Chapter Four Neo
Chapter Four
Neo
“Sorry about this,” I tell all of them, all my beloved mates.
But especially my cherished one, my wonderful fated mate, whose gorgeous face suddenly looks so worried. Zara’s starting to be really pregnant and she definitely shouldn’t be worrying like that.
So I need to reassure her.
“The gatekeeper’s cottage has been a thing, like a family legend, forever.
” I push my glasses up my nose and struggle to explain this weird piece of Mercury family lore in a way that makes sense.
“But the cottage hasn’t shown up in a long time.
Not in my whole lifetime. This is the first time I’ve even seen it. ”
Zephyr looms protectively behind Zara (I mean, as much as a slightly built Dark Fae King who barely reaches my chin can loom). He’s lowered his swords and tamped down the witchfire. But the blades are still not sheathed in the X-shaped scabbard strapped to his back.
That means he’s still on high alert.
“What happens to unfortunate mortals who find themselves trapped in this magical dwelling?” Zephyr demands, with that contained ferocity that always makes me all shivery. “Will this cottage of yours hurt us? Any of us?”
What he especially means is, Will the cottage hurt Zara? Or Ash? Or Ronin?
Because they’re the ones he’s bonded with, you know, the deepest. But it’s really nice that he worries about all of us, including me.
In unison, Max, Lucius, and V—all Zara’s alphas—spread out protectively to guard this sofa that holds our pregnant queen (and me).
Max growls like the dragon he is, low and deep in his chest.
Lucius’ eyes glow red and his wolfish fangs descend.
V just looks dangerous, like a cobra poised to strike.
“Gosh, no, I’ve never heard of the cottage hurting anyone,” I rush to reassure my alarmed mates. “It’s more like a genie’s lamp.”
“Be more specific, Mr. Mercury. What precisely do you mean?” Lucius rumbles, his wolf rising in his throat. His red eyes sweep the cozy great room like he’s waiting for an actual genie to swirl out of the gramophone horn or step out from behind the Christmas tree.
Right on cue, the song changes.
The tune swells to a sprightly holiday waltz played by an old-fashioned orchestra. Now, on that old Victrola, it’s the most wonderful time of the year.
But Lucius is towering over me demanding answers, and I never keep my headmaster waiting.
“It’s a house that, sorta, grants wishes?” I blink up at his stern face. “Only they might be wishes you never asked for. Or things you didn’t know you need.”
Zara has been hugging her tummy with both arms, without even realizing she’s doing it. Now, subtly, her posture softens. She gives her tummy a soothing rub, like she’s settling down the babies in there.
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” she says cautiously. “I can actually think of a few wishes I wouldn’t mind having granted.”
Her pointed gaze flickers from V to Zephyr. Those two guys have been fighting again. But we all know what they really need.
“A house that grants hidden wishes none of us has ever dared articulate?” V’s lip curls in a smirk that reveals his pointy incisors. “Darling, in this harem, that could be tragic or tantalizing.”
“Blimey, love, tell me about it,” Ronin mutters. He’s one of my mates who’s been the most bothered by the fighting.
Because Ronin’s been in love with both those guys for years. Since way before I came along, anyway.
Lucius paces around our sofa with his fangs still distended and his wolf lurking in his voice. “What happens once our various wishes—whether articulated or not—have been granted?”
“Once our wishes are granted, it breaks the spell,” I rush to assure him. “Then the cottage goes poof. I mean, it leaves us where we found it.”
“Allegedly,” Vasili murmurs. He rests his chin on his hand, taps his lips with one black-painted nail, and looks sly and lethal. “The truth is, no one really knows, do they?”
“The house will let us go once our most important wishes are granted,” I repeat stubbornly, because I feel confident in my knowledge of the family legend, and Zara still feels worried in our bond. “It’s just the house decides when that is.”
Ash is kneeling on the bearskin rug at my feet.
Now he plants a steadying palm on my thigh and says to V, “Let’s not borrow trouble before we gotta, beautiful.
Right now, tonight, what we need most is warmth and shelter from the storm and some hot grub to fill our bellies.
Looks like this hacienda’s ready to provide. ”
“Dinner?” Max’s hopeful eyes shift to the kitchen and turn crafty. “Yes. Ash is very wise. Clearly, we should eat. To strengthen ourselves for whatever lies ahead.”
Our dragon is already making a beeline for the kitchen. Lucius, still looking thoughtful but less actively on the prowl, stalks purposefully after Max.
I’m trying to struggle to my feet (because if they’re plating food for nine people, they’ll need help in there) when Ash’s big gentle hands ease me back on the sofa. He’s determined to apply a cold compress from his med kit to the bump on my forehead.
“You just sit still for me, okay?” he rumbles.
I have to admit, the cool press feels really good on my achy head. So I subside back into the overstuffed leather cushions with a sigh. “Okay, Ash. Thanks. Pretty sure I’ll be fine though.”
“How about you let me be the judge of that?” Ash whispers in my ear, nuzzling his bristly jaw against my cheek. “I’m the doc, ain’t I?”
“Mmm-hmm,” I mumble drowsily. “Asher Apollo Aurelius, M.D. You just need a stethoscope and a lab coat. Hottest doc in the whole hospital.”
“Aw, shucks. You’re making the old guy blush.” He chuckles.
“You’re not old,” I tell him earnestly, just like always. “You’re exactly the right age, Ash. For all of us.”
Patiently he applies the compress where it hurts. The herbal scent of Seelie comfrey, one of Ash’s staple herbs for healing, seeps through my senses.
I’m totally used to having Ash poultice my bruises. Ronin has been teaching me to fight the exact same way he does, hand to hand, so I can defend myself and our family if I ever need to. And it’s Ash who always patches me up.
So it’s relaxing and soothing and familiar for all of us, I mean him taking care of me like this.
Ash mutters under his breath to Ronin, sending our guy off to the kitchen to start the teakettle boiling.
Ash wants him to brew some Seelie willow tea, which is another part of our ritual.
From the kitchen, the energetic clatter of pots and the vigorous scrape of ladles against serving dishes—interspersed with Lucius’ instructive murmur—creates a homey-sounding racket.
Despite our whole predicament with this gatekeeper’s cottage, I’m starting to feel safe and cared-for and drowsy. My eyelids are getting heavy, but I know Ash doesn’t want me to sleep yet.
That’s when Mordred tromps over, heavy boots thudding on the floorboards.
“Bookworm’s right on. About this pad, I mean,” he announces. “Door won’t open. Or the windows. I tried all of ‘em, just for kicks. Guess I could still try the chimney, ho ho ho.”
“That would certainly be fitting, since you’re still wearing that ridiculous Santa suit.” That’s Vasili just being Vasili, no worse than usual. “I suppose you’re unable to apparate?”
“Nope. Tried that first thing. Can’t even summon my trident through these wards.
And before you ask—there ain’t a phone neither.
” Totally unfazed by V’s whole vibe, Mordred peels out of his Santa coat.
Not because V’s making fun of him, but because it’s toasty warm by the fire.
Underneath, our demon is wearing a black tee shirt that clings to his brawny chest and thick biceps.
Oh, man.
The snug cut shows off the sleeve of indigo scales tattooed down his dominant arm. With his bronze skin and mischievous dimples and the wild bedhead tangle of midnight-blue curls spilling down his back, that sex demon looks lickable.
Especially when he drops to sit cross-legged on the bearskin rug and starts tugging off his boots. Mordred’s tentacles are banished for now, but his feet are still webbed and he prefers to go barefoot whenever he can.
Zara eyes his visual impact with appreciation, then wiggles out of her own parka. “Cheese on toast. The juju on this joint must be wicked potent to hold a demon. Guess we’re not going anywhere right away, at least. Not till we’ve gotten some Christmas wishes.”
Judging by the warmth rising in her cheeks and simmering through our bond, not to mention the tiny purple sparks crackling in her teal ponytail like static, my cherished one has a specific Mordred-related Christmas wish in mind.
These days, she’s pretty hormonal. Which, when you’re Zara Gemini and having a super-active royal sex life is good for the whole witching world, means she’s horny.
Pretty much continuously.
We’ve all been enjoying this added perk of the pregnancy, for sure.
Vasili’s glacier-blue eyes glitter at our sexed-up queen and our resident incubus, who’s actually sexing up this whole cottage without even trying. When V’s snaky gaze shifts to me, I give him a loopy grin. He’s one of my alphas too, so I give our bond a friendly tug.
Know what you’re thinking, V. Zara’s gonna be sitting on Santa’s lap tonight, isn’t she?
His glossy lips curl in a smirk. Darling, Santa isn’t the only one who gives presents at Christmas. Your resident Krampus has a starring role. And I know just who’s been naughty enough to need a hard fuck, First Boy.
Wow.
Now I’m the one who’s blushing.
V smirks at my blush, then slithers out of his David Bowie punk rock overcoat and bends his tall body to peer through the frosty window into the night. “Surely Senator Mercury will send out a search party to find his missing son—not to mention his missing queen—when we don’t turn up at the chalet.”
I sit up carefully, clutching my poultice so I don’t disturb Ash’s good work, which is gradually easing the ache in my head. “Oh, he definitely will. Dad’ll find the SUV for sure. It’s just that he won’t find us. Because the house will have moved by then.”
Everyone’s still absorbing the concept of the house moving on its own when Zephyr scrambles lithely down the stairs from the loft.
I’m relieved to see he’s finally sheathed his swords.
“I’ve kindled a fire in the bedroom,” the Dark Fae King announces.
Behind the slash of his eyepatch, his single jade-green eye smolders at Zara and Ash and me.
“To prepare for later. Until Ash is certain about his patient’s health, our sweet boy Neo should not sleep.
So we must be certain to keep him… well occupied. ”
V pivots slowly from the window to eye his nemesis. We all hold our breath and wait for V to say something awful.
But Vasili limits himself to giving Zephyr the lifted Romanov eyebrow and a graceful shrug. “Well, Your Radiance, at least we agree about that much.”
Moving slowly and never breaking Vasili’s basilisk stare the whole time, Zephyr unstraps the X-shaped harness from his back and props his swords against the wall. The way he disarms, it’s slow as a striptease, and every bit as provocative.
Especially when Zephyr’s hand drifts to the zipper of his form-fitting Olympic ski suit and drags it slowly down his chest. He’s wearing clothes underneath (of course).
But the way that compression shirt clings to his knotted muscles—honed and hard from reining a willful three-ton dragon—starts my heart hammering.
Actually, watching the way Zephyr is moving right now, while he and Vasili eye-fuck each other with all the smoldery hate-fuck feels, makes my whole body tingle like Zara’s summoning lightning.
“Let us proclaim a truce, Goblin King,” the Dark Fae King says softly. “For one night. ‘Tis Christmas Eve, after all. And, it seems, a night for the granting of wishes.”
“If the whole idea is to keep me awake all night by fucking me,” I breathlessly tell the room in general, “let me just say right now that I’m totally on board. Wish granted.”
“Oh, hell to the yeah. Sign me up for that wish too.” Zara licks her lush lips and grins at my enthusiasm. “As long as Ash says you’re well enough to be granting those kinds of wishes, baby.”
Ash is getting ready to answer when Max powers through the kitchen door, triumphantly carrying a serving platter loaded with a huge baked ham and mountains of orange yams swimming in butter.
Lucius trots behind him, juggling a creamy green bean casserole and a basket of fresh-baked golden rolls.
Ronin brings up the rear with a cheerful Christmas teapot, steeping my Seelie willow tea.
“For this granting of wishes, kotyonok, you can count me in as well,” Max growls, using my special Russian nickname, which makes me so happy. “But first, we eat.”