6. Milo #3
By the time they returned to the cottage, Milo had decided there was at least one thing he could accomplish successfully today.
“Ready?”
Grievance sat perfectly still at the apothecary counter, looking almost insulted by the question.
“My love, I have been impaled by objects considerably larger than that needle.”
“Yes, well, so have I, but you don’t hear me bragging about it.”
He took a shaky breath and tried to ignore the sultry look his mate was giving him.
“And I’m not used to being the one doing the impaling, so kindly let me be nervous.”
Grievance’s mouth twitched. Milo glared at him.
“Stop smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I am sitting very still.”
“Thank you.”
“A willing and obedient test subject.”
“You are not a test— Shut up. Do you want me to do this or not? Close your eyes; I can’t do it with you watching me.”
Grievance relented and closed his eyes, but not before rolling them so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck there. Milo steadied his hand and pushed the heated needle through the marked spot on Grievance’s earlobe.
Grievance didn’t even flinch.
“There.” Milo exhaled. “Done.”
He carefully fastened the earring into place.
The emerald hung from Grievance’s lobe, flashing a rich green hue, like bottled forestlight, whenever he moved his head.
Milo smiled. It looked even better than he’d imagined. More importantly, Grievance couldn’t stop smiling. He kept touching it, turning his head this way and that to admire himself in the standing mirror Milo had propped on the counter.
“That is my mark on you.” Milo touched the emerald gently. “As your mate.”
Grievance reached for him, and Milo went willingly, settling between his spread knees as those enormous hands found his waist.
“I like your mark.”
“Yeah?”
“Very much.”
Grievance tilted his head, making the emerald sway.
Milo laughed. “You’re showing it off now.”
“Absolutely, I am. I would not want my mate’s hard work to go unappreciated.”
“How thoughtful of you.”
“I am known for my selflessness.”
Milo snorted, but Grievance was already pulling him closer.
Their mouths met. Softly at first. One kiss. Then another. Grievance’s nose brushed Milo’s as they parted, only for Milo to chase his mouth and kiss him again. The emerald bumped lightly against Milo’s fingers when he cupped Grievance’s face.
My mark.
Milo smiled against his lips. Grievance did, too.
For a little while, Milo forgot all about empty traps and stolen bait and mysterious patches of ice.
Eventually, though, responsibility came crawling back. Milo groaned and rested his forehead against Grievance’s.
“You know, if we check those traps tomorrow morning and still have nothing, Hobbs is going to make us attend the emergency festival meeting.”
Grievance let out a heavy groan, head falling back in dismay.
“I refuse. I won’t go.”
“You have to. All business owners are required.”
“I can’t listen to another hour-long monologue about preventative firework safety.”
“She’ll hunt us down and come to the apothecary.”
“I’ll turn into a Thunderhawk and fly away.”
“And leave me?”
Grievance shrugged. “Survival of the fittest, my love.”
Milo playfully swatted at his chest.
“Come on. Help me close up.”
They locked the front door and extinguished the lanterns one by one. Milo counted the register while Grievance carried the displays from the pavement inside, and within half an hour, the Hollow Antler apothecary was dark and quiet for the night.
Milo stretched, already thinking longingly of their bed.
“Oh fuck. I still need to feed Mari.”
“I’ll do it; you get into bed,” Grievance said.
“You’re my hero.”
“I know.”
Milo rolled his eyes and started gathering the mugs they’d abandoned earlier. He had just turned toward the sink when he heard the back door open.
Then—
“Uh.”
Milo stopped.
Grievance rarely said uh.
“My love? Everything okay?”
A pause, then Grievance’s stilted voice. “You are going to want to see this.”
Milo hurried toward the back door.
“What? Is Marigold out ag—” He stopped beside Grievance. “Oh my Lantern.”
Their barn was frozen.
Crystal ice clung to every inch of it, coating the roof, walls, windows, and doors in a shimmering shell. Long icicles hung from the eaves. Thick drifts of snow leaned against the walls, and a perfect circle of white surrounded the outer edges of the barn.
Their cozy barn looked as though someone had plucked it from a winter holiday postcard and dropped it right in the middle of their spooky autumn world.
Milo’s stomach dropped. He ran.
“Mari!”
He was already halfway across the yard. His boots crunched through snow that absolutely had not been there that morning.
“Mari!” Milo grabbed the barn door. It didn’t move. “Fuck.”
Ice sealed the edges. Grievance reached him a second later.
“Move.”
Milo jumped aside. Grievance grabbed the handle and pulled.
CRACK.
Ice shattered around the frame. The door flew open.
“Mari!”
Milo rushed inside. Then, he stopped so abruptly that Grievance nearly ran into him.
The inside of the barn glittered. Frost covered the walls. Hay sparkled beneath a delicate crust of ice. Every breath fogged heavily in front of Milo’s face.
And in the middle of it all lay Marigold. Completely unharmed. Cozy as could be, looking up at Milo like he was the lunatic for bursting into her room.
“Baaa.”
“Mari?”
His goat blinked at him, then returned her head to where she’d been sleeping.
Milo’s knees nearly gave out. “Oh, she’s fine. Thank the Lantern.”
Only then did his brain catch up enough to register what she was lying beside. Something small was curled tightly against Marigold’s belly. Something white. Something fluffy. Something with a long, scaled tail.
Milo stopped breathing. Grievance leaned around him. For several seconds, neither said a word.
Then Grievance said, very quietly, “Our goat has an uncanny ability to befriend rare MythBeasts. Are we sure she is just a goat?”
“Pretty sure,” Milo whispered back.
Milo approached slowly. Marigold made absolutely no attempt to move. Apparently, after befriending one wounded wild creature who had wandered onto their property, she had decided this was her purpose in life now.
“Mari,” Milo whispered. “Sweetheart. Come here.”
“Baaa.”
“Yes, I know. Very inconvenient.”
He crouched and carefully slipped his arms around her.
The little white creature stirred. Milo froze.
“No fucking way.”
Grievance crouched beside him. “What is it?”
“Help me with Marigold.”
Together, they carefully extracted the goat from the pile.
Marigold protested the entire time.
“BAAA!”
“You can cuddle your new friend later.”
Once Marigold was safely behind Milo, the creature finally revealed itself. And Milo’s mouth fell open.
Its front half was very feline. Thick white fur covered its chest and forelegs, striped through with faint streaks of icy blue.
It had paws, complete with soft toe pads.
Halfway down its body, fur gave way to shimmering scales, the pale hue of frozen lake water.
Its hind legs were reptilian, ending in four clawed toes.
And perched somewhat ridiculously on its back were two fluffy, feathered wings that were far too small for the rest of it.
Tiny twin horns curved from its skull as the creature nuzzled deeper into the straw, its front paws kneading sleepily as though searching for its stolen goat pillow.
“I’ve only ever read about them.”
Grievance glanced at him. “What is it?”
“A Glaceryn.” Milo could hardly believe he was saying the word aloud. “They’re incredibly rare.”
Milo couldn’t believe he was looking at one. He’d never seen an illustration of a baby, only the adults in his encyclopedia. Some folk called Glaceryns ice dragons, but they were actually more closely related to griffins despite their reptilian backsides.
One crystalline-blue eye opened. Then the Glaceryn’s ears flattened as it leaped to its feet.
“Hssssss!”
“Oh. Hello.”
It sneezed. A white cloud exploded from its nose. Milo had exactly enough time to blink before—
WHUMP.
Snow blasted into his face.
For several seconds, there was silence. Milo stood perfectly still, covered from curls to chest in powdery snow.
Behind him—
Grievance snorted.
“It’s not that funny,” Milo said, brushing snow from his clothes.
“Maybe not from where you’re standing,” his mate said with another chuckle.
A tiny squeak came from the hay. Milo turned back. The little Glaceryn shook itself, and that was when his amusement vanished.
It was thin. Far too thin.
The baby’s beautiful white coat was patchy in places, exposing too much of the narrow body beneath. Milo could make out the faint ridges of its ribs.
It sneezed again, this one strong enough to knock the little creature off its feet. A dusting of snow puffed from its runny little nose. The baby’s eyes were glassy, and the poor thing looked utterly exhausted. Milo’s healer instincts took over immediately.
“It’s sick.”
Grievance crouched beside him.
“How does an ice dragon catch a cold?”
“I have absolutely no idea.” Milo slowly reached toward it. “But I know what sick looks like. And this little one is sick.”
Snap!