Healing Dance

by Samantha Cayto

  “We both could do with a bit of a wash.” Malcolm rose and scooped him into his arms. “The saloon’s all yours, lads.”

  Malcolm carried him down to their stateroom and squeezed them both into the narrow stall in the bathroom. They took turns scrubbing each other’s backs then hair, and there was one more quick, almost brutal, fuck before they got out.

  “Go to the pilot house, why don’t you? I’ll be along shortly. We can stick together for the rest of the night.”

  Brenin wrapped his clean backup kilt around his waist. “Okay, but first I’m going to find Harry. I’m, ah, going to ask for something to calm my nerves. As much I’d like to try, I don’t think we should have sex while you’re steering.” He flashed a cheeky grin.

  “Aye, that does sound like both a wonderful and a terrible idea.” Dressed in his own kilt, Malcolm came over. “Whatever you think is best, Brenin, I’m fine with.”

  “Good, and when we get back home, I’ll ask Doc MacPhee for a longer-term prescription.”

  “All right, except…”

  “What is it?” Alarm shot through him, testament to how on edge he was.

  “Dinnae fash yourself. I’m going to speak to Alex, is all, about our returning to Boston. He’s renovating a building to provide more living space for the family and I want a floor. You deserve some peace and quiet and the security that will come from knowing you have all of us, not just me, to protect you. Dracul will never touch you again.”

  “Oh.” Brenin hadn’t considered the implications of the monster being alive. He’d been too focused on the more immediate concern of his henchman being onboard. He clenched his hands together at the thought. “I see your point, although,” he added, swallowing down his fear, “that’s not fair to Darling and the others. We can’t leave that mess with them indefinitely.”

  Malcolm grimaced. “I’ve given that some thought. The humans aren’t much of a problem. Seems to me that Doc MacPhee knows how to handle them. It’s the hybrid who’s the issue. I propose we bring the lad and his father back with us and see what Harry and Lucien can do with them. They’ll live separately from us,” he quickly added.

  “Okay.” Brenin closed the gap between them and leaned against Malcolm, taking comfort from the solidity of the man. “I trust you, Malcolm, so long as I can stay with you.”

  Malcolm put his hands loosely on Brenin’s hips. “Always, laddie. Always.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ric plopped onto the front stairs of the building that housed the medical examiner’s department. He couldn’t make it to the sidewalk, he was shaking that badly. And because nausea was roiling his stomach, he put his head between his knees.

  “Your first kid, huh?” Vincente sat down beside him.

  Surprised at his boss’s arrival, he lifted his head. “Yeah.” This was just perfect. Not only was he having a hard time dealing with autopsying a child, he had given Vincente another reason to ride his performance.

  “I could say it gets easier, but that would be a lie.” Vincente sighed. “You get better at hiding it, that’s all, even from yourself.”

  He angled himself to look at the man. “Really? That’s kind of what I thought I’d accomplished working in the ED.” He shook his head. “I’ve treated plenty of kids, lost a few, as well. This, though… How the hell can anyone deliberately do that to a child, let alone her own father?” He clutched his stomach as if he could hold the contents in. “It’s sickening.”

  “Yeah, it is. But that’s the job. If we’d wanted unicorns and rainbows, we’d become…shit, I don’t know, professional clowns or something.”

  Ric actually managed to bark out a laugh. He wouldn’t have pegged his boss in a million years as having either empathy or dry wit. “You’re right, there. Thanks,” he added, because somehow the interaction had eased the shakes, at least.

  “No problem. That’s what I’m here for, Paz, to help you learn and cope. You’re good, you know. You’ll develop the hide for the work.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  They both stood. Vincente looked around. “Beautiful day and there’s some of it left. You got a guy out there waiting for you?”

  Ric pictured Dafydd and nodded. “Yes, and he comes with a little boy. I love them both.”

  “Excellent. Go hug them. It helps, trust me. I’ll see you Monday.”

  With that, the man hustled down the stairs. After a few seconds, Ric did the same, although he headed for the subway, not the parking lot. Normally, he would go home first and change, but he knew Vincente was right. He needed the comfort of seeing Dafydd and Idris, confirming that they were safe. In the two weeks since they’d returned from Maine, he’d practically moved in. Despite intending to go slowly, he’d ended up leaving a bunch of personal items at the club, including clothing. He could shower and put on a T-shirt and jeans without going to his apartment. Dafydd wouldn’t mind—or if he did, he wouldn’t ever say.

  That was what worried Ric. The burgeoning relationship between them was progressing, slowly and satisfactorily. Yet he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that things weren’t as they seemed. Dafydd appeared to welcome the kissing and other ‘second base’ kind of affection they’d shared. Ric wasn’t worried that the physical responses weren’t genuine. The stiffening at his first touch had disappeared. Dafydd rarely flinched, although Ric was also careful to make his every move visible before any actual touching occurred. Perhaps most tellingly was that Dafydd was becoming aroused by their interactions. His jeans, and certainly Ric’s sleep pants that the boy had stolen, couldn’t hide that fact.

  As a doctor, Ric knew not to read much into the physiological change, however. The human body was hard-wired to do what it did. That said nothing about Dafydd’s real view on matters. What worried him was that Dafydd merely did what he thought Ric wanted. If that were the case, they could be building a life together founded on a lie. A nice lie, but nevertheless one that bothered Ric. It was imperative that he keep taking things slow. Patience was its own reward, as his abuela had often said. In this case, it was the only way to be sure Dafydd wasn’t falling into the familiar pattern of giving a powerful man what he wanted as a survival instinct.

  The subway was crushed with people desperate to get both home and out again on a Friday night. He suffered through it, knowing that catching a Lyft in rush-hour traffic would be the same slow process, only with more elbow room and at a higher cost. With the hope of a family in the not-too-distant future, he was watching his pennies more closely than usual. Not long ago, he would have been like a lot of his fellow travelers, looking forward to having a good time and not worrying about dipping into their pockets. Life had changed, and he couldn’t have been happier about it.

  As he stood pressed against strangers, he amused himself with visions of what waited for him, including a fabulous dinner courtesy of Emil and his amazing kitchen. Ric felt rather guilty at all the free meals, although Alex had simply raised his eyebrows when Ric had offered compensation. If he’d asked to drink the alien’s blood, he didn’t think he would have received a more dismissive reaction. Oh well, he supposed he’d earned his keep to some degree by joining their forces, and the war wasn’t over, apparently. The bigger issue was going to be whether Dafydd could switch to less luxury once the danger had truly passed. Ric wanted to make as normal a life for his family as possible, and that meant living off his salary, not Alex’s charity.

  Can Dafydd settle for a middle-class existence? Is it fair for me to ask it of him?

  Those were questions that were harder than he could deal with at the moment. Plus, there was no way of knowing when or if they would become pressing. For now, it was about forging a real bond with his lover and making sure the monster-lite who dwelled in the basement of the club never came near Dafydd or Idris. While he trusted Alex and Val implicitly to do their jobs, he was never going to let up his vigilance.

  The first word that came into his head when he approached the club was ‘home’. It wasn’t merely be
cause he’d become used to being there. It was Dafydd and Idris that made it so. Being Friday, the place was already coming to life. Rich men could afford to knock off work early at the week’s end, he supposed. He gave a brief nod to the boy at the door, then marched through the downstairs area over to the elevator. Kitty was polishing her bar, per usual, which Ric had come to appreciate was her way of working off energy. She appeared calm, but he sensed a strong undercurrent in her. He hoped Anderson was helping her find a different outlet. She flashed him a smile regardless, making him feel welcome.

  After a quick look told him Dafydd wasn’t in his room, he took the liberty of showering. Washing the grime off his body proved easy. The emotional dirt was ground in, though. Water was useless in dealing with it, but the anticipation of being with his boys worked wonders. By the time he’d dressed in clean, comfortable clothes, he was eager to see them and lose himself in the pleasure of a visit. He knew where to look and found Dafydd and the baby with Lucien in his and Harry’s living room. Idris, to Ric’s delight, was playing with his garage.

  Dafydd’s and Lucien’s heads were close together as they peered at a laptop on the coffee table.

  “There’s too many choices, mun, and the cost is very dear for all of this. I don’t need to spend that much.”

  Lucien sat back. “You said you wanted conservative and masculine. Stickley fits that bill very nicely. I intend to buy quite a few pieces myself when the rest of you have moved over to the new building. It’s time to redecorate.”

  Ric paused in the doorway, unseen. His heart sank at the notion that Dafydd was looking at such expensive stuff. Ric’s budget didn’t run to high-end furniture. Then again, if Dafydd bought it now with Alex’s money, it would mean he and Idris would have long-lasting and lovely stuff. Shit, he hadn’t thought of these economic issues when he’d made his play for being Dafydd’s lover and maybe husband one day. He’d been so focused on the issue of healing Dafydd and helping him move past his trauma, emotionally and physically, that he hadn’t considered whether he deserved him.

  “That’s it, then,” Dafydd observed. “I’ll take these used bits off your hands. They’re plenty fine for me.” Dafydd caught sight of Ric. The way his face lit up in the unguarded moment helped ease those pesky concerns that he was putting on an act. It did nothing for these new money worries, though.

  “You’re early. I thought you’d go home first.” There was only welcome in the tone, not censure.

  I am home. Ric stepped into the room and headed over. “I had the urge to come straight here,” was all he said. He wouldn’t bring with him the ugliness of his work.

  He kissed Idris on the top of his head before doing the same with Dafydd on the lips. “What’s up?” Although, he knew, he didn’t want Dafydd to think he’d been spying.

  “We’re shopping,” Lucien answered. “Alex is plowing through the renovations next door, so everyone has to be ready to move in in about six weeks. That means picking out everything from wall paint, to carpeting, tiling, drapes, appliances—”

  Dafydd put his hands over his ears. “Please, mun, it’s more than I can handle. Can’t everything be white?”

  “Linen white or eggshell white, or—”

  Ric laughed at Dafydd’s groan. The pains and tedium of decorating were nice, normal problems to have. “How about I help you? We can spend the weekend at it. I have a good eye for color, I’ve been told.”

  “Fine, then, you pick out everything.”

  “No, baby. We’ll do it together. This is going to be your home for the foreseeable future. You should like the space.”

  Dafydd huffed and waved his hand at the living room at large. “Can I have all this, then, Lucien? At least that will solve the furniture part.”

  “Sorry. Demi has claimed what he calls ‘first dibs’. He’ll put it into storage until he and Trey make their home together. He’s determined to live on his husband’s salary and refuses to buy anything new.”

  It was on the tip of Ric’s tongue to say something about wanting to do the same. He said nothing, however, because that would be his ego and insecurity speaking. Dafydd deserved the finest. Besides, they had nothing like the promise that Trey and Demi had exchanged. It would presumptuous to assume Dafydd would ever agree to marry him.

  He stared at the computer screen. “What’s our budget?”

  “Budget?” Lucien echoed. “Alex hasn’t set one. You simply pick out what you want from the sites I’ve bookmarked. Those are the ones that Alex’s contractor has identified as his sources of materials, plus furniture stores that fit what Dafydd says he likes best. They all deliver. No need for you to go out physically.”

  Bless Lucien. He understood that being in crowds would bother Dafydd. “Surely Alex has a limit on what he wants to spend on…us,” he finished lamely. How could he point out that Dafydd and Idris weren’t Alex’s family without it seeming cruel?

  Dafydd must have understood and brought it up himself. “I’m not like the rest of you. Alex shouldn’t be showing such generosity on my account.”

  Lucien’s face softened. “Dafydd, I know it’s hard to understand your own worth. Believe me, I do. But these are hive beings. They share everything.” He chuckled. “Besides, you couldn’t possibly spend all of Harry’s money, let alone Alex’s, even if you were the greediest boy in the world.”

  Dafydd went quiet. He slumped against the back of the couch, his body language screaming out his being overloaded. He looked at Ric with panic and a silent plea in his eyes. It was obvious that, Ric’s intentions notwithstanding, Dafydd needed him to step in and take charge. With a lifetime of servitude in which no decisions had been his to make, something as simple and fun as decorating was beyond his ability to cope with at the moment. The fact was that Dafydd might never be able to stand on his own two feet. It was a heavy burden to take on, and yet Ric had no doubt about what he was willing to do.

  Picking up the laptop, he closed the cover. “You know what? It’s dinner time. Let’s put this away for now and go to the kitchen to eat. I bet Emil has something fantastic on the menu tonight.”

  Dafydd visibly relaxed in an instant. He smiled. “That’s not much of a bet, given that it’s true every day.”

  “Excellent point,” Lucien agreed. He stood, but not before shooting an understanding look at Ric over Dafydd’s head. “I think I’ll go see for myself.”

  Lucien started to leave then paused. “Oh, Dafydd, I wonder if you would do me a favor? Demi is going to spend the night over at Trey’s and Harry will be holed up in his lab doing God knows what. Could I please have Idris for the night to keep me company?” The man’s expression was utterly guileless, although even Idris would have seen through the ploy.

  Dafydd twisted his fingers together. “I don’t know, mun.”

  “Please? You’ve been hogging him ever since we got back from Maine.” Lucien shot a wistful look at Idris. “I’m going through baby withdrawal.”

  Okay, now it’s getting really convincing.

  Seeing that Dafydd was still torn, Ric intervened. It was partly a selfish act because he wanted more alone time with his lover. There was also a concern, however, that Dafydd was pushing himself too much out of a sense of guilt. Having rejected his son for a couple of months, he judged himself harshly.

  “That’s actually a great idea. It will give us time to shop online tonight, then tomorrow we can take Idris to the aquarium. What do you think of that plan, Dafydd?”

  “It’s a proper one,” he agreed with a nod and obvious relief.

  Ric gave him an encouraging smile. “Thanks, Lucien.”

  The three of them left the apartment together. Ric grabbed Idris, who insisted on taking one of the little plastic people with him. The boy settled on Ric’s hip without further resistance and happily gnawed on his toy the whole way down to the kitchen.

  The place was hopping with the growing Friday night crowd. The family table already contained Alex, Quinn, Val and Mackie. Ric knew they liked
to eat early in order to work the evening away. Lucien headed for the buffet table. From what Ric could see, Emil had given them a choice of shrimp, beef and chicken kebobs with rice pilaf and a mixed green salad. Ric’s mouth watered at the sight of it. He couldn’t wait to pile his plate. First, though, he dragged Idris’ high chair over to one end of the table and settled the kid in.

  “I’ll get his food.” Dafydd brushed his fingers across Ric’s arm as he spoke. The casual touch was both encouraging and electrifying. “You should go on and fix your own. You’ve been working all day and must be that hungry.”

  Ric almost balked at the idea, wanting to wait on them both. He held his tongue, however. It was a good thing for Dafydd to be proactive in his care for Idris, and his concern for Ric’s needs wasn’t a sign of subservience. Any stay-at-home partner might make the same observation and offer.

  “Thanks.” He made quick work of heaping his plate and going back to sit on Idris’ left. The baby offered him a chance to suck on the plastic person. “Thanks, but I’m happy with what I have.”

  The boy’s eyes went flinty right before he threw the thing at Ric’s face. He caught it handily, astonished at the aggressive move. He held the wet toy in his hand, unsure of how to react.

  Dafydd had no such problem. Holding a plate of rice and cut chicken, he raced back to the table and let out a torrent of what Ric could only assume was Welsh. He’d never heard the language before in any appreciable amount and was surprised at how unusual it sounded. Everyone else at the table went silent as Dafydd scolded his child with unfathomable words and a wagging finger.

  Idris, however, had no trouble understanding his father—or so it seemed to Ric. The baby froze with wide eyes at the dressing-down. When it stopped and Dafydd’s finger pointed at Ric, the baby shifted his gaze to him.

  “’Orry.” He stuck his thumb in his mouth and stared at Ric with his beautiful violet eyes.