The Druid Next Door Read online

  “Not very noble of you to sacrifice my time to your bloody arduous quest, especially since my time isn’t all that’s on the block. I can’t forget that this,” Mal held up his hand to display the geas brand, “will cripple me for good if I don’t succeed.”

  Steve shrugged. “Desperation makes criminals of us all. You, Lord Maldwyn, should know that better than most, with your years as the Queen’s Enforcer. How many of those you tracked and killed felt they had any choice?”

  Shame scalded Mal’s throat. He’d never asked, had he? He’d just gone about his duty, accepting the Queen’s decree as absolute. Maybe he should have examined some of those pronouncements more closely. If he—or any fae, for that matter—had questioned the mandatory oath-taking at the Midsummer Revels, Rodric Luchullain wouldn’t have been able to stage his coup and Mal would still have two functioning hands.

  “So, a scale from a dragon shifter. What’s our timeline?”

  “The final task must occur on the equinox, and since it may require some . . . persuasion on your part, the sooner you accomplish this one, the better.”

  “In two days? Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you, mate?”

  Good thing Mal didn’t need any time at all for this task—not that he’d let Steve know that little detail, not with the trust between them as thin as a pixie’s wing. A simple call to his brother-in-law, and the deed would be done. And David can bring his meddling aunt with him to take care of this ludicrous D/s bond between me and Bryce with her thrice-blasted druid “spells and potions.”

  “Shall I help you get the druid situated more comfortably?”

  “No!” Damn it. He knew from experience that wrestling Bryce into bed with only one functional hand was a chore, but the burn in his belly ordered him not to let anyone else touch his druid.

  His druid. Shite. He was going to kill Cassie Bowen for this.

  Bryce blinked bleary eyes, the percussion session in his head making it difficult to concentrate. Something’s off. Why was the wall of the bedroom cream-colored? His bedroom walls were blue and green.

  Mal’s house. In Mal’s bed. He turned his head on the pillow to meet those cornflower blue eyes. With Mal. Again. Why was waking up with Mal always accompanied by a screaming headache?

  He groaned, clenching his eyes shut. “How did I get back in bed? I was in the bathroom. I remember that much.” He cracked one eye open. “And don’t try giving me that line about post-sex-induced amnesia, because I didn’t fall for it before and I’m damn well not falling for it now.”

  “I— You— He— Shite!”

  Bryce opened both eyes at the pain in Mal’s voice. “That’s not very descriptive.”

  Mal glared, the tendons in his neck standing out as if he were lifting a massive weight. “I’m trying. The— Augh!” He doubled over, his left hand fisted against his chest. “Damn it all to Arawn’s hells.”

  “Also not helpful. But never mind. We’ve already determined that we won’t repeat the sex.”

  “You got that right,” Mal muttered.

  Obviously the encounter hadn’t been as transformative for Mal as it had been for Bryce. But the unexpected way he’d responded—surely that means something. Given his normal swagger and aggressive behavior, who’d have suspected he wanted to be dominated in bed?

  Who’d have suspected Bryce would be the one doing the dominating?

  Even now, something whispered in the recesses of his brain: You could make him tell you. You could make him do anything. He stared at Mal, willing him to break their eye-lock. Mal licked his lips, and his pupils dilated, his breath catching.

  “Mal,” Bryce murmured, “tell me what you really want. Don’t lie to me. Tell me.”

  Mal leaned forward as if Bryce were reeling him in. “I—”

  A brisk knock at the front door, followed by a double ring of the doorbell startled them both, and Mal jerked back as if he’d been burned. Thank God—what the hell was I doing? I’d never coerce anyone. Although he doubted he’d be tempted to try with anybody except Mal, who was currently struggling with his pants and cursing a blue streak.

  “That’s my brother-in-law at the door, mate, so you might want to put on some clothes. Who knows who he might have with him.”

  Bryce bolted upright. “His aunt?”

  “Could be. I wouldn’t put it past either of them.”

  “My clothes—they’re still in the living room.”

  Mal yanked open a dresser drawer and tossed Bryce a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. “Here. You’ll have to free-ball it. Sorry.”

  “I’ll deal.” No danger there. Any unfortunate reactions to Mal would be counteracted by Cassie’s ball-shriveling intimidation.

  The knock repeated, with four doorbell attacks.

  “Shite. I better answer the door before he electrocutes himself. You ready?”

  “Lead on, Macduff.”

  Mal snorted. “I’m not a bloody Scotsman, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Mal stalked down the hallway, and Bryce followed. Mal’s sweats were too baggy to hug his ass. A pity, in a way. When he opened the door, David breezed in, thankfully alone, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Good morning, gentlemen.” He pulled a small box out of the bag. He squinted at Mal, head tilted to one side, as he held out the box. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Mal barked and stalked over to the fireplace to set the box on the mantle. Bryce had an urge to peek inside.

  “All right, then, Mr. Grumpypants. Have it your way.” He turned to Bryce with a brilliant smile and offered him the bag. “I’ve brought you something from Aunt Cassie. Your first homework assignment.” His smile dimmed a bit. “Are you okay? Your head—”

  “I’m fine.” Bryce took the bag as if it might turn sentient and bite his hand off. Considering some of the things he’d seen in the last twenty-four hours, it wasn’t that much of a stretch. “Homework, you say?”

  “You’re an apprentice now, my friend, and they don’t make druidry SparkNotes to give you any shortcuts. Apprentices traditionally learn by doing—usually all the boring grunt work, I’m sorry to say. By the way, Auntie says there’ll be a test later.”

  “How much later?”

  “Not for a few days, so don’t stress. Instructions and supplies are all in the bag. My cell number too, in case you need anything else.”

  Bryce peered into the bag. It contained a Ziploc bag full of paper twists like Gran used to store her herb samples, a sheaf of computer printouts, and an old journal with a cracked leather binding and yellowed pages—with a bright-pink Post-it Note attached. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Couldn’t be harder than his dissertation.

  “Oh, you might need salt and water too. Maybe olive oil, so I’d suggest working in the kitchen. Even Mal has those on hand.”

  “Got it.”

  As he walked into the dining room, staying close to the living room wall to keep within the optimum tether comfort perimeter, he caught a significant glance between Mal and David. He shouldn’t feel hurt that they needed a private chat, but he did. It brought home again that even though he was supposed to be a supernatural being—were druids supernatural? Semi-supernatural? Meta-supernatural? Whatever—he was still an outsider where the Kendricks were concerned.

  The story of my life.

  David peered up at Mal, his gull-wing brows drawn together over his nose. “Are you sure you’re okay? There’s something wonky in your energy signature.”

  “No, I’m not okay.” Mal adjusted his position, standing with his back to the wall so Bryce would be able to move freely in the kitchen. He kept his voice low, though, so Bryce wouldn’t overhear. “I need to talk to your aunt.”

  David’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Oh. You mean without Bryce? Why? Did something happen?”

  “Never mind that.” Mal still hadn’t recovered from the pain in his hand when he’d tried to tell Bryce about Steve’s visit. Between that and the pain in his chest f
rom defying Bryce’s order, he’d have fallen on his own sword, assuming he still had it, just to get some relief. “Could you ask her how to neutralize the bond between druid and fae?”

  “There are bonds? I didn’t know that.”

  “Neither did I. Probably some kind of bloody druid trade secret.”

  “Wait. You mean you and Bryce have a bond now? Like some kind of connection besides the . . . you know . . .” He pointed at Mal’s stomach. “Thingy?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  David grinned. “But that could be fun, right? He’s pretty dang cute, and you haven’t gone clubbing since the unfortunate incident.”

  “It’s not a fun kind of bond, Dafydd bach.” How would he describe his simultaneous desires to repeat the experience yet never go near Bryce again? Devastating, yes. Life-altering, maybe. Humiliating—the jury was still out. “Apparently, the elder gods were bigger bastards than we ever knew. They engineered the fae to be subservient to the druids.”

  David’s eyes grew round. “Subservient. You mean like a slave class?” Mal nodded, heat washing up his chest. “You mean you and Bryce—” Mal nodded again. “Holy cats. How powerful is the compulsion? I mean, you can resist it, right?”

  “Barely. Right now, all I want to do is run into the kitchen and kneel at his feet. Goddess, I don’t do shite like that!”

  David rested his hand on Mal’s shoulder. “I know you haven’t before, but there’s nothing wrong with wanting it. I mean, I’m ready to kneel at Alun’s feet at the drop of a tiny white handkerchief, and considering how often he does the same to me—”

  “Stop.” Mal threw up a hand. “No sex details.”

  “I’m speaking figuratively, you dork. Although . . .” David squinted one eye and peered at the ceiling. “If you want to get technical . . . well, never mind. Haven’t you ever had the teensiest desire to let someone else take the lead for a change?”

  Mal shook David’s hand off. “Never.” But did he secretly want it? When had he ever had the opportunity to test it? Before the Unification, he and his brothers had led the fight to keep Annwn intact, and look how well that had turned out. After Unification, they couldn’t have displayed anything less than full control or the Daoine Sidhe would have had them for lunch.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know, as long as it’s consensual.” David blinked, his eyebrows rising. “It is, isn’t it? I mean, I know you’re not the biggest druid fan. Crap, Mal, did he do something, some druid thing, to force you? Because if he did, I’ll tell Cassie and she’ll come down on his head like a ton of druid bricks.”

  “No!” Panic tightened his chest at the thought of Bryce being hurt. Shite, was the fear real, or something born of his damned fae heritage? “He doesn’t know anything about it either. But S—” Pain seared his hand, and he gritted his teeth. Clearly the geas wouldn’t let him divulge anything about Steve, even if it had nothing to do with their bargain. “I’ve heard that it’s against the current laws for druids to indulge, and that there are spells or potions or some other shite they use to make sure it doesn’t happen. Can you ask her about that?”

  “Of course. But I can’t promise what she’ll say or do. She has her own ideas of what might be good for people’s souls.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call her right now.”

  “Not yet. Wait until you’re out of the house. I don’t want Bryce to hear.” Assuming he hadn’t already. “Is the dragon scale in that box?”

  “Yep.”

  “Thank you, boyo. I owe you.”

  “Oh this was no hardship. Benjy was thrilled—he got a Death Star Lego set out of the deal.” One of David’s friends was the dragon shifter prince, a six-year-old who shared David’s obsession with science fiction action figures.

  “He must be a prodigy if he’s molting already at six.”

  “Oh, that’s not Benjy’s scale. It’s his mom’s.”

  “You brought me a scale from the dragon shifter queen? Shite, Dafydd, won’t that create its own kind of bond? I don’t want to—”

  “Chill, BIL. When will you fae ever learn? If it’s freely given, there is no debt.” David’s eyes twinkled, and given that he was the last known achubydd on the planet, the sparks probably came from inside. “As far as Benjy is concerned, the Death Star trumps emeralds and rubies every day of the week and twice on Sundays. And Teresa is ecstatic that he’s hoarding like a champ. He may be the only kid on the planet who never leaves his Legos scattered on the floor.” He dusted off his hands. “While I’m here, let’s do a little PT.”

  “Let’s not.”

  “At least let me look at your hand.” David didn’t wait for Mal to respond, just grabbed Mal’s hand and cradled it in his own. “Mal, there’s improvement.” He pressed Mal’s fingers apart and down. “I mean real improvement—the contraction is significantly reduced. Can you feel anything?”

  “A little. Some tingling.”

  David rotated Mal’s hand at the wrist, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “I don’t understand. There shouldn’t be this much difference from our last session.” His eyes narrowed. “Is there anything you want to share with the class? You’re not trying some sleazy fae shortcut, are you?”

  The geas brand heated on his palm. “Not a thing.”

  David released Mal’s hand. “All right. I guess.”

  “Stop borrowing my trouble, boyo. Go home and shag your husband. Take your mind off other people’s business and improve his temper at the same time.”

  David sighed. “I wish I could. But Alun’s kind of . . . well . . . missing.”

  “Missing?” Mal grabbed David’s arm. Had the Unseelie attacks escalated beyond Mal to his family? “Why didn’t you say so? What have you done to find him? Have you contacted Gareth? You need to be careful too. You may have the protection of the vampires, the shifters, and the Queen, but—”

  “Hold on, cowboy.” David patted Mal’s hand, then gently disengaged it. “He told me he’d be gone for a while, but he couldn’t say for how long. He heard a rumor about a traitor in Faerie.”

  Ice cascaded down Mal’s spine. Steve wouldn’t have betrayed him, surely. Not with the first task safely completed. But Rodric had seen Mal, recognized him—with a foothold in Faerie, even in the Unseelie sphere, who knew what kind of havoc the vengeful bastard could wreak? “Rumor? Where?”

  “From one of the supe councils. The vampires, I think. They keep pretty close tabs on one another, from what I gather.”

  “You got that right.”

  “Anyway, Alun had to go roaring off to investigate. I think he’s in Faerie, but I don’t have any way to tell now that . . .” David shrugged.

  “Now that I’m exiled, since Gareth refuses to set foot in the place unless he’s forced.”

  David smiled apologetically. “It’s not your fault and not your issue. But I can’t help but worry, so if you should hear anything, you’ll tell me?”

  Assuming he didn’t hear it from Steve—or assuming Steve wasn’t the traitor in question. “Of course.”

  “Good. I’ll go now and call Aunt Cassie. I can’t guarantee she won’t show up here later anyway, to check on Bryce’s homework, but—”

  “If she can fix this fecking bond, she can move in for all I care.”

  He grinned. “I’ll tell her.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  David stood on tiptoe and kissed Mal’s cheek. “Serve you right if I did. I know you’re hiding something from me, but I’ll bide my time. I’ll get it out of you eventually. I always do.”

  Bryce tried to ignore the murmur of voices in the other room as he squinted at the crabbed writing in the journal. He supposed he should call it a grimoire, since it held spells, potions, and incantations. How old was it? He ran a finger across one of the water-stained pages. The paper was heavy, with high rag content, in contrast to the modern pages, which had clearly been produced with a color laser printer.

  He shook his head and studied the instructions
for his first official act as a druid. Christ, even thinking that sounded nuts. But, then, everything about the last couple of days was nuts, so why should this be any different?

  Potion to ward off evil. Will also adversely affect creatures whose nature or intent is evil. Weapon grade 10.

  Hmmm. Maybe the original authors of Dungeons and Dragons had a bit more official knowledge than one might expect.

  Bryce started on the spell, measuring the ingredients meticulously, because who knew what might happen if he added too much St. John’s wort or not enough rue? The whole thing might backfire.

  If, as the notes in the grimoire hinted, every supernatural creature had its vulnerabilities that could be exploited, did that mean druids did too? What about greater fae, like Mal? Obviously something could harm him or he wouldn’t be cursed. It stood to reason, though, that if you had a giant Achilles’ heel, you wouldn’t want to spread it around on whatever the Faerie equivalent of social media was.

  Was the inverse also true? If every creature had its vulnerabilities, did they also have their advantages? Mal had hinted about his position in Faerie, his magic—or lack of it. What would it be like to be nearly invincible one day, and stripped of every defense and weapon the next? No wonder Mal was so ill-tempered most of the time. He must feel completely exposed.

  An unexpected surge of protectiveness caught Bryce unawares. Suddenly, he didn’t care what else was in Cassie’s notes, what else she wanted him to accomplish before she arrived at her own convenience. He wanted— No, he needed to give Mal something back. Something that would counteract the disadvantages of his exile and his curse.

  He needs a weapon. One he could wield one-handed, that didn’t depend on magic, and that would be easy to master without a lot of practice, but that would nevertheless deal enough damage to his enemies to deter them.

  Bryce drew the line at truly lethal weapons, but surely he could come up with something that would do the trick. His gaze strayed to the lesson printout. Potion to ward off evil.