Witches, Wolves, & Warlords (Shifters of Bastion Keep #1)

Chapter Eight

Fifteen minutes later, Bruin was sitting in the middle of his room between four cleansing crystals, meditating.

What the hell!

He wished he had Rosemary to talk to, or even Lux, but they both had Do Not Disturb signs outside of their rooms. Lux was probably purifying himself for the evening, while Rosemary, he knew, was hard at work charming some of her kitchen tools.

Along the way back to his room, the shock had gradually worn off, and the feeling of being flattered at being someone's destined mate was gradually being replaced by frustration.

Not anger, he'd discovered. He'd taken a few breaths, and did some internal searching, things Rosemary had taught him to do. It was more the sheer incredulity of it all, that just because the lord of the castle had some kind of internal premonition that said he and Bruin were supposed to be together and he should just go along with it! Again, what the fuck?

But then he'd remembered what had caused him to come to Bastion Keep to begin with, and decided that he was being hypocritical. Hadn't Rosemary done a Tarot reading for him, setting him on a path to take a chance on this place? Perhaps the Lovers card had been a bit more literal, and meant more than just the chance to be part of a cool place that was already growing on him.

And then, after playing the recent scene back in his head…

Sergiy had just been so awkward about the whole thing. As if even he didn't know what he was supposed to do or feel, and he was just reciting what he'd been told. Promised mates didn't happen to most shifters, Markos had said. What would it be like to go living a normal life, and then boom! One day you see someone that the universe says you belong with? What if you were already married or in love? Do you now have two loves?

That'd be fine with Bruin, actually. Orcs had a long history of polyamory, the better to raise a community of children with. His own birth mom had three lovers. And didn't Lord Sergiy have three parents himself? He'd passed by the adorably cute baker dad carrying fresh baked goods a couple of times, and each time had been given a cookie and a pat on the head.

Bruin allowed himself a brief fantasy of seducing and marrying Sergiy's dad, thus becoming the grumpy lord's step-father. Ha, that'd show him!

But seriously. Maybe Sergiy had been caught just as unawares. Maybe some of his grumpiness could be forgiven. But all the same, Bruin wasn't about to just move in with him without a first date, or at least a damn good, pillow-biting fucking.

He sighed, then got to his feet and began clearing away his crystals. Maybe he should visit the library and see if they had a book or something about the issue.

He was in the middle of doing a white light cleanse to clear out the room's negativity when he heard footsteps outside of his open door, and then the sound of Russell returning to his room.

And there was the other snag.

Geez, he couldn't get his thoughts straight—ha! As if they ever were—and tried to think of what Rosemary would do.

Well, she'd tell him to talk it out, and the Hearth witch in her would suggest that he do it over a meal, if possible. He nodded.

Dropping off the crystals into the bowl of sand on his shelf for later purification, he went to his desk where he had several different fruits he'd raided from the kitchen for snacking. Selecting an orange, he then went next door. Russell opened it at the first knock.

"Hi, Russell," he said, holding up the orange. Then he froze, and the rest of what he was going to say was crushed beneath the visual weight of a naked, hairy giant.

His beefy neighbor had answered the door wearing only a towel. Not around his waist, though, he had it around his head, and was using it to dry off his lengthy hair. He appeared to be somewhat damp, still, and Bruin assumed that he had just come up from the basement baths that he had yet to visit himself.

"Hello, little witch," he said after a long moment when it became apparent that Bruin wasn't going to say anything further. "Are you offering me the entire orange, or did you wish to split it?"

"Oh, right. Yes. This thing. It's all yours. Do you want me to peel it for you? That was rude of me, I should have done it before I came."

"It is fine." Russell draped the towel around his shoulders, then plucked the fruit from him. It looked as small as a clementine in his hands, and with a thick thumb he severed his way through the rind, unfolding the entire peel in one unbroken piece.

' These damn nudist shifters,' he thought distractedly. He tried to be professional, or at least nonchalant, but it would take a greater gay than him to not let his gaze slip at least once.

Russell didn't seem bothered by either his silence or his less than innocent staring, and simply stood in the doorway, working his way through the orange slice by slice. He'd eaten most of it by the time Bruin managed to get his mouth working again.

"Russell—"

"Open," he interrupted, taking the last slice and holding it up in front of Bruin's face.

Bruin opened his mouth automatically at the order, and Russell pushed the slice in with his thumb. Bruin's tongue could taste orange residue off the man's skin, and the smell was a heady citrus, which was likely to become his new favorite scent. As Bruin closed his mouth, he felt Russel run his thumb across his lower lip, then touch one of his tusks before he pulled his hand back.

Russell set the peel on a shelf, then licked his thumb before using a damp portion of his towel to clean the sticky juice off of his hands.

"Thank you for the orange," he said, then started to close his door.

Bruin shook his head rapidly, then swallowed the fruit. "Wait!"

Russell stopped, then gave him a single nod. The big man was quiet, and his face gave away nothing as to what he was thinking. Bruin tried to think up something to say. Why was he here, again? Oh.

"Would you like that haircut now?"

"Mm. Now is perhaps not a good time," he said, and began to shut his door again.

"Sergiy told me about me being his mate," he said in a rush, and Russell froze. "I told him I'd think about it."

Russell's eyes widened. "But little witch, you are his mate."

"So? I mean, if the universe wants to play matchmaker, that's fine. I wish it were always that easy, wouldn't need dating apps. But love takes more than just being put into basically an arranged marriage, especially when I don't get a say."

Russell's brow furrowed and he bowed his head. Bruin waited patiently, letting him work through his thoughts without interruption. After a moment, he nodded, then looked up.

"Okay. But I cannot."

Careful, careful, don't spook the maybe-should-have-been-a-deer shifter .

"Russell," he said softly. "It would make me happy if I could cut your hair. Will you let me?"

Bruin's neighbor hesitated, then stepped back into his room, gesturing.

"I'll just get my supplies, won't be but a second!"

Bruin hurried back to his room, banging into his door and then his desk in his rush to grab the small basket he'd set aside before Russell could change his mind. But no, Russell had left the door open, and was carrying a chair into his bathroom.

Bruin itched to check out the fountains that were decorating the room—what a marvelous way to combine earth and water elements! He'd have to get some for his own room, now—but instead swept past Russell's amazing belongings through sheer willpower and joined the man in his bathroom.

The room looked similar to the ones in the other rooms. Sink, toilet, cabinets, mirror, and shower-bath combo, with stone tile. The only difference was that a thoughtful plumber had put the shower-head on the ceiling.

Russell took a seat in the chair, putting his hands in the middle of his lapHe watched in the mirror as Bruin started pulling out a trimmer, combs, and several scissors.

"You just finished washing your hair, so this is perfect timing," he said, using a comb to work through all the many, many tangles. "Did you have a specific haircut you wanted? Maybe pictures on your phone?

Russell shook his head. "Anything you think would look nice is fine."

"Yeah, but it's your hair. You should like it."

Russell caught his gaze when Bruin moved around to his front. "I want you to pick something that would look good to you."

Bruin felt warm from his head down to his toes, and he shifted his stance so that his bare foot was pressed up against Russell's own. "In that case, rest assured, because even if I do a complete hack job with it, I'll still like your face."

"Mm."

"But it won't come to that. And damn, your hair is so nice and thick, you know that? I'm jealous."

Russell murmured something that Bruin didn't quite catch.

He then wrapped a cheap barber's cape around the big man to collect any falling hair. "If you're leaving it up to me, then okay. Let's pull some of it out of your face, because it's really cute and I like seeing it. I'm thinking layered, maybe a scissor-cut taper around your ears?"

"Mm."

Over the next twenty minutes, Bruin uses combs, scissors, and a spray bottle to whittle away at the mess of hair. The man probably hadn't had so much as a trim in three months, at least, by the looks of it, and he found himself tsking every time he encountered a split end.

After doing a final bit of texturing and brushing away loose hairs, he ran his hand through Russell's hair, checking the length. Just enough at the back and sides that he could kind of grip it between his fingers, but then a bit longer on top in a kind of messy fringe. Bruin ran his hands through it several times.

"Enjoying yourself, little witch?" Russell asked with an odd smile.

"Just checking the length."

"Mm. If you say so."

Bruin brushed away a few more hairs, then scratched at Russel's beard. "What about this?"

"I like my beard." Russell peered past him and into the mirror. "Maybe a small trim to match the sides, though."

"And the neck?"

"It itches pretty often."

"Then we'll get rid of it."

Electric clippers made this part easy, and he delighted in watching Russel make different faces to help him out. There was too much hair on the neck to go straight to the razor, so he first used the trimmer to get it down to a stubble.

Bruin indicated the razor beside his sink. "Last bit. Do you want to?"

"Finish what you've started, Green witch," he said.

Bruin undid the cape, careful not to let too many hairs fall off, then set it on the ground. Using a hand towel, he brushed away as much hair as he could, then grabbed Russel's razor and shaving cream. After dabbing on just a bit of cream, he began shaving his neck.

After the first cut, it felt awkward having Russell craning his neck up, so he took a gamble and sat down on his thigh. No complaints, and after a moment, Russell put his hands on his waist, steadying him as he moved.

It might be a safety razor, but it still felt decidedly intimate, running a blade against his thick neck. He worked his way across, with Russell's eyes following him the entire time, entirely trusting.

Bruin had some aftershave lotion, and, remembering at the last minute that shifters had a strong sense of smell, he used the smallest dab.

"There," he said quietly, rubbing the lotion in. "All done."

Russell gently nudged him to the side, then stood up out of his chair as he looked at himself in the mirror.

"Thank you," he said, turning to face him. "How is it?"

"I think I'm supposed to be asking you that." Bruin raised a hand to run it through his hair again, then brushed a few strands off of his forehead. "I like it. Really accents your eyes, and makes your face look more rounded and friendly.

Russell's smile slowly broadened, and then he stepped forward, reaching down to give him a hug. Bruin was acutely aware of the naked shifter pressing himself against him, and exactly what was poking around his beltline, particularly when Russell tightened the squeeze, lifting him enough off of the ground that he heard his back pop.

Russell set him back down, but didn't release him, and seemed to be starting to breathe more heavily. With his hand still against Russel's cheek, Bruin caressed it with a thumb.

"Russell…"

Bruin stood up on his tiptoes to bring his face closer, but then Russell straightened, lifting his head out of the way.

"Oh," Bruin said. "I'm sorry, I just thought…"

"I know," he said, and Bruin saw him frowning. "Thank you for the haircut. You should go."

"Russell."

"It is okay, little witch," he said, and the corners of his mouth trembled like was about to cry, but instead, Russell reached up to pat him on the head. Bruin sagged his shoulders. "But you are Sergiy's mate, and will probably soon end up with him."

"He's got a long way to go if he wants to make that happen," Bruin grumbled.

"All the best mates require earning."

Russell waited patiently while Bruin gathered his things back into his basket, and then did a quick sweep with a handheld broom and dustpan. Some of it overflowed, but he didn't see a waste bin, so he shoved it into the barber's cape.

As Russell walked him to his door, Bruin summoned his courage, then asked, "Can I keep the hair? It's a witch thing."

Ugh. Not what he wanted to say.

"Yes," Russel said simply.

Bruin stepped outside of the door, head bowed, staring at the stylist's tools he was holding. He didn't hear Russell closing the door behind him, though, and he realized that the shifter was waiting, probably smelling or intuiting that Bruin wasn't done.

Turning around, he looked up into Russell's face—and light above, it was so warm and caring.

"Look, I know that Sergiy might have certain dating expectations, but he needs to actually talk to me if he wants to get anywhere. Maybe just don't rule out me and you, yet?"

"I will think on it," he said at last.

Bruin nodded, then hurried back to his own room before he said more than he should.

◆◆◆

After Bruin left, Russell closed his door, then laid his forehead against it. Listening, he could make out the sounds of the little witch bustling around his room.

The little witch, but not his little witch, thanks to the whims of fate.

Wandering back to his bathroom, he saw a few scattered hairs that Bruin had missed. He'd clean it in a moment.

Instead, he leaned forward on his sink, looking at himself in the mirror. His head felt lighter. And it was nice to have his ears exposed.

Was this the kind of hairstyle he liked? He'd need to make sure he took a picture, so he could ask his mom in the future if he wanted more of the same.

He swept the floor, then used his towel to collect the rest. Afterwards, he tried taking a picture, but discovered that his phone's battery was dead. He didn't use it often, so he set it on charge.

Laying on top of his bed, he grabbed a pillow, then hugged it while he waited, thinking.

Bruin was Ser's mate. Ser said so himself, and Russell had smelled the sharp tang of his drake scent on the little witch when he'd come in. But then, Bruin didn't act like they were mated. Did he not want to be?

Russell would have, if he'd been given the chance. To either Ser or Bruin.

He hugged his pillow tighter.

But Ser had told him no, years ago. And… and he'd said the little witch was his.

But Bruin had cut Russell's hair, not the lord's. And he'd given him pets in his wolf form without smelling the least bit afraid. And he didn't try to hurry his thoughts, and he'd never called him dumb or stupid, or ever smelled impatient or irritated by his silence.

And he'd given him an orange.

He remembered licking his thumb, which tasted like orange, but in his head tasted like an orc witch.

He closed his eyes.

The friend-shaped witch was Ser's mate. That meant he was hands off.

…right?