“No problem. Omegas can be prone to a little sweat in the throes of things and the scent—I don’t need to tell you that I’m alpha, even if I don’t quite have the interest in all that.”
“Omegas?” Mads perked up. Heterosexuality was the norm among mages.
“No, all of it. Engaging in coitus has never appealed to me, which is why I care for omegas a lot. Something about my scent doesn’t set them on edge.” He chuckled.
“Ah, asexual.” Mads searched for the belt.
Vans nodded. “Quite unfortunately so. Finding a partner has been quite the chore for me. I do so love company; it’s the exchange of bodily fluids that doesn’t sit well with me. Perfectly irrational, I understand. As a psychologist, I should know. Zero vibes with people juice.”
“I mean, some people are attracted to feet. Some people aren’t attracted to feet.” Mads wasn’t sure what to say, and his processing faculties were…lacking…to say the least. He did manage to hook his seat belt, though.
Vans started the car, and they rolled out of the parking lot, headlights casting a yellow haze over their surroundings. “Feet… You know, there’s this theory that’s caused by a cross-wiring in the brain?”
“Hey, no judgment. Kinkshaming bad. Feet are like the least of things you can whack off to…or on. Or with?” Mads frowned. Very glad that Marquis didn’t have that sort of proclivity.
“No! I mean it. There’s a sensory region in the brain where the somatosensory cortex… You know it’s probably pseudoscience anyway, but that cortex supposedly crosses the signals for feet and genitals.”
“Are you certain you’re a psychologist?” Mads squinted at the doctor. “How old is your degree?”
“Do you want a ride to Marquis’s house or not? Besides, I have a great success rate with my patients.” Vans sniffed imperiously.
“Fair point. Proceed. Tally-ho, good sir, onward to obtain me some tallywhacker.” Mads held a finger up in proclamation as Vans brought the car to a slow stop in the middle of the empty street.
“Do you want to walk the rest of the way?” Vans flinched, seething.
Mads shook his head, lips pursed.
“Then don’t say tallywhacker again. Please. For the good of magekind.” Vans waited.
“If I swear I won’t say it again, even not in your presence, will you speed?” Mads smiled hopefully.
“I will go three miles an hour over the speed limit, nothing more. If we get pulled over, it’ll be even slower to get there.” Vans glared.
“Deal.” Mads stuck his hand out for a shake.
Vans eyed it. “I don’t have enough hand sanitizer for that.”
Mads glanced down at his hand then back up. “Oh-kayyyyyy…”Not unpacking all that…
He pulled his hand back and stared at the road.
Vans reached the house exactly two minutes ahead of the GPS’s proposed time, and he slowed down to stop at the edge of the property; the gate’s railheads glinted in the moonlight.
“Here’s your stop.” Vans unlocked the doors and Mads unhooked his belt, slipping out as he shouldered his bag.
He walked toward the gate, and Vans drove off without making sure he got inside…So much for chivalry…
Mads pushed at the gate, rattled the bars, and huffed before eyeing the structure with a frown. He made a few more attempts before swearing under his breath and adjusting his bag over his shoulder. With a few limbering stretches, he dug his fingers into the decorative curls of metal and hoisted.
Climbing into places he shouldn’t have been was a specialty of his…over three-quarters of a century ago. He’d lost a lot of his flair since. As he hoisted, he tumbled, falling over the rail with a windmilling of arms as he landed on unsteady feet with a huff before promptly falling to his ass.Smooth.
He stood, dusted himself off, and started walking.
The entire neighborhood was a gated community with the main house being the head of the Penumbra estate—the covenmaster’s always the biggest and most elaborate by necessity of it being both residence, meeting space, hospitality, and sometimes infirmary—though Marquis had given much thought into the hospitality and infirmary and made them attached to the main estate by way of an awning bridge.Hospitality could also double as a safe space for omegas during their season, so it made more sense to keep it separate. He’d helped Marquis design it, after all. And everything that Mads looked at seemed familiar, a design of his own mind.
Marquis could say he’d wiped Mads from his mind a thousand times, but Mads knew he’d carried that flame.
If he’d remembered their design, the bedroom would be on the second floor.
