Chapter Five
Marcus
“Why is it that you’ve brought this dirty hillbilly to our home, Son?” My father stared me down, his face impassive. He’d grown accustomed to a certain degree of rejection in the sixty years or so he’d lived in the area. It’d made him into something of a hermit and a nihilist about shifters.
I hesitated, because I couldn’t say why. I couldn’t pinpoint what made me watch the male, what made my dragon feel like he owned him. “Because it was not right.”
“What was not right? We all know they treat their peers poorly. We see injustice and we report it to their council. Why did you feel the need to take this one?” I thought there’d be anger, frustration, a lashing out because Whisper had rejected Father’s hand, but he held his tongue quite visibly.
My teeth ached to form fangs, and my dragon snarled within me. When our eyes locked, he reached for me, cupping my face with his elegant hands—those of an artisan. His thumb tugged at the corner of my eye as his lips thinned.
I opened my mouth to make room as my teeth sharpened, the points pricking my tongue as I spoke the word my dragon kept shouting in my head. Because he’s, “Mine.”
“‘Mine?’ Someone’s all growly-prowly.” Brae, our clan’s alpha, stepped into the kitchen, his imposing presence darkening the doorway.
All the threat melted out of him when he hefted the babe in his arms and stalked to the fridge.
The little dragonling curled into the crook of his father’s arm and nuzzled in with a sigh.
“Marcus has brought home a guest. A filthy bobcat.” Malkim’s face twisted until he spied the little one and opened his arms with delight to take the babe in. Brae handed their young over, and Father cooed happily. “Yes, he is. A very dirty kitty. Stinky!”
Atkin, hearing the ruckus, strode in after, face twisted into something dark. “Marcus. Dude. That bobcat is in rough shape.”
I nodded, avoiding my father’s stare. “His clowder had a drug lab explode. He’s a throwback they were treating bad. Using him like a slave for cleaning and stuff. And the council won’t intervene for throwbacks because they think they’re not shifters.”
“Gonna say the other part out loud?” Atkin scoffed. “I lost count of the number of cats I smelled on his back.”
I winced as he said it and I clenched my hands; my claws doing their best to morph and shift into my own flesh. I willed it back as warm blood dripped over my knuckles. “It wasn’t right.”
“What wasn’t right?” Baba’s voice interrupted our talk as he shimmied in and slipped by us to make his way to Father. He fawned over the baby and kissed his mate on the cheek with a curious noise.
Malkim opened his mouth to speak, but Atkin spoke for him. “Marcus brought home some charity case omega they were using like the communal fleshlight. And he’s mute. Perfect companionship for Marcus, who can’t be bothered to listen to anyone.”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Don’t say a damn word about that! It’s none of your business who touches him!” I turned away from them and shoved my way past Atkin, halting in my steps when a firm hand gripped my shoulder tight.
“Atkin. Before Marcus leaves, apologize. That was rude. Marcus, you know better than to snap at your flight. We are family.” Brae squeezed hard enough to leave marks, and I halted as Atkin muttered an apology.
“Obviously, our dragons act in ways we do not understand sometimes. And, Marcus, your dragon says this male is a treasure, correct?”
Marcus nodded.
“Very few people want to smell bad. Very few people want to be filthy. And even fewer people want to be used in such a way. Your quip may very well have been a jab at his own trauma.” Brae breathed slowly and leaned down to my ear. “The water just shut off. Introduce us to your treasure.”
As he mentioned it, I realized that I didn’t hear the water running through the pipes anymore, and I swept out to meet him, see him clean, to smell him without the stink of other males.
I met him in the hallway, pink eyes so lapine and innocent. He smiled, teeth clean and lips, still chapped, stretched. He held up a pen and paper and scribbled out a note in stilted, messy script. Thank you. I didn’t want to upset your father.
I nodded. Him pulling away had surprised me, hurt my father’s feelings. “Why did you pull away?”
He tilted his head, confusion mapping his face as his pale brows knitted.
“He reached out to you, and you stepped away and looked upset.” I reached my own hands out, and he stared at them before touching them a few times, unsure of what to do. A dawning light brightened his face and then sadness as he scribbled on the paper again.
I was too dirty to touch. He was clean and nice.
“But you let me touch you.” I reached for a lock of his hair and tucked it, studying his features. He looked so much more beautiful in the light, cleaner. I sniffed, and despite the soaps and scrubbing, I caught the undertone of other males.
You didn’t ask to touch me. You just did. I would have never let you get yourself dirty touching someone like me.
And there the real answer was. I grabbed for Whisper’s wrist and tugged him along, taking his notepad as I returned to the kitchen. “Guys, this is Whisper. He’ll be staying in my wing with me.”
I handed the notepad to Father, and he dropped his gaze to the words. His soured face softened as he glanced toward Whisper. With no hesitation, Whisper approached him with folded hands and a little bow, lips mouthing the word sorry on hissing breath.
All eyes in the room were on Whisper—Baba, Father, Brae, and Atkin. Even little Nula, Brae’s child, stared with open curiosity in his glimmering blue eyes.
Father shifted Nula to his other arm and offered his hand to Whisper again who took it in both his hands with a nod of thanks.
“Now, so there’s no miscommunication again. I am Malkim. You’re Whisper?” Father let Whisper hold his hand, and I knew the reason for it. Father was reading him with his magic, a shameless thing.
Whisper nodded, his cheeks pinkening.
Father’s lips twisted, brows furrowed, and he broke out into boisterous laughter. “So, this is the question you had for me? Not where I am from, not any curiosity like that?”
Whisper tilted his head in his questioning posture.
“Because I do not have hair on my head. That is why my head is shiny. It fell out when I was a child and never grew back.” The dragons of my father’s homeland, what currently was Senegal, their human forms did not have head hair, not in the men or women.
“It is how the dragons of my homeland are. Now, why are you so white and your hair so choppy?”
I flinched and gave Father a menacing glance that he pointedly ignored. Baba, heavily interested in the goings on, watched Whisper with a half smile.
Whisper politely pulled away and scribbled.
“Mind reading? In a way. I can sense intent only if I am holding your hands, little cat.” Father leaned his head to the side and nudged Baba affectionately.
Whisper scribbled another note. My curiosity piqued, I leaned over to read. Albino. Throwback. Alpha’s mate chopped my hair. Too tangled.
“Well, all the best you came in so dirty. Likely the only thing keeping you from getting lice or fleas.” Father fumbled as Nula clawed at his arm and leapt for Whisper, his little black-and-white body flecked dalmatian-like with child spots as he made little swipes to steal Whisper’s pen.
Whisper let loose a shocked gasp, and Brae laughed until Nula’s mouth opened, nose flared, and he sneezed, blowing a concentrated spit of fire at Whisper’s face.
“No!” I lurched forward, Baba faster than me as he snatched Nula away and I turned the startled male in my arms, looking for burns or damage.
Nula had destroyed his fair share of furniture and clothing since his hatching, and Malkim had healing magic at the ready over his graceful hands, but it wasn’t necessary.
Not even a curl to his hair. A smattering of soot filthied his newly cleaned face, and I ushered him away to wet a paper towel in the sink nearby and daub at his strange freckles.
The soot came off with barely a wipe, and his new shirt was ruined, but he didn’t even have a raw spot, not even a sunburn.
“What the?” I checked him over, and he held up his notepad, eyes darting around for his pen.
Baba handed it over, dripping with saliva that Whisper paid no mind as he scribbled. Every shifter gets a talent. I don’t burn none. It’s why I wasn’t afraid of you.
“Malkim?” Baba’s singsong voice made my father grin.
“Welcome to your new home, little one.” Brae strode over and rested a hand on Whisper’s head.
He leaned down to whisper into his ear, his crimson hair a stark contrast to Whisper’s white.
I missed whatever few words he said to make Whisper’s eyes widen and cheeks flame crimson.
He stroked Whisper’s pale locks and rested his great hand on his shoulder.
My dragon preened at members of my flight touching him, accepting him so kindly.
“Both of you go get some rest. You need to be up bright and early to spend time with Nula and Aster.”
“Why Nula and Aster?” My clan leader stared me down, face as neutral and tired as a new father should have been. His commanding Whisper to spend time with his mate and child was concerning; after all, he didn’t know the male.
“A fireproof babysitter. I’m taking advantage of this as much as possible. He’ll need to learn how to wrangle young.” Brae grinned, his pronounced canines glinting as their hatchling leaped into his arms once more.
I frowned as Brae left, and Atkin excused himself. I turned to my father and Baba only to earn polite smiles and a shooing gesture. Baba spoke, his face a beacon of delight. “Go on, baby. Get settled in.”
My treasure had a place in my hoard, and my dragon purred as I thought of possibilities for the male, atop my coins, or maybe amid my jewel cases, or even in my sand nest…
I needed to change the sand in it. I flamed in my sleep so often, the scattered particles had become glass and hard.
But for that night, he’d do well on a futon by my fireplace, keeping him warm and visible as a beautiful shining treasure.