Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Ari
Felix’s family is like one of those oversized throw blankets that you get tangled in while watching movies.
They’re warm and cozy and generally wonderful but can easily take over any situation until you’re not sure if you’re being wrapped in a hug or smothered.
One thing’s for sure: It’s not easy to get away.
And I absolutely love it.
Them. I mean them. The people, not the blanket.
Dinner is a loud affair, with multiple conversations taking place simultaneously, often crisscrossing over the table.
There are enormous amounts of food to satisfy shifter appetites (all of it good, which Felix explains in a barely audible whisper is because his dad wasn’t allowed to help), and even when arguments break out—and they do—they’re good-natured and over quickly.
I’ve never experienced anything like it.
It’s been literally thousands of years since I ate a meal with my family, and it was nothing like this.
Cold formality was the order of the day, and conversation was either polite chitchat that conformed to particular political views, or lengthy lectures about all the things wrong with the world, the king, society at large, and me.
Sometimes my brother, but mostly me, since I frequently made the mistake of having an opinion.
They weren’t even opinions that differed from my parents’, since at the time I lacked the ability to think for myself.
After I left, there was never an opportunity to attend a family dinner.
Army life in the time of the anomalies was a cycle of constant deployments and missions as communities were torn apart and we saved as many as we could while struggling to find a solution—a way out.
Even if someone had invited me to eat with their family, I would have found a way to decline politely.
It took a long time for me to truly understand that not all families are as fucked-up as mine was.
“So, Ari,” Felix’s mother, who’s sitting on my left, begins, “What is it exactly that you do for the DEA? Fe said you’re on loan to the Warhammers, but he’s been stingy with the details.”
The sudden silence that falls has me glancing around for any sudden danger. Have the felids heard something that my elf ears couldn’t quite catch?
But nobody looks concerned, just… focused. On me.
I clear my throat. “I’m assigned to the king’s personal security team. My specialty is risk assessment and mitigation.”
“Oh.” Shayla flicks a look at her son, seemingly taken aback. “I thought you worked for marketing or something like that. Why would a security expert be assigned to the Warhammers?”
“Uh…” It’s my turn to look at Felix, who’s carefully studying his plate.
I don’t know how much he’s told his family, and this could get…
complicated. “The PR team at the DEA is overallocated at the moment, and since I was already familiar with the team, his majesty and Eoin—my boss—decided I’d be the best fit for a temporary assignment.
Public Relations will take over as soon as someone is free. ”
I’m congratulating myself on that very smooth answer when one of the brothers—the younger one, I think—asks, “Why were you familiar with the team?”
“The king did some promotional appearances with them earlier this year, and I was assigned to his security.” I move my leg under the table to jostle Felix’s. He needs to help me before I accidentally say the wrong thing.
“Do you work with the king of the elves a lot?” Riley, Felix’s nephew, asks. He’s holding his fork in one hand but appears to have forgotten about it. “Are you supposed to, like, take a bullet for him?”
“Riley,” his mother chides, but I’m grateful for the change of subject.
“I would, but if a bullet gets close enough to him that I need to ‘take it,’ I’ve failed at my job,” I inform him gravely, and his face lights up in a grin.
“Your job might be cooler than Uncle Felix’s.”
“Hey!” Felix shakes a finger at his nephew. “Remember who gives you game tickets.”
I hesitate, then throw caution to the wind. “No promises—I have to clear it with my boss—but if you come to one of Felix’s games that the king attends, I might be able to arrange for you to meet him.”
The fork clatters to the tabletop, Riley’s mouth dropping open. “Really?”
I shrug, trying to be casual. “I can ask. I’m surprised Felix hasn’t already—one of his best friends is the king’s consort.”
A foot stomps down hard on my toes, and a wheezy groan escapes me, but nobody hears it in the eruption of voices that follows my statement.
“All right, stop,” Felix yells finally. “You’re making Ari think we’re all animals.”
“Perhaps he’d be right,” Shayla says with a little sniff. “After all, I doubt animals tell their mothers what’s going on in their lives.”
Felix rolls his eyes. “I’ve talked about Jared before.”
“Yet somehow didn’t mention that he was dating royalty,” Greta points out.
“That’s the least interesting thing about him.”
Aw. I’m definitely telling the king Felix said that when I ask if Riley can sit with them at a game.
“I’m sure Felix’s friend Jared is a fascinating man, but right now, I’d rather speak with his friend Ari,” Claes interjects. “He has a lot of interesting things to say.”
I do? Panic twists my insides. He isn’t going to ask—
“For example, he was telling me before that elves prevent aging by constantly healing themselves, in a way that becomes an involuntary reflex.” He turns to me. “Your brains must be utterly unique.”
Not actually unique, since humans can do that too, but that’s not general knowledge in the community, so I don’t mention it. “We don’t think of it that way.”
“Wait, you don’t age?” Riley stares at me. “How old are you?”
This time the “Riley!” comes from several people. I smile and shake my head. “I don’t mind. It’s not precise, since the length of an Earth year is slightly different to what we had at home, but just under five thousand years.”
The older brother chokes on his soda.
“Five thousand?” Riley breathes. “You look my dad’s age!”
“I’ll take that as a compliment to my skills.”
He nods. “Abso-fucking-lutely, dude.”
“Language, Riley,” Shayla chides. “Just because your uncle’s friend is undoubtedly the coolest person you’ve ever met doesn’t mean you can forget your manners.”
Felix elbows me. “Hear that?” he murmurs. “We’re the coolest people at this table.”
“Ari is,” his brother—Kyle—corrects. “You’re still just our annoying little brother.”
Riley shakes his head. “I think you’re cool, Uncle Fe. Especially now that I know you have such cool friends.”
“Do you know any dragons?” Claes asks. “Felix was telling me they’re not actually shifters.”
I smother every hint of amusement welling up inside me.
“I do, and no, they’re not. Dragons were originally etheric beings—basically a series of electrical impulses with personalities.
They created a corporeal form—that of a dragon—so they could interact physically with the world, and then they saw elves evolving and decided our form looked fun and that they wanted to try it. ”
Claes sucks in a deep breath, his eyes alight with joy, and I cut him off before he can ask a barrage of questions I likely wouldn’t be able to answer.
“Why don’t I set up a meeting for you with a dragon? They’d be able to tell you more about their physiology than I can.” I don’t even know much about elf physiology—only what I need to in order to use my magic effectively.
“Is that possible? Would they agree to meet with me?”
“I think so. The DEA is enthusiastic about helping you Earth natives to understand us better, and you’re a respected scientist. Let me ask around, but I’m sure I can find someone who’d be happy to talk to you.” I just need to make sure Steffen doesn’t catch wind of it.
Claes is grinning broadly. “You know, of all the people my kids have brought to dinner over the centuries, you might be my favorite.”
The chorus of protests is balanced by the laughter echoing around the table.
“And this is Felix learning how to walk,” Shayla says, pointing to another photo in the album.
“He was so impatient with crawling. We had to be careful with what we left lying around, because he’d grab anything he could reach to pull himself up.
” She turns the page and indicates another photo, this one with toddler Felix sitting on the floor, peering out from under a tablecloth with the remnants of a vase of flowers scattered around him. “Like that.”
“I see your scowl hasn’t changed,” I tease, and Felix snorts.
“It just made me cuter. Baby photos don’t embarrass me—I was adorable.” His smug smile makes me want to lean over and kiss him, but I’m not opening that can of worms. His family has proved that they’re not shy about asking questions.
“He was a cute child,” Shayla concedes. “It made me very happy that cameras were so readily available by then. They weren’t when I had my first three—it was a real chore to get photographic portraits taken when Jory was a baby, and it wasn’t much easier with Greta.
I have a few portraits of Kyle, but when Felix was born we had a Polaroid camera right here in the house as well as a traditional film camera.
We took as many photos of him as we could, so it’s lucky he was photogenic. ”
“Is,” Felix corrects. “I still am.”
Shayla turns another page, and a tiny hockey player with Felix’s face stares out at me. He’s fully kitted out in gear that looks a size or two too big for him, but the determination is immediately recognizable. His small stature wasn’t going to hold him back.
“So you’ve always liked hockey, then.”
Laughter interrupts the conversations around us. “He was obsessed with it from the first time he saw the neighborhood kids playing on the pond,” Claes says fondly. “He was barely big enough to hold even the smallest stick we could find, but that didn’t stop him.”
“There were worse things he could have been obsessed with,” Shayla concedes with a shrug.
“Though back then, I wished more than once that his favorite hobby didn’t always involve early practices and weekend tournaments.
I wouldn’t have minded the occasional sleep-in or day off.
” She turns the page again, revealing more Felix hockey photos—him practicing, alone and with teammates, actual games, team pictures with gap-toothed children lined up in identical jerseys.
A few of Shayla and Claes at a rink with other parents, takeout coffee cups in their hands and tired eyes evident even in the faded photos.
Maybe they didn’t love having to take Felix to tournaments, but they did it. I can’t imagine my parents ever doing the same, especially…
I swallow hard. “Did you… You’re both professional scientists. Didn’t you want Felix to go into the sciences too?” It’s the least contentious way I can think to phrase it, but Felix still stiffens beside me.
Shayla turns her head to meet my eyes, and in her gaze, I see knowledge I’m not comfortable with her having.
“Do you mean, were we disappointed that our son chose his own path instead of following ours?”
I think about what my father would have said if I’d expressed interest in a career that didn’t suit him. I think about what he did say right before I left for the last time. “Yes.”
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’m so sorry, Ari. You didn’t deserve that.”
My breath freezes in my chest, but she just turns back to the album and says, “No, we always wanted our children to be independent, even if that meant making different decisions to what we would have,” as though she hasn’t just smashed through thousands of years’ worth of carefully built defenses.
Before I can decide what to do—whether to make an excuse and leave—Felix shifts into his cat form and drapes himself over my lap, head nudging my hand. I’m trapped under a hundred and sixty pounds of cat.
So I forget any thought of running and rub between his ears instead.