Chapter Twenty
“I think the castle’s locked us in again.”
Redford turned from where he’d been testing the cottage door handle that was refusing to budge. Damon stood at the back door wearing the same frustrated expression.
“Both exits?” Redford crossed to check for himself.
“Both exits.” Damon jiggled the handle. Nothing. “The window latches are probably fused shut too. Remember last week?”
Redford did remember. This time felt similar with that same playful-but-serious awareness pressing against the edges of his consciousness.
“We have residents to check on.” Redford pulled out his phone. “Finn and Kara…”
“Are fine.” Damon leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Kara’s been talking to the castle for days now, working out what little repairs it needs. If something was wrong, it would tell her.”
“So we’re just supposed to stay here? All day?”
“Looks like it.”
Frustration spiked through Redford’s chest. The west wing had been officially completed three days ago.
Malcolm and his crew packed up their equipment with cheerful promises to spread word about Duncarrick’s restoration.
Since then, Redford and Damon had thrown themselves into the endless paperwork it was going to take to create a proper sanctuary for paranormals of all types who might need refuge.
It had been a busy time, and Redford’s to-do list hadn’t gotten any shorter.
“There’s got to be a way out.” Redford strode to the window, running his hands along the frame. His gargoyle senses detected the castle’s magic woven through every seal, every latch, every possible exit. “We could break…”
“We’re not breaking our own cottage.” Damon chuckled. “The castle will let us out when it’s ready.”
“But when will that be?”
“Whenever we pass whatever test this one is.”
Redford spun around. “What test? For fart’s sake. Haven’t we already proved ourselves? You gave your oath in the crystal chamber, the castle accepted both of us as keepers…”
“Maybe it’s testing something else.” Damon moved to the coffee maker, which had helpfully already brewed a fresh pot. “It could be worse. We’re warm, fed, and the plumbing still works.”
“That’s your response? Could be worse?”
“What do you want me to say?” Damon poured two mugs, adding cream to Redford’s without measuring. “Fighting it won’t change anything. The castle does what it wants, when it wants.”
“That’s incredibly frustrating.”
“Welcome to living with ancient sentient magic.” Damon held out the coffee. “Drink. Sit. We’ll figure it out.”
Redford took the mug but didn’t sit. His gargoyle prowled beneath his skin, uncomfortable with confinement, without knowing why, which was a sharp contrast to Damon’s hound, who seemed to be settling in for a nap.
“How are you so relaxed about this?”
“I spent thousands of years guarding the Underworld.” Damon settled into a chair with his own coffee. “I learned early on that there are some things you can’t control and fighting them just wastes energy.”
Redford paced to the window, staring out at Duncarrick’s tower rising against the gray sky. The castle looked the same as always, which meant he had no clue what the castle was looking for now.
His phone buzzed. It was a text from Wilson about the pharmaceutical case they’d wrapped up last month. Redford read it, thumb hovering over the keyboard to reply…
“He can handle it,” Damon said quietly.
Redford’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know what it is.”
“It doesn’t matter. Wilson’s competent. You told me yourself he’s ready for more responsibility.” Damon sipped his coffee. “Why are you always the one solving every problem?”
“Technically, it’s my job.”
“Technically, you’re on extended leave, and you promised barely a week or so ago to hand in your resignation. I didn’t see that mentioned on your to-do list.”
What Redford wanted was to stop feeling guilty about the idea of leaving work. He genuinely wanted to trust that Wilson and the others could function without him, but…
Conscious of Damon still watching him, he set his phone face-down on the counter.
“Thank you,” Damon said.
“For what?”
“For choosing to be here instead of there.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Redford crossed to the table, dropping into the chair across from Damon. Through their bond, he felt his mate’s bone-deep conviction that what they were doing together mattered more than any case file.
“I feel guilty,” Redford admitted.
“About work?”
“About us.” Redford forced himself to keep his eyes open and on his mate.
“We’ve been mated for weeks, and I’ve never once taken you on a proper date or even taken you out for dinner.
We work together, sleep together, and save crumbling towers together, but I haven’t courted you.
Even when I said I was, before you knew we were fated, you were working as part of the construction crew. I haven’t even bought you flowers.”
Damon’s expression softened. “Red…”
“You deserve flowers, candlelight, boxes of chocolate, or at least someone putting effort into winning your heart instead of just” - Redford gestured helplessly - “falling into bed together because we couldn’t help ourselves.”
“I don’t recall it going quite like that,” Damon said with a laugh. “If it makes you feel any better, hellhounds are chronically terrible at dating. Ask any of my pack brothers’ mates. We’re direct, possessive, and we show love through protection and providing, not flower arrangements.”
“That’s not an excuse for me being equally terrible.”
“You’re not terrible.” Damon reached across the table, covering Redford’s hand with his own.
“You make my coffee exactly how I like it. You reinforce the castle’s wards every night, so Finn and Kara stay safe.
You’ve become Warner’s favorite uncle, especially when he’s fussy – humming for him until he calms down. ”
“Those aren’t romantic gestures for you…”
“They’re your form of love language.” Damon squeezed his fingers. “Practical, everyday love that shows how much I matter to you. You notice what I need before I ask.” His thumb traced circles over Redford’s knuckles. “I don’t need candlelit dinners to know you’re committed.”
“But you deserve them anyway.”
“Maybe.” Damon grinned. “I guess you’ll have to take me somewhere fancy when we’re not locked in by an overprotective castle.”
Redford laughed, and as he did, the tension in his chest eased, replaced by affection, acceptance, and the knowledge that Damon saw his flaws and loved him regardless.
“We’re terrible at this,” Redford muttered.
“At what?”
“Being mates and taking time for ourselves. Actually talking instead of just working side by side.”
“We’ve had a lot going on.” Damon stood, tugging Redford up with him. “But come on then. If we’re stuck here, we might as well make the most of it.”
“Meaning?” Redford was feeling better already, and he was secretly hoping the castle would realize that and let them go.
“Meaning we talk,” Damon said firmly. “Really talk about things that are important to you and me, not necessarily this castle or the sanctuary.”
They settled on the couch, Damon pulling Redford against his side. It was cozy with the fire crackling in the hearth - stoked by the castle, probably, since neither of them had touched it.
“What do you want to know?” Redford asked.
“Just talk about the first thing that comes to mind. What keeps you awake at night besides work emergencies and wondering if you were ever going to be comfortable in that caravan?”
Redford huffed a laugh at the memory. “I think about the castle and worry about whether we’re doing enough to protect it, and to honor what it was.” He traced patterns on Damon’s knee. “I think about leaving the FBI. Whether I’m ready to walk away from so many decades of solving problems.”
“Are you?”
“I’m getting there.” Redford shifted to look at his mate. “What about you? Didn’t you used to be on the racing circuit at one stage? Did you ever regret it when you gave it up?”
“Not really.” Damon sounded so confident. “That life was fun, but it wasn’t fulfilling. I was winning and making good money, but I also got the sense it was like cheating in a way, because my eyesight and reflexes were always going to be faster than anyone I was driving against.
“This sanctuary work and protecting people who need it is something that matters, and I can be who I truly am in this space. Plus I’ll get to watch you work shirtless when it’s hot, so really, I’m winning.”
“That’s your metric for a good life?”
“One of them.” Damon snuggled into Redford’s shoulder. “Do you blame me?”
After that, it seemed easy. Damon shared memories of the Underworld, and Redford talked a bit about his extended family he no longer saw. The fire in the grate kept burning, and their coffee mugs seemed to top up automatically.
Around noon, Damon’s stomach growled, reminding Redford they hadn’t had breakfast. “At least the fridge is full,” Redford said. “As you noted, we won’t starve.”
They cooked together, falling into the easy rhythm they’d developed over weeks of shared meals. Damon chopped vegetables while Redford seasoned chicken, and Redford could sense Damon’s pleasure at the simple domestic routine.
After lunch, Damon pulled him back to the couch. “We’re not done talking, yet,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Redford thought they’d done really well. They’d been talking all morning.
“I know you don’t want to discuss it, but we’re going back to the topic of your work again, or more specifically how you tense up every time Wilson texts, as if you’re waiting for proof he can’t handle things without you.”
Redford’s first instinct was to deny it. But Damon’s dark eyes held nothing but understanding and love.
“I thought I was getting better at it, but it’s hard letting go,” Redford admitted.
“The team was fine before you took your position and they’ll be fine when you resign.”
“Logically, I know that…”