand. It helped to steady his sea legs, as well, and with the sun shining hot and bright on them, his emotions lifted. He basked in the feeling, knowing that they could change at any moment. He was so volatile these days.

  For the moment, though, he was nothing but happy. He waved at the cruise ship passengers and pressed closer to Malcom as they headed for the street. Val was waiting for them, the big, scary man with the Mohawk and badass everything else leaning against the side of his SUV. His gaze was obscured by sunglasses that probably cost more than a week’s worth of wages for the average dockworker. His jacked arms were crossed and his expression gave away no sign that he was pleased to see them. That wasn’t true for his husband, Mackie. The red-headed changeling had been waiting in the SUV, undoubtedly taking advantage of the air conditioning. He was out of the vehicle in a flash before they got within twenty feet of it and he skipped over to them.

  “Brenin!” Mackie plowed right into him and wrapped him in a hug. “I missed you!”

  Brenin grunted at the impact. The guy really was getting stronger than he knew. This can be me if I want it. It was too early in his relationship to make such a decision, however. Malcolm certainly hadn’t pressed the issue.

  He did his best to return the gesture of affection without losing his grip on Malcolm’s hand. “Me too, Mackie. Thanks for coming to meet us.”

  Linking with Brenin’s free arm, the boy said, “’Natch. It’s the least we can do. You left all your stuff onboard? Does that mean you’re staying there during your visit? Ooh, can we have a sleepover?” Mackie was a whirlwind of words.

  “I suppose we could,” he said, focusing on the last question, “if it’s okay with Malcolm.”

  The man squeezed his hand. “Of course, laddie. Whatever you want.”

  “Dangerous words, MacLerie,” Val offered as they reached him. He uncrossed his arms and gave them a curt nod before opening the back door. “If you let the boys have a party on your pretty yacht, it could end up going the way of the Boston Tea Party or the Andrea Doria.”

  “Oh, Val.” Mackie swatted his husband’s arm before jumping into the passenger seat up front. He turned immediately to peer back at Malcolm. “I promise we’ll be good. We just want to catch up. Oh, oh”—the guy practically bounced on his seat—“do you know about Demi and Trey going through Demi’s manhood ceremony or whatever, then becoming engaged to be engaged?”

  “Mackie,” Val chided as he slid in behind the wheel, “put your sweet ass on the seat and buckle up.”

  Mackie huffed but did as he’d been told. It didn’t stop him from craning his neck as Val pulled away from the curb. “Now that we’re not in the middle of the war, you definitely have to play the tourist. You’ve staying a while, right?”

  The sheer force of energy emanating from Mackie was overwhelming after the calm of the ocean trip. It reminded him of the noise and chaos back at the castle. From where he sat, Brenin slipped his hand across the seat to clasp Malcolm’s once more. The warm look the man shot him in return eased Brenin’s nerves.

  “We’ll stay as long as you like,” Malcolm replied. “There’s no agenda for this trip—at least, not any that I know of. Val?”

  “Probably not,” came the disturbingly vague reply.

  Brenin leaned forward a bit, his heart tripping with worry, despite Malcolm’s calming touch. “Is there trouble again?”

  “Nothing you need to be concerned about. It’s just human shit, most likely.”

  That wasn’t very reassuring at all. Before he could ask a follow-up question, Mackie interceded.

  “Val, stop. Please. Brenin’s on vacation.” He craned his neck once more to look at him again. “Pay no attention. I’m beginning to think these guys can’t stand the idea of peace and quiet.” He settled back into place.

  Brenin didn’t say anything, nor did he look at Malcolm, even though he could feel the man’s gaze on him. There had been a time when Brenin hadn’t expected trouble, either. After all he’d been through, the idea that problems lurked constantly around every corner had become ingrained in him as well. He didn’t like being that way, but it was proving hard to shake.

  He chose to ignore the prick of fear and changed the subject. “How’s Dafydd? And Idris?”

  “They’re both doing really well. I mean, killing Cadoc was super awful for Dafydd, but I think it’s what caused him to start taking care of the baby�
�who, by the way, has grown to toddler size. You won’t recognize him.”

  That seemed unlikely, given how much alien blood was coursing through the baby’s veins. Alien physiology was indelibly tattooed on Brenin’s brain. “I bet,” he said, because it was the obvious and socially acceptable response.

  He shifted his gaze to stare out of his side window. The Boston streets were crowded with tourists and locals alike. He could easily tell the two groups apart based on what they were wearing. Given that it was late afternoon, the roads were also clogged with vehicles. Val navigated with skill and calm, maneuvering the SUV among the cars as if it were a scooter.

  “Dafydd’s doing really great,” Mackie reiterated. “He’ll be glad to see you and I bet he’ll come to the sleepover if we ask him.”

  “Yes, we should,” Brenin said, because again, it was the acceptable response.

  He had his doubts, though, about both Dafydd’s state of recovery and his willingness to indulge in such a silly, modern activity. If I’m having this much trouble recovering from a few months with the monster, how much harder is it for Dafydd? His countryman had been enslaved for centuries. One didn’t simply put aside hundreds of years of physical and mental torture in just a couple of months. Well, he’d see for himself and perhaps he and Dafydd would be able to help each other.

  As if sensing his thoughts, Malcolm squeezed his hand and leaned over to say, “Don’t put pressure on yourself, laddie. Whatever you want or dinnae want is fine. You ken?”

  Turning to smile at his lover, Brenin nodded. “Yes, of course. I’m excited to be here. Really, Malcolm. I just hope you won’t be bored. I mean, what are you guys going to get up to while we boys party away on the boat?”

  “Och, not much, I dinnae suppose. Probably sit around drinking and catching up. We’re a boring lot, for all that.”

  “Speak for yourself, Highlander,” Val said.

  Mackie huffed. “Now, Val, I forbid you from having too much fun while I’m not there. I know what entertains you, and so long as I’m unavailable, you are doomed to a celibate and vanilla night.”