Chapter Eleven
Elouan and Jules texted and video called on their cellphones, but a busy week didn’t allow them time to meet.
Elouan caught sight of Jules once during lunch, but only in passing.
Jules spent the weekend at home, leaving Elouan alone.
He’d said something about Moira and Ray losing loved ones and needing his support.
And since he’d not been at his normal spot at noon, did that mean he’d ditched classes too?
Yes, staying home to comfort his aunt and uncle was something Jules would do.
Elouan understood. He’d never really been alone back home, with courtiers and residents roaming the hallways of the castle at all hours and servants popping in.
He usually spent time with Teron, often curling up in the furs together, though never for sex.
Now, Curtis’s constant music, TV, or video games filled the quiet in the apartment.
When he was at home.
Dragons weren’t solitary creatures. Loneliness didn’t sit well. But Elouan longed for his own lair. Peace, quiet. Privacy. Maybe Curtis felt the same and was too good-hearted to say so.
Elouan paced the confines of the apartment, dropped onto the couch, then rose to pace again.
How long had it been? Six months? Six months without flying.
He needed to leave the city for a quiet place where he could be a dragon, if only for a little while, even if such a trip meant going alone.
The cabin Leon mentioned might be an option.
Oh, to be home again and launch himself from a mountain peak anytime he wanted, either with his brothers or alone.
Had Anrai mastered flying during storms yet?
Had Teron gotten him to safety? What about Daire?
No doubt he’d shifted and attempted to defend the court.
Was he hurt? Captured? Killed? No, he couldn’t be killed. Elouan would know.
Goddess, he missed Anrai, Daire, and Teron. He missed his father. Hell, he hadn’t even gotten to stick around for his father’s funeral rites. He wanted, no, he needed to go home.
But what about Jules?
An image of Jules’s bright smile came to mind, of how he shyly turned his eyes away and how easily he blushed.
Would it be possible to go home and take Jules with him?
Not a good idea. The court wouldn’t allow a king a human mate.
But what if Elouan yielded his claim to the throne?
No, he’d only give his cousin a legitimate claim, and there were no others.
Maybe if he went to the sacred mountain and spoke with the Goddess.
No, she’d already spoken. She’d named Father King of High Reaches, and Elouan heir after him.
No going against the Goddess.
But…Jules.
Elouan and Jules’s contact became limited to the phone after they shared a bed, always starting with Are you busy?
from either Elouan or Jules. Elouan would take whatever communication he could get, but desired so much more.
Why, though, if their relationship seemed doomed to failure from the start?
If only Sakaris would come. But what if Sakaris didn’t?
He’d sealed the passageway between the realms. Did that mean no dragon on this side would ever go home?
There had to be a way. So much couldn’t depend on a single dragon, mage or no.
Mages depicted on television were nothing like Elouan’s reality, where they controlled portals to other worlds, acted as advisors to kings, knew things others didn’t, and shared the Goddess’s will.
They didn’t merely wave a hand and cause something to happen or produce objects out of thin air—much.
They were just as easy to kill as any other dragon, even if Sakaris had managed more years than most.
Elouan had almost given up on seeing Jules when a text appeared on Thursday night: I don’t have classes tomorrow. Want to meet after work?
Good thing Jules wasn’t there. Elouan’s shout might’ve scared him. Sure! What do you have in mind?
After a few long, painful, uncertain moments, Jules answered, I don’t know. You picked last time, and things went well. I trust you to try again.
Would taking Jules dancing be too much? Six p.m.? That would give Elouan time to get home, shower, change, and meet somewhere near Jules’s home, since he’d seen no car in the driveway of the blue house. Could he possibly go to the front door and finally meet Jules’s family?
A smiley emoji appeared on the screen, along with I’ll be there! Just tell me where.
Okay, maybe Jules wasn’t ready for Elouan to come knocking. Was he out to his family, or hiding his desire for men?
Still, meeting Jules, having any time at all with him….
Having something to look forward to dispelled all negative thoughts from Elouan’s mind.
Elouan didn’t mention to Jules—yet—that he’d taken a few hours off from work that Friday to handle personal business, even making an appointment with a realtor.
He put in a few hours, then clocked out and took his truck to a house a few streets over from Jules’s that he’d never have noticed if not for the times he’d been in the neighborhood recently.
Elouan turned the truck down the quiet, tree-lined street.
While these houses weren’t as stately as those closer to Jules’s house, and some needed landscaping, they still showed promise.
He eased into the driveway of a small, one-story bungalow with a “For Sale or Rent” sign out front.
Not as well-kept as some of the neighboring houses, though cozy, if one overlooked the peeling paint and scraggly front lawn.
The brick home looked as if it had stood empty for some time.
Elouan evaluated the quaint structure with a critical eye, letting out a low whistle.
It definitely needed work, but the place had good bones.
Someone must have retouched the photo in the online ad, because the house didn't look nearly as nice firsthand.
No denying the potential, though. Given the desirable neighborhood, Elouan could double the value in less than a year, especially if he did most of the work himself.
The latest nearby houses to sell gave him an idea of what he could ask for.
He got out of the truck. More details came into view the closer he got. Cracks in the sidewalk needed repair, and some stones from the front steps could do with fresh mortar. Still, minor upkeep. The trim needed painting, and a shutter hanging precariously by one hinge needed a few screws.
The porch of poured concrete practically begged for a good pressure-washing, and if Elouan lived here, he’d want to update the windows with more energy-efficient models. Small stained-glass panes surrounded the front door, two broken. He’d have to find a specialized glazier to restore the image.
He peered through the front window. Hardwood floors, though scuffed and in need of refinishing. Still, add something to the plus column. A chimney suggested a fireplace, though he’d have to check the condition.
Elouan traipsed around to the back of the house, where a chain-link fence surrounded the backyard.
The metal roof showed no signs of damage, and a tall oak tree offered shade, but also meant raking, as demonstrated by years of leaves on the ground in various stages of decay.
A few gold leaves clung to the branches, but most had given up the fight to hold on.
Which meant checking for any damage the tree roots might’ve caused.
Elouan stood on tiptoe to peer into a reasonably sized kitchen, where two people could work together without constantly bumping into each other like at Curtis’s apartment.
Curtis’s apartment. Already, Elouan no longer thought of the place as home. Could this fixer-upper be his home one day? He rounded the corner and peered into what must have been a bedroom. More hardwood, a fireplace, and a reasonably sized room—certainly larger than Curtis’s guestroom.
Elouan really needed a place of his own to take Jules. This house had potential as a personal residence and an investment. While he’d love enough acreage to shift and fly, the house boasted a nice backyard for this area.
The realtor arrived a few moments later.
He didn’t hesitate when taking in Elouan’s old truck or casual dress.
From his time on construction sites, Elouan learned buyers didn’t always come in a suit and tie, and just because they didn’t flaunt their money didn’t mean they weren’t wealthy enough to buy property.
Besides the magic word “pre-approved” tended to get notice. He wouldn’t say, “I’ll just write you a check” until he decided to buy.
The realtor got out of his own truck, far newer than Elouan’s, and marched confidently to the steps.
“Mr. Aaron?” For his part, the realtor wore khaki pants, a pale blue polo shirt, and a brown leather jacket.
He wore his hair in tiny braids that fell past his shoulders.
“Derrick Johnson.” He extended his hand.
“We spoke on the phone.” His voice held a rich burr that Elouan had heard once from a coworker who’d grown up in South Carolina’s low country.
Elouan shook hands with the realtor. “Nice to meet you.”
Derrick nodded. He scanned the area, expression giving nothing away. Of course he couldn’t, not with a commission on the line. “Likewise. Are you ready to look inside?”
They stood side-by-side while Derrick accessed the lockbox on the front door, then used the key within to open the door. He stepped back, allowing Elouan to enter.
The inside appeared reasonably well-maintained despite the neglected exterior, and without the expected layer of dust. Someone must make regular cleaning visits.
A chilly interior didn’t bode well for the insulation.
The living room was small, but still larger than the one in Curtis’s apartment.
A fireplace occupied space on an exterior wall.
Elouan eyed the thermostat in the hallway, which, thankfully, appeared less than ten years old. He adjusted the heat to knock the chill off the room and to ensure the heating worked.
“There are two fireplaces,” Derrick said, “both in working order. A local family built the house in the 1930s, but new owners remodeled the kitchen and bathrooms in the ‘90s. They also updated the wiring at that time.”
“What about the roof?”
“Replaced ten years ago.”
The owners might’ve had reasons to replace the roof. A good look in the attic for potential damage would be in order.
An exposed lightbulb hung from a wire in the center of the ceiling. Elouan turned on the light switch. The bulb illuminated. He’d check and probably have the house rewired again.
“The floors are the original hardwood,” Derrick continued.
Elouan saw the floors not as they were, but how they would look refinished. He’d definitely upgrade to energy-efficient windows. What would Jules think of the house?
The realtor led Elouan from the living room into a sunlit kitchen, keeping up a steady dialog about features, school districts, taxes, and other things clearly stated in the online listing.
What hadn’t been mentioned was that no one had updated the appliances since the remodel, but Elouan had dealt with a wholesaler on past jobs who might give him a package deal at a bargain.
And, as he’d thought, the kitchen offered ample room for two to cook comfortably, with an alcove for a small breakfast table.
The next room off the kitchen confused him, with an open doorway from the kitchen and another open doorway into a hallway. Curtain rods clung to the plaster above each.
“This was originally a dining room,” Derrick explained, “but the last owner hung curtains to use it as a fourth bedroom.”
Elouan nodded, then strode across the hall to what must be the main bedroom.
The attached bathroom appeared to be an afterthought, as carving out the space left the bedroom with an uncentered window.
The room still offered more space than Elouan’s current room.
He stepped into the bathroom, where an old claw-foot tub sat against the exterior wall.
Remodeled the kitchen and bathrooms in the ‘90s was an overstatement. Nothing here Elouan couldn’t make better, not simply with his own skills, but with help from his boss and coworkers.
He’d borrowed a ladder from work that he used to check out the attic. No water leakage. No signs of pests. Crawling under the house left him in more need of a shower than ever. Not a single rotten board. Nice.
Elouan dusted himself off after sliding out of the crawlspace to find the realtor waiting.
“As I’m acting as your agent,” Derrick said, offering Elouan a hand up, then shaking cobwebs off his hand, “I’m going to warn you that this house has been on the market for well over a year and is being sold as-is. Financing might be an issue.”
Elouan watched for Derrick’s reaction when he replied, “Financing won’t be an issue.” He didn’t even try to brush the cobwebs off. He’d do so once Derrick left.
“Oh?” Derrick perked up. “A cash sale will expedite matters.” He eyed Elouan up and down, likely not missing the worn work boots—or the layer of dirt.
Nor could he miss the tools in the back of the truck, and likely thought Elouan wanted to flip the house.
It would be an excellent investment if Elouan didn’t want a place of his own.
“It’ll still take about seven to ten days for closing after you make an offer.
You can offer less than the selling price given the condition and time on the market. ”
“I’ve studied the specs. The house is worth the asking price.” Plus, he wanted the house yesterday. “Since I’ll waive the inspection, I’m guessing closer to seven days.”
Derrick bit his lower lip. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?”
“All you gotta do is look in the bed of my truck and the toolbox to know I mean business. What I can’t do myself, I’ve got a guy for.” A lot of guys for. Which wouldn’t cost much. Several coworkers owed him favors. Others would help him out if he threw a barbecue with lots of beer.
“You could come to the office tomorrow, unless you’d like to follow me now.” Derrick eyed Elouan up and down.
“I’ll be there after I shower and change. How’s that?” Elouan would bring a list of questions with him, but right now it looked like he’d found himself a house.
Derrick grinned. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”