Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
TAVISH
Ifollowed Albie into our bedchamber, barely giving him time to shut the door before I rounded on him.
“Have you lost your wits?” I demanded.
He blinked at me, all innocence behind those wire-rimmed spectacles. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
I thrust a finger toward the door. “You left our woman completely unguarded. She could be fleeing us even as we speak.”
Albie stepped into me and patted my chest. “She’s not. She made a deal, remember? We celebrated over custard.”
“Aye, I remember,” I grumbled. “I made the custard.”
“She’s not going anywhere, Tavish.”
My dragon urged me to charge to the guest room to double check. “You really trust her?” I asked, staring at the door. The image of Portia brandishing her dinner knife formed in my head. Her bloodlust probably should have given me pause. Instead, it made my cock stiff as a fire poker.
“She’s a violent wee thing,” I mused, imagining her stripping off those unusual trews. We’d left her with water for washing, along with a nightdress Albie had discovered in an old trunk. The material was thin enough to be see-through, especially if she stood in front of the hearth…
“She’s not exactly small,” Albie said, drawing me from my wandering thoughts.
I waved a hand. “Not to you, maybe. And I’m not worried about her gutting me in the night. I’m worried about her running off.” I winced. “Or flying off.”
“She won’t.” Albie crossed to his bookcase, which held all the books he’d collected on our travels. He bent, and his kilt rode up, giving me a nice look at the backs of his thighs.
I drifted forward, adjusting my aching cock as I went. “What makes you so certain?”
He straightened with a book in his hands, and I stifled a groan of disappointment as his kilt swung back into place.
“I don’t think she can shift,” he murmured, thumbing the pages.
He pivoted toward me, light from the window gilding his bright hair.
He ran a finger down the page as he read, his lips moving silently.
The bottom one was plump, almost pouty, and the top had a little indentation that reminded me of a bow.
It always looked so good stretched around my—
“At least, not when she wants to,” Albie added.
I dragged my eyes from his mouth. “What?”
He looked up. “Portia’s connection with her beast isn’t as strong as it should be.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Nothing in particular, really. But she didn’t even try to shift when you goaded her.” He tilted his head, and his spectacles winked in the light. “Don’t you find that odd?”
“No,” I said bluntly. “She wants us both. Her dragon recognizes us as mates, and the beast is staying put.” I shook my head. “No, what our princess needs is a good, hard fu—”
Albie was suddenly in front of me, one slim finger pressed to my lips. I hadn’t even seen him move.
“It’ll come,” he said, amusement and affection in his brown eyes as he stared up at me.
My cock tightened. “I’m more interested in me coming,” I mumbled around his finger.
His smile was a little frazzled as he stepped back, the book tucked under one arm. “When are you not interested in that?” He held up his free hand. “No, don’t answer.”
I grinned despite my frustration.
Albie returned to the bookcase and trailed his fingers over the spines, clearly searching for something.
After a second, he released a soft, triumphant sound, then pulled a second volume from the stacks.
This book was even slimmer than the first, its cover plain brown leather.
There was no lettering, just an odd symbol embossed in red the color of old blood.
His eyes moved rapidly behind his spectacles as he devoured whatever was on the page.
I drew close again, pulled by his mind as well as his body.
Because Albie’s mind was just as compelling—maybe even a bit more so because I’d never been unable to unravel it.
And I knew its intricacies would always evade me, just as I knew I’d never tire of trying to understand it.
Him.
I’d fallen so hard for him, I sometimes felt like I’d never really gotten the ground under me again. I was forever unsteady around my brilliant, beautiful mate.
“Ah,” Albie said, nodding as if he’d settled something. He held up the book, and a broad smile transformed his face from handsome to dazzling. “This is a complete guide to chronomancers.”
I eyed it, doubt heavy in my gut. “Doesn’t look like much.”
“Because there’s not much to know. Or not much anyone knows, anyway.” He shoved his spectacles higher on his nose, his voice taking on that tone it always got when he was excited about some new topic. “Like I told Portia, chronomancers are rare. Time magic is notoriously unstable.”
I crossed to him and plucked the book from his hand, then flipped through the pages. The text was dense, the margins filled with Albie’s neat handwriting. Notes. Questions. Theories.
“I thought you spent all your time looking for a cure for the Curse,” I said quietly.
For centuries, Albie had searched for a way to end the illness that devastated our species. He’d traveled to every corner of the world, consulting with witches and oracles and anyone who might have knowledge. As more females died, I’d worried he’d fall into despair.
But my sunny mate never did.
Because we’d been waiting for Portia. We just hadn’t known it.
“Maybe fate led me to study chronomancy,” Albie said softly.
Leaning around him, I set the book on the shelf. Then I cupped his jaw and stroked my thumb along his cheekbone, savoring the scrape of his golden stubble against my skin. “Aye,” I murmured, “maybe it did.”
He leaned into my touch, his eyes warm behind his spectacles.
“The guide says a chronomancer was last seen on the Isle of Skye. We’ll find him and ask about the auld stones.
Portia is meant to be ours. Fate sent her to our time for a reason.
Maybe she just needs to hear it from someone else.
If the chronomancer tells her she belongs here, she’s more likely to accept it. ”
My chest tightened. “Are you certain about this?” I slid my fingers up and touched the rim of his spectacles, the metal warm under my fingertips. “I can’t bear to see you hurt again.”
He’d lost his sight to a witch. Eager to meet someone rumored to possess knowledge of the Curse, he’d traveled without me.
I’d found him crumpled in an alley, his bright hair matted with blood and his eye swollen shut.
The injury still plagued him, leaving him with headaches that struck without warning and left him pale and shaking.
Albie’s expression softened. He covered my hand with his and pressed my palm more firmly against his face. “I won’t be hurt. I’ll have you to protect me this time.”
My throat tightened. “Your curiosity could be the end of you one day, my love.”
He smiled. “Or it could save everything.”
“Albie—”
“This is why we didn’t fall into sorrow, Tavish.” His voice was gentle but insistent, and there was more than a hint of excitement in his gaze. “We were waiting for Portia. We just didn’t realize we had to wait for her to cross through time to find us.”
It was as if he’d read my mind. The truth of his words settled in my bones. Aye. We’d been spared the madness that claimed so many of our kind. Not because we were stronger or luckier, but because fate had other plans.
I picked him up.
Albie sucked in a startled but clearly delighted breath, and he wrapped his strong legs around my waist as I swung toward the bed.
“Are you certain this plan of yours will work?” I asked, carrying him across the chamber.
“We won’t let Portia out of our sight,” he said, looping his arms around my neck. “She’s outnumbered. If she tries to run, we’ll catch her.”
I grunted, skeptical despite his assurances. “Hopefully, that chronomancer moved. Or died.”
He laughed. “Don’t say that. We want Portia to understand she’s in the right time.”
Reaching the bed, I dumped him on it. He sprawled on his back, pink dusting his cheekbones. His kilt had ridden up again, and he reached for the hem.
“Don’t,” I said, unbuckling my belt.
He licked his lips as he eased his hand away.
“Good lad.”
His breath quickened, and that charming blush deepened. A lock of blond hair spilled over his forehead, and that was charming, too.
“If your plan fails,” I said, “we go with mine.”
He stared up at me, his jacket open and his carefully tied cravat askew. The jacket parted wider as he propped himself on his elbows, the bulge between his thighs swelling as he watched me rip my shirt over my head.
“And what’s your plan?” he asked, sounding winded.
I unwrapped my kilt and tossed it away, then bent and untied my boots. I kicked them aside and straightened, aware that Albie tracked every swing and sway of my cock. Nude, I gave my shaft a lazy stroke. “Seduction.”
He tried to look stern but failed miserably, his erection tenting his kilt. “Seduction isn’t a plan, Tavish. It’s more of a…” His gaze wandered down my body, lingering on my chest and abdomen before settling on my hand working my cock. “Hobby of yours,” he finished weakly.
I swiped moisture from my slit and worked it over my shaft. Albie whimpered, and I stepped close so my knee grazed his calf. “Why don’t you come up here and suck my hobby, hmm?”
His lips parted, a fluttery breath escaping him. “That’s not really a sound analogy—”
“Albie?”
He looked up from my dick. “Yes?”
“Take off your clothes.”
“All right.”
He scrambled to obey, his eagerness just as alluring as his shyness. And we both knew the latter fueled his lust. My Albie liked being a little embarrassed. He liked being pushed until he was uncomfortable and squirming. Then he got…insistent.
I liked that Albie the best.