The driver pulled into the underground parking structure of Tarquin’s apartment building, and stopped the car next to the private elevators. The on-duty valet opened the rear door. Tarquin gently nudged Alaric, who sighed heavily and slid across the seat and out of the car with great reluctance. Tarquin followed behind him, and tipped the valet before leading Alaric to the elevator.
Bespelled to only allow authorized employees and residents inside, the elevator went to the top levels of the building, including Tarquin’s penthouse. He had the entire top two levels to himself, as well as the roof, which included a pool, hot tub, and a patio and barbeque area for outside dining.
And a wide platform of sand and stone, built to withstand the takeoffs and landings of a large dragon.
The ride up to the penthouse was swift and quiet, Alaric warm and safe in his arms. Alaric snuggled into his chest, hands sneaking around his waist to cling to his back, under his long coat.
“Are you cold, my treasure?” Tarquin murmured into soft, fragrant hair. Alaric fit into his arms perfectly.
Alaric hummed quietly. “A bit. You’re so warm.”
The elevator chimed as it reached the first floor of the penthouse, opening to a small lobby outside his front door. A security guard nodded to him and opened the door to his home, and Tarquin guided Alaric into the foyer, the door shutting behind them, leaving them alone.
For a moment at least, and then Cerwyn, his housekeeper, came out from a hall to the left and greeted them with a smile. “Master Tarquin, welcome home. Cariste called a short while ago. My congratulations to you both, Mr. Keening, Master Tarquin.”
“Thank you, Cerwyn.” Tarquin put a hand on Alaric’s shoulder. “Alaric, this is Cerwyn, Cariste’s sister. She is an old friend, and my housekeeper. Cerwyn, this is Alaric Keening, my treasure.”
Cerwyn was also fae, and Cariste’s older sister. Dark skin the same shade as her sibling’s, but with dark brown eyes and wheat gold hair. Cerwyn was just as striking as Cariste, though softer in manner and personality. He’d met Cerwyn and Cariste many years ago, long before the Great Wars, but the chaos that consumed the region sent their lives onto divergent paths for decades before Cariste found him again not long after Tarquin landed in Montreal. Cariste had a talent for finding people.
Alaric smiled shyly and murmured a hello, and let Cerwyn divest him of his coat and suit jacket. Tarquin did the same, and Cerwyn tilted her head toward the living room. “I’ve set up a late luncheon and tea service for you both. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you.” Tarquin appreciated Cerwyn’s efficiency and tact—she knew he wanted to be alone with Alaric, and she swiftly disappeared with their outerwear. He looked down at Alaric, who was nervously biting his lower lip and looking about at what he could see, wide-eyed and a bit pale. “Are you well? Would you like me to take you home?”
Gorgeous emerald eyes blinked up at him. “Just a bit nervous. I want to stay. Do you live here alone? How big is this place?” Alaric was indeed nervous, as questions tumbled out of his mouth one after another and he flushed in embarrassment.
“I shall do my best to relax you,” Tarquin said, and enjoyed the fetching blush that spread across pale cheeks. He took Alaric’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, escorting his treasure into his home. “I live here alone, though Cerwyn does have her own room for those nights she does not wish to go home late only to come back again early. That does not happen often, but has on occasion.”
Tarquin guided Alaric to a small table with two place settings awaiting them in the spacious living room not far from the foyer. He pushed in Alaric’s chair when he sat down and then went around the table and sat in his own chair, waving Alaric to the food. “Please, take what you like. If there’s nothing to your taste, I can ask Cerwyn for something else.”
“This all looks delicious!” Alaric all but attacked the variety of platters holding a collection of different dishes, and Tarquin hummed happily as his treasure filled the plate in front of him and dug into the food.
“My penthouse is two levels of living space, and then the rooftop. I believe it is around fifteen thousand square feet, including the roof.” He reached for a roast beef sandwich and put it on his plate, not taking a bite as he was absorbed in the way Alaric was eating. Tarquin was hungry, though not for food.
He poured himself some black tea and sipped, forcing himself to be patient. Alaric needed to eat. His treasure needed to come first in all things. A bone-deep satisfaction filled him as Alaric ate, eyes bright, motions quick and energetic, and happiness emanated from him, saturating his already heady scent.
Alaric paused in his chewing, swallowing, eyes wide. “Penthouse?” Alaric turned and his eyes went even wider as he looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall of the living room. It was a fantastic view of the heart of the city. From their vantage point, Montreal spread out to the south and east, the glint of the river within the entirety of the panoramic view, and fields and pastures in the southeast filled the vast expanse up to the base of far distant tree-covered hills and mountains. Clusters of towns could be seen on clear days, the sparkle of homes and cars at twilight. He could spend hours watching ships and barges on the river, tiny personal crafts zipping about between the larger shipping behemoths.
“How high are we?” Alaric asked, leaning forward a bit, then he promptly sat back and gripped the arms of his chair. “Nevermind. Nice view.”
“Are you afraid of heights?” A slight hiccup in their relationship if that was the case—no flights in dragon-form. Yet, he would accommodate his treasure in all things if it meant he was comfortable and happy.
“Not really. Just haven’t been this high before without being in a plane.”
“I won’t ask you to look out any of the windows,” he said, tone gently teasing, expression serious.
He laughed when Alaric rolled his eyes. Alaric chuckled, “You’re sassy away from the office, aren’t you?”
“I can say with complete certainty that no one has ever called me sassy.” He paused. “Overbearing and bossy, yes. Sassy? No.”
“I can see bossy. But overbearing?” Alaric shook his head. “I know we only just met the other day, but I don’t see you as overbearing.”
“Not with you, trésor. Never with you.” Tarquin reached across the table and couldn’t help the smile that burst free when Alaric slid his hand into his, gripping tight. “Protective. Perhaps a bit intrusive. I did pry into your family’s personal affairs.”
“You did the most amazing, selfless, and life-changing thing anyone has ever done for me or my mother.” Alaric squeezed his hand. “Someone else might get pissed and see what you did as interfering, an invasion of personal space, but I don’t. I saw no way out, no matter how hard I was struggling. You could help, and you did.”
“Anything for you.” He would say that forever and mean it every time.
“How did you find my mom’s ex?” Alaric kept the hold on their joined hands and sipped from his glass of water with the other.
“I didn’t. Cariste did. They’re exceptionally good at finding people.” He quirked a brow. “Case in point, they found you.” Alaric sighed happily, eyes full of affection. “They found the man who stole from your mother, Roy Shivens, and I went and fetched him myself.”