Chapter 22 The Fuckening
The Fuckening
Lawrie
The evening was dark, the sky overcast with no stars or moon to lighten the landscape.
The silhouettes of cliffs and trees loomed ominously as we flew through the night.
Ardaine shone on the horizon, but we wouldn’t be passing the city.
The landing was planned at Mr. Sullivan’s property, and we’d take a taxi from there.
I would have infinitely preferred sitting on Ernest’s back rather than in the helicopter, but Mr. Sullivan was an experienced pilot, and I reminded myself there was no reason to worry.
Ernest held my hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it.
With the headsets on, we couldn’t have a reasonable conversation—not without Mr. Sullivan hearing everything—so we sat in silence.
I wondered about the visit tomorrow. Judging by the way Ernest talked about his parents, it might get intense.
They were excited to meet me—which terrified me.
Glancing Ernest’s way, I caught him smiling at me gently.
He leaned in and pecked the corner of my mouth.
Just then, the helicopter jerked, bumping our heads together.
My headphones slid to the side, exposing my ears to the awful racket.
Ernest adjusted them before I could.
Except the helicopter jerked again, even more. Powerful arms clamped around me. My stomach heaved.
This wasn’t good.
“Davidson? What’s up?” Ernest’s voice sounded from the headset.
But before Mr. Sullivan could reply, we were spinning.
I had no idea which way was up.
“Get Lawrence out!” was the last thing I heard before the headphones were gone. Something banged my forehead, and a sharp pain exploded in my shoulder. Another blow, this time into my shin.
It felt like being caught in a tumble dryer with a pile of junk.
And it hit me. I was about to die. Any second now.
Really? This was the worst timing ever. The man of my dreams loved me, I was contemplating whether to start a family with him, I’d just learned dragons were real…and now I’d die? How absurd! Life sucked, and Ernest would be devastated.
Could dragons find a second mate if the first one died? Would he mourn me forever? What if he’d die too?
No, Ernest couldn’t. He’d make it.
He still held me.
The noise was deafening.
Something scraped my forearm and wrist, and I shrieked when it caught my hand. It pulled, violently. It would fucking rip off my hand…and we were still spinning in the dark.
I was about to die.
So stupidly anticlimactic.
I couldn’t leave Ernest. I couldn’t die and leave him alone. We’d just found each other, dammit! He needed me.
I fumbled for the thing pulling on my hand, twisted my wrist, and slipped it off. Ernest clasped me to his chest, and I was airborne, free-falling into the dark. The noise was fading.
Did we jump?
We must have.
Wind swooshed by my ears.
Ernest let go of me, and I yelled incoherently, waving my arms and legs. The wind tore at my clothes and pulled on my limbs. How high were we? How long would I fall before I smacked into the ground? Why the fuck did he let go of me?
Oh shit. Shit. Shit! This’ll hurt.
But then something grabbed me again, hot skin enveloped me, and I was propelled forward as if caught on a huge swing.
Ernest, the dragon, carried me upward. Gravity squeezed my insides while we soared.
The chop chop chop of the rotor slowed down and got quieter. Instead, long swooshes of Ernest’s wings sounded through the night.
The dragon cradled me to his chest, and we flew toward some blurry lights in the distance.
“You’re fine, Lawrie,” the dragon said, his rumbling voice somewhat shaky. “You’re okay. I got you.”
I turned my head just in time to puke downward.
“Sorry,” I mumbled before hurling again.
Fuck.
Where was Mr. Sullivan?
I puked once more, which was a definite sign of life, so I wouldn’t complain. I had no idea how long the flight was. I couldn’t see anything but total darkness, and I shook in the freezing wind even though Ernest held me close.
Finally, we landed on the manicured lawn in front of Mr. Sullivan’s residence.
The mansion was just a black shape against a dark-blue sky, with only a couple of small lamps illuminating the entrance.
Ernest stayed in dragon form, wrapping his wing around me and holding me to his leg.
I didn’t feel cold anymore but kept shivering. Was I in shock?
Did all of that really happen? The taste of bile in my mouth was very real. I bent down and dry-heaved, then spat out the excess saliva.
“Are you okay, Lawrie?” Ernest’s warm wing smoothed over my back.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
A loud metallic screech made me look up.
In front of us appeared a giant gray dragon with a helicopter dangling from his claws. The monster was about twice as big as Ernest. Hovering in the air, he placed the helicopter onto the lawn as if it were a toy. Then he landed next to it, flexing his wings.
He looked like a freaking demon from hell. Sharp silver thorns lined his head and neck, and his talons were curved and pointy. He breathed heavily, muzzle open, rows of deadly looking teeth almost glowing in the dark. Holy fucking alien T-Rex. Is this my boss?
“I need a drink,” the ginormous dragon said. My brain couldn’t process the sight, but it was unmistakably Davidson Sullivan.
“What the fuck happened?” Ernest asked.
“Let’s shift and talk,” Mr. Sullivan, the dragon, replied, waddling heavily toward the house, dragging his thick tail behind through the lawn.
“Oh wow,” I said, staring after him.
“He’s a beast, isn’t he?”
The word beast didn’t even cover half of it. And I’d thought Ernest was scary.
Some minutes later, I sat in Mr. Sullivan’s opulent living room, wrapped in a blanket, sipping whiskey. Ernest was dressed in what seemed to be one of Mr. Sullivan’s jogging outfits. He crouched in front of me and held an ice pack to my forehead.
“How’s your shoulder?”
I rolled it experimentally. “All good.”
“You sure? I was afraid it got dislocated.”
“I’m sure. It doesn’t hurt at all.”
His hand shook a little when he cupped my jaw. Poor Ernest.
“Lawrie…”
“I’m fine. I promise. I was supposed to be ground meat in a field somewhere. This is peachy.”
Ernest winced. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Sorry.”
Mr. Sullivan walked in then. He poured himself a glass and sat opposite us. Ernest settled next to me, hugging me to his side. He held me just a little tighter than usual.
“I apologize.”
Frowning, I inspected the contrite expression on Mr. Sullivan’s face. I’d never seen him looking so regretful. He seemed older and small compared to the creature that had carried a whole helicopter through the night and deposited it in front of the house like a package delivery.
“That didn’t seem like we hit a bird,” Ernest said.
“I suspect sabotage, actually.”
Ernest sucked in a breath.
“The tail rotor just stopped working,” Mr. Sullivan continued, “and I completely lost control over the steering.”
“Would he go that far?” Ernest asked. We all knew who he might be, even though it sounded unreal.
“If you’d asked me yesterday, I’d have said no. But now it seems I’ve pushed him into a corner.”
“What now?” Ernest asked. “We can’t call the police. How would we explain that we landed safely on your lawn in an out-of-control copter?”
“Maybe we’re jumping to conclusions,” I said. “Is there a way to look at the helicopter and see what really happened?”
Mr. Sullivan met my eyes and nodded seriously. “I’ve already called Hamish, and he’s on his way. We’ll check the copter and see what we can figure out.”
Mr. Sullivan left to make another round of calls, and I slumped against Ernest. He kissed down the side of my face and squeezed me tightly. A low growl rumbled from his chest.
“Lawrie, I shouldn’t think about Burnes and that copter and you. I could go and beat him to a pulp right now.
“No violence, please. And we don’t know if it was him.”
I straddled his lap and hugged his head to my chest. Stroking his hair, I tried to find something to say to calm him down. “You know what I’ll remember the most from today?”
“Davidson dangling a copter above his lawn?”
“As memorable as that sight was, I mean something else.”
“Hm?”
“How much I love you.”
Ernest made an almost painful sound in the back of his throat and hid his face in the crook of my neck. His broad hands covered most of my back, his fingers digging into my muscles.
“I thought I was about to die,” I continued quietly. “And I thought about you. About us. I love you, Ernest. I’m in this for life, and it doesn’t scare me anymore.”
“Lawrie,” he murmured, his voice broken. “My sweetheart. I had to let go of you to shift. You screamed at me not to, but I had to let go and let you fall…”
“Shh. You caught me again. We’re fine.”
“Fuck…” This time, the word was a mere whisper.
“I’m as safe as I’ve ever been now that I’m with you. And sure, life can always come up with something to mess things up for us. But we’re so damned lucky, aren’t we?”
Ernest nodded, rubbing his face against my skin. He continued holding me tight, and I didn’t say a word about the few drops of wetness on my skin. In fact, I cried a little too.
When Hamish arrived, and after much reassurance from me, Ernest reluctantly left with the two men to inspect the damage.
Thirsty, I inspected the contents of Mr. Sullivan’s bar.
Another shot of whiskey would probably flatten me.
The fridge contained a few coolers but nothing non-alcoholic.
My boss wasn’t big on hydration, was he?
I left the office in search of the kitchen. I’d only been here once before, and that time, I’d stayed in the car with the driver outside of the gloomy house, waiting for Mr. Sullivan to retrieve his laptop. Now, I could take in the architecture.
The mansion was like something straight out of a postmodern horror movie.
It must have been built or at least rebuilt recently, judging by the sleek lines, vast empty spaces, and glass walls.
The short hallway from the study led me directly into a grand atrium or living room…
or a pool house? Half of the vast room boasted dark wood and stone flooring and enormous lounge sofas in front of another bar.
Two half-empty, expensive-looking whiskey bottles stood on the counter, together with a single glass.
Davidson Sullivan drank a lot of alcohol, didn’t he?
Did it affect him the same way as humans? Probably not.
An empty space spread out in the middle—big enough for a dragon to shift, I realized—and an intricate mosaic adorned the stone floor, depicting a shining sun but in hues of dark gray and black onyx. Was it in fact real onyx? I wouldn’t put it past my boss. He had opulent enough taste for that.
To the left, water glimmered, dark blue in the weak illumination. A pool. Of course. I’d have a pool in my living room as well if I could afford it. Behind the glass wall, trees swayed in the wind.
Shaking my head, I slowly walked over the mosaic toward another dark hallway on the other side.
I finally found the kitchen. Or…a kitchen counter.
The rest of the room seemed like a mix of a nightclub and a medieval dungeon.
Mr. Sullivan had a thing for black stone: marble, granite, obsidian, even black pebbles in plant pots.
Oh, another bar. Who would have thought?
The plants were a mystery. Plenty of greenery peeked out from every corner and climbed on walls. I recognized monsteras and orchids, but the rest I didn’t know. Did the old dragon take care of them himself?
All in all, the house looked like something Dracula would build, together with a team of sociopathic, colorblind, postmodern architects and an unlimited budget. If not for the ever-present plants, it would look like a crypt.
I filled a glass of water and chugged it, then refilled it.
I wandered back to the office, taking in the interior from another angle.
No, not any better. And he lived here alone?
Did he enjoy being miserable? Maybe it looked better during daylight.
The scarce lamps didn’t help the glum atmosphere of the monochromatic decor.
Ernest returned after a short while, carrying our belongings. Miraculously, both our laptops had made it unscathed.
“Did you find something?”
“It must have been a small explosive device attached to the tail rotor. Normally, even with tail rotor failure, Davidson would be able to land the copter on autorotation, provided we had somewhere safe to land, which could have been a challenge in the mountains. But the explosion sent the copter spinning out of control with the most difficult terrain right under us.”
“So he chose to jump instead.”
“Since we had the option, yes. He managed to gain more altitude even as we tumbled around and told me to get you out so I could shift and catch you.”
“And how did Burnes plant the bomb? Because it was a bomb, right?”
“An IED, yes. Davidson mentioned Burnes had been in the hangars this morning, remember? Since he co-owns the company, I guess nobody questioned him wandering around. But an investigation is needed.”
“How can they do a proper investigation if we don’t call the police?”
“Davidson has already contacted an acquaintance of his who’s with the FBI. The official version will be that the device exploded closer to here, and Davidson was able to land on autorotation. Hamish says it wouldn’t be impossible for an experienced pilot, so that’s what we’re going with.”
“Okay. So if questioned, that’s what I’m saying?”
“I’m sorry, Lawrie. I wouldn’t ask you to lie to authorities, but in this case…”
“It’s not technically a lie, is it? The tail exploded, but Davidson was able to land the copter. I just leave out the fact he held it in his claws. Since we were spinning, and I was screaming for dear life, the details are blurry.”
“I guess.”
“What’s the time?”
Ernest glanced at his phone. “Half past eleven.”
“When can we go home?”
“The FBI is on its way. So not for a while yet.”
I snuggled into his chest. My limbs were heavy, and my eyes itchy. I needed a short lie-down if they expected me to be coherent.