I drop to the edge of the bed. “Be nice. Not all humans — Fae — whatever — can be as majestic and magickal as you.” I stifle a yawn. A glance at the alarm clock shows me I don’t need to be actually up for another two hours.
‘Of course not,’she tells me, tartly.
I try to lay back down, with Calida snuggling into my side and resting her head on the crook of my shoulder, near my collar bone. I can hear Flint showering and do what I can to steer my thoughts well away from the naked male on the other side of that very flimsy door.
“What are you going to do today?” I ask, trying to focus on something else.
‘I’m not sure. You and Flint will be going to ‘work’ or whatever. I’m not sure what there is for a young, carefree dragon to do here.’
She says this in a way that almost makes me think she expects me to have an answer.
I don’t know what dragons do period, much less in the human world where, ya know, they don’t exist.
“We’ll think of something.” I say, on yet another yawn, reaching down to run the scales under her chin.
I’m just dozing off again, when Flint emerges from the bathroom. I’m close enough to sleep and far away enough from coffee to compare his appearance to an album cover. His hair is wet, flopping over his forehead in a way that almost demands I brush it aside. He hasn’t put a shirt on yet, so I am treated to the sight of those narrow hips being hugged by denim and the V shape that makes all women stupid disappearing into their depths.
As my mouth starts to water, he reaches up with a towel to scrub at his hair. He smells divine, if the smells wafting out on the steam are any indication.
As though he can feel my gaze, his eyes catch mine. Or they do when mine are done roaming over his body.
He lowers his arm and gives me a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry if I scared you and I’m sorry if I was a little… less than courteous before. The shock of the cold water…”
“Scared the shit out of you?” I supply.
"It wasn’t expected.” He nods.
As he moves towards the couch, I let my eyes drift close again.
No intruders, no danger. Just a half naked, freshly scrubbed, yummy, yummy Flint….
I can sense when she’s dropped back into sleep. Probably best for everyone — not only does she need all the rest she can get, but I need to live down the absolute mortification of this morning. How the fuck was I to know her hot water takes approximately one-hundred years to get to room temperature?
It took less than a second for my cock to shrivel and attempt to climbinsideof my body, not to mention for my lungs to freeze up as the icy water hit my skin. Between this and the potato disaster — I am not making the best of my opportunity to make her fall in love with me again.
I try to get as much of the water out of my hair as I can, then set the towel aside to pull on one of the t-shirts Betsy brought by. It’s black which, I think, goes with everything so I feel safe in my choice. Once upon a time, Ash gave me shit for not having any fashion sense. To be fair, I was in fighting gear most of the time and fashion is the least of my concerns when I have to don that.
I rise to take my towel to the bathroom and start the coffee, pausing to study Ash. Her breathing is deep, even. She’s laying on her back, with one hand tucked under the pillow her head rests on, her rainbow curls a riot aroundher face. She’s dressed in a pair of shorts decorated with what appear to be bats and a tank top that has ridden up to show a couple of inches of smooth, bare skin around her navel. Calida is curled against her side, head resting on Ash’s chest.
Once upon a time, on a rare day, I would have been able to slide into bed next to her. I could have wrapped my arms around her, pulled her close. Inhaled the warm amber smell of her hair. Traced her tattoos with my fingers, reveled in the feel of her skin. I would have had the opportunity to put down the weight of responsibility, of leadership, and just breathe in the peace and serenity that she offered.
As I look at her and think of the memories, Calida opens one silver eye and glares at me.
‘It’s hard to sleep when you’re being a creep.’
I roll my eyes and go start the coffee pot.
I’m sipping on my third cup, eating eggs and reading another of the books Betsy provided when a Gods awful noise erupts from the small table near Ash’s bed. She groans and then sort of flops her arm around, smacking various things off the table until the sound stops.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask.
She sits up, her eyes unfocused and bleary. “Alarm.” She swings her legs over the edge of the bed, stretching her arms over her head and arching her back. I quickly look away because I don’t need any other disasters in this single twenty-four hour period, thanks.
She shuffles toward the bathroom and I set my book aside to get her coffee ready for her. I place it on the table. Unless things have changed, she’ll be more interested in her morning caffeine than in the breakfast keeping warm in the oven she showed me.
She comes back from the bathroom, her hair now bound up in a sort of knot on the top of her head, and freezes. I swear she’s scenting the air like a hound.
“Coffee?”
