5. Butt-lers Make Everything Better
5
BUTT-LERS MAKE EVERYTHING BETTER
E mre woke up feeling much cozier than he’d been in a month.
Maybe longer.
He wriggled to try and see what had changed, only to realize that there was a bare, muscular arm wrapped around him.
And.
.
.
something in his body, further down.
He panicked a little.
Then he sniffed, and realized he knew that scent—Zenith.
Last night’s events came back to him: After Zenith’s knot had gone down, he’d brought Emre back to the other apartment, grabbing all of Emre and Abbie’s meager belongings.
Then they’d come back and gone straight to bed, where Zenith had filled Emre with a second load.
Emre had fallen asleep knotted on Zenith.
.
.
until now.
“Mmm. Mine,” Zenith mumbled, wrapping his arm more tightly around Emre.
Emre’s heart fluttered.
What have I gotten myself into?
Before he could decide, someone knocked on the front door.
Then the door opened, and Emre panicked.
He clutched Zenith’s arm, his heart pounding.
“Someone’s coming in!”
Zenith’s breathing sharpened.
“It’s me,” the intruder said, sounding like a man.
“That’s so terrible of Scribbly Master. Hasn’t he told you about me?”
“Scribbly Master?” Emre repeated.
Zenith groaned.
“Ugh. Don’t call me that.”
“He scribbles on everything,” said the intruder.
“Napkins, cereal boxes, probably even your skin.”
Emre barely had time to register that Abbie’s crib was just outside the bedroom—she was the most vulnerable right now—when a gray-haired man popped into view, complete with bright eyes and a mischievous smile.
He wore a vintage pilot outfit like he’d just stepped out of a movie.
“Why, hello!” said the man.
“We haven’t been introduced. I’m Huxton. Scribbly Master’s butt-ler—butt with two T’s.”
“If you don’t shut up, I’m never going to employ you full-time,” Zenith grumbled.
Huxton flapped his hand dismissively.
“Pfft! It’s your dream to employ me full-time, and that’s because I come bearing gifts.”
“Gifts?” Emre asked.
Huxton jingled a set of keys.
Then he waved a thin plastic folder.
“I brought a few of Scribbly Master’s baby pictures, if you want to see them.”
Emre straightened, suddenly very interested.
“Baby pictures?”
Zenith slid out of Emre and sat upright, scowling.
“Don’t you dare?—”
“Embarrassing childhood stories,” Huxton said slyly to Emre.
“I know some of Scribbly Master’s worst ones. Would you like to hear them? They’ll make you cringe.”
“I’m trying to court him,” Zenith growled.
Huxton shook his head with a sigh.
“Embarrassing childhood stories and pickup lines go hand-in-hand. They’re guaranteed to win your beloved’s heart.”
“No,” Zenith said.
Huxton glanced at Emre, still with that cunning smile.
“Do you want to hear them?”
Emre gulped.
“Um. Yes. Sorry!” he said to Zenith.
“It’s just, you said we could get to know each other better.”
“I told you!” Huxton crowed in triumph.
“Not by slaughtering my dignity!” Zenith bared his teeth at his butler.
Only for Huxton to dance away.
Emre could still hear his voice from the living room though.
“Once upon a time, when Scribbly Master was a wee lil one, he accidentally swallowed his Papa’s precious gold ring.”
Zenith began climbing out of bed.
“What the—How did you get that story?”
“Now, that ring was a very precious thing. It bore the flight’s crest, and it was a gift from a king that Zenith’s Papa used to serve. Unfortunately, it was a ring that captured lil Zenith’s fancy. He wriggled the ring up and down his Papa’s finger; while his Papa was distracted, lil Zenith popped the ring into his mouth and swallowed it.”
“Oh, gods,” Emre said, feeling sorry for both kid-Zenith, and the adult Zenith in the room.
“The entire household was in chaos. They tried turning him upside down, but the ring would not fall out.” Huxton popped his face back into the doorway and wriggled his eyebrows.
“Guess how they got the ring back.”
“Please don’t,” Zenith said into his hands.
His ears were bright red.
Emre was torn between finding out, and sparing Zenith the humiliation.
Huxton decided it for him.
“It came out the other end,” the butler said with much glee.
“As a lump of metal. It had completely melted in his digestive tract.”
“Shut up,” Zenith growled.
“He won’t want to be my mate after that story.”
Emre’s heart squeezed.
He leaned over and wrapped his arms around Zenith, holding him close.
“I’m still here.”
“Really?” Zenith peeked through a crack in his fingers.
It was such an adorable look on him that Emre melted.
“Really,” Emre said.
Zenith pulled his hands away from his face, looking so awed and relieved that Emre almost kissed him.
“And that is how these stories help.” Huxton dusted off his hands.
“Always trust the sage advice of your butt-ler.”
“I still wouldn’t,” Zenith muttered.
Huxton threw something shiny across the room; Zenith caught it in his fist.
“Thanks.”
“My work here is done.” Huxton danced away.
“Scribble Master’s consort, I’ll leave the baby pictures on the counter. Thank me when you move into the mansion.”
“The... mansion?” Emre glanced at Zenith, wide-eyed.
“Don’t you live here?”
Zenith shrugged and looked abashed.
“This is, ah, where I go to work on my books when I need to focus. There’s nothing here—no internet or TV, barely any clothes, food, or distractions. In fact... Here. This is for you.”
He took Emre’s hand, pressing the shiny thing into his palm.
It was a set of keys.
One bronze, the rest a shiny silvery metal.
They were all on a key ring connected to a short, beautifully stitched leather strap, and on the other end of the leather was a flat, stainless steel full moon, with all its craters etched in stunning detail.
“These are the keys to this apartment, and my lair,” Zenith said quietly.
“You’re welcome in both places whenever you want.”
“You trust me?” Emre asked incredulously.
“I do.” Zenith gave him a warm, intimate smile.
“We can just stay here for now, if the mansion is too much for you.”
Emre nodded.
He was flabbergasted, and expecting the other shoe to drop.
“Here’s fine.”
Zenith rumbled and hauled Emre onto his lap, wrapping his arms around Emre’s belly.
The pup kicked hard in Emre’s belly then, right against Zenith’s palm.
Zenith sucked in a sharp breath.
“I felt that.”
“Yeah?” Emre’s chest filled with pride.
“This will be a strong pup.”
“I can see that,” Zenith said hoarsely.
He peered over Emre’s shoulder at his belly, his gaze so soft that Emre’s heart skipped.
“Yes,” Emre said breathlessly.
“Hmm? Yes to what?”
“This might sound crazy, but... I think I want you to be their Papa,” Emre admitted.
“Fuck.” Zenith buried his face against Emre’s neck, pulling him closer.
“That’s—That’s a huge gift.”
“You’re giving me a gift, too,” Emre said, humbled.
Zenith breathed him in for a long while.
He pressed a kiss to Emre’s neck, and laughed quietly.
“I know it’s a little fast. But it feels right.”
It felt right in a way that Emre’s bonding never had with Ronald.
Emre almost wanted Ronald to see this; the way Zenith held him so gently, the way Zenith smiled at him like he was worth everything.
Except Ronald probably wouldn’t understand it at all.
He touched the recently healed wound on his neck, where he’d carefully sliced off Ronald’s bonding mark minutes after he’d run away, so Ronald wouldn’t be able to track him as easily.
“I told you the wrong thing,” Emre admitted.
“This scar is from me. I had to cut Ronald’s bite off my skin. Wolves get a telepathic connection with other wolves when they bond; he was going to know where I went if I didn’t sever it.”
Zenith growled and caught Emre’s hand.
Then he pressed a kiss to that pink scar, and nosed up to his ear.
“When you’re ready, I’ll give you my mark.”
Emre shivered.
“Okay. But I... I don’t even know what you are.”
“Oh,” Zenith said, his eyes growing wide.
“I could show?—”
A low growling came from beyond the window, sending Emre’s hair standing on end.
Zenith snapped his gaze in the same direction.
“What was that?”
Emre’s heart lodged in his throat.
“It sounds familiar. Like a wolf.”
Like Ronald.
He’d found them.