Lord of Storms, indeed.
He snuck a glance up at Tarquin from under his lashes. The dragon was scowling, blatantly displeased, and everyone was giving him a wide berth on the street. A detective nearby talking to two uniformed cops kept casting nervous glances in Tarquin’s direction. She’d introduced herself earlier when she took their statements, but Alaric couldn’t remember her name. All he wanted was to sit down and sleep.
“You’re intimidating the cops,” Alaric whispered, and Tarquin snorted derisively.
“If they’re easily frightened by a temper, they surely aren’t the best people to sort out who tried to kill you,” Tarquin muttered, his scowl growing sharp, fangs visible.
“I think a dragon with a temper is a bit more intimidating than the average billionaire in a bad mood. And you mean, try to kill you.” Alaric replied, watching as Tarquin’s lips twitched in what looked like an attempt not to smile. “Why would anyone want to kill me? Surely that curse was meant for you.”
Tarquin looked ready to argue but the detective came over and interrupted them. “Mr. Tarquin, considering what’s occurred, the department would like to install a protection detail at your home and workplace.”
“There won’t be any need for that,” Tarquin answered, his words a deep rumble. A hint of what looked like mist or smoke hovered around his shoulders before the breeze took it away.
Alaric agreed with the detective—someone did try to kill Tarquin. Police protection was a smart idea.
He spaced out again, letting them talk around him. He sighed, and pulled out his phone, checking the time and seeing that his mother had left several messages and a voicemail. He was in no position to let anyone overhear a conversation with his mother, and any explanation would need to be face to face. He opened a ride share app and checked the available drivers in the area, then looked to the street. The immediate area on the block was cordoned off and traffic was being routed away, so he’d have to walk down to the intersection for a pickup.
He wanted to go home and sleep for a few weeks.
Tarquin was arguing with the detective, and Alaric took a single step away.
Or tried. The hand on his elbow tightened gently and pulled him back to Tarquin’s side, even closer than he’d been standing before. An arm went around his shoulders, and Alaric gave up thinking he wouldn’t be missed if he left, leaning into Tarquin, abandoning any reservations at showing how he was feeling in public in front of what felt like everyone.
“I don’t need police protection, though I appreciate the thought.” His voice was a rumble under Alaric’s ear, and he sighed happily, enjoying the way Tarquin hugged him to his side.
“What about Mr. Keening?” The detective spared Alaric a glance but then went back to furrowing her brow at his boss.
“He is mine and I will guarantee his safety.” Tarquin paused. “My employee, that is.” The declaration made Alaric warm from his head down, and he knew he was blushing. Again. He hid his face in Tarquin’s suit jacket and breathed in the scent of ozone and rain. Tarquin suddenly tensed, and Alaric looked up to see what would garner that reaction from Tarquin.
In a single blink, Cariste was standing on the street in front of them, bundled up in a storm-gray trench coat and a thick scarf, their eyes bright over the fluffy gray material. “Master Tarquin, the SUV is ready.”
“Thank you, Cariste.”
Alaric found himself gently guided past the police and curious onlookers and then bundled into a larger vehicle than the one in which they rode over to the lawyer’s office. It was a beast of a SUV, the doors thudding shut with a deep boom, and the powerful engine rumbled as the vehicle took them away from the building. Cariste sat in the front passenger seat, Tarquin and Alaric sat in the middle row side by side, and there was a man in a dark suit with sunglasses and a frown on his face in the back seat. Matching the man's dark style, the female driver sat waiting for directions, though no one spoke until Cariste broke the silence.
“Mr. Keening, do you wish to go home, or can we take you to the hospital?” Cariste asked over their shoulder.
“Um…” Alaric looked up at Tarquin, the dragon gazing back down at him expectantly. He flushed at the intense regard. “I really need to lie down. I’m sorry, I know the workday isn’t over, but I’m ready to pass out.”
“Your workday ended when you were cursed,” Tarquin said, firm. “Head for his home, please.” Tarquin spoke to the driver, who nodded. The SUV changed course, and Alaric idly wondered how the driver knew where he lived. Maybe his personnel file, he guessed. The dashboard computer turned on and he blinked in muted surprise as his address appeared and a route was plotted, all without the driver doing a thing. Had to be magic, but he couldn’t sense anything.
Downtown traffic was horrendous, and he lived a good distance from work. He dozed during the drive, hardly able to keep his eyes open, and at some point he’d rested his head on Tarquin’s broad shoulder. Tarquin smelled like lightning and rain. He pressed closer, seeking warmth, and he smiled, dreaming of a hand cupping his cheek, a thumb gently brushing over his chin.
The SUV took a tight corner and he swayed upright in his seat, blinking away sleep and squinting at the neighborhood, looking for landmarks. He was still getting used to the streets and it wasn’t until they got within a couple blocks of the house that he recognized where they were. His phone vibrated, and he checked it. Multiple missed calls. His mother had to be worried.
“Did someone call my mother and tell her what happened?”
Cariste spoke over their shoulder. “She was listed as your emergency contact. I called her once Master Tarquin informed me of the situation. We weren’t sure if a hospital stay was going to occur or not.”
“Oh, okay. Um, thanks,” he mumbled, dreading the state his mother was probably in. She didn’t handle stress well. At all. “Um, you can pull over anywhere up here, I’ll walk home,” he told the driver, who glanced at the GPS on the dash, a symbol hovering over his address.
“Nonsense, we’re nearly there. Besides, if you walk the rest of the way you’ll likely fall on your face.” Tarquin’s tone of voice left no room for arguing, and he hid his flinch. Yet Tarquin must have seen it, as a hand came up and cupped his chin, lifting his head, and a thumb brushed along his lower lip. He smiled tremulously, the warmth of Tarquin’s touch soaking into his skin, which felt hotter by the second. His blush battled with a hyper-awareness of each touch and gentle caress, his mind a jumble of pleasure and nerves. Tarquin slowly let him go, and Alaric exhaled roughly.
He felt like he would fall on his face if he tried taking a step, but he dreaded having his new boss see the state of his mother’s home, the partial renovations abandoned and the yard a mess. The SUV pulled to a halt, and Alaric sighed quietly, resigned to the likelihood of confused, judgmental expressions and pointed questions. They got enough blowback from the neighbors, who complained about the debris in the front yard and the unfinished work to the house’s exterior, never mind the mess made of the interior of the house—and he was glad no one was going to see that.
Scaffolding and ripped tarps littered the front of the house, piles of siding and roofing shingles left to rot in the rain on the soggy front yard, weeds springing up around the stacked materials. He couldn’t afford a lawn service yet, and his mother didn’t have a lawn mower or weed whacker, so doing it himself wasn’t an option. Not yet. Maybe if he still had a job after today’s disastrous events.