Dragon Fire

DRAGON IN TRAINING 2:

DRAGON FIRE

Emily Carrington

www.loose-id.com

Dragon in Training 2: Dragon Fire Copyright © October 2011 by Emily Carrington All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

eISBN 978-1-61118-455-6 Editor: Heather Hollis Cover Artist: Christine M. Griffin Printed in the United States of America

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Dedication For Nick, and for my parents.

Chapter One What I wouldn’t give to have someone in my corner right now. Mark’s boss (head of the Department of Dragons), his boss’s boss (head of their Tampa offices), and every single doctor who had so much as sniffed in his general direction faced Mark Tavery in a semicircle, and he had no one. His genie lover had offered to miniaturize himself and hide inside Mark’s suit coat collar, but he would have been caught, so Mark had smiled and said, “Luke, I’ll be fine. I can always roast them if I’m in real danger.” If he couldn’t have his lover here, he wanted a lawyer. No one had mentioned firing him— yet—but he needed someone in his corner who was paid to be calm and rational. It would also help if the hypothetical lawyer wasn’t suffering from the effects of a delayed shedding. “It’s not a question of performance,” his immediate boss, Ray, said. “Mark hasn’t let this stop him or even slow him down.” For the fiftieth time since he’d sat down, Mark resisted the urge to scratch both arms. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Jack, his boss’s boss, met Mark’s gaze. “Your record has always been exemplary.” Except I haven’t been promoted in eight years. “Thank you.” His first-ever dragon scale shedding was now three months, four days, ten hours, and—he stole a glance at Jack’s huge grandfather clock—two minutes late. And unless this meeting was suddenly going to take a spin off into left field, none of the doctors could figure out why it hadn’t happened on schedule. So I’m being a little unfair. Ray didn’t say it was going to start at exactly 12:01 a.m. on June first, but it should have started long before this. He closed his eyes as Jack rehashed all the old questions with the doctors. Was Mark maybe carrying some germ that could be hampering his shedding? Had they checked for all the weird permutations HIV could take on when interacting with a dragon’s cells?

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Emily Carrington That second question made Mark’s eyes itch, and he kept his lids firmly down just in case

his blue irises started shifting to yellow-green. He hadn’t been with anyone but his lover, Luke, since they’d met. The man before that had been many things, but he wasn’t that. And there hadn’t been a man before him since Mark was twenty-one, over ten years ago. There was no chance Mark had HIV. His palms itched. He forced himself to count silently back from ten. “Well, Mark,” Ray said, “I guess this is just like how it was after you came to us. It took you over thirty years to even figure out that you were a dragon. I guess it’s going to take you a while to decide to shed your first scales.” He’d opened his eyes at the sound of his name. Now he tried not to look away from his boss and made himself smile. He knew Ray was joking; the evidence was all over the man’s face. But he kept his smile closed, fearing the number of teeth he’d inadvertently end up showing. “So I’m free to get back to my reports?” He’d been stuck behind his desk since returning from vacation on the last day of June. Behind his smile, but probably obvious to at least Jack and maybe to Ray as well, he ground his teeth. “For now,” Jack said. “But if you haven’t started shedding by the beginning of October, I think we should try to induce this first time ourselves.” You can do that? His whole body exploded with a thousand pinpricks of need. Do you know what it’s like to lie in bed next to your lover at night and not be able to let him touch you because anything short of a bone-breaking slap makes the itching worse? As if that wasn’t enough, we’re in fucking Florida in late summer, and you can do something about it and haven’t? One of the doctors touched his temple with two fingers and winced. Mark froze and did all he could to rein in the famous Tavery temper. Shit, dragons are telepathic. Did I just…? “I’m sorry, Doctor.” “It’s all right. You didn’t know.” Jack leaned forward. “If we have to induce the shedding, Mark, you’ll most likely have to be hospitalized. The drugs that have been developed have only been used a few times, and even in clinical trials, they’ve caused temporary insanity.”

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He felt himself blush. “I understand. Are there any other techniques I can use to encourage the shedding?” The doctor who had touched his temple said, “The only reason dragons fail to shed is because they are ill. You are not physically ill, Mr. Tavery. Neither are you mentally ill. I am not a spiritual man myself, but when all other avenues have been thoroughly explored, the last road must lead us home.” What did spiritually ill mean for a dragon who hadn’t practiced religion since childhood? He thought of Luke, for whom spirituality was a quiet, constant part of his life, and wondered if his lover could help. At this point, he’d pretend to worship a lightbulb if it would jump-start his shedding. His mind and body jumped briefly to thoughts of his golden-haired lover, and he shifted in his chair, oh-so-casually adjusting his long shirt so it lay over the bulge in his dress pants. In the first twenty-four hours he’d known Luke, he’d seen the Adonis-like genie all but naked twice. His initial attraction had been formed by thoughts of Luke lounging on his couch, clad in nothing but a thong. When they’d first touched, it had been Luke’s gentle, persistent strength that had brought down Mark’s shields from within. Okay, most of his shields. Some things just couldn’t be shared, especially not if he wanted to keep Luke as his lover. But Luke would know how to help him with his spiritual problem. Luke, his golden god, knew all about patience.

*** Cordless phone pressed to his ear, Luke stalked through the house. “I understand what you’re saying, but this situation is different.” He saw the vase he’d knocked over fifteen minutes ago and magically hurled the pieces into the garbage can, scowling when they tinkled too musically. “I’m not just his boyfriend, sir. I’m a genie. I’m more than capable of protecting myself in the field. I should be allowed to join him on his missions.” “Your ability is not in question,” the calm voice returned, “but the fact remains that you have no training.” There was a pause. “And right now, it is a moot point. Please note that Mr. Tavery will be restricted to research until he completes a successful shedding cycle. Until that time, you are more than welcome to accompany him to the office in Tampa so long as your visits do not exceed more than two hundred twenty-five minutes each week.”

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Emily Carrington That sounded like a lot of time, but Luke conjured a pen and a pad of paper in midair, did a

quick calculation, and said, “That’s all of Mark’s lunch hours added together.” “Exactly.” The genie used his powers to rip the pad of paper in half. He snapped the pen too, catching all the ink in a swirling sphere that he imagined splatting against the too-calm man’s face. He also sent this into the garbage can. “So what’s to stop me from joining SearchLight? I could accompany Mark then without trouble.” “If you were accepted, and if you completed all the required coursework and training over a three-year period, and if you were hired into Mr. Tavery’s department, there still is no guarantee the two of you would be a team. Agents in smaller offices must sometimes work alone.” Tampa’s a smaller office? But that question couldn’t hold him. Three years? He’d been reading all of Mark’s textbooks for the last two-plus months since Mark had gone back to work at the end of June. He did this at first because his interest was piqued, and then because he’d found less and less to do around the house after Mark’s vacation ended. Didn’t all that studying count for anything? Wasn’t there a test he could take or something? “I take it you’re finally thinking this through,” the security director out of DC said, possibly in response to Luke’s silence. “Good. I appreciate how shocking it must be for you to be out of your lamp, and of course we offer counseling to all magical creatures who are dealing with unique situations—” The back door opened. “Luke?” His Mark sounded a little more hopeful than he had for the last two months, but also exhausted. Luke made the decimated pen and pad disappear. “Thank you for your help, sir.” He hung up, poofed the phone to its cradle, and transported himself from the kitchen to the living room. Walking there would have taken less than ten seconds, but he loved making Mark jump. “Luke, shit!” Laughing, Mark dropped his briefcase and keys. “One of these days, I’m going to put my scales on and fry your ass for doing that.” His Gulf blue eyes were bright with amusement, and he brushed dark hair off his forehead with a steady hand. There was no sign of the frustration that had dogged his steps for weeks.

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“Good news?” Luke asked as he levitated the briefcase and keys into their proper places. Please let it be good news. He hated having to tiptoe around Mark, and not just because he knew their fledgling relationship would have been able to take so much more if Mark hadn’t been going through the dragon’s equivalent of a never-ending menstrual cycle. “Maybe.” At once, Mark’s eyes dimmed, and the exhaustion rushed forward in his gaze like a wave. “The doctors can’t find a damn thing wrong with me.” He brought up his right hand and touched Luke’s face gently. “God, I want you so badly.” Unable to do any of the half a million things he craved, the genie tried something slight, praying it wouldn’t torment Mark’s sensitive skin. He turned his head and ran his tongue lightly across the tips of the dragon’s fingers. His lover winced, pulled his hand back, and scratched where Luke’s tongue had been. “I’m sorry,” he told his fingers. “If this would just fucking start already…” He sighed, stopped scratching with what looked like a tremendous effort, and met Luke’s gaze. “So this one doctor suggested that I’ve got to try a new avenue of healing. He said that since I’m not physically or mentally ill”—he snorted, and Luke found himself smiling in return—“that I should explore my spiritual wellness. Problem is, I stopped praying to anything about the time I stopped believing in miracles.” He met Luke’s gaze, seemed to steel himself, and then plunged both hands into Luke’s hair. “But I’ll try anything. I can’t stand being away from you.” Mark’s jaw was clenched; Luke felt the tension in his lover’s hands. His own cock had awakened at Mark’s words, but he stepped back. “Doing even that much is making your skin burn.” Mark dropped his hands. “God, I hate this.” He sighed and squared his shoulders. “Tell me about your One-Who-Decides.” Luke blinked. You can’t just convert. Being a Listener is much more than words. But Mark would want an in-depth explanation, and Luke fumbled for a moment. Mark grinned a little. “You look like I asked you to wear a dress. I’m not going to become a monk in your religion or anything, but if I’m going to start shedding, I need to figure out what’s wrong with me. Maybe it is spiritual. Whatever that means.” “You don’t believe that.” Luke gestured toward the couch, sat, and waited for Mark to do the same. “Mark, I don’t think that’s going to help. What did you believe in as a kid?”

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Emily Carrington Mark scratched at his forehead as sweat beaded there. “My family’s Jewish.” His shoulders

were hunched. “That’s not going to work. I haven’t believed in any of the laws or customs since I sang the four questions at Seder.” The sweat on his lover’s brow was thicker now; Luke tried not to watch it. He wanted so badly to wipe it away and to take all Mark’s discomfort with it. “You used to sing? How old were you?” His lover was worrying at his bottom lip as if he didn’t feel the sweat. Maybe compared to the itching he’d been dealing with for two months, it was nothing. “Seven or eight when I stopped, I think. My aunt had a little girl who got old enough to sing the questions. It’s always the youngest child who sings. Luke, if you’ll just—” A drop of sweat trickled down Mark’s nose. Except it wasn’t sweat. Luke reached out and caught it before it could disappear. He held up the dark blue, triangle-shaped thing. “Mark.” His lover stared at the scale. “Or maybe talking about my Jewish heritage is just what the doctor ordered.” He laughed, pushed Luke’s hand aside, and kissed the genie chastely. When he drew back, he scratched his lips with his sharp teeth, but he was grinning. “Let’s talk Seders, Passovers, and dreidels. The sooner we get started and the sooner I shed, the sooner I can have you inside me again.” He pressed his palm firmly over Luke’s crotch, and before he had to pull away and scratch, his eyes flickered briefly to a dragon’s hungry yellow-green. “I miss you.” Luke moaned. “Miss you too,” he managed, but his throat had half-closed. Mark spoke so casually of his shedding being over, but once it finally began in earnest, it was going to last for two weeks, during which time Luke wouldn’t be able to touch him at all. Once Mark started shedding long rows of scales, he could touch Luke, but it couldn’t go the other way. The genie’s balls tightened as an old hunger burned. Mark could touch him. And maybe it didn’t even have to be skin to skin. He licked his lips. “Not yet,” his lover said, and he was laughing again. “Use your centuries of patience, Luke. In another couple of weeks, you’ll have me back. Until then, let’s talk. Do you want to hear about my brother’s botched bar mitzvah or the way my sister threw a fit when she realized Moses was a man?”

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Chapter Two Luke flopped back onto the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. Behind him, the curtains moved in a warm September breeze. “All right,” the genie told the eight gifts piled beside his feet. “Mark will be home in three hours, and then we’ll get this party going.” He rubbed at his erection through his shorts and let out a long breath. Except for twenty or so scales over the past two days, Mark’s shedding hadn’t really started, and the dragon had refused all indepth talk of his Jewish heritage. That was fine with Luke: it didn’t seem to be doing any good, and from the research he’d done, what Mark really seemed to need was relaxation. (Why the doctors hadn’t figured that out was beyond the genie, but maybe they just didn’t know his lover like he did.) “Yeah, and that’s the only reason I’ve planned this little surprise.” He grinned at the top gift, leaving off his erection when his balls tightened pleasantly. He wanted to be rock-hard when Mark walked in the door at five thirty. To his left and slightly behind him, the back door flew open, rebounding off the wall. “You really want me there?” Mark snarled. He threw his car keys toward the hook by the stairs; they struck the wall almost a foot to the right before falling to the floor. Thoroughly shocked, Luke didn’t know if he had the strength to get off the couch. He stared at Mark’s right hand. His lover was pressing his cell phone so hard against his ear that his tanned knuckles were paper white. “Fine, Mom,” Mark went on as he slammed the door behind him. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon and stay all ten fucking days. Happy?” He snapped his phone closed, tensed as if he might throw it too, but then shoved it into his suit coat pocket. “Damn her anyway. Who the hell does she think she is? Yahweh? Even he gave Abraham a fucking choice.” Luke pushed himself to his feet and started toward the hallway. “Mark?”

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Emily Carrington His lover’s dark-haired head snapped to the right. “What are you—” He stopped and took a

breath. “Of course you’re home,” he muttered. “Sorry.” He whipped out his cell phone again. “I’ll be leaving in the morning.” He barked a laugh. “I guess the forced leave is a good thing after all.” Luke held up his hands as he stepped in front of Mark. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Where are you going? What forced leave?” What was Mark doing home at quarter to three in the first place? Mark’s attention was on his cell phone as he tapped the screen. He savaged his chapped lips with his teeth. “It’s a long fucking story. Just be glad you don’t have to go.” Luke balled his hands into fists; he wanted to poof the phone out of Mark’s hands. “Go where?” Mark nodded to himself. “Okay, there’s a flight leaving Tampa at quarter to ten. I can make that. I’ll be in Buffalo by three. Plenty of time for Rosh Hashanah dinner. That’ll make her happy.” Luke felt his patience snap like a thin rubber band. He snatched the phone and poofed it to the charger upstairs. “Where the hell are you going?” Mark stared at his palm for a moment, the index finger of his right hand still poised above it. Then his head snapped up, and he glared at Luke. “What the fuck did you do that for?” Luke stepped in close, so that they were almost touching. “Where. Are. You. Going?” “To my damn selfish mother’s. Okay? Can I have my phone back? Where did you send it?” Mark took two steps back and scratched his arms. Grimacing, he shrugged out of his suit jacket, dropping it behind him, and scratched again more deeply. “Damn fucking shedding,” he muttered, his bottom lip between his teeth once more. “I don’t need her playing the guilt card on top of this shit.” Luke invaded the dragon’s space again. “Your mother’s.” His stomach writhed under his ribs. “And you’re going alone because…?” Mark backed away again, unbuttoning his shirt so he could rake his nails down his abs through his undershirt. Why is he retreating? Mark hadn’t done that since the days of Reese, the abusive ex-lover Luke had helped him escape. Grimacing, the genie advanced. I won’t let him turn into a whipped

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puppy again, especially not from anything that has nothing to do with Reese. “Why, Mark? Why are you going alone?” “Because my brother’s a fucking homophobe, and I won’t let him hurt you.” You don’t think I can protect myself against a defenseless human? “I’m going.” Mark’s full attention had been focused on his left arm as he savaged it with his nails, but now he dropped his arms and looked up at Luke. His blue eyes were tinged yellow-green. “No.” Luke’s heartbeat sped up, a genie’s natural reaction to a dragon’s rage. Still, he invaded Mark’s space again. “Yes.” Mark retreated until his back was against the door. “No, Luke. You’re not going.” All the blue was gone from his eyes, and his hands were curling into the shape of his talons. “He’ll rip you a new asshole, my brother-in-law will say you’re supposed to be stoned to death, and all my mother will do is keep her mouth shut.” Luke pressed even closer as his blood sang in his ears, and he fought the urge to at least conjure a shield in case Mark lost control. “I don’t care.” Mark put his hands behind his back and turned his face away, squeezing his eyes shut. His muscles stood out on his arms. “I don’t want you there.” Luke staggered back a step. He sucked in a breath. “Yeah?” he asked, shocked at how winded he both felt and sounded. “Well, news flash, Mark: I’m a genie. You can’t stop me. I can poof myself anywhere in the world.” He magicked the phone into Mark’s pants pocket. “So make your plane reservations if you want. I’ll just be there waiting when you get into Buffalo.” He waited for a breath to see if Mark would open his eyes. When that didn’t happen, Luke swore and poofed himself into his lamp.

*** There wasn’t an audible pop when Luke disappeared, but the sudden silence cut through Mark’s jumping nerves. He opened his eyes, saw the genie was gone, and groaned. “I’m just trying to protect you,” he told the empty house as he pulled his cell out again. But then his gaze fell on his keys, and he put the phone away and knelt on the hardwood by the stairs. A colorful clay dragon lay shattered under his house key, and he scooped as many

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of the pieces into his hand as he could find. His racing heartbeat had slowed to an executioner’s monotonous pace. Early in July, Luke had taken up a pottery class. “What else am I going to do all day besides climb the walls?” he’d asked Mark. “I’m not quite ready to work until… Never mind. Let’s just say I don’t want to work yet. Do you mind if I take a few classes?” “As long as you’re okay with sitting around with a bunch of old ladies, I’m fine with it,” Mark had teased. Three weeks later—the genie apparently had a talent for clay—Luke gifted him with a tiny blue and green dragon fitted to be used as a key fob. Now, shattered gift in his left hand, Mark stood. He walked into the living room, attention still focused on the mess he’d made. His mother had pissed him off, pressuring, begging, and finally guilting him into the Rosh Hashanah/Yom Kippur stretch of holy days. And Jack and Ray had placed him on leave and ordered him to, in their words, “make a concerted effort to shed,” but that gave him no right to take out his need to kill something on Luke. His eyes itched. True, but he didn’t have to keep pushing me either. Couldn’t he tell I was having trouble keeping the dragon under control? He flopped onto the couch and thumped his feet on the coffee table, promptly knocking something onto the floor. Great. What did I break now? But his irritation vanished when he saw the wrapped boxes that had escaped his feet. All were wrapped in cheery paper that he didn’t look at too closely as he got up and gathered up the rest. He turned one of them over until he found the little card. Flipping it open, he read only: 3. He picked up another. 5. Another. 2. Were these all for him? Again he looked down at the shattered dragon. Luke had been so proud of it. He’d actually blushed when he’d handed it over. “No magic used,” he’d promised. “Not even a drop.” And his blush had only deepened when Mark clipped it on his keys at once. He walked into the kitchen, set the pieces on the counter, and took Luke’s lamp out of the high cupboard. He didn’t rub it, because doing that would force Luke out. His lover didn’t have any telepathy, but he’d know Mark was holding his lamp. Maybe that small gesture would be enough.

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Luke popped into existence by the refrigerator. Without comment, he opened the door, snagged a soda, and popped the top. When the fridge was closed, he stood with the can in both hands and his gaze fixed firmly over Mark’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I exploded at you,” Mark said as he set down the lamp. “I’m sorry I said I don’t want you with me, both because it was callous and because it was a lie.” He took half a step closer. “Please know I always want you with me, family be damned.” He turned back to the counter, scooped up the shattered gift, and held it out like a peace offering. “And I’m sorry I did this. It was so beautiful.” He swallowed past a sudden tightness in his throat. “And I’m sorry I exploded.” “You said that already.” But Luke had closed the distance and had closed his hand over the clay pieces. “Do you want me to fix this?” The instant they touched, Mark’s hand began to itch, but he didn’t pull away. “Please.” His whole body ached to be in Luke’s arms again, and he blinked hard. The little dragon was intact again. “It’s all right,” Luke said as he set the gift on the counter. “It was just a thing. It can always be fixed.” Mark shook his head. “It’s not that,” he said, scrubbing at his face as the tears came faster than he could catch them. “What the fuck’s wrong with me?” He laughed and wiped away more tears. “I just miss you. That’s all.” At least the tears were finally slowing, and he met Luke’s worried gaze. “Really, I’m fine, but I think this is why I was put on leave. Ray said I’d start having mood swings.” He shook his head and laughed again. “Damn fucking delayed shedding. If this is what women go through every month, I take back every single joke I ever made about PMS.” He took Luke’s hand and drew him close. “If you really want to come with me, I won’t argue. They’re just not the best, and I… I haven’t been home in a long time.” He met Luke’s gaze and found his lover smiling at him. It wasn’t an innocent smile, and Mark resisted the urge to take a step back. “Luke, I can’t. As much as I want you—” Luke’s eyes shone. “What if I promise it won’t itch?” Mark snorted. “Even holding hands itches.” But Luke was a genie, so… “You promise?”

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Emily Carrington Luke snapped his fingers. The suitcase from the back of Mark’s closet and a much smaller

bag appeared. The genie put the smaller bag over his shoulder. “I suggest we start by skipping the airplane and simply transporting there.” Mark’s balls tightened, and he gripped Luke’s hand. Transporting via genie magic always went straight to his cock. It was like having Luke’s mouth on him, but an instantaneous version of that erotic motion. He felt himself blushing. “Can you transport us to the Village Inn in Brockport, New York? We’ll drive to my mother’s place tomorrow after we’ve…tried your idea.”

Hm. Was this going to be their first instance of makeup sex? That combined with the first gift Luke had planned could be…interesting. “Of course, Mawster,” he said. Moments later, they were standing in a hotel room. The genie magically changed the room’s status to “occupied.” Mark stepped back, his dress pants tented in front. He bit his lip again, but he was looking at Luke’s crotch. “Now what?” Luke poofed the first gift out of his bag and into his lover’s hands. “Open this, please.” There came a sharp rap on the door. “Room service.” Why now? Luke wondered. And how can there be room service when we haven’t been here fifteen seconds? Mark went to it, scratching both arms savagely before opening the door. The scent of strong magic crashed into the room from the hallway, and Luke was at Mark’s side just as his lover stepped back to let the waiter in. It wasn’t that Mark didn’t have a dragon’s sharp sense of smell, but it was unlikely he’d ever smelled anything like this. The dark-skinned “man” now standing on the threshold wasn’t a Western-born magical creature; this was one from the Old World. Not necessarily ancient, since the greater fae could more easily have children than vampires or genies, but strong. And unknown to Mark. Luke offered a respectful half bow even as he nudged Mark back a step. When the door had closed behind the fierce creature, he said, “Master of Air. You honor us with your presence.” Though how the sylph knew they were here so quickly was beyond him. The Master of Air had

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come with covered plates too. Was the food for them? He resisted the urge to retreat or poof the both of them to safety. Strictly speaking, genies and sylphs weren’t enemies, but this creature could kill Mark with little more than a thought. He sensed more than saw Mark also bow and relaxed a little. At least Mark was following him in this as he so rarely did. “Master Genie, Master Dragon,” the sylph in human flesh returned. He addressed Luke specifically. “I didn’t know any of your kind resided here.” Implicit was this: And we Sylphs know our territory. Luke acknowledged that with another bow. “My partner and I are visiting his family. We will only be here a few days.” “You are visiting the dragon?” This was directed at Mark. “I do not know of any dragon here besides myself,” Mark answered. “My family is human.” Stepping up beside Luke, he added, “My dragon father died over a dozen years ago, and I have never known my dragon mother.” The great negotiator at work, Luke thought as he watched the sylph take this in. Mark had simultaneously conveyed trust and put the suspicion off the two of them. “Ah then you’d best be careful,” was the reply, delivered in such a formal tone that it was probably meant as a serious warning. “You are welcome here so long as you do not interfere with my people.” The sylph easily lifted the tray from the cart on which he’d rolled it. He proffered the heavy thing, and Mark took it with another bow and a little wobble. “I will take my leave of you, then,” he said to Mark. Just to Mark. As if Mark, even by showing the two of them to be equal by standing shoulder to shoulder with Luke, had somehow taken the higher position. Luke bowed too, but he wasn’t acknowledged. “It is well I happened to be passing by.” The sylph smiled slightly. “Now I need to return to the kitchen for the dinner I forgot. Accept my gift, Master Dragon, be about your business in peace, and we will not need to be more than acquaintances.” “We thank you,” Mark said. The moment the door closed, Luke grimaced at it and the creature it hid. Then he turned to Mark but was beaten to the questioning.

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Emily Carrington “What was that?” Mark started laying the food out on the small table by the wall. “And

how did you know… Aw, fuck, I missed smelling it, didn’t I?” He sighed. “Damn it, I’ll get used to doing that everywhere eventually, but I only keep thinking about it at work.” All the food set out, he sat and gestured Luke over. “So, what was he?” Luke plopped into his chair. “He ignored me.” Mark shook his head. “He talked to you first.” “No, at the end.” So Mark hadn’t noticed. They hadn’t met many magical creatures together, but every time they did, this happened. It was as if Mark was assumed to be the dominant one, the one dealt with. Among almost every magical race, members of a mating pair were never considered equal. With kelpies, salamanders, and werewolves, the males were dominant. With genies and dragons, it was the females. In same-sex couples, it followed that the partner who seemed most like the “dominant sex” was the one catered to. Luke had never thought of Mark as the female half of their relationship, but obviously every other magical being did. He let out a breath. The presents he was planning to give Mark were going to change that. Mark reached across the table. His hand over Luke’s was hot and dry. “Fuck him. I just want to know what he was. Then I’m going to spend the rest of this night thinking about no one but you.” Luke tried to push his jealousy away, and not just because there was nothing he could do about how others perceived them. “It was a sylph. An air being. It can make hurricanes, tornadoes, sudden drops in air pressure to throw airplanes out of the sky.” He looked up in time to see Mark’s eyes widen. “Holy shit,” the water dragon breathed, and his eyes flickered almost to yellow-green in his excitement. “And it knew what we were at once.” He laughed, and some of the arrogance that he often wore like a mantle of kingship rolled away. “I’m the only one who had no idea what he was dealing with. I don’t even know how to address beings like that.” He rose, keeping Luke’s hand in his, and came around the table. Crouching before Luke, he kissed the genie’s hand. “I am in your debt.” Mark smiled a little, but the serious, wondering look hadn’t left his eyes. “Without you, I might have pissed off a creature that could easily suck the air from my lungs. Shit.” He kissed Luke’s hand again. “I’m very lucky you’re smarter in these things than I am.”

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He still sounded arrogant to Luke’s ears, but maybe that was just because hearing Mark humble wasn’t something he’d ever heard. He was going to use Mark’s arrogance in just a few minutes: how else would he get Mark to let go of his nervousness when it came to teasing play? So he drew Mark close and kissed his mouth. “Let’s eat. I want to give you your first Hanukkah present. I know it’s early, and you’ll get your real ones in December, or whenever Hanukkah hits this year, but I can’t wait.” “You know Hanukkah’s mostly a kid’s holiday, right?” Mark released his fingers and sat. “I haven’t celebrated that”—he worried his lower lip between his teeth—“or Yom Kippur or any of the other holidays I grew up with in years.” He left off his lip, and a little smile was at the corners of his mouth. “But if you’re the one giving the present, I wouldn’t mind starting again.”

*** Luke might have saved his life, thinking and acting quickly the way he had. Mark chewed this over all through dinner, listening as Luke talked about the similarity between Western New York and where he’d grown up, interjecting only a nod, smile, or small comment where Luke seemed to need it. He loved listening to his partner talk about the past, and they’d had many spirited discussions about what Mark had assumed about long-gone times and what Luke knew to be true. In many ways, talking with Luke about the life he’d lived was like making love: Luke was never more passionate than at those two times. When they were done eating, Luke poofed everything into a pile, set it outside the door, and used magic to turn down the covers on one of the beds. “We’re going to make love in one and sleep in the other,” he announced. “This is going to get messy.” Instantly Mark was hard. He pushed down his dress pants and boxers and crossed to the side of the bed. Luke seemed to have something specific in mind. If he could manage to ignore his shedding, this promised to be very good. He quieted the skeptical, overwrought part of himself that had been itching for endless weeks; he would give Luke this chance. “Where do you want me?” “You’re directing me tonight.” The genie went to his bag—it was small, but since when did a genie need to pack?—and pulled out the same green-and-red-wrapped box he’d tried to give Mark before the sylph arrived.

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Emily Carrington Mark snorted. “I’m Jewish, Luke. Those colors are…not.” He held out his hands for the

gift nonetheless. He sat on the bed to open it. He ripped the wrapping paper, conscious that Luke was hovering a few feet away in a decidedly un-Luke-like posture. Was his lover nervous? That was so unusual that Mark met the genie’s eyes and smiled before opening the box. Luke returned it, but the usual gleam was gone from his eyes. Mark vowed to exclaim over the gift even if it turned out to be as inappropriate as the wrapping paper. Not bothering to decipher the highly ornate silver calligraphy on the top of the box, he opened it and prepared a smile—and had it freeze in place when he saw the leather strap. “Luke?” He knew he sounded tentative, but he couldn’t change his voice. Even though he and Luke had played around a little in bed, it had always been well within what almost every prude would consider tame (well, except for the homosexual part). What, in all of that, had led Luke to think he wanted to try something like this? Reese had never used leather on him, but he’d punched Mark often, tied him up, and indulged in what Mark thought of as the darker side of BDSM: degradation. The box was taken from his hands, and Luke was crouching before him, his expression surprised. “Not for you!” he blurted, sounding so much like a worried kid that Mark felt himself ease a little. “Shit, Mark,” he went on, “I’d never ask… I never even wanted…” The genie shook his head and still looked like Mark had asked him why the sky wasn’t orange. If he wasn’t going to use the leather on Mark, then did he mean…? The muscles in his thighs clenched pleasantly, and lust kindled in his mind and balls. “It’s just that I’ve always wanted to try a little”—Luke blushed and mumbled at the floor between his dangling hands—“different kind of pleasure. It hurts but feels good but hurts but…” Mark’s balls tightened in anticipation. That was exactly what Luke meant: he wanted Mark to use the leather strap on him. He’d never considered it, but the idea of bringing all that blood to the surface, not cutting Luke but exciting him with quick slaps, exciting them both—it called to his dragon nature. And using the strap would limit the skin-to-skin contact that made him itch so badly and had been ruining their bed play for twelve weeks. Luke laughed mirthlessly. He was still staring down at the carpet. “Reese put you through hell. I’d never want to see you under anyone’s thumb again, even if it was just a sex game. I

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mean, if you asked me to do it, I might be able to, but it would take a long time before I could like seeing you as the submissive one. That’s just not you, Mark.” “Luke—” “I should’ve said something, not just given you the present. It just didn’t occur to me that you’d think… I’m sorry.” Mark took the box and set it on the bed. He touched Luke’s cheek with the fingers of his other hand. “Luke. Stop. It sounds amazing.” That got him eye contact at least, but Luke still tried to apologize. “I should’ve realized, after everything Reese did to you—I mean, you told me about the times he used handcuffs with you, and even though he left you the key, that didn’t change the fact—” He touched his lips softly to Luke’s, and when he spoke, he didn’t pull back very far. He buried the need to scratch his hands and mouth. “I understand now. And it does sound exciting. I’d love to explore this different kind of pleasure with you.” He purposely used Luke’s words, hoping the genie would know that Mark understood what he was asking. “We’ll only go as fast as both of us are comfortable”—he took the leather strap from the box and rubbed it gently along Luke’s arm—“but I’d like to try it.” Luke nodded. “Yeah, me too.” He laughed shakily. “I’m sorry I—” Mark turned from him a little and cracked the leather strap like a much thinner whip. “You don’t usually apologize this much. Quit it.” Luke’s eyes regained their usual shine. He stood. Bowed. “Yes, Mawster.” Mark also stood. Was Luke going to fall into the game that easily? His balls tightened again, and he ran his tongue over his teeth. He looked at Luke’s shorts. Pointed. “Off. Boxers too. But slowly.” Luke made the shorts disappear. He began toying with the waistband of his boxers. He dipped his index fingers in, then had them out and ghosting over his prominent erection. He repeated this process again, tugging the boxers down a fraction of an inch. Mark began circling him and cracking the leather strap experimentally. He had no intention of striking Luke just yet, both because he wanted to be comfortable with the leather and because just the sound seemed to arouse his partner. He cracked the strap again and grinned when Luke moaned.

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Emily Carrington Luke had succeeded in freeing his cock and the top of his ass by Mark’s third revolution.

Mark rubbed hard against him and then stepped back and plied the strap where his cock had been. When his lover jumped but didn’t protest, Mark struck him again, this time on the hip. Then he rubbed his left hand over the places where he’d hit, soothing the sting away. “Okay?” he asked, surprised at how out of breath he felt. Luke nodded. Mark struck him again, on the upper thighs this time. “Out loud, please. I want to hear how you feel.” Luke gasped. “Good.” Mark leaned close, pressing his cock hard between Luke’s ass cheeks. “Do you want me to strike you for answers I approve of or only when you do something wrong?” Luke thrust back against him. “Are you going to make love to me?” Mark stepped back and cracked the strap half an inch from his lover’s left hip. “Answer the question, or you don’t get anything.” Luke moaned and wriggled his hips as if his feet were stuck in place, putting Mark in mind of scarves, soft ones that Luke could tug out of easily. (And, yes, a brief memory of Reese holding out the handcuffs flashed across his mind, but when Luke moaned again and pushed his ass in Mark’s direction, the memory vanished.) Luke slapped his own ass. “You can strike me whenever you want.” So Mark obliged him with a blow to each hip and one just above the cleft of his ass. “No, I’m not going to be inside you. I enjoy it the other way too much.” Luke moaned and began stroking himself. “But if I’ve already come—” Mark circled him, grabbed his hand, and struck his lover’s lower thighs. “You’re a genie. You can come a hundred times in succession.” He struck Luke again and then rubbed his hand gently over the assaulted skin. “But don’t touch yourself.” Holding Luke’s gaze, he asked, “Do you want me to pleasure you?” Luke closed his eyes. Breathed. Opened his eyes. “Shit, Mark, you’re good at this.” “Are you all right?” he asked, dropping all the teasing hardness in his voice.

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“Yes.” Luke grinned, and his gaze flicked down to Mark’s fully erect cock. “To both questions.” He stepped back and held his arms away from his sides. “I want you, Mark. I want you to use everything you have to pleasure me.”

There was no way he could afford to give Mark more power over him. The point of these presents had been pleasure, not power. But as his lover circled him, Luke imagined his wrists and ankles bound, his mouth maybe even gagged. He imagined, despite Mark’s words, being ridden hard while a riding crop was plied lightly across his back. Since the first time Mark had accidentally bitten him, he’d craved that sensation again; now he wanted it mixed in with all the rest. More than anything, he wanted Mark to praise him within the context of the game. If Mark would only tell him how handsome he was, how well he was bearing up under the strap, or maybe even how turned on he, Mark, was by Luke’s actions and moans, the game would be perfect. He’d gladly give over all control to his lover. For this few minutes, he wanted to be the center of Mark’s sexual-romantic universe. Was that too much to ask? He jumped when the strap cut across his thighs just under his ass. Mark’s free hand was resting on his shoulder, demanding his attention. “Yes, Mawster?” “I knew you were thinking about something else.” But Mark sounded amused rather than worried. Luke had obviously played his part of “slave” very well. “I asked if all your presents are in this same vein.” The raw hunger in his voice stopped Luke’s breath for a moment. Mark was very good at this. “Are you demanding an answer?” “Well, we can always see if I can tease it out of you.” He stepped back and struck Luke’s hip. “Is that what you want?” He resisted the urge to conjure handcuffs. Those would come later. “Please.” Mark struck him on the other hip and then began circling him once more, plying the strap across Luke’s chest, over his thighs, so close to his cock that Luke shuddered with the strain it took to hold completely still. The blows began to fall faster, and at one point, he thought of asking Mark if he was going to pursue the question about the other presents. But then Mark sauntered to the nearest wall, planted his hands against it, and shot Luke a heated glance over his shoulder. “When I say so,

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you’re going to stretch me with magic. Not before. For now…” He shifted so his legs were farther apart. “How badly do you want this?” Mark was taking to this like he’d surely taken to water as a child. Luke swallowed to get his voice started. “I want you more than…” No comparison came; he blushed. “I want you more than I can say. Please, Mark. Let me inside you.” Mark’s eyes flashed yellow-green. “Use your magic to stretch me. I need you.” He moved his hand, watching it shake as he did so. He sensed Mark’s body responding to his magic and craved the chance to feel it for himself. Mark arched. Moaned. “Come here.” The commanding tone was gone. “Please make love to me.” Luke strode forward and, without resting his hands on Mark’s hips, which was what he would have done before the delayed shedding, rubbed the head of his cock against Mark’s ass. He could smell his lover’s need, his sweat, and he had to force himself not to lower his tongue to Mark’s gleaming skin to taste him. “Please,” Mark whispered. Where he would have begged Mark to bite his throat, their positions precluded that. Instead, Luke brought the palm of his left hand into light contact with his lover’s lips. “Bite me.” The sharp dragon teeth slipped into his skin like needles. Luke cried out, resisted the mad urge to crush Mark to him, and instead buried himself in the waiting heat. Luke couldn’t move, not his hand or his hips. Doing so would mean losing contact with that stunning sense of Mark drawing blood, drawing strength for his shedding that had to come soon and pleasure for himself. Mark freed his mouth. “Please, Luke, please…” He pushed in a little deeper, eliciting a soft cry from Mark’s smeared lips, and then began to move in earnest, not thinking about Mark’s delayed shedding, about the sylph, or about the disappointing call he’d had with the SearchLight security officer. In short, he thought about nothing except the fire in his blood that Mark’s bite—that Mark—had put there. And continued to put there as he begged, “Luke, please, Luke, need you, fuck me, Luke—”

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His orgasm was close. He couldn’t speak at all, but Mark had never asked for his words. Around him, Mark’s body began to tighten—not quickly, as some of Luke’s past lovers always seemed to, but slowly, as though Mark was consciously controlling it, consciously wanting to wring Luke’s pleasure out of him. “Luke, please, I need you. Please.” Mark arched, his hands losing contact briefly with the wall as his orgasm claimed him. Undone—he couldn’t think of a better way to describe what Mark did to him—Luke came. And as Mark shuddered against him, Luke knew he would give his lover power over every aspect of his life and not care, just so long as Mark didn’t abuse that power.

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Chapter Three Luke couldn’t help thinking that the little rental Pontiac he was driving northward looked just like the ancient beast that Mark rode around Gulfport. No pun intended. His mouth quirked, and his boxers were suddenly tight. If the seven remaining gifts were as well received as the first, he might just change Mark’s mind about riding him. Mark had needed to take an oatmeal bath to soothe the itching brought on by the excitement, but he’d looked happier than Luke had seen him in weeks. The genie rode with one forearm cocked on the door and his lamp dangling from the rearview mirror. The miniaturized faux-gold lamp gleamed in the late-morning sunlight, and Luke fondled it. It was no longer his prison but remained the source of his power. “You used to spend vacations at a cabin on Lake Ontario? Why? It’s practically in your backyard!” He was enjoying his two-weeks-old license and the way Mark pretended to hold on for dear life when they were going around a curve. “I never said the Taverys were rich people.” Mark was currently lounging in the passenger seat with his bare feet up on the dash. “After my father died”—After Mark had killed the dragon in an attempt to save his cousin from the killer’s hunger. He hadn’t saved her.—“Mom sold our place in Brockport and moved out here. She liked being away from all the prying eyes.” He sounded forcibly nonchalant. That meant either he’d dealt with this a long time ago, or —Luke’s bet—he’d never dealt with either his father’s death or any of the issues all children, especially many gay children, had with their families. Luke opened his mouth to pursue a conversation in that vein, even though it would be more like guerrilla warfare as Mark tried to attack and retreat endlessly, but then he was distracted by Mark stroking two fingers up his bare thigh. “Do you want me to crash?”

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“I’m sure you could poof us out of the car in plenty of time.” Despite his words, Mark’s fingers stilled just below Luke’s groin. “There’s just a little grove around here somewhere that I think you’ll enjoy.” “We’re supposed to be there in less than twenty minutes, and you want to have sex?” Not that he minded. He’d watched Mark pointedly pack the leather strap an hour ago. His lover had done it with a sly grin. Mark’s fingers moved, caressing Luke’s balls through his shorts. Luke hissed in pleasure and used magic to open his zipper. “Are your fingers okay?” “They’ll just have to itch. I can’t believe how long I went without touching you.” Mark dipped his fingers into Luke’s shorts to increase the friction. “Commando, I see.” As if either of them went any other way anymore, unless it was Mark having to go to work. Mark said, “I’m sure we can make this pleasurable but quick. And we don’t even have to get out of the car. I just want to show you how beautiful this grove is and then christen it with a couple of orgasms. I haven’t been here in over a decade, but this is where I did a lot of my growing up.” “All right,” Luke gasped as Mark left off caressing his balls and began stroking his cock. “Where’s this grove?” Mark undid his seat belt and put his head in Luke’s lap. “If you promise to hold this thought,” he said, licking Luke’s cock just once, “I’ll find it. Deal?” Luke nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered. Mark sat up. Scratched his fingers. Grimaced and dragged his teeth over his lips. Feeling guilty at once, Luke said, “We don’t have to.” Mark shot a dragon’s yellow-green and starving gaze at him. “I need you. We’ll keep going east for another mile or so, and then—” Above them, something screamed. Or maybe roared. “Dragon,” Mark said. “Stop.” Luke did, hoping no one came along on this narrow stretch of dirt road, and Mark was out of the car even before the genie had shut off the engine and set the hazards flashing.

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genie stood very still—and even stopped breathing—so he would offer as little background noise as possible. His holding still didn’t change the fact that he was sporting an erection, despite the possible danger. He’d started to lose it when the dragon screamed right over their heads, but watching Mark work always gave him a hard-on. Mark at last relaxed. “It’s gone,” he said, nodding toward the east. “That way. It wasn’t a mating call we heard. Probably a territorial thing. I think it was out of its own territory and wanting to make any dragon in the area aware that it was just passing through.” He stood still for a moment more, then walked around the car and dropped to his knees. “I need you.” He began laying little kisses along Luke’s cock and over his lower belly. Much as he wanted this right now, Luke forced himself to speak. “You’re sure it won’t come back? What about what the sylph said?” “That dragon’s not my problem unless it decides to make itself so. SearchLight forced me into a vacation.” And he took Luke into his mouth again. In Luke’s experience, a dragon in the area was every magical creature’s business, but he knew better than to argue. “What about the itching?” But he was losing the battle; his hips rocked forward, and his hands began toying with Mark’s hair. “Screw it,” Mark muttered around Luke’s cock, his words barely understandable. Luke moaned as Mark’s tongue ran the length of his shaft. His knees were trembling, and he hissed in pleasure as Mark cupped his balls. But then Mark pulled back and grinned up at him. “And just so you don’t have any excuse to not thoroughly enjoy this, I want you to fuck me senseless once I’m done here.” Luke moaned and thrust into the empty air, craving Mark’s mouth. Mark laughed, teasing with his eyes. “What do you want?” Luke gave in without any protest. “Suck me. Please.” Mark flicked his tongue out and took the little precum that had beaded on the head of Luke’s cock. Through the haze of arousal, Luke heard him ask, “Are you sure?” “Mark!”

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“I’ll take that as a yes.” And Mark’s sweet heat was back around his cock, caressing him, teasing him, but pulling him toward orgasm so swiftly that Luke felt his knees buckling. He held himself up with an effort. It would only make Mark itch more to support the genie’s weight. He looked down at Mark’s dark, tousled hair, at his own cock disappearing into Mark’s mouth, and came in cresting, powerful waves. When he could breathe again, he drew Mark to his feet. “Where do you want it?” Mark laughed at him. “In the ass. Where else?” Luke shook his head, reached for his lover, but then forced his hands down. “Here or in your grove?” “How about in the car with my head hanging out the window, my knees on my seat, and you fucking me senseless with your knees on your seat?” “That’s going to make you itch in a thousand places.” Mark scratched his mouth with his blunt nails and shrugged. “It doesn’t itch as much as before.” “Liar.” “Damn straight.” Mark dropped his hands. “But I need you.” He ran his tongue over his sharp teeth. “Please.” He couldn’t say no to his Mark.

*** The old house wasn’t much different than he’d remembered, but Mark still took a moment to look it over from the relatively safe distance of the driveway’s end. The two-story was surrounded by pines on three sides and all but swallowed by the maples that grew in its front yard and overshadowed the immediate world. From here, it looked as if nothing had changed. Still, out of self-preservation, he braced himself for the shock of everything being different once he walked in the front door. He started down the driveway. He’d taken over the driving because there just weren’t any street signs in this part of Western New York, and he’d had a feeling he wouldn’t recognize a turn until after they’d passed it. He’d been right, and that made him doubly glad he’d decided to take over the

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driving. It was easier to correct his mistakes without having to explain them. He’d performed several illegal U-turns and finally found his way to this little edge-of-the-village nook. Once he’d gotten the car into the little turnaround that he and Jonathan had helped his father and uncles lay when Mark was twelve, he turned off the engine and met Luke’s slightly amused, slightly nervous gaze. “Ready?” “I’ll never be ready to meet angry parents.” “Parent. My dad’s dead, remember?” Mark had killed the cousin-murdering bastard himself when he was sixteen. “Besides, it’s not really her you have to worry about.” He checked his hair in the mirror and laughed at how it stuck up all over the place. “Could you fix this for me? I don’t need to show up with sex hair.” Luke snapped his fingers, and Mark had going-to-the-office hair. “Your wish is my command.” He waggled his eyebrows. “We’ll have to be careful where you ask for what you really want.” He opened his door and bounded out of the car. “Coming?” Again? Grinning, Mark followed Luke’s example, minus the bounding, and closed his door before heading for the trunk. Behind him, the front door flew open. “Mar-Mar!” He turned, a surprised grin started, and saw that his sister Naomi was dressed in a yellow skirt that was so her color that he laughed. Over it, she wore a flowered tank top. “Hey, Na-mi!” he called, waving for good measure as, off to his right, Luke got the trunk open (with magic, because Mark hadn’t unlocked it) and unloaded their suitcase. “How’re”—shit, he knew their names—“Dorcas, David, and Daniel?” “It’s Tabitha, not Dorcas,” she said with a half scowl. “Isn’t that just the Greek form of Dor—” “Shut. Up. Mar-Mar.” Luke came up beside him, and Mark wanted so badly to interlace their fingers and show his sister that he was happily attached that his heart ached. He gave Luke a weak smile and nodded toward the house. “Ready?” he mouthed. “Only if you are,” Luke murmured.

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Mark saw his own need reflected in the genie’s eyes and felt suddenly brave. He caught Luke’s hand and squeezed his fingers, itching be damned. “We can do this. It’s only for a few days.” Luke nodded. “Okay. We—” “Mark. You’re early.” Oh damn. Mark turned to his right, releasing Luke’s hand, and watched his older brother walk between the apple trees where they’d played cops and robbers until Jonathan got too old. Mark resisted the urge to take a step back. “Jon. You look good. Married life agrees with you.” “You must be Mark’s friend. Come into the house,” Naomi said, appearing behind Mark. “I’ll take your suitcase. Where’s yours, Mar… Mark?” He didn’t dare look away from Jonathan’s narrowed blue eyes. “We travel light,” Luke said. Jonathan’s upper lip lifted in a snarl. Do you have a problem? Mark thought at him, wishing his brother was a little telepathic too. Or are you just wondering if I can still take you? “We’ll be in shortly,” Mark said. “Naomi, will you introduce my lover to Mom?” He walked away from the car and to the edge of the driveway, letting Jonathan come the rest of the way if he wanted to. Behind him, Naomi said something. Luke made no sound. “Go on, Naomi,” Jonathan said. “Give us a minute.” What seemed like an eternity later, the front door opened and closed. Jonathan folded his arms, narrowed his eyes a bit more. “You could have warned us.” Three choices here: purposely misunderstand, bite the bullet, or sidestep? “It was a lastminute decision.” That was even the truth to a certain extent. Jonathan raised his dark eyebrows, staring at Mark out of a face that looked even more like their father’s than it had ten years ago. “Your first time home in far too long, and you have to bring someone with you? Honestly, Mark—” “Honestly, Jonathan, you sound like a nervy old lady.” He made his voice breathy and high. “Get down outta that ’ere apple tree, or I’ll whup ya one.”

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gotten his mother’s genes there where he’d gotten their father’s face. Mark’s back seemed to burst into a brushfire of itching. He forced himself not to flinch, but it was a near thing. He grimaced and beckoned with the fingers of both hands. “Come on,” he snarled. “If you really want to try it again, come on.” “You’re still an incorrigible child.” Jonathan dropped his hands. “Mom’s invited you home to give you the opportunity to patch things up with everyone and to meet your niece and nephews. To atone for all the things you haven’t done for and with this family. All the things you’ve missed. Daniel’s and David’s first steps. Tabitha’s first word.” He crossed his arms. “You’ll never guess what it was.” The itching crawled up over both shoulders and across his chest. From there it spread down his arms. Mark winced and tried to think of a way he could scratch casually without losing face or looking distracted. “If she really wants me here, she’ll accept who and what I am: a gay man with a lover.” The older Tavery turned away, starting back toward the trees. “I don’t know why I even bother to try anymore. You’ll never understand why discretion is the better part of valor. Go ahead: walk in there with your ‘accept me, accept my lifestyle attitude.’ See how far it gets you.” Mark bit his lip. Even his toenails itched now. “I only came to see Mom because she begged. I’m not here to see you.” “Good. Then we’ll keep out of each other’s hair until the day after Yom Kippur.” And Jonathan disappeared. Mark dived for the car. If he drove about half a mile, there wouldn’t be anyone around to see him assume his dragon scales. And once he’d taken on his dragon form, he’d itch everywhere he could reach in relative peace. Maybe he’d even be able to scratch off a few scales.

*** Luke’s first shocked thought at seeing Mark’s brother was: They’re twins! This was instantly trumped by, Is he a dragon too? That question was accompanied by a rush of fear so strong, he barely managed to slip in a bit of patter to Mark’s sister about his and Mark’s joint suitcase. Then his heart slowed when he remembered that all dragons stood less than six feet tall when in human form. So, he’s not a dragon, and he’s got to be only Mark’s half brother. But

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damn did they look similar. Even the way they carried themselves was the same. They shared the same bittersweet chocolate hair, the same tanned skin showing above their collars (though he suspected Mark’s brother wasn’t the type of man who went shirtless on a regular basis), and the very same Gulf of Mexico blue eyes. Mark’s brother—what was his name again?—had said something, and the sister seemed to want Luke to go with her toward the house. Luke looked to his lover, but Mark didn’t give him even a glance. You have to stand all alone again to face the danger? Fine. You work out your issues with your brother. I’m about to go find out why you didn’t even want to come here in the first place and why your first instinct was to tell me you didn’t want me with you. He marched toward the house, beating Naomi there and opening the door for her with an exaggerated bow. The laugh she gave didn’t reach her eyes, and before she went in, she looked back to where her brothers were glaring at each other across a distance almost wide enough to be called a demilitarized zone. When he’d closed the door, Luke took a moment to breathe. The thought of leaving Mark outside with his brother poured water on his temper, and he took the hint. Even if he was frustrated with Mark, this wasn’t the time to show it. These next few minutes were crucial for winning points with his partner’s family. “Wait here,” Naomi said, setting the suitcase down near the door. “I’ll be right back.” She stepped over a scattering of bright plastic cars and left the sunlit living room. Luke glanced around, taking in the family photos that covered every inch of wall space five feet off the floor. Most of the eyes that looked back at him were blue. Men, women, and children laughed, ate, slept, danced, swam, and… He grinned, crossing to the captured image of a little kid on a toilet. He took it off the wall, his grin widening when he saw the tousle of dark hair and the ocean blue eyes staring back at him. He turned the frame over, knowing that the picture was probably labeled inside and that he wouldn’t be able to read it, but needing to look just in case. Pleasantly surprised, he laughed out loud. Scrawled in the upper right-hand corner was a note: December 3, 1975 Mark surprised us all. We didn’t even get to sing the Potty Song! “You… You sick bastard!”

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eye to eye with a statuesque woman of perhaps sixty. Her eyes were also blue, though several shades darker than Mark’s. “I was just—” “Where is my son?” She put the picture behind her back, retreated a step, and held her other hand out in a warding-off gesture. He swallowed. Her eyes didn’t flash to a dragon’s fierce yellow-green like Mark’s, but he fought the urge to retreat just the same. “Outside with your…other son.” He felt himself flush and extended his hand. “I’m—” She slapped his hand away but then caught his wrist. “Don’t presume to touch me.” Her grip was painfully tight. “Mark has welcomed you into his house? That’s fine; he’s in charge of his own home. But you aren’t welcome here, Reese.” “Whoa!” He tried to pull away. Her grip tightened. “How dare you come into my house after everything you told me?” Mark’s mother had talked to Reese? And Reese had lived through it? “Mrs. Tavery, wait.” She grimaced. “No. You wait.” She cast away his wrist like a dead snake. “You said I’m the reason Mark’s so messed up”—she stepped forward and put power behind the two fingers she poked into the center of his chest—“and that the reason he enjoys being abused and degraded is because of me.” By the One-Who-Decides! Luke spoke gently. “I’m sorry he—” She tossed her hands in the air. “You’re sorry?” She shoved past him and put the picture back in place. “You’ve been abusing my son, you had the gall to gloat about it, and you’re sorry? Get out.” Her back was straight, stiff, shutting him out. He wanted to transport himself in front of her. His heart constricted for all she had suffered. “Mrs. Tavery—” “Leave.” “I’m not Reese. My name is Luke. Mark and I have been together since May.” For a moment she seemed to freeze even more deeply into her rage, but then she glanced over her shoulder, and her eye was almost friendly. “What?”

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“I’m Luke Morrison.” He extended his hand again. “I moved into Gulfport in April. Met Mark the day I moved in, actually. I was a contractor in his office for a couple months.” “Was Reese still there?” “Sort of.” He wanted to dig his toe in the carpet. “Mark was sharing his house with a roommate, and that roommate started dating Reese.” She snorted, but her gaze was uncertain. “Reese wanted another chance to hurt Mark?” She was facing him now, and her gaze demanded that he give her an honest answer. “Yes. Mark left him in late January, but Reese started dating his roommate in February.” She moved past him to the couch and sat. “Come here.” He sank down beside her, folding his hands in his lap like he had when he was a child. He found himself almost mesmerized by the locket at her throat. It was inscribed with a lowercase m. “Mrs. Tavery, may I ask about your necklace?” She offered him a small smile. “Yes, it was a gift from Mark. He sent it to me for my birthday the year he started working for SearchLight.” “You know about SearchLight? About…about what it does?” Her smile widened. “My husband was a dragon, Luke Morrison. And I was here the day SearchLight agents came to talk to Mark and to tell me that he, too, was a dragon. Of course I know about SearchLight.” She unclasped the locket and opened it, holding it out so he could see the picture of a younger version of herself and a boy of four or five with bright blue eyes. “He sent this with an apology,” she said quietly. “It said he needed to be alone for a while.” Luke nodded. Here was someone who understood exactly what he’d been facing every day since he’d fallen for his beautiful lover. “Mark’s strong, but he really likes to carry all the weight of the world on his shoulders.” She put the locket back around her neck, clasping it effortlessly, as if she wore this particular piece of jewelry every day. “It’s not that he likes it.” The front door opened, and Mark’s brother stormed in. “He’s gone. Did he take his faggy boyfriend with him?” He caught sight of Luke and frowned.

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Emily Carrington “Jon, this is Luke. He and Mark will be staying in the back bedroom. Do me a favor and

open the windows in there, please.” Mark was gone? What exactly was he going to accomplish by leaving Luke here? The genie didn’t move but couldn’t keep the sudden tension out of his shoulders. Sometimes, Mark, you make no sense. First you say you don’t want me here; then you say you do; then you go off and leave me alone with the family you say will rip me to shreds. Jonathan sighed. “All right. But if he’s not here by dinner—” “Have confidence in him,” she said as she stood. When her older son had disappeared, she turned back to Luke and took both of his hands. “Will you go out and find him, please?” Rising, he resisted the urge to bow. “We’ll be back soon.” He slipped out the front door and jogged to the end of the driveway, grateful at once that he could see Mark’s tire tracks clearly in the dirt. He turned left and broke into an easy run. Less than a half mile later, he heard the crackling of underbrush off to his right. He rounded a bend and found the Pontiac. “Mark?” A groan answered him, and Luke pushed his way between two close-growing trees. He stopped on the edge of a tiny clearing and met his lover’s agonized gaze. Mark, fully eight feet long and covered from nose to tail with blue scales, lay on his side. His forked tongue protruded between his lips, and his chest heaved. Luke crouched beside him. His hands shook. After having a dragon hunt me for two hundred years, you’d think I would know more about them. “How do I help you?” Mark blinked slowly. “I just had to itch.” He groaned again and closed his eyes. Luke sat cross-legged on the grass and lifted Mark’s head into his lap. He placed his wrist against his lover’s lips. “Drink.” Mark shook his head. “I’m fine. Just give me another minute to rest.” Luke grimaced. “You take blood from me when we make love. How is this any different?” “You wouldn’t be getting off on it.” Mark groaned again, shuddered, and suddenly Luke was treated to the sight of a dark-haired, tanned, lithe, and very naked man. Mark sat up. “I’ll be all right,” he said, not looking at the genie. Luke’s scowl deepened. “If drinking a little blood will help you feel better—”

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“I’m fine.” Mark pushed himself up, swaying on his feet. Luke jumped to catch him. “You’re dizzy.” “More frustrated than anything.” Mark pulled away and scratched where Luke’s hands had rested on his upper arms. “I didn’t shed so much as one fucking scale no matter how hard I scratched.” He met Luke’s gaze, and the smile he offered looked exhausted. “I’m sorry I left you with them.” What could he say when Mark was so desperately in need of something the genie couldn’t provide? “I like your mother. And don’t worry about Jonathan. He’ll either get used to me, or we’ll be gone soon. Either way, everything will be fine.” Abruptly, Mark leaned against him, wrapping strong arms around his waist. Cheek against Luke’s shoulder, he murmured, “Thank you.” Like in the kitchen yesterday, his voice was choked. I’d be happier if you’d take a little drink, but… But Mark showing even this little bit of vulnerability and gratitude was like the Christians’ Second Coming, so Luke only kissed his lover’s hair. “Let’s get you coated in about an inch of lotion, dressed, and back to the house. Apparently there will be dinner soon.” Mark drew back, and his smile this time was hungry. “If I can manage another oatmeal bath in your lamp before we sleep tonight, is there a chance I can open another of my gifts?” He was thick and warm against Luke, already half aroused. And that’s one of the reasons I can’t stay mad at him. Luke grinned. “Yes, Mawster. Anything you wish.”

*** By the scent, his mother was still playing blood bank to a dragon. Mark even thought his sister might be doing the same. In the light of those truths, it seemed idiotic to worry about how Jonathan and Naomi’s husband, Abraham, took things between himself and Luke, but he couldn’t help worrying about it. Abraham didn’t want Mark holding Tabitha or the twins; Jonathan didn’t want Mark too close to him or his wife, Becca. Neither of them wanted Luke close to them. As for Luke approving of my mother, I think he was just being polite. She seemed to be more concerned with getting

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everyone fed than with making sure Jonathan and Abraham kept their not so subtle comments to a minimum. Becca followed her husband’s example, and Naomi only said “maybe later” when Mark asked if he could help her feed the twins. So. Any warm reception from the adults was a washout, but the children were another matter. All three of them seemed to want to be near Luke or, failing that, to draw his attention. Dinner had been a mostly silent affair, but as the dishes were being cleared, Tabitha wriggled out of her chair, crawled under the table and up onto Luke’s lap. “Do a trick, Uncle Luke. Please?” Luke obligingly dipped his fingers toward her ear and produced a folded dollar bill. “For you, Tabbykins.” It was a variation on the nickname, Tabby, that the rest of her family used, and she giggled. Luke winked at her, and Mark had the pleasure of watching the genie’s tension melt away a little. Had he been on edge for the last three hours? Mark had to admit that was probably the case. As soon as he found out why his mother was letting a dragon drink from her (and possibly Naomi), he would take Luke away from here, his promise to stay through Yom Kippur be damned. He’d never liked that “make everything right between you and your neighbor, then between you and God” holy day. Pure idiocy. “That’s not the meaning of Rosh Hashanah or the ten days before Yom Kippur,” Abraham began. “It’s a time of atonement and—” “Uncle Mark’s hair produces ten-dollar bills,” Luke told Tabby as if he hadn’t heard. “Really?” she asked. “Go sit on his lap and put your fingers in his hair just here.” He touched the side of Tabitha’s head above her right ear. Naomi opened her mouth, but her husband beat her to it. “Tabitha Carolyn—” It was too late. Mark found himself with a lapful of excited little girl. She had his sister’s eyes, and despite the anger flowing around him like a riptide, all he could do was tilt his head so Tabitha could reach more easily. She brushed at his hair, and he felt the bill appear against his skin. She squealed as she took it out and waved it at her parents. “They’re magic, Mommy!”

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“That’s nice, dear,” Mark’s mother murmured. “Come help me with the honey cake?” She glanced at Abraham. “She’s never met her uncle.” “Unclezzz,” Mark added half-audibly, wincing at his inability to make it any louder. His niece scrambled after her grandmother, but not before she gave first Mark and then Luke resounding kisses on their cheeks. Then, giggling, she ran into the kitchen. He tried to let her carefree attitude touch him, ease his mind. But his gaze strayed first to Luke, who was staring back at him like a stricken calf, and then to his brother, and at last to his sister. He closed his eyes for a moment and scented the air, trying to distinguish what he’d smelled on his mother’s skin when she’d hugged him from what he was smelling now. But he still couldn’t tell if it was a lingering scent from his mother or if Naomi had been feeding a dragon too. Preparing himself for all the anger he was about to face, he opened his eyes. Abraham was on his feet. “You,” he said, jabbing a finger at Mark. “Outside.” Luke was up before Mark could even consider how to respond. “Are you threatening my lover?” the genie demanded in a voice too low to carry into the kitchen. Jonathan, too, was standing. So were the women, each trying to hold her husband back. Mark stood as well. He tried to speak calmly, or at least with some of the authority he possessed in the field. He was pretty sure he failed at both. “I need to talk to Naomi. If, after we’re done, you still want to kick the shit out of me, you’ll find me ready to defend myself. But this comes first.” He rounded the table, took Naomi’s arm gently, and started for the back bedroom. He glanced at Luke before leaving the dining room. “Will you be all right?” “I won’t kill anyone,” Luke answered as he settled back into his chair. “I’ll just be waiting here for cake.” Despite the tense situation, or maybe because of it since he’d always loved confrontation, Mark grinned. “I love you.” Now Luke’s expression imitated his purposely relaxed tone. “I love you too, my Mark.” That got splutters from Jonathan and Abraham, but Mark ignored them and drew Naomi after him into the bedroom. He closed the door, released her, and met her troubled gaze. “Mark, I can’t control how Abe—”

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Emily Carrington “I don’t give a fuck what he thinks. If things get too heated, Luke and I are out of here.”

He crossed his arms and glared at her. “What dragon are you feeding?” She went deathly pale, stumbled back from him three steps, and sat heavily on the bed. “It’s just at night, and it’s not much!” She stopped, bit her lip, and then asked, her eyes lowered, “How did you know?” He didn’t want to tell her it was how she smelled. “Why, Na-mi? What did he promise you?” She stared down at her hands. “It’s not what you think. It’s not like Mom and”—she winced—“Dad. It’s…” He crouched before her. “Talk to me, please. Maybe I can help.” She shook her head, and tears trickled down her cheeks. “It’s not that simple.” “Why? And why is Mom involved?” She gaped at him. “How do you know?” He grabbed a tissue from the box on the nightstand and dabbed her tears away. “Why are you both doing this?” Naomi pushed herself to her feet. “Just because you know so much doesn’t mean I have to tell you anything.” He rose. “But—” She stalked to the door but turned before opening it. “Stay out of it, Mark. In fact, just go back to your cushy beaches and leave us alone. That’s what you’re best at, isn’t it?” She paused. “We only feed the dragon every third night. We did it last night. It will all be over soon. Stay out of this, okay?” She slammed the door behind her. He stared at the door once she was gone. What kind of trouble had his family gotten themselves into? Did Jonathan know anything about it? He stood quietly for a moment, working to bury his feelings under a mask, and then left the bedroom in search of Luke.

*** He wasn’t going to kill anyone, but did that mean he couldn’t maim them either?

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As Luke leaned back in his chair and watched Mark’s brother and brother-in-law glaring at him and Mark’s sister-in-law squirming uncomfortably in her chair, he decided maiming would do too much damage to the relationship Mark might eventually have with his niece and nephews. So he simply glared back and waited for either the honey cake or Mark to appear. In their high chairs, the twins were strangely silent. Luke was used to the effect he had on children, especially young ones. They had an innate sense about him and didn’t mind sharing that fact. Now he knew he was sending them a silent, mostly unconscious request to hold their tongues until he’d figured out what to do. Besides decide that maiming wasn’t an option. “You’ve, ah, been living with Mark?” Jonathan’s wife asked. Her husband shot her a look. Luke admired her courage and said so, adding, “It’s still new, but we’re very much in love.” “Do you really think you could take me?” Abraham asked. He added, “Not that real Jews fight unless it’s absolutely necessary. I would only be defending my family.” Luke swallowed his initial response. “If you don’t want me holding your daughter, it’s your job to keep her under lock and key. I won’t push her away.” He watched the man seethe and said contemplatively, “She has a good sense about people. I hope she doesn’t lose it as she gets older.” “On that note,” Mark said from the doorway, “it’s time we got unpacked and settled in. Mom’s letting me use the back bedroom.” His eyes were flinty, but Luke had the idea that there was more on Mark’s mind than how his family felt, though that was undoubtedly present also. He rose. “Guess we’ll have to hope there’s cake later.” He joined Mark in the doorway and blinked his surprise and pleasure when Mark took his hand as he had in the driveway. “Could you keep that shit out of my sight?” Abraham demanded. “Oo! Daddy said a bad word!” Tabitha crowed from the kitchen doorway. “He’ll atoon for it before Yom Kippur, right, Grandma?” Luke smirked and allowed Mark to draw him out of the room. “We have a problem,” Mark said the moment the bedroom door was closed and locked.

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Emily Carrington “What’s wrong?” He glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “The dragon?” “That one or another is feeding off my mom and sister. They’re allowing the feeding; I’m

just not sure why.” Luke’s stomach tightened. Mark had been relegated to a desk for his own safety for the last twelve weeks. The itch caused by the delayed shedding was an insane amount of distraction, but that aside, once the shedding finally started, Mark would lose much of his strength. “Will you be able to stop the dragon in your condition?” Mark sighed and scratched both arms. After a moment of this, he turned from Luke and dug through his bag. He came up with a wooden back scratcher. “I can’t let them keep feeding it. Can you survive here until I find the dragon and convince it to eat something else?” Avoiding the question. Yeah, that’s my Mark. Luke stepped close. “Do you want me to put lotion on your back?” He was grateful to have something to do. He hated to admit it, made him feel like shit to do so, but when Mark was self-sufficient, he found himself feeling pretty useless. That wasn’t the way a lover was supposed to be, but hadn’t that been the way he once was with his many-years-dead lover, Jesse? “As for your family: if you can handle them, so can I.” Mark nodded, and some of his tension evaporated. He pulled his shirt off. “I love you.” He put his arms around Luke and rested against him for a moment before he had to back away and scratch. Luke conjured the unscented lotion that had been doing Mark the most good. He squirted a large glob into his hand, grinned down at the white stuff for a second, and then met Mark’s amused gaze. “Turn around, Mawster.” His grin widened at how freely Mark touched him now. It hadn’t been like that when they’d first met. Now if I could just keep him freely accepting my help whenever he needs it… Mark obeyed. “Are you okay?” Luke warmed the lotion between his hands and then magicked it over Mark’s back so that he wouldn’t miss a single inch. He began massaging the lotion in. Mark sighed and leaned into the touch. “You’re so good at this.” He was silent for only a moment before asking again, “Luke? What’s wrong?” “I’m all right.” But any deception he’d meant to work—he couldn’t let Mark know how glad he was to be needed—was spoiled when Mark said, “Please tell me.”

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He couldn’t. He’d only hurt Mark, so he couldn’t. But he did. That was just the power Mark had over him. Though he managed to cloak the truth in one of his lesser needs. “I’m going nuts being alone all day. I need a job. I want…” He shook his head in frustration as it danced just out of his reach. He made his best stab at it. “I want a chance to try all the things I’ve read about, and that includes tangling with banshees, ghosts, and kelpies.” That was true. Sort of. But not near enough to what he longed for. “I want a chance to make a positive impact on the magical world, but more than anything, I want a chance to do it beside you.” That was closer. “And I get the feeling that if SearchLight agrees to take me, there will be all these limitations to my magic, and even if there aren’t, how am I going to handle it if I have to watch someone die? If I have to watch you go it alone on part or all of a mission?” Someone knocked on the bedroom door. Mark groaned. “Just a minute,” he called. Then, turning to Luke, he placed a light kiss on the corner of the genie’s mouth. “I promise I’ll help you figure this out.” Luke nodded and tried to smile. He even managed a little waggle of his brows. “You’re nothing if not creative.” But damn it, that explanation hadn’t been anywhere near what he really wanted. He felt it in his bones like fire. True, it was his own fault that he hadn’t gotten it out completely, but he could have managed to explain himself a little better, couldn’t he? Mark blushed a little as he drew back. “Come in.” “Can’t,” came Jonathan’s rough reply. “You’re locked in there with your fag boyfriend.” Mark’s blush turned to the flush of anger, but instead of responding, he caught Luke’s eye and mouthed, “Invisible, please.” He yanked his shirt on over his head. Luke did as he was told and even stepped to one wall so Jonathan wouldn’t run into him and be scared shitless. Then Mark opened the door. “Are you sure you want Tabitha, David, and Daniel to hear you?” He stepped back and waved Jonathan into the room. Luke watched Mark’s older brother look around. “Where is he?” “Taking a walk. Do you have a problem with that too?” Mark closed the door again and leaned against it in the nonchalant posture Luke had seen him use the day he told Reese to take a hike.

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Emily Carrington Jonathan just looked at him for a moment before finally taking up an almost identical

position against the closet door. He glanced at it as he did so. “He hiding in here?” “Check for yourself.” It was eerie how alike they looked; the biggest difference was that Mark was a head shorter. Luke drew closer to Mark, offering silent (and unseen, though probably not unsensed) support. “Just wanted to tell you I’m not going to jump your faggy—” “His name is Luke,” Mark cut in smoothly, his usual negotiator mask only half in place. Maybe there had been a time, and not too long in the past, that he wouldn’t have been able to stand up to his brother. Luke moved a step closer and resisted the urge to put his arm around Mark’s shoulders just in case Mark didn’t sense him. “—boyfriend, but I won’t stop Abraham either.” “Don’t worry about Luke; he can take care of himself.” Having Mark show his kick-ass attitude had always, would always, be a turn-on. This was central to the gift he’d given Mark, to the ones he planned to give, and yet, somehow, he sensed it was at odds with what would make him, Luke, truly happy. Jonathan looked profoundly uncomfortable. “He’s a lightweight. Maybe you and he could take Abraham together, but neither of you could do it alone. I don’t want to see you get hurt, Mark. That’s too high a price for the choice you’ve made.” Mark’s eyes flashed, not changing color, but all but igniting the air around him. Unseen, Luke traded his shorts for loose boxers. They tented in front at once. “It’s not a choice, but I appreciate your concern,” Mark said, sounding like he was being asked to chew glass. Then, dropping his arms, he asked, “Have you noticed how exhausted Mom looks?” Luke’s erection packed its bags and left him with a case of blue balls so intense, he didn’t think a mere human could handle it. Talk about anyone’s exhausted parent would do that, but suddenly he remembered all the times he had stayed home when Jesse had gone to see his parents. Jesse had always said he could never introduce Luke to his family. And it hadn’t just

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been the gay thing, though that had been huge back in the sixties. At first, Luke had argued that Jesse could introduce Luke as a business associate if he’d magicked himself black. He’d argued that he wouldn’t mind changing his appearance, but Jesse had refused to let him do so. The human had said it would have been like dating someone completely different. Luke had argued that skin color was only skin-deep, but Jesse’s answer had been that he’d never be able to pull off a black walk, talk, or attitude. They’d argued about it for months until Luke finally gave up and accepted it as one of the things he’d never share in. He had no family; he would never share in Jesse’s. And, or so it seemed now, he wouldn’t share in Mark’s either. Strange how he hadn’t let himself feel how much he’d wanted that until now. Jonathan snorted, drawing Luke’s attention. “I’m not the one who’s been out of reach for years. Of course I’ve noticed.” “And Naomi—” “Those twins just have her running nonstop. And little Tabitha’s cute, but she won’t be starting full-day school until first grade.” “Have you noticed anything unusual around the house?” Mark’s take-charge and take-no-shit tone was back with a vengeance, but Luke’s erection was nowhere to be found. He poofed his shorts back on. Jonathan still hadn’t uncrossed his arms. “Like what? I haven’t been here since we got together for Passover.” “How long have Naomi and Abraham been living around here?” “They don’t live ‘around’ here; they live here. Mom started getting really run-down. She was in the hospital in April, not that you ever returned my calls.” Mark grimaced. “So Naomi moved in—when? May?” Luke thought of the suffering that had claimed Mark’s life from December of last year through May of this one and resisted the urge to deck his lover’s brother. Jonathan grimaced just as Mark had: the expression was identical. “Yeah. But you should have been here!” Mark waved that away. “I’ll have to get Naomi to tell me what’s going on.” Jonathan’s voice rose. “With what?”

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Emily Carrington Mark invaded his brother’s space. “A dragon is feeding on Mom and Naomi, just like Dad

did.” Jonathan’s eyes widened, but then he seemed to master himself. “That’s crazy!” “From the way they look, I’d say the dragon’s been drinking from them for at least a year.” “But Naomi didn’t move here from Pennsylvania until May.” Mark shrugged. “I’m just calling it like I see it. Dragons often drink a woman’s blood once a month, and—” He stopped short. “But Mom’s not menstruating,” he seemed to say to himself. Jonathan went scarlet, and Luke had to stifle a startled laugh. “Mark! Holy shit!” Mark blinked at him for a moment. “What?” Then, “Sorry. I’m used to—” “Talking about anything and everything,” Jonathan snapped. “I’ll bet. So, do you and your faggy boyfriend talk about what you want to do with little boys too?” An instant later, he was on the floor, blood flowing freely from his nose. Mark loomed over him, breathing heavily, but his eyes, much to Luke’s relief, were a solid blue. Despite his anger, he was in full control of the dragon he kept inside. “Get out. I don’t want to hear from you until you’re ready to apologize.” “You talk like this is your house,” Jonathan grumbled around his hand. “I’ll get Mom to make you leave.” “Do that, and she and Naomi will be dead. Is that what you want?” But Mark didn’t give him a chance to respond. Instead, he opened the door and stalked out, calling over his shoulder, “Tell Mom I’ll be out looking for the dragon.” Luke followed him outside.

*** “That son of a bitch,” Mark exploded when he judged that he and Luke were far enough from the house. “I’m going to kill him. If he teaches his children that shit… If Abraham and Naomi do…” Too pissed to go on, he crouched and came up with a rock from the very end of the driveway. He looked for a target and saw the stout trunk of a pine nearby. He hurled the rock and tried to feel a little satisfaction when it struck just where he’d aimed a third of the way up the trunk. Failing that, he wrapped his arms tight around himself and just stared at the tree. Maybe he could make it burst into flames just by looking.

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A well-known helpless fury surged through him then, and Mark did what he’d always done: he drew into himself, wrapping his arms tight around his chest and bowing his head. He longed for a wave to dive into and an undertow to avoid or thwart. How the hell had he lived in this backwoods cesspool for so many years? Yeah, Lake Ontario was relatively close, as Luke had pointed out, but for more than half a year, you couldn’t swim in it, and besides, relatively close meant something different when you didn’t have a car. He felt something, a tickle at the back of his senses, and looked up. Luke was looking at him with that same stricken-calf expression. This time Mark allowed himself to respond to it. He crossed to his partner and took his hands. “What’s wrong?” Luke’s grip was vise tight. “He was just trying to get to you.” “Yeah, I know.” He stepped close and kissed Luke chastely. Stepping back only enough so that they didn’t touch below the waist, he said, “The dragon’s drinking from them both, but it only comes every three days.” He had no reason to believe his sister, but he had no reason to distrust her. And right now, with anger crawling under his skin like a worm, he refused to care. Or, failing that, to seem as if he cared. “It came last night. We have time. Will you take me to my grove?” He pressed himself fully against Luke then, grinding their hips together and suppressing the need to scratch a hundred burning itches. “I want you to kiss me there.” He had the intense pleasure of watching Luke’s eyes darken. “Well?” “Anything for you.” Good. He’d managed to hide his rage expertly. Mark grinned and headed for the car. “Come on.” He shut off the engine less than ten minutes later. The semicircle of trees looked almost the same, and he smiled at how little undergrowth had intruded on the clearing. He got out of the car, conscious of Luke’s gaze on him. “So, do you and your faggy boyfriend talk about what you want to do with little boys too?” He throttled down his rage and fixed a lascivious grin on his lips before glancing at his lover. “Are you going to ravish me here, Mawster?” Mark felt the blood drain from his face. He only had a second to salvage the situation. He knew Luke didn’t mean that in the rape sense, but rather in the 1930s bodice-ripper sense. He

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didn’t trust himself to give a natural-sounding laugh or to speak. Instead, he stepped around the car, buried his anger and the need to scratch even deeper, put both hands on either side of his lover’s face, and kissed him hard, claiming his mouth as he’d never claim his body. Luke responded at once, kissing back so desperately that his hands were shaking. Were Luke’s hands shaking because he was angry too? Mark shoved that thought away. Luke took a step back. “We can lie right here in the grass. I’ll put up a magical barrier to keep everyone and everything away.” Could he afford to turn away and scratch his lips? Mark swallowed the impulse. Damn Jon for pissing me off. If he hadn’t pushed that button… He loosed a mental sigh. I’d probably be just as itchy. Damn it. He smiled at Luke. “Please. Do it.” He dropped to his knees, dragging Luke with him, tearing at his lover’s shirt, laughing too much when he popped one of the buttons. He had to dispel the spirit of rage that coiled inside him, maybe inside them both. He felt Luke’s hands still shaking and worked faster, determined to get Luke on top of him and inside him as soon as possible. And all the while he tore at his lover’s clothes, he kissed every inch of available flesh, licking and sucking whenever Luke let out a moan of pleasure. Their scents began to overwhelm his rage; Mark drank it in like wine, praying that Luke would do the same and become drunk on sensation. Finally naked, they lay down together on a blanket that had appeared by genie magic, both of them on their sides, both of them still kissing and touching, stroking wherever they could reach. It came to Mark that they were both fighting to get the other on top. A lightning flash of memory—Jon, covered in mud, stared up at him. “Mark, don’t!”—made him tense with fear. He wouldn’t take the chance of dominating Luke. He pulled back a little. With Luke staring at him, probably in confusion, Mark licked a quick trail from his lover’s throat down to his cock. He swirled his tongue twice around the head before taking the entire shaft into his mouth. Luke keened softly above him but at once tugged at Mark’s shoulders. “Mark, please. I want—” The salty taste of precum reached Mark’s questing tongue. He drew back far enough to collect as much of the pearly liquid on his index finger as possible, then pushed the digit up his own ass to the second knuckle, hiding a wince.

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“Mark—” Not today. If I can help it, not ever. He rolled on top of Luke, saw the genie gazing up at him with hooded eyes, and then plunged himself onto Luke’s cock as if he’d misunderstood what Luke wanted. For an instant, he saw Luke’s shock, but then he leaned forward, tightening his unprepared and so agonized muscles around his lover, and kissed him. When he drew back, he saw that Luke had lost that surprised look; hopefully he was halfway to forgetting that this wasn’t what he’d wanted, at least for the time being. “I love you,” Mark said. He moved, grinning despite the protest of his muscles when Luke’s eyes crossed with pleasure. Luke panted, “I hope you don’t expect me to talk after that.” He kept moving, rocking back and forth, trying to ease himself into it even as he gave Luke what he wanted. If he didn’t come too, or at least be near to it, Luke would know something was wrong. Luke flipped his right hand a little, and Mark’s muscles eased as if responding to a caress. He moaned; he couldn’t help it. He closed his eyes for a moment in sheer pleasure, but when he opened them again, he found the genie glaring at him. “I don’t care how much you want it, Mark. Don’t ever do that again. It only takes a second to stretch you with magic.” Embarrassed, more because of the real reason he’d taken Luke that way than because of the criticism, Mark nodded meekly. “I promise. I just wanted to make your eyes cross like that.” Luke nodded, and his expression eased. “Okay. Now, are you going to keep rocking like that, or do we get to do something a little more rambunctious?” And he conjured a second present. Because his cock had softened—guilt was a bitch—Mark rolled off. Luke had softened too apparently unable to fuck when he was even transiently worried about hurting Mark. Working to hide his guilt, Mark focused on opening the present.

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Chapter Four Luke’s head was spinning, and not just because half his blood was still trying to figure out if it was meant to be in his cock or flowing throughout the rest of his body. He wasn’t even quite sure what the hell had just happened, except that Mark had seemed desperate to be claimed while he’d wanted Mark to do the claiming. Maybe their signals had just gotten crossed. Like hell. Mark had done it again: refused to take Luke’s role. He shook that off, because Mark was looking at the gift with a grin starting, so maybe that hadn’t been how he’d meant it to go at all. Maybe he’d just really, really wanted to ride Luke and hadn’t been able to wait. There were definitely times he didn’t seem to care how much danger or harm he might be putting himself in. That was one of the things that pissed Luke off. He tried to put all questions aside and focus on the present like Mark was doing. “I have eight of them in all.” He thought he’d said that before, but he couldn’t think of anything else. “Hanukkah time at Yom Kippur again, huh?” Mark asked and then burst out laughing when he took a good look at the second Christmas-wrapped gift. “You’re determined to get two religions all mixed up aren’t you? Does this mean I should expect a dreidel wrapped in Santa paper?” He considered a butt-plug-shaped sort of like a dreidel and grinned. That could be an interesting toy. “Maybe. Open it.” Mark ripped off the paper but didn’t open the box. “Leather Affects?” he asked, reading the silver words on the silver box. His eyes were shining. “This is becoming a habit.” His mouth twisted into a devilish sliver of a grin. Damn, that’s hot. The edge of Luke’s anger rubbed away. Mark opened the box and removed the leather collar and short, modified cat-o’-nine-tails, weighing them in one hand. Luke took the box and made it disappear. He waited.

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Mark examined the collar. “What, no leash? How much did you play with this stuff a thousand years ago?” Luke relaxed even further. “Quite a bit. I was always one of those superflexible guys who wanted to try everything I was dishing out on another man. Do you want a leash?” For answer, Mark stepped close, opened the collar, and fitted it about Luke’s neck, nodding as he slipped a finger between the leather and Luke’s hot skin. “I’ll play with just this for now.” He stepped back and examined the whip with its soft tips. “Might’ve known you’re into this. It goes hand in hand with the biting.” He turned a little from Luke, made the “cat” crack in the dry September air. Luke’s hand strayed to his newly roused erection as he imagined the feel of the leather striking his ass. He stepped closer and watched Mark crack the leather again and again, plying it as he had its predecessor. Blood rushed from his head to his cock, and Luke wrapped his arms around Mark from behind, kissing his neck and cheek. “We can always go to my lamp if you’re worried about being discovered here.” Maybe that was what had driven Mark to move things along so quickly. Doubtful, but… Mark chuckled. “I’ve never been afraid to play here. Though this is the first time I’ve had company.” He cracked the whip again. “Bend over.” Only if you agree to fuck me. He might get an opportunity to say that, but that time wasn’t now. So he first lifted his chin to show he wore the leather collar with pride and then obeyed Mark’s teasing order. Mark cracked the modified cat-o’-nine-tails twice across his ass, and Luke jumped, but only a little. He couldn’t believe how quickly he’d started craving Mark’s touch. “Lie on your stomach,” Mark said, his voice raspy. Grinning, Luke did as he was told but slipped his hand down to his balls and gave them a light caress, expecting Mark to— Mark cracked the whip lightly against his ass. “Quit that.” Expecting him to do just that, Luke still jumped, but the cry that escaped his lips was pure need, and the jump was mostly for show. Mark’s breathing was loud in the stillness. “I need to make a few things clear. You’re going to tell me if I’m hitting you too hard. Agreed?”

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Emily Carrington Luke lifted his ass for another blow. “I promise.” “And you’ll tell me if I hit you in the wrong place.” Luke didn’t answer at once. Mark struck his ass again. “Right?” “I promise,” Luke answered. “Good.” Mark crouched beside him, met his gaze. His erection jutted impudently between

his thighs. It ruined the effect of his serious words, but still, he was trying, so Luke tried to focus. If this was something Mark needed to say, he’d listen. “Last thing: no role-playing with ‘slave’ and ‘master.’ You know I’m not into that.” “Yes, Mawster,” he answered, falling back on what he’d called Mark when they first met. Mark struck him again, twice this time, and then stood. Luke moaned. “Mawster’s fine, but don’t push it.” Again Luke lifted his ass, but because he heard the slight worry in his lover’s tone—it sounded so much like his own when he’d talked to the SearchLight security officer—he said, “I promise, Mark. Please, do that again.” Mark ran his free hand over Luke’s ass. “Do me a favor.” Luke laughed and didn’t answer. Mark struck him. “Do me a favor.” “Yes, Mawster. Anything.” “I want your asshole clean. Now.” He was going to get fucked. Luke waved his slightly unsteady right hand. “It’s cleaner than a packaged straw.” Mark struck him again. “If it isn’t, you won’t feel the bite of any leather—or my teeth—for three days.” Mark was going to do it; he was going to claim Luke, make him his own. If asked why that was so important, Luke would have shrugged and said, It’s in my blood, though he knew there was more to it. For right now, however, he didn’t care about fulfilling this ancient tradition or that genie mandate; Mark was going to take him and make him his own.

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He heard the rustle as Mark laid the cat-o’-nine-tails aside. He spread his legs as Mark knelt on the blanket. “Do you want me to conjure some lube?” “No.” Mark ran a steady, firm hand down Luke’s back. “You’re beautiful.” He laid a single kiss at the base of Luke’s spine and then plunged his tongue deep into the genie’s hole. For once, Mark wasn’t an expert; Luke felt his hesitation and tentativeness despite that first bold gesture. Mark not knowing something about sex was hot. Luke rubbed his cock against the blanket so he wouldn’t push against Mark’s virgin lips. Mark drew back, but he slapped Luke’s ass with his open hand, and he was laughing. “You smell like apples? All right, Luke, explain that one.” Luke pushed himself halfway up and twisted so he could meet Mark’s gaze. “Well, I didn’t want you tasting anything…shitty.” He laughed too. Mark shook his head, still chuckling. “I’m not going to argue with that.” He struck Luke’s ass again with his open hand. “Who gave you permission to change position?” “Sorry, Mawster.” At once, he prostrated himself again. Now, now Mark was going to fuck him. He shivered; it wasn’t a pleasant sensation, and he sat up again, catching Mark’s hand to get his attention. “I left my lamp in the rental car.” “You’re thinking about your lamp now?” “It acts like a magical Geiger counter. It’s one way I know if there’s something magical nearby. Not the only way, but—” He was wasting time. “Give me permission to dress you.” Mark nodded. Luke poofed them both into their clothes. “It’s in the rental car, and there’s a dragon nearby.”

Mark changed into his dragon form, groaning when a wave of dizziness made him stagger. “Fuck! What’s wrong with me?” He tried to stand straight, tried to ask Luke to transport them, but the dizziness wouldn’t go. So he regained his human form. He’d ripped his clothes when he’d changed; there was a way to make a specific pair of clothes phase in and out of existence

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when he changed from dragon to human and back again, but that was an advanced bit of magic he hadn’t even dabbled in yet. “Get us there, please.” The transport should have given him an erection, and it tried: he had half a one, but his fear, the dizziness, and the damned itching worked against it. Luke had transported them outside the front door. Mark closed his eyes and listened for all he was worth. When he heard the low, rumbling sound of lightly stirring wings, he spun toward the house, flung the door open, and rushed in. There was the sound of a window shrieking closed, and Mark flew to the stairs. He was up them in a trice and burst into his mother’s room. She lay on the bed with her eyes closed as if she’d been napping, and when she turned her head and looked at him, her face was completely calm. But he knew that trick: she was the one who’d taught it to him even more than SearchLight had. “What’s wrong, dear?” She never called him dear. That was a word she reserved for those she had to handle delicately. He went to the window and looked out, not expecting to see the dragon because he couldn’t hear its wings anymore, but checking nonetheless. When he was satisfied that he and his mother were alone again, he turned to face her, discreetly scenting the air. No blood had been spilled; the dragon must have sensed him coming. Or maybe his mother had and had asked the dragon to leave. Whichever it was, Naomi had lied. “Mark, dear?” His mother leaned up on one elbow. “What’s wrong? Are you and Jonny still fighting?” His heart ached to hear her call him “dear.” It was like an obscenity; she only ever used that word on people she pitied. Shit, he wanted to be alone with Luke in their house in Gulfport, just the two of them making their own family. She was finally acting like his father, Jonathan, and Naomi had. Maybe she’d been that way all along, and he’d simply had a Freudian faith in his mother that had blinded him. Instead of retreating, he crossed to her and sat on the edge of the bed. “I heard it, Mom. Don’t bother pretending. How long has this dragon been drinking from you and Naomi? And why is Naomi protecting it?” “Oh, Mark, I knew your work would eventually be too much. You should come home.”

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He grimaced. “Don’t lie to me.” She stared out the window. “It’s not what you think.” Suddenly more furious than he’d been at Jonathan, Mark rocketed to his feet. “Damn it, Mom! I’ve killed twenty-seven dragons with little more than my bare hands! Don’t you think I can handle myself against one more?” She dropped her gaze to her hands and muttered something about Yahweh. “Dear, you’re a fruit.” She darted a glance at him. “A naked fruit, dear, who has forgotten what it’s like to be among decent people. You can’t have killed that many.” His head swam. “No,” he whispered. But the word died between them. He retreated toward the door, his eyes wide and his stomach so tightly knotted that he could barely breathe. The dizziness increased. He stumbled back and tripped over the threshold. He would have fallen if strong arms hadn’t caught him. For an instant he turned to stone, but then Luke’s familiar scent surrounded him, and he reached up with a trembling hand and touched Luke’s arm where it rested over his heart. “Get me out of here.” They appeared in the lamp, and Mark allowed Luke to draw him over to a small couch. He leaned against Luke and closed his eyes. He tried to speak but could still barely breathe. So he just laid his head on his lover’s shoulder and let Luke wrap strong, safe arms around him. He acknowledged, gratefully, when Luke conjured a shirt and shorts. With shaking hands, Mark got dressed. He wasn’t sure how long it was before his stomach eased. Luke held him and rained gentle kisses on his hair. At last, when he was sure he wouldn’t sound upset, he said, “We’ll have to set up surveillance if Mom and Naomi aren’t going to be honest.” He sighed as Luke started scratching his back. “Thank you.” Luke was silent. Mark knew how hard that had to be for the genie, since one of his lover’s first confessions had been a loathing of silences. “It’s okay; say whatever you want.” “I heard everything she said. I was right behind you in case you had to fight the dragon and needed backup. I just don’t know what to say except that…” He sighed. “Okay, so I don’t know what to say at all. This isn’t like Jesse.” He stopped.

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Emily Carrington “Not like Reese at all,” Mark said as if he hadn’t heard. “Because I was only letting him

hurt me so I wouldn’t be tempted to let myself go and run the risk that I’d accidentally kill someone during sex. This is my mother.” His voice roughened, and he swallowed it back into place. “She’s never said anything like that to me before. It was always ‘Don’t let anyone know you’re gay: they’ll use it against you.’ Advice mostly made in love, or so I thought then.” He paused, measured his thoughts and added, “Still think. But if she was trying to hurt me today, she couldn’t have picked better words.” Luke’s hand stilled on his back. Mark snuggled closer, easing, when Luke’s hand resumed its comforting journey. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to let her play blood bank again. My father almost killed her. And I won’t let Naomi make the same mistake.” Luke’s hand stilled again. “If you want, I can make us both invisible so no one will harass you. That way, you can watch them unobserved.” It was sweet how much Luke was trying to find a way to protect him. He didn’t consider himself old-style feminine in that way—easily charmed—but there were just times Luke knew exactly what to do or say. “I love you,” he said, laying a soft kiss on the corner of Luke’s mouth, “but I have to face them. It’s the only way I’ll get to see my niece and nephews.” Luke raised an eyebrow at him. “We could see them and be invisible,” he said, sticking a pin in Mark’s balloon. But the genie looked more amused than annoyed at being lied to. “I think you want us to stay visible so you can keep your claws sharp. Have you ever stood up to Jonathan before now?” Jon, covered in mud, stared up at him. “Mark, don’t!” He covered his head with both arms, trying to protect himself from his thirteen-year-old younger brother. Mark shoved that image away and made his voice teasing and light. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” “Not everything. Just what’s important to the man I love.” There he went with that intensely sweet talk again. Mark rested his head against his partner’s shoulder once more. But before he could enjoy it for more than a moment, his stomach knotted. “Oh shit.” He wrapped his arms around his middle. “What’s wrong?”

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He didn’t have the strength to speak. Instead he made a vague gesture, trying to show Luke that he needed something to throw up into. Either Luke understood his pathetic attempt at sign language or made a leap of intuition, because a bucket appeared just in time for Mark to lose the food he’d eaten in what felt like a past life. But he threw everything up quickly; there hadn’t been much to give. When he looked up, Luke was holding out a cup. “The medicine your boss suggested for when the shedding finally started.” “How do you know this is the shedding?” Luke plucked a nearly foot-long row of dead scales off Mark’s arm. “Just a guess.” He wanted to laugh, but his stomach rolled over at the sight of the gray and grainy medicine. He looked away for a moment and commanded his stomach to be still. “I thought it wouldn’t start until I found a way to be spiritually well.” “Maybe just relaxed?” Luke suggested. He put the cup in Mark’s hand. “This is relaxed?” But his stomach rolled again, and he couldn’t avoid the medicine forever. Still, it looked like half-coagulated bacon fat, and his stomach heaved at the thought of having to even smell it. “Remind me why I agreed to try this stuff?” He swallowed half the contents, gagged, then downed the rest. Luke took the cup and made it disappear. “Because you’re desperate to spend more time fucking me than groaning?” Mark caught his lover’s hand and kissed his wrist. “Oh yeah.” But he didn’t have the heart to put action behind his words. Luke seemed to sense this; he simply made the bucket disappear, then took Mark back into his arms. “Come on. Genies don’t technically need to sleep, so I’m going to watch for about six hours, and then we’re going to start looking for this dragon. But while I watch, you’re going to sleep.” He didn’t have the strength to argue. But tease? Maybe just a little. “Yes, Mawster.”

***

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Emily Carrington “Genies don’t technically need to sleep.” Completely true. He wouldn’t have dared to say

anything even shading toward a lie, not when Mark had researched genies extensively back in April. That had been shortly after they met, when Mark had first felt his attraction to Luke and mistaken it for some sort of spell the genie was casting on him. What kind of screwed-up past birthed a man like that, one who found it easier to believe in magic than in a simple slip in his own 24-7 guard against the world? The answer to that was probably in this very house, and as the hours crept past midnight and on toward four, when Mark wanted to get up and start looking for wherever the dragon hid itself during the day, Luke found it harder and harder to lie still beside his lover and all but feel the rage around him. He’d made the back bedroom he and Mark shared soundproof as soon as the door was closed between them and the rest of the house, but that hadn’t stopped both Jonathan and Abraham from using some choice words. It hadn’t stopped Naomi from scooping up Tabitha, who had apparently escaped her bedroom in order to greet her misfit uncles, and bearing her away in silence even as Tabitha struggled and stared at them both with huge eyes over her mother’s shoulder. He got up around three, slipping carefully out of bed and praying Mark wouldn’t open his eyes. His lover had curled onto his side, and though his breathing had never really settled into the deep, slow breaths Luke was used to, he wasn’t awake, either. For a moment, he paused at the edge of the bed, watching Mark trying to protect himself even while asleep, and then poofed out onto the front porch. Here he sat and stared up at the trees, listening to their leaves speaking a death language about the winter soon to come. He tried to plan, or at least think about the past or future. He tried to meditate on what Mark must have been through to get him to this point or where they were going from here with Mark shutting down little by little, reverting to the man he’d been when they’d met back in April. All he managed was to listen to the death language and wait for four o’clock.

*** Late the next morning— “Happy post-Rosh Hashanah. Nine and a half days till Yom Kippur,” Mark had mumbled with a wry twist to his lips that Luke didn’t understand—Luke was still listening to the trees, even though it was now a subconscious thing. The top of his mind had been taken up with investigating the two nearest villages for signs of the dragon. Mark,

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unreachable as during their first days as genie and master, had asked Luke to use his magical sense to look for a dragon hiding in human form while he went through the woods and smelled for the dragon, both from the relative safety of his car and from the skies in his dragon form. Mark’s stomach had settled after taking the medicine, but there was a glassy quality to his gaze that Luke didn’t much care for. But because he didn’t have clue one as to how to reach Mark again—it had taken weeks to pry him out of Reese’s clutches, and this was deeper than a relationship that had gone on for little more than five months—he did what Mark wanted and listened for Mark’s call that he’d found the dragon and needed Luke’s help. Not that Mark had needed Luke’s help to kill any of the twenty-seven dragons he’d told his mother about. And even though Luke had been present for the last one, he’d been no help at all. “Luke.” There was only a touch of concern in that voice; mostly it was excited to be about the business of chasing down another dragon. But Luke had honed that innate connection all genies had with their masters. And Mark was still his master: Mark had called him out of the lamp, and it was only by the grace of Luke’s god, the One-Who-Decides, that Luke was the answer to Mark’s greatest need. The answer to what Luke called Mark’s happiness-wish. He transported himself from his fruitless search of one of Brockport’s nicer residential neighborhoods and appeared at Mark’s side. They were standing a little way off a path behind the house. Mark had his head cocked. “Do you hear it?” Luke listened hard, and he did hear it: a low rumble that could have been a coming earthquake or an elephant rumbling just within the range of human hearing. Or it could be a ticked-off dragon mumbling to itself. “Was it here?” he asked, casting about with his magical sense and getting the answer to his question. “Yes. Not right at the house but flying close enough for me to hear it.” Mark snorted. “Even over my brother’s grousing.” He was cutting back toward the path, not seeming to see Luke at all. “I went back to enlist his help in case the dragon found a way to show up that wouldn’t tip off your lamp.”

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Emily Carrington That was impossible. Luke’s hands fisted even as he tried to tell himself Mark was trying

to protect his family. “I wanted him to be prepared to call me if that happened.” They’d reached the path. Mark broke into a jog, headed toward the faint rumbling sound. “Jonathan’s scared shitless, you know? The last time there was a dragon here, he had no idea until it was dead, and I know he never went for counseling about all the guilt he carries around. If anyone needs a day to talk to Yahweh and ask forgiveness—even if that’s just help forgiving himself—that’s Jon. But no. Every time Yom Kippur comes around, he’s always demanding that I ask forgiveness for killing our father and for being a faggot.” He sighed. “Come on; damn dragon’s getting away.” Luke winced. He knew that Mark hadn’t gone for counseling either. Surprise, surprise. Luke kept his mouth shut on that score. “Did he apologize for anything he said?” Mark snorted again. “For what? Being himself? Never happen.” He skidded to a halt. “It’s headed north. Can you transport us to where it finally settles?” What was he? A damn tech here to do Mark’s bidding? A taxi service? “Only if it doesn’t suddenly change direction.” Mark shuffled his feet and looked north. “Stay here.” Luke’s jaw dropped; he felt it go like a boulder toppled from the brink of a cliff. “What?” He stared as Mark arched his back, closed his eyes for a moment, and changed his human body for the blue scales and yellow-green eyes of the water dragon. True, most of the scales were dull instead of luminous because the shedding had finally begun, even if only a little. The leathery wings came out, and the eight-feet-tall dragon that was his lover rose into the sky. “Where the fuck are you going?” Luke called. “Stay here,” was the rumbled reply. Fuck that. As Mark turned north, Luke poofed himself ten feet off the ground and snagged his lover’s tail. “It will eat you,” Mark snarled. He flicked his tail, and Luke, surprised, was hurtled off. He halted his fall before he could hit any of the trees, but it was a near thing. This was much worse than Mark being in a room by himself; this was Mark going off alone without discussion and without even so much as an apology. Saying the dragon would eat him was a cop-

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out. Sure, Luke’s fighting wasn’t his strongest suit, but he still had magic, didn’t he? He could still be of help, couldn’t he? He soared over the trees, honing in on the magical sense that always told him where his master was. Fuck you, Mark. You’re in just as much danger as I am, and I’m not going to let you face it alone. Mark had stopped at the edge of Lake Ontario; Luke could all but hear the washing of the waves. And he could feel the other dragon lurking at the edge of the land. (All right, so he’d lied a little about not being able to transport Mark to where the other dragon was, but that fell under his own code of ethics.) He drew his power into himself in a mostly vain attempt to hide what he was from the predator and transported himself to a decent hiding place behind a tree that stood not far from the lake’s edge. Mark stood with one foot on the shore and one foot in the water. The other dragon stood almost the same way, though crouching closer to the ground, as though he or she was a cat getting ready to pounce. But then Luke saw the mound of dirt just behind the other dragon and knew she was a mother dragon guarding her nest. He prayed that Mark had noticed this too. Mark offered a slight bow, touching his taloned hands to his chest. “Madam.” Her tongue flicked out, either as a way to “taste” how Mark felt or as an intimidation technique. (Any prey animal knew the habits of the hunters, and in that moment, Luke felt his prey status very strongly.) “You are Rodney’s prize.” That was Mark’s father’s name. Luke fought the urge to poof to his lover’s side and yank him to the relative safety of the house. Or, better yet, transport them both all the way back to Gulfport. Mark said nothing but allowed his arms to fall back to his sides. If he could have leaned against a tree or wall and so conveyed his total nonchalance, he might have. Her tongue came out again, and she lowered herself another fraction of an inch. “Why are you back after so many years away?” “I came to see my family.” She chuckled and rose a little away from her eggs. “You came to see me, Rodneyson?”

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Emily Carrington Luke felt his eyes bug out. Safely hidden, he again had to resist the urge to remain where

he was and let Mark face—How do I help him with something like this?—his mother. The mother who had given him life, as opposed to the one who had raised him. That became almost impossible when Mark took a step back, revealing more weakness in that single step than Luke had seen from him since he’d sent Reese packing. “You aren’t—” Mark stopped, but the travesty had been committed: he’d shown his shock. Twice. Maybe that was why he kept going. “He left my mother for you?” She stepped just a little closer to him, and Luke’s heart seized. “Ah, even your inflections are a little like Rodney’s. Pity you’re my girls’ half brother. You have turned out magnificently. Especially for a dragon raised on human blood. Well, as long as you’re here, you can join me in a little bartering. There’s a beautiful herd looking for a stud halfway between here and the nearest ridge of the Blue Mountains.” Another two steps and she curled her tail around her feet. “Though obviously we would wait until your shedding was over.” Mark shook his head, and the look in his yellow-green eyes was almost blue, almost the color of his humanity. Luke’s heart beat thunderous, low tones, and he yanked his magic even more tightly into himself, not afraid that Mark’s birth mother would hear him but that he’d lose the battle against his will and rush to Mark’s side, losing the admittedly weak weapon of surprise. Don’t lose it now, Mark. She’ll fall on you like hot coals if you let her. “We can travel in three weeks’ time,” the female dragon said. “You will be ready then.” Mark’s eyes lost any trace of blue. “No. You will leave now. I will not allow you to stay here where you have easy access to my family.” She laughed, opened her mouth, and Mark cut her off. “Enough.” Without taking a step or rising off the ground, he seemed to grow in height and strength. Still safely hidden, Luke breathed a little easier. “If you will not leave of your own accord,” Mark continued, “SearchLight agents will escort you to the nearest facility where you will be given the choice of drinking blood specially made to enrich your young—”

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Good. He’d seen the nest. Luke relaxed more. Mark could handle her even if she was his birth mother. “—or you will be confined until your children are born, so they can be given the same choice, and you will be killed. SearchLight has zero tolerance for magical creatures who eat wherever, whenever, and whomever they want.” Her tongue darted out again. Is that a nervous gesture instead of one meant to intimidate? Luke felt his heart rise. If a dragon who was surely centuries old was uneasy around Mark, maybe his lover would be all right. His throat constricted. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be at his side. And it’s no reason for him to leave me behind. Mark took two steps toward her. “Well? What is your choice?” She leaped at him, talons out. Luke shouted, but his voice was lost in her echoing roar as she slammed into Mark and bore him to the ground. Her tail wrapped about his legs, pinning them, and her talons sought his eyes even as she loosed a burst of flame meant to blind him. Without thought, Luke poofed to his lover’s side and flailed a conjured sword at the bitch dragon’s head. She saw him—so much for the limited value of surprise—and swiped at him with her right arm, almost catching him across the chest even as he tried to bring the sword up. He cried out in surprise and stumbled back as he used his magic to throw dust in her eyes, hoping to give Mark a chance to fight his way free. He stumbled back another step when she swiped in his general direction again, following the gesture with a column of fire, and he tripped over something. He hit the ground hard and rolled as flame arced at about chest level. More fire followed the first, but even though it could have caught him, it was the bitch dragon who screamed, cursing in Gaelic. Luke pushed himself to his elbows and watched Mark drive his birth mother back and off him with another burst of flame. But when she was crouched by her nest, Mark didn’t attack. Instead, he met her gaze. “Don’t touch my family again, and we will have struck a compromise. The SearchLight agents will talk to you instead of capturing you and ripping your children from you.”

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Emily Carrington Luke’s gut twisted, and he almost laughed at how sorry he felt for the dragon as she bowed

her head and huddled over her eggs. Mark took to the air. Luke watched him go and waited for him to land somewhere so he could poof there. But when Mark was gone, the female dragon caught Luke’s gaze. Like a bird stared down by a snake, Luke froze. “You will be my daughters’ first meal, genie, but only if you leave now. Stay, and I will drink you myself.” She turned her gaze from him, glaring in the direction Mark had gone. Shaking, Luke poofed himself back to the clearing where Mark had left him. His pissed-off lover was there before him, still in dragon form, though maybe that was because if he changed back into his human form, he’d be naked. Whatever the reason, Luke had to fight hard not to back up when Mark, in all his eight-feet, terrible glory, advanced on him. “What did you think you were doing?” Mark’s voice didn’t change much between his human form and his dragon form, but still Luke gave into the need to retreat. Just a tiny bit. From what he considered a safer distance—he refused to analyze his fear—he glared up at the dragon eyes that hid his Mark from him. “You can’t just leave me behind. I’m your lover, and I have just as much right to protect you as you have to protect me.” “Not when it’s a dragon that will want to eat you.” Mark’s tail whipped from side to side, probably showing his irritation, though Luke based this more on his knowledge of Mark than of dragons in general. His gaze was drawn to the bleeding at his lover’s ankles. Had the bitch dragon’s tail been equipped with spikes? For a moment, all his frustration was swallowed by concern. “Mark—” “I’ve been dealing with dragons much longer than you have, but it’s more than that: you don’t know how to fight them, and I don’t want you to get killed.” Luke rocketed off the forest floor so he was eye to eye with the dragon guise that hid his lover. “You don’t know everything. Did you even notice that you’re bleeding?” He heard and hated the childishness in his voice but refused to show anything but rage and worry. “She almost killed you. If I hadn’t shown up when I did—”

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Mark cut him off again, this time with a snort that could possibly be termed as angry, and Luke’s hand began to itch for the sword he’d dropped somewhere. The genie demanded, “Let me at least finish what I was going to—” “She only caught me off balance! How would you feel finding out that your mother wanted to use you in trading negotiations with another herd?” But Mark’s tail was twitching now instead of whipping. “Not to mention that she’s sucking blood from my family.” “You are the calmest man I’ve ever met.” Jesse had told him that often, and Luke fumbled for his calm, but it skittered away. “I know they’re being threatened,” he all but roared at the dragon that could easily devour him, “but you won’t save them by being eaten, and part of you not being eaten is allowing me to help.” He got even more in his lover’s face, reminding himself when his heart started to race that this was his lover. “I can help, you know. I’m not powerless. I just need to figure out—” “How to fight. I know. But the battlefield’s not the place to do your figuring out. Unless you can anticipate your enemy and know your own strengths and weaknesses at every turn, you’re doomed. ” Luke grabbed the comical little ears that stuck off the sides of Mark’s head and glared into the dragon’s eyes. “Let me finish what I’m saying for once. Right now, that’s all I want, damn it.” Mark jerked his head, and Luke lost his grip. “I’m going to make sure Mom and Naomi are still okay.” Mark’s wings came fully out, and he gained the sky. Luke gaped after him, unable, for shock, to follow. “Son of a bitch!”

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Chapter Five Mark, you’re an idiot. Still in his dragon form, Mark skidded to a halt, his taloned feet threatening to slip out from under him as he traded smooth flight for a much less dignified run over the uneven, pebbled road that led to his mother’s house. My real mother, thank you very much. He wouldn’t have condescended to hit the ground again, but his head was swimming. His mind argued that he should be thinking about his birth mother, but all his heart let him dwell on was Luke. He hadn’t just yelled at his lover for no reason or insulted and set his lover as a second-class citizen. And even if Luke didn’t know much about fighting, that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn. He was a genie: surely there was more he could learn to do against a dragon than draw a sword. His wings stirred like the ruffled plumage of an angry bird, and he tipped dangerously to one side, fighting for his balance again. With an unrestrained curse, he lost the battle and hit the dirt. Why was he even running home? It wasn’t like anyone there could help him. No one there ever has. He shook his head as he pushed himself back to his feet. That’s infantile. I made peace with all of this long ago. And besides, what I said to Luke is what I’m worried about now . He winced as another foot of scales peeled off his arm and mingled with the fallen pine needles. He walked. His next move should be contacting SearchLight to get someone to reason with the monster who dared call herself his mother. Of course, if he did that, he’d be laughed at for the next ten years. “Can’t even handle a single dragon now that he’s one of them” would be among the taunts. “Blue fuck!” he roared at the sky.

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As if it had only been waiting for his tantrum, his skin exploded with itching. His shedding had begun in earnest. He stared down at himself, watching in morbid fascination as reams of scales—like spools of player piano paper—fell off his arms, legs, and chest. Mark shrank back into his human form at once, not because doing so would lessen the itching, but because shedding took a great deal out of a dragon in human form but even more out of that same dragon if he remained in his lizard form. Naked, he jogged for the house, glad for once that wilderness surrounded his family home on every side. As soon as he’d shoved his way into shorts and a T-shirt, he’d find Luke and apologize for his idiocy. And what of my mother? Mothers? He grimaced. “Fuck them.” He laughed at the choked way his voice sounded and scrubbed at his eyes. “I should have never come here. If Mom and Naomi want to be bitten, that’s their business.” He didn’t mean that; his heart laughed at his words. But for the moment, he allowed himself to believe that he could make everything right by a simple apology and a return to the Sunshine State and his lover’s arms.

*** Luke still stood where Mark had left him, possessed by that same indecision, though now it had taken on a terrible edge. Mark hated this Jewish holiday: he’d all but said as much. And yet one cry from his mother had been enough to bring him here. Had she asked him here to deal with the dragon? Did she know the dragon was Mark’s birth mother? All of that aside, why had she pushed Mark away? The person Luke had listened to in the bedroom had nothing in common with the dignified woman who had been ready to do battle with him when she thought he was hurting her baby. Something crackled off to his right; Luke jumped. The sound was repeated, this time in front of him, and he took a reluctant step back as his blood sang with fear of the dragon. Like a diver fighting to get to the surface of a lake, he tried to thrust his magical senses outward. If he only knew what was in the bushes, he might have a chance to protect himself.

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shield and sword in his hands once again. Mark’s birth mother stepped out into the clearing. “Hello, breakfast.” He raised the shield. It hadn’t ever helped, but… Again, Mark’s voice, close as his own skin: “How big, exactly, can you make your cock?” His lover had made that comment back in May, mostly as a joke, but also because they’d been talking about just how Luke could use his magic in bed. Luke’s answer had been that he could change his outward appearance for a limited time, usually sunrise to sunset or sunset to sunrise. They hadn’t gotten a chance to play that way yet, but the potential was there. If he could change his cock’s size, what else could he change? Not his weapons. There were only so many that had existed at the time of his transformation. But couldn’t he become a weapon? Luke backed up another pace. “Aren’t you leaving your eggs defenseless?” She laughed. “Rodneyson has run away, and you’re here; they’re in no danger.” She advanced, her tail whipping from side to side as Mark’s had. What could defeat a dragon? He considered a vampire, a werewolf, a banshee, a kelpie, and a salamander, and dismissed them all. What could fight a dragon besides… Another dragon. He imagined Mark, thinking of all his lover’s strengths, and threw his power into the change. His perspective changed, and he screamed in shock when his back exploded in pain. That had to be his wings coming out. Panting, he blinked hard until his vision stopped blurring. The bitch dragon laughed. “Very good, breakfast! But I know you’re not really a dragon, and even if you were, you’re no threat to my daughters. How do you want to be cooked? Medium rare or well done?” Luke raised his taloned hands—and almost overbalanced when his wings caught a stray breeze and filled. How had Mark acclimated to this so fast? Maybe he should just retreat. But then what she’d said— “Rodneyson has run away”—penetrated his thoughts, and he stood his ground. Mark had only left her because he, Luke, had insisted. Running wouldn’t keep

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the dragon from coming after Mark’s family again; it wouldn’t keep her from coming after his Mark if she so chose. He took a deep breath and blew fire at her. Loosing a sound that could have been anger or mirth, she gained the air and bore down on him. He tried again to blow fire at her, but then he was encompassed by her much more powerful flames, and though it barely hurt—he thanked his scales for that—he lost sight of her. She crashed into him, and he was suddenly on his back with one of his ridiculous talonhands guarding his throat. Disappear! he shouted at himself. This didn’t work, so just disappear. Like he always did. It wouldn’t help anything. He’d be safer, but only for a while. Only until she tracked him down again. Even if she didn’t do that, she would still be a threat to Mark’s family. And obviously Mark couldn’t protect his family without help. Luke’s help. Not that he’d be much help if she killed him here and now. Face it: he wouldn’t be much help at all unless he figured out a way to fight. “Get. Off. My. Lover.” One of her feet was digging hard into Luke’s leg. He vanished and reappeared at Mark’s side. He towered over Mark. At some point his lover had traded scales for human skin. With an anticipatory wince, Luke shrank himself back down to his usual form. He screamed and staggered. That hurt. Mark caught him; he couldn’t see his lover, but he knew Mark’s touch. “Get us out of here, please,” Mark whispered. Still reeling from the transformation, Luke pictured Mark’s mother’s house and transported them there. The moment the magic released them, he fell to his hands and knees, conscious that he was trying not to puke. “She’ll come now,” Mark said from somewhere above him. “I’ll have to be ready when she gets here.” His urge to retch fled, and Luke shoved himself to a standing position. The world tipped sickeningly around him, but he seized Mark’s shoulder. “You’re not going alone,” he said, feeling like his voice was still filling that eight-feet-tall beast. Mark couldn’t still be on this kick.

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“She—You—” But what was the use? He released Mark and turned away. Mark wasn’t going to listen. He was too independent to accept help. Had Luke helped him with the Reese problem? Had he really? Or had that just been in the genie’s mind? Had Mark really done it all alone? For sure Luke hadn’t helped Mark kill the dragon that had been stalking Luke for two centuries. Mark’s arm came around his shoulders. “Luke—” He flinched and stepped away, keeping his back to Mark. It was stupid, his being so angry and surprised. Hadn’t he walked into this relationship knowing that Mark was dominant and independent to a fault? Hadn’t he known from the first moment they’d met that there were dark parts to Mark’s personality that fueled that independence? Sure, he’d thought things would be better after Mark was away from Reese, and he’d been sure, would have sworn, that things would get better once Mark decided he could control his dragon nature and so allow himself to love Luke without fear. But here they were again, less than four months after falling in love and… Luke shook his head and stared up at the nearest trees, trying to bury himself in their cool color and green scent. “I won’t let her hurt you,” Mark said. By the sound, he hadn’t moved from where Luke had left him. And still he didn’t get it? Luke balled his hands into fists and wondered how much it would hurt to transform himself into one of those trees. Maybe a pine, with lots of needles that would discourage Mark from coming too close. “You can fight. I shouldn’t have said you can’t. I’m sorry.” Luke felt his anger crest, and he rode the wave even as he spun on his heel. “You’re sorry? You want to fight the dragon alone, you don’t even consider me part of the solution, and you’re sorry?” He advanced, drawing his power deep into himself, like he had on those rare occasions when he and Jesse had fought. He wouldn’t strike out at Mark with magic even if, at least in Mark’s mind, he couldn’t do any real damage. “Fuck your sorry. You don’t see me as anything but a liability, and I refuse to be treated like that.” Mark’s shoulders were hunched as if he was going to receive a blow. Luke exploded. “Quit looking like a whipped puppy. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve never done anything approaching abuse, so don’t you dare curl into yourself like you did when facing Reese.” He shook his head violently and took a step closer, clenching his hands even tighter as

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he reined in a temper he’d rarely acknowledged. “You do it with everyone who tries to get close, and I’m sick of it. Treat me like just another magical creature: show me your guts, Mark, because I know you have no reason to be afraid of me, and I can’t stand it when you treat me like I’m just one more Reese look-alike.” He doubted much of that got through; if asked to repeat it, he would have confessed that it had come out of his mouth without pausing to be assimilated by him. But maybe a little of it had gotten through to Mark, because the dragon straightened his shoulders, and his eyes were hard. “You think I’m afraid of you?” Mark’s voice rose; his hands fisted. But his eyes stayed blue rather than flickering to the dragon’s yellow-green that would show he was losing the struggle with his temper. “That’s not how it works, Luke. I’m not afraid of anyone. In fact, just so you know, that’s the pr—” Luke laughed. “Not afraid of anyone? You’re forgetting that I was there when you flinched, Mark. I was there when Reese stood over you in the library and all you could do was huddle into yourself like a turtle yanking its head into its shell.” That wasn’t quite fair; Mark had tried. When in his usual state of mind, Luke would be the first to tell the world that fact. “You were afraid of Reese. Maybe you’re not now, but you were. And when we were arguing back when your mother first called, you backed away from me.” Mark opened his mouth. Shut it. “I don’t get why you’re afraid of me, but you are.” He invaded Mark’s space, expecting him to back down or at least flinch. Mark didn’t, but that didn’t ease Luke’s anger. He jabbed a finger in the middle of Mark’s chest. “You just turned into a battered child five seconds ago. If I hadn’t pointed it out, you’d still be that way. So don’t tell me you’re not afraid of me.” Mark’s shoulders rounded. Squared. Rounded again. He stepped back. Stumbled. Luke caught his arm automatically—and only then saw that they were standing right at the front steps, that it was the bottom step Mark had almost tripped up. He saw too, that they were being watched from the doorway. Did Mark know his brother and sister were standing there like wooden statues, aged by weather and in danger of falling but not toppled yet? How long had they been there? He watched Jonathan’s gaze flick first to Mark and then to Luke’s hold on Mark’s arm. Without thought, he drew Mark close, spinning him so they both faced the eavesdroppers and

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wrapping his arm tight around his lover’s shoulders. “What?” he demanded. “Real Jews don’t even have disagreements or misunderstandings?” Jonathan shook his head. “You don’t need us to say anything. Obviously, if you’ve been together for so long—” Naomi sighed and rubbed at her temples with slightly trembling fingers. She was leaning in the doorway as if she didn’t have the energy to support herself. Her skin was pale, as if she’d lost sleep—or blood—recently. That’ll teach you not to listen to Mark, Luke thought at her. She said, “Jon—” Mark shifted closer to him, wrapping his arm tight around Luke’s waist. His bare arm. Luke glanced at him. Had he really been shirtless all this time? And if he had, how had Luke missed it? He drew a discreet breath—semidiscreet; Mark shot him an instant’s halfamused look—and smelled cooling sweat and the hint of lotion. He resisted the urge to trace a light pattern on his lover’s arm, but he longed to do so, first with a finger and then with his tongue. Mark’s tanned skin gleamed at him, seeming to sing the Gulf Coast’s praises. Luke struggled to pull his anger back up like a shield, but for just a moment, all he could feel was awe at Mark’s beauty. “Go home,” Jonathan said. “We’re fine here. Just go home.” For once, Mark was silent. Luke didn’t glance at him again, but he was probably settling into his negotiator frame of mind. When he was like that, he didn’t need anyone else’s help. The genie’s anger ran roughshod over his arousal. He didn’t pull away; that would give Mark’s siblings entirely too much information. But he allowed himself to stiffen. Mark didn’t draw back either, and he didn’t stiffen in response, but his shoulders rounded for a moment before settling back. And still he said nothing. Jonathan said, “Go have your fight somewhere else, please. We’re not in the mood to deal with your hissy fits.” Still nothing from Mark. Luke felt his gut twist, and he took his arm back despite the awkwardness of trying to find a place for it when Mark didn’t withdraw his own. Had he wanted

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to be with someone like this? Was it that he’d wanted so badly to be out of his lamp for more than a few days at a time that he’d jump at any chance? A chink was cut into his anger. No. He loved Mark. If he didn’t, this wouldn’t piss him off so much. He’d been excluded from others’ decisions before; it was practically a prerequisite of being a genie. But the only time it had hurt this much was when Jesse had pushed him away. Usually that had happened when Jesse dealt with his family. This wasn’t much different, and not just because Luke had the feeling Mark was the way he was because he’d never dealt with things his family had done to him. It was also the same because the instant he understood why it hurt, he understood it could be fixed. He put his arm back around Mark’s shoulders. “We can walk to the end of the driveway,” he said to his lover. “That way we’ll be close enough to the house to step in if the bitch dragon comes back, but we’ll be far enough away that no one should spy on us. And I can set up a magical circle that will alert us to the approach of anyone, human or otherwise.” That won him startled and slightly frightened looks from Mark’s brother and sister. Luke didn’t give them so much as a smile. All his attention was for Mark. Who seemed, at least for the moment, not to care that anyone was watching him. His eyes were closed, and he was taking slow, deep breaths. His free hand balled into a fist, and he clutched at Luke’s belt loop like it was a lifeline. “Mark?” he asked quietly. He started to turn for the far end of the driveway, trying to steer Mark with him. Mark made a sickening guh-lumph sound in his throat, staggered away a few steps, fell to his knees, and puked.

The itching was like fire, but at first Mark was able to ignore it. He hadn’t been the first, wouldn’t be the last, teenager to get his ass kicked for suspicion of homosexuality. He’d learned how to deal with pain. That was part of what had made killing his father possible: he’d just kept going, even when his father slashed his arm with his talons and burned his shoulder. It was also part of what made his assimilation into SearchLight so painless: after being punched, kicked, and generally thrown around for the better part of his schooling, he didn’t let pain distract him. Didn’t let it or anything else frighten him.

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should have been ready for this. But either itching and stomach cramps like this had never been recorded, or Mark was just lucky enough to be a dragon who felt it worse than most. His brother had said something; his sister had tried to get Jonathan to shut up. Luke had wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Mark leaned into the embrace and tried some slow breaths. His stomach rolled to the right, then to the left. He closed his eyes for a moment, but when his last meal made a break for open air, he tightened every muscle in an attempt to keep it where it belonged. Luke took his arm away. Mark’s anger sparked but was doused by the memory of Luke’s words a few minutes ago: “You just turned into a battered child five seconds ago. If I hadn’t pointed it out, you’d still be that way. So don’t tell me you’re not afraid of me.” Luke thought he was cowering. Swallowing against another stomach roll, he forced his shoulders to relax. A moment later, Luke’s arm came back around his shoulders. His brother was talking; Mark watched his lips move. None of it made sense, especially not when first his right arm, then his left, then his neck, then his crotch— blue fuck—ignited with itching. He shuddered. He heard his name on the genie’s lips. Luke was trying to steer him somewhere. He was going to lose the battle with his stomach. He pulled away from Luke, sparing an instant’s concern—would his lover think he was puking from fear?—and voided right there in the driveway. He’d managed to get to his knees, and he was keeping his face out of the mess, but he sensed the first had been accomplished by luck, the second by force of will. Will, or more accurately, lack of fear, was fucking him royally in the ass right now, and he gave up an extra bit of food in its name. Gentle hands were there then, giving him a washcloth to wipe his face. He glanced at Luke, saw the genie’s worry for him, and turned his face away so he could throw up again. Bile came, a touch more food, more bile, and then the dry heaves started. His stomach was doing the

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Jitterbug under his ribs, and he risked losing his balance to wrap an arm around his midsection in an effort to stop his muscles’ spasming. He tottered like a newly hobbled three-legged dog and might have gone over into the reeking puddle if Luke hadn’t caught him. He hung in the genie’s arms like a rag doll while the dry heaves first intensified and then, finally, began to ease. He groaned as they passed, not out of disappointment to see them go, but because he was no closer to answering Luke’s accusations than he’d been when the argument began, and now he didn’t have an excuse to keep silent. And unless Luke got them out of here, he was going to have to try to figure out how to explain the unexplainable while his brother and sister looked on. That was just too much. It was all right if Luke saw him weak and confused like this: not ideal, but all right. Because Luke was his lover. But he refused to let his biological family see him like this. It was the equivalent of letting Reese see him powerless. Of letting the bitch dragon—good name for his birth mother; thanks, Luke—see his weaknesses so she could take advantage of them. All right, he told himself. The hardest thing to do was start. He groaned again and felt Luke’s arms giving him a little more support. Lack of fear was so fucking him in the ass right now. He swallowed and grimaced at the taste in his mouth. “Thank you,” he told the genie. “Let’s see if I can actually get up now.” It was much easier than he’d hoped; repressing a sigh, he turned to his brother and sister. “If the dragon shows, try to stall her.” Right. Like that was possible or even wise. “We’ll be back soon.” His stomach clenched again, and for a moment he entertained the possibility that he’d be saved from having to explain more to Luke until he’d brought up more bile. How the hell was he going to deal with the bitch dragon attacking his mother and sister if this shedding dragged him down? This time his stomach settled. Luke held out a small cup. “This is the calming stuff your boss recommended. Do you want me to take that taste out of your mouth?” The genie sounded both worried and pissed. Mark opted for as much humility as he could manage. “Please.” He breathed a little easier when he felt clean again. He took the cup, didn’t

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look at the contents this time, and drank. The sensation was like the time he’d swallowed a live goldfish on a dare. Considering his water dragon blood, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. His stomach grumbled its displeasure, but he felt no need to throw the concoction back up. He met Luke’s gaze and tried to put the beginnings of his apology-without-a-solution into his expression. “Thank you.” Luke nodded, but his expression didn’t clear at all. That was his right. Mark started down the driveway, listening to Luke’s steps behind him. He kept his shoulders relaxed and his hands unfisted. He could feel Luke’s gaze on the back of his neck. It stung. His skin still itched, but it couldn’t hold a candle to his need to make things right between them again. He walked off the driveway near the end and sat on an ancient boulder wide enough for Luke to join him, and he left the genie most of the top. Luke stood a little distance away, with his hands behind his back and his gaze focused over Mark’s head. “Is that stuff helping?” “Yes. Thank you.” He resisted the urge to stare down at his hands. “I’m sorry.” The apology fell like a dead bird between them. “I don’t know what else to say. You’re right about the—” Luke was suddenly gripping his shoulders and shaking him. “Damn it, Mark, look at me! And stop acting like a beaten dog!” He’d curled into himself again. Mark straightened his shoulders and met Luke’s gaze. “It’s not intentional.” “You’re fucking thirty-two years old. You can control something like that. You sure as hell control it when you’re out in the field. So if you have to treat me like you treat all the people at work and all the magical creatures you deal with, do it.” Mark made sure he was looking nowhere but into Luke’s eyes. “It’s not that simple. I don’t realize I’m doing it half the time.”

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“That’s a fucking lie.” Luke shook him again. “You don’t do it in front of anyone but me. So it’s got to be conscious, Mark. And I know you’re not the victim type, so I’m not buying it. So quit it already, okay?” Luke’s hands were hot; his palms were sweating. He was deep enough into his anger, then, to feel all the attendant human tells that had been part of him before he was made a genie. Mark swallowed as his blood ignited with lust. Luke furious was like flying in a thunderstorm. He’d only done that once—it had been more dangerous than he’d expected—but it had been thrilling. He resisted the urge to piss Luke off even more to feed the genie’s fury. But, damn, imagine the makeup sex afterward. Luke dropped his hands and stepped back. He stared down at the dirt between his feet. “You think I’m going to hurt you? Is that it?” The pain in his voice was a knife. Mark launched himself off the rock and touched Luke’s cheek. When his lover looked at him, he said, “No. You’re my lover. My heart, Luke. I’m not afraid of you.” “But all your tells—” “They give a different story than you think.” Voice dead, Luke answered, “Mark, a flinch is a flinch.” “Really?” He moved the hand on Luke’s cheek, lightning quick, over the genie’s eyes, and Luke flinched. Instantly Mark turned the movement into a caress down to his lover’s jaw. “See? You aren’t afraid of me.” Luke stiffened. He caught Mark’s wrist as he stepped back. “That’s different.” He let Mark’s hand fall. “Something happened to you. You don’t trust. You love as much as you can, but there’s only so far love can go without trust. I want you to trust me, but I don’t know how to make that happen. And I’m a little sick”—his expression clouded—“okay, a lot sick of trying. I’d be content to be your backup. I’ve never been comfortable playing the hero. But to be the Athos to your d’Artagnan? The Watson to your Holmes? Oh yeah, that’s where I want to be. But part of that supporting role is being trusted, and you just don’t trust me. You want to face the dragon alone—all danger alone—because you don’t think I’d be able to help.” Luke thought what? He held up his hand, palm out.

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fought it. “I don’t want you anywhere near danger because…” He felt his shoulders round. He shoved them back. “I couldn’t stand it if you died.” “You don’t trust me enough to protect myself?” Hadn’t he just said…? He tried another way to say it. “I love you. I want to protect you. At all cost.” His stomach roiled under his ribs. He rubbed there. Luke caught his hand. His grip was steely hot. “But you expect me to let you go into battle when you’re not feeling at your best?” He drew back again and crossed his arms. “I’m fine.” He regretted the lie the instant it was out. “Okay, so I’m in danger of puking every minute, and if things keep on like this, I’m going to be exhausted. On top of that…” He couldn’t admit this. His pride wouldn’t let him. He swallowed against the sudden upswing in itching that wanted to offer him an excuse to bow to his pride. “Fuck.” He dropped his gaze and endured Luke’s grunt of frustration. He couldn’t do this and look at his lover. And that shamed him. “I’m not afraid of her, and I should be. She’s not stronger than any dragon I’ve ever faced, but she doesn’t show any restraint. She doesn’t want to talk. That should at least intimidate me. But it doesn’t. So when I see her, all I think about is keeping my family safe. My mother. My sister. You. I need you to be safe, Luke. I can’t…” He turned away, wrapping his arms tight around himself in an attempt to stop the trembling. He wouldn’t let anyone see his weakness. Wasn’t it enough that he was telling Luke about that weakness? “I can’t think when you’re hurt. Everything but my fear for you goes away. It’s like being surrounded by a thousand assassins. I have no hope of escape, and I have to escape because I have to save you.” Luke appeared in front of him. “Why can’t you look at me? If you’re not afraid of me, what is it?” His blank expression was like a slap. Still, it was easier to meet his unreadable gaze than his hurt one. It was also easier because, in a way, they were holding two separate conversations. Mark tried to leave his own and meet Luke at his. Too bad this was one of the questions he

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couldn’t answer. “I wish I knew. But it’s harder than looking at anyone else. Even the rest of my family.” Still expressionless, Luke said, “That makes no fucking sense.” Around and around they were bound to go unless he stopped them. “It’s the truth, and it’s all I have.” His voice was sharp; he stared down at his hands and tried to rein it in. “It makes no sense, and it’s unsubstantiated, but it is the truth. I know how to talk to my enemies: talk as little as possible while managing to say what they need to hear.” His throat tightened. He spoke past it, trying to ignore how his voice roughened. He found himself staring at the ground again. “Then move on to what’s important: time with you. Listening to stories of all you’ve been through. Making love to you. Strolling along Beach Boulevard in the swelter of a summer evening and knowing, without a doubt, that every gay man and every straight woman is watching us with longing and wanting to either join us or take my place or yours.” His eyes itched; he rubbed them. His vision was blurring; he ignored it. “When I don’t have to think about my enemies, I don’t. I go to sleep thinking about you and wake up the same way. It’s…that’s what I’ve wanted my whole life. Sometimes I wonder how I even learned to love with all the terrible examples I had, but I thank God that I did somehow learn. I’m so lucky to have you, Luke, and if I can’t explain anything, it’s not because I don’t want to but because I just don’t know how.” And now he’d wait. Luke had told him often when they’d first met that he hated silences. Mark hadn’t truly understood. Silences were the best way to deal with many threats. But now he got it. But he could play this game because he knew it wasn’t a game. They hadn’t been together long enough for him to understand what was behind Luke’s mask; his only hope was to wait him out. So he didn’t lift his gaze. But the silence wove between them like a tapestry of nettles; Mark backed away a step before he caught himself. This wasn’t like any other relationship he’d faced. This one he wanted to work. All right, and that wasn’t completely fair to him. He’d wanted to be close to his mother. He’d even managed it as a child. He’d wanted to have that true-love happily ever after with Brian, the man he’d been with before Reese. He hadn’t wanted it with Reese, but only because he’d wanted to use Reese’s sadistic tendencies as a way to keep his dragon-made desire for blood at bay.

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simplistic. He wanted days full of passion and nights of adventure, or however that offBroadway song went. And maybe he could even have it too, if he could just wait Luke out. When had Luke become so good at silences anyway? He wished suddenly to see the sylph again, both to gain the ancient wisdom the creature had manifested with its every word and maybe to instigate a fight that he could lose, so Luke would pity him and at least say something. When Luke had remained silent for almost another minute, Mark mustered his courage and looked up. Luke was gone.

*** Damn Mark. Not that he believed in hell, but if he did: “Damn him!” Luke kicked the pinecone across the clearing. He wasn’t quite sure where he’d transported himself except that he was able to sense the magical circle he’d cast around Mark’s house (and Mark; wouldn’t it piss off his dragon lover to know he was being watched and protected?). He called the pinecone back to him with his magic and incinerated it. “Damn him! What gives him the right to say he’d die if I die? Doesn’t he think I’d die without him?” He conjured another pinecone and hurled it like a missile. It missed the tree. “Fucking son of a bitch!” He stamped his foot and laughed. Yanking the pinecone back to his hand as if his magic was simply a very long arm, he crushed it into powder, blew it away, and continued to laugh. Nothing remotely funny about any of this, except that maybe he’d fallen into something he considered to be purely a human problem: he’d thought his god, the One-Who-Decides, had told him Mark was his true love. At the time, it had seemed like a sure thing, as if Luke hadn’t put the thought there himself. Now, less than half a year later… “So soon the believer becomes the doubter.” He laughed harder and kicked at another created pinecone. This one, too, missed its mark. “No irony there,” he muttered as he called the pinecone back to him and turned it into a ball of ice. “Mark’s the”—his mouth twitched—“marksman. I’m just the sidekick.” His false

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mirth burned away, and he imploded the ice cone. “Not that I ever wanted to be anything else for him, but he won’t even let me be that.” Enough playing with small shit—he needed something bigger to break. Luke walked to the nearest tree and laid his hand against it, ready to charbroil the whole thing from roots to leaves. Something moved in the branches, and he looked up in time to see a bird settling on its nest. He snatched his hand back. “Sorry. Sorry. I wouldn’t have actually done that. I just…” He took two steps back and sat where he could watch the nest. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. “You know, Mark,” he said, addressing the bird, “this is why I originally didn’t go in for the superhero position: too much feeling. But that’s only how it was until I was about fifteen. Then I fell in love—this guy… Shit, Mark, he was a king in my eyes—and I discovered that giving all my feeling to one other person was a better use of my talents. Maybe that’s why the One-Who-Decides let Benji make me a genie. I like to help people.” He watched as another bird swooped toward the nest, a different bird than the first. Were they going to battle it out for the prime real estate? He didn’t want to watch that. No matter who won, one of them had to lose. He got up as the birds went at it. He turned his back on them and blocked out the noise of their fighting. He looked up at a passing cloud. “Talk to me.” The One-Who-Decides said nothing Luke could hear. “I told Mark you talk to me all the time, that maybe his God does too.” He strode across the clearing and hunkered down by a small carpet of daisies. “You made it possible for me to hear Mark say he loves me even when we were three thousand miles apart. You made it possible for me to stay here with Mark, to fulfill his happiness-wish with my love, which means I get to stay out of my lamp, and I don’t have to serve any other masters or mistresses ever again. If you made all that possible, how can you just let us fight? What if I’m not really his happiness-wish? What if I have to go back in my lamp?” His heart tightened. “I can’t even fucking tell if I’m scared of being away from him or disappointed about being shoved back in my lamp after having the chance at freedom! I mean, how the hell will I ever know if I really love him? Maybe it’s just convenience: I love him because if I don’t, I won’t get to stay out of my lamp. How do I know?”

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voice and that held true whether you were Jewish, Christian, Buddhist, or, as Luke saw himself, a Listener. “Not that it’s easy to listen when Mark doesn’t talk.” Luke tugged at his hair to avoid destroying any more pinecones, created or not. “Or doesn’t make any damn fucking sense.” That was the worst of it, he realized, and he froze midtug. Even while in the midst of Reese’s abuse, Mark had been a well of strength and determination. But now here he was, blindly going forward, saying the problem was his lack of fear even while claiming to fear for Luke’s life so intensely that he wanted to do all but keep Luke barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. What kind of fucking double-talk was that? And, more importantly, what was Luke going to do to solve the problem? Because all those questions were well and good to a point, but a relationship needed answers to survive. Did he want it to survive? He tugged at his hair again. And at the center of the magic-circle he’d cast around the house, something very large screamed. Mark. Sword already in hand and shaking inside—he had no way to defeat her, no way to convince Mark to let him help—he transported himself to the house.

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Chapter Six His bitch mother—even better than bitch dragon, Mark decided—sank her teeth into his leg again, but Mark still refused to let go of his hold on her throat. They wrestled together at the top of the driveway, less than a stone’s throw from the porch. He’d heard her approaching the house as dusk drew down; he’d gone after her on human feet, shedding his scales as he went. He was shedding them in long, healthy rows; there was that much to be grateful for. A dragon didn’t shed like any other reptile, who lost their skins in one piece. A dragon’s best shedding was marked by meter-long “trains” that peeled off the dragon when he was in his scaled form or phased painlessly through his skin to drop off when he looked human. When he’d reached the top of the driveway, having kept to his human form both to use the stealth and prevent further dizzy spells, she was pacing before the house and demanding that Naomi and Jonathan Halfblood come forth. That was why she had been drinking from Naomi, he’d realized: her blood was half-dragon, half-human, an unusual (and probably tasty) hybrid. He still didn’t understand why she had been drinking from his mother. Seeing his bitch mother at his family’s very door, he’d gained his dragon form, wincing at the upswing in weariness, and launched himself at her. His scales, both those that were still hard and those that were underneath and so still wet, wouldn’t be any protection against fire, but he had to try. Now, trapped underneath her, he groaned as she tightened her taloned grip on the sides of his chest and bit down more deeply on his leg. He had to be bleeding. As yet, he felt no pain, but that was an effect of the medicine Luke had given him to alleviate both the itch and his churning stomach. He yanked his head to the right in an attempt to rip at least one or two of her scales out, and his teeth skittered across the shockingly hard armor instead. He lost his hold.

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deeper. Harder. A scraping like metal on stone accompanied this motion, and the medication was no match for the blinding agony that exploded in his thigh, raced down to his foot, and seemed to set his bones on fire. He lost any pretense of a hold and screamed. The pain was nothing like the beatings he’d endured at school; it made anything he’d suffered at Reese’s hands seem like being slapped by a feather. He screamed again when he tried to pull away, but he still heard the screech of her teeth against his thighbone. “Let him go!” No! His mother was out here. “Get back in the house!” His voice was breathless, weak. He tried again. “Mom—” Then his bitch mother screamed and was suddenly off him. He tried to shove himself to his feet, but the pain and the weakness from the shedding combined to throw him back into the dirt. His vision grayed out as the pain crested, and he heard his bitch mother laughing. He heard her say something about breakfast. Maybe that was his imagination. Something crashed. Or exploded. He wasn’t sure which. His ears—along with his vision, fuck—seemed to be on strike. His human mother screamed. A man screamed too; he didn’t know that voice in the midst of its owner’s panic and felt a guilty rush of relief that it wasn’t Luke. He tried again to rise; he still couldn’t see, but if he could just get up… Hot wind knocked him flat. He screamed again, almost soundlessly this time, and the grayness deepened. He fought off total darkness with this thought: his mother had screamed. He sensed someone looming over him. He raised a hand in defense, only now realizing that he’d regained his human form. When that had happened and how he’d done it subconsciously he didn’t know, but he knew he didn’t have the strength to withstand any kind of attack. But no blow came. Instead, the welcome metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth, and he swallowed gladly, darting his tongue out for more of the rich, strength-giving liquid. “Thank you,” Luke said from somewhere close above him.

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Luke! If he’d had the strength, he would have danced. As it was, he couldn’t even fumble for the genie’s hand. I’m going to make this right. I’m going to apologize to you, save my mother, and then we’re going to go home and never leave it again. Then he felt the press of something warm against his lips and had to fight a rush of panic as he realized he couldn’t answer two fundamental questions. What body part was against his lips? And had it been there when he’d first started drinking? If the answer to that second question was yes, that meant he’d been injured badly enough to slip into partial paralysis, the state he’d been trying to induce in his bitch mother. Partial paralysis, for dragons, was two steps above death, the step above death being an insane amount of strength as the body tried every last trick in an attempt to stay alive. Mark had been on the receiving end of that last stage many times. He respected it. But he’d never felt either stage himself and had no desire to do so again. “Shh. It’s all right, Mark. Please drink. I still have lots left.” In his panic, his throat had closed. He forced himself to swallow. “Thank you.” The stress remained in Luke’s voice. “Just a little more, all right? I’ll be fine. I won’t give you too much. But I have to heal your leg in a minute, and I need you strong for that. Okay?” Luke sounded close to panic himself, and Mark’s heart tightened in sympathy. He nodded and continued to drink. His stomach wasn’t rumbling like it usually did, even though he could smell the blood now and it was normally a heady, intoxicating aroma. He wasn’t afraid of taking too much from Luke—like he often was in the midst of sex—because he felt no hunger. “Thank you,” Luke rushed on like a river hurrying to catch up with itself. “Just a little more. I promise: I’m doing fine.” How badly had he frightened the genie to bring him to this? Mark flailed at Luke’s arm— that was what was pressed against his mouth—and Luke responded with another flood of words. “Just another few seconds. I know the bitch dragon took her, but you won’t be any help unless you’re strong and—” Mark grunted a question even as an all-knowing sheet of ice formed under his skin. He’d heard his real mother challenge his bitch mother; he’d heard her scream.

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me, damn you, or I’ll freeze your feet to the ground. You’re not going after your mother until you’re good and healed, so you can just forget it.” Mark kept his silence and drank. “Thank you.” Luke sounded now like he was chewing glass. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a death wish. But if that was true, you’d’ve simply burned Reese’s ass last month and had SearchLight hunt you down for unlawful ass roasting.” It would have been funny if he hadn’t sounded near murder. Mark held his silence. This was his fault; he had a feeling Luke had never been like this until they’d met. But he’d driven Luke to rage once before, and though that rage had helped Mark realize why he’d allowed Reese into his life, it had cost Luke. Dearly. He didn’t want that again. “Damn you, Mark. You make no sense, you expect everyone to do what you want, and somehow you still expect us to love you.” Luke barked a laugh. “And we still do love you. At least that’s what I think makes me sick with terror every time I think of you going into danger alone and without thought.” His vision was coming back. He resisted the urge to blink hard or in any other way distract Luke from speaking. He needed to hear this, probably more than Luke needed to hear the nonanswers the genie had missed out on earlier. A small part of him knew this was just an excuse to avoid further talks about what he couldn’t answer. He cheerfully told that part to shut up so he could listen. A vague shape above him—surely Luke—drew back, and the flow of blood stopped. Mark began to chase the last few drops instinctively but stopped at the sound of rapidly muttered Hebrew. He hadn’t heard that, inside or outside a synagogue, in years. Luke was saying something, but for the moment all Mark truly heard was the halfremembered prayers for protection. And then, something he’d never heard—but, thanks to a multilingual college friend and his own childhood, thought he understood—the rite of exorcism. Wasn’t that just a Catholic thing? But, yes, there was the Jewish word for demon and then the word for remove. Abraham was pleading with Yahweh to remove the demons from both Mark and Luke.

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Mark swore, first in English, but then laid tongue to the foulest Yiddish he could remember. By his own standards, it wasn’t much. Something about licking a pig’s cunt that he’d made up around the age of nine. But it stopped the flow of Hebrew cold. He tried to shove himself to a sitting position and screamed. “I told you to hold still, damn it!” Luke roared right in his face. “Fuck you, Mark, do you want me to go after the dragon alone? Because I will if you can’t hold still for another ten fucking minutes.” And he shoved Mark back down with a wall of magic, as if touching him skin to skin was too intimate. Mark hit so hard his teeth rattled, and he cried out again as more pain made itself known, but the shock of Luke refusing to touch him directly deadened the agony enough that he tried to speak, tried to reach out. “Fuck. You. Mark. Lie still.” He obeyed. The motherfucking mamzer—he hadn’t thought the Yiddish word for bastard in over a decade—was going on with the exorcism. Mark sucked all his anger in as deep as it would go. It was hard to do without the luxury of drawing into himself. He said quietly, just for the genie: “I’m sorry, Luke. I was listening to—” “Count back from ten.” There was that chewing-glass voice again. Even at his angriest, Luke had never used that voice on him. Ergo, he thought, trying to be even a touch amused, he’s extremely pissed off. All he said was, “Ten. Nine. Ei—” Luke snapped the bone—shit, he hadn’t even realized it was broken—back into place. Mark screamed again. Somewhere in the back of his mind, maybe in that place that had been quacking at him before, he thought, Isn’t there a place of screams in the Christian Bible, or is that a place of bones? Both work here. Numbness followed the agony, but it was only a breath long. Then a low, growling ache started in his left thigh, and he was grateful for it, because if he could feel his leg but not be overwhelmed by the pain, maybe that meant he’d be able to walk on it. “Thank you,” he rasped.

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like hell, and only part of that was caused by the rapidly healing ruin that was his left arm. He had been brutalized: it was all over his face. Mark tried to discount that. It was melodramatic and completely a gut reaction. He even went so far as to start telling himself that he hadn’t caused whatever was wrong, so they could fix it later, but everything crumbled when Luke held out his hand to help Mark rise. He did it without even a wink of the usual playfulness that underlay everything else he did. And it wasn’t fear for Mark’s mother that was keeping that humor away. The agony in his eyes couldn’t be mistaken for seriousness or urgency. Maybe it was made worse by these other emotions—he might feel guilty for being hurt when someone was in danger—but that didn’t change what he felt. Mark sat up, wincing at the flare of pain in his thigh, and caught Luke’s hand. He tugged the genie two steps closer so he could lie down again, and then he met Luke’s gaze. “Please give me a chance to make it up to you. Not to just apologize but to change.” That won him an instant’s softening before Luke pulled away. “You know just what to say every time, don’t you, Mark?” He laughed. “I guess I brought this on myself when I asked you to treat me like you do every other magical creature. I just didn’t think you’d pull the negotiator’s stalling card.” He shoved himself out of his crouch and to his full height and stepped back. “I’m backing you up out there. Deal with it. And understand that I’ll always give you time. We’re immortal, Mark, both of us. All we’ve got is time. I’ll see you at the edge of the lake near her nest.” He wanted to speak; unable to think of anything to say, he kept his mouth shut. “If you can stand a little advice, don’t fly right up to her. She’s stronger than both of us combined, and it’s not really your mother she wants, so she’ll probably have no problem killing her if it works to her advantage.” He disappeared. Luke thought he, Mark, had pulled a trick of the trade on him? Mark sensed he was trying to get angry, maybe as a means of protecting himself. The moment he became conscious of that fact, the emotion fizzled out.

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He thought about getting up, but for the moment his body was complaining too loudly. That was partially his own fault: he was trying to lie here and have reactions instead of marshaling his strength. Shit. He hadn’t had to be calm and gather his resources since he’d managed to kill his father. Still, he remembered how, so he calmed himself and made sure he had the strength required. He was dangerously weak despite all the blood Luke had given him, and though the itching hadn’t yet returned, he feared it would, and with a vengeance. It would most likely also be the precursor to total collapse, because the medicine Ray had recommended was meant to stop all itching through the entire shedding process once it finally began. He sat up, stretching his back as he went, and the pain in his thigh didn’t rise above a grumble. Turning his head, he finally looked at Abraham, who was holding out the Torah like a shield and still rambling on in Hebrew. Jonathan’s wife, Becca, was with him, and Tabby. His niece was clinging to her aunt, but her fear as she looked in Mark’s direction wasn’t of Mark. He stood. Both Abraham and Becca took giant steps back, but Tabby reached for him. “Mommy and Unca Jon go save Gramma,” she half-sobbed, her earlier three-year-old eloquence gone for the moment. He didn’t blame her. “Tabitha—” her father began. Mark changed. He sucked in his breath as the transformation hurt for the first time, and staggered forward a step. Bowing his head, he breathed for a moment. When he was sure he wouldn’t either pass out or scream, he met Tabby’s gaze. “I’ll bring everyone back safe, Tabbykins. I promise.” And that includes Luke. She won’t hurt him. He took off for the near shore of Lake Ontario.

*** Watching the two mothers talk, Luke now knew where Mark got his silver tongue. He was concealed where he’d been before, and as he listened, he studied the route to the bitch dragon’s nest. He’d read Kipling’s Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and thought there could be something

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to the idea of stealing a mother’s eggs. He wouldn’t kill the baby dragons the way Rikki had crushed the baby cobras; he would never go that far. But the bitch dragon didn’t know that. The bitch dragon seemed untroubled by Mark’s stepmother, which made perfect sense. She stood in the water and gazed alternately at the forest and out over the gentle waves. Mrs. Tavery, meanwhile, sat on a small rock not far away and seemed to watch her kidnapper with not much more fear than she would a frolicking squirrel. “You don’t need to hurt Mark,” she said. “He is willing to talk. Even if he’s not, he will listen to me.” The bitch dragon flicked water droplets up over her back. “Male dragons of his age listen to little more than their stomachs.” “Mark grew up human in a very hostile environment. He knows how to listen.” Luke grimaced. Yeah, right. He pushed his fury away. Let it wait until he and Mark were back in Florida. For right now, they had more important things to accomplish. He found the lump in the shoreline that marked the nest and saw it was close to the water; it must be dug deep enough that the eggs wouldn’t be washed out with the high tide. “He is the youngest of the three in your house,” the dragon said in a voice that might have been contemplative. She seemed completely unconcerned that Mark or Luke could attack her. Luke’s stomach turned. She had a right to be unconcerned. Gritting his teeth, he again looked to the nest, trying to judge the distance between where he hid and the edge of the water. The dragon continued, “Did your halfbloods challenge his right to live?” Luke winced in sympathy when Mark’s mother shifted on the rock, but then he saw that she was only rising. He watched her, eggs temporarily forgotten, as she walked to the water’s edge and kicked off her shoes. “He had no challenge from them, not until he came out to us when he was sixteen. This was shortly before he…before Rodney died.” “Came out?” the dragon asked. Without the slightest touch of embarrassment or defensiveness, Mrs. Tavery answered, “Mark is homosexual.”

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The dragon’s mouth fell open in a human expression of astonishment that reminded Luke: he might only have seen her in her scaled form, but she possessed a human guise, just like Mark. For some reason he couldn’t explain, the reminder made his skin crawl. “That explains why the genie protects him so.” She chuckled, and her taloned hands came together as if she were a child playing patty-cake softly. “And why Rodneyson wanted no part of a contract that would win him a herd of his own.” Shit. Luke became very still, acutely aware that he was here alone and that he could be used in a trap meant to catch Mark. And why would she want to catch Mark? Any number of reasons, beginning with “to keep him from hurting my daughters” and ending with “so he—and the halfbloods—can feed my daughters.” Her son Mark might be, but Luke had a feeling she wouldn’t even flinch at the idea of using him for her own gain. If Mrs. Tavery was aware of the mistake she’d just made, she didn’t show it. “Mark went through school the smallest. He also went through with certain characteristics that are often considered feminine. He’s always been divinely graceful, and no amount of baseball, soccer, or track could hide that fact. “When he was eleven he was labeled gay—homosexual—by the students at school. He came home often with bruises, torn clothes, always with silences. It was so bad the year that he was thirteen that his father and I were suspected of abuse. That was the year Mark ran away for a solid week.” Luke squashed his growing sympathy and grimaced at Mark’s mother’s back. He’s still running away. And suddenly, the idea of going back to Florida and trying to tackle the same issues there made his stomach knot. Maybe he could just leave all this alone. Let Mark handle the dragon. Sure, he might get sucked back in his lamp, but was freedom worth all this? “What brought him back? Or was he found?” The dragon gazed out across Lake Ontario. She gave off a disinterested posture, but her voice held an interested edge. “He appeared one morning at the breakfast table as though nothing had happened.” Luke swallowed the urge to laugh. If that didn’t sum up Mark, nothing did. He mastered the laugh and likewise mastered the anger that wanted to rise at once. Not because it wasn’t justified, but because it was useless: Mark had been secretive since the age of thirteen. What fucking chance did Luke have of changing him?

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Emily Carrington “How like a male,” the dragon said. “No matter the species, a male will do what he will.”

She laughed. “Or what we talk him into doing while keeping him ignorant of that fact.” Luke stared at her, so surprised to hear the twisting of his own thoughts come out of her mouth that he lost the thread of his anger in a swath of loyalty. Mark’s been through hell. If he ran away, if he came back, if he didn't talk about it after, that’s his right. He himself hadn’t been beaten up as a child beyond the usual fistfights that had been expected between Viking boys a thousand years ago; who the hell was he to judge Mark’s current coping strategies? True, Mark was an adult. True, he was no longer in a room by himself but in a relationship. But when, exactly, had he been granted the life experience that would give him the knowledge of how to relate in the expected way to his lover? For a few beats, Luke’s heart soared as he gave himself permission not to be furious. But then reality’s stone brought him back down again. How in the name of the One-Who-Decides was he going to love a man who didn’t know how to love in any way but the carnal? The sound of running feet came to him. He turned his head and cast his magical sense in that direction, unsurprised that whoever it was had gotten this close without being heard: the wind blew off the water and to him. He couldn’t see anyone yet but guessed it was two people. That all but precluded Mark. Luke crouched low, so as not to be seen and his position given away. “Your offspring are coming to rescue you,” the bitch dragon said. “If you can control Rodneyson as you say, prove it. Calm these two now before they cause themselves harm.” Where was Mark? He had half a mind to transport himself back to the house. The only thing keeping him here was the fear that using magic would draw the bitch dragon’s attention and that, in turn, would get Mark’s mother, brother, and sister killed. And here they came, charging unwittingly into the beast’s clutches like children playing Daniel in the lion’s den, unaware that the expected housecat had foot-long fangs. Jonathan was armed with a shotgun. It would do him no good. When not shedding, a dragon’s scales were like diamonds. Naomi carried nothing at all. The bitch dragon took two steps out of the water, but there she stopped. “Now, woman. If you can.”

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Mark’s mother took a step herself. “Jonny, put that away. It’s useless and dangerous. I want the two of you to go home. Becca and Abe must be desperate with worry. You can see I’m not hurt. Claudette and I are just having a discussion that’s been years in the making.” Luke gaped at her. It was as if Mark’s calming presence had come from her mouth. And suddenly he wanted Mark beside him so much, it was almost a physical ache. “Claudette?” Jonathan demanded. “Mom, she’s been stealing your blood.” “She has to feed her children.” Mark’s mother settled again on the rock. “Go home. Both of you. I know Mark’s going to show up, and arguing with three is more than I can take.” She smiled as she said it, and Luke had the feeling she’d said something similar on many occasions, because Naomi took a step back, and Jonathan lowered the shotgun to his side. “Trust me,” she said. “I will be all right. Go look after your families. Do for them what we all did for Mark the day he had to choose who and what he wanted to be.” Was she talking about the day Mark killed his father in an attempt to save his cousin, the day he’d come out to his family, or some other day Luke didn’t yet know about? The genie whispered, “I’m going to make sure we all live through this so he and I will get a chance to talk.” A hand fell on his shoulder, and he almost screamed, just stopping himself by biting down hard on his lower lip. The hand was human, and for a moment, he wanted to turn and shout, “Get your scales on, damn it!” Soft lips touched his ear, and he both felt and heard Mark’s amused exhaustion. “She’s talking them home. I couldn’t risk ruining that.” There was a pause, and he slipped a bare arm around Luke’s waist. Then he released him and pressed a bare chest and bare thighs—and an uncovered cock, Luke realized—against him. “We have lots to talk about,” Mark whispered. “Just bear with me, okay? I don’t even know more than two things right now. One: I need you. Forever. And two: I want you to say yes.” “Say yes to—” Mark clapped his hand over Luke’s mouth. Belatedly, the genie realized he hadn’t been whispering and that Jonathan had fallen silent. The dragon started toward them, her eyes picking them out easily now that she was looking. “Come here, breakfast.” Her gaze was all for Luke in that moment, and he knew how a bird cornered by a snake must feel.

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Emily Carrington The shotgun roared, and she jumped and turned. “Blue fuck,” Mark muttered as he traded skin for scales. “Jon! Naomi! Go home!” Luke followed his lover out of the bushes. He had one goal: get possession of the eggs.

With a bargaining chip, Mark’s family might live. He glanced at Mark and saw the shiny, wet stripes where Mark had lost rows of protective scales. He saw how Mark didn’t attack, acting so unlike himself that Luke’s skin crawled. The dragon stalked toward Jonathan, who still had the gun raised as if he thought it could do some good. She didn’t seem to care that Mark was behind her, or Luke, for that matter. But when Mark’s mother stood, she swung toward her partway. “Stay there.” “Please, Claudette, they’re only foolish children compared to the centuries you have lived.” “Perhaps, but they are adults in their own world. Do not interfere, or they will have to watch you die.” Her eyes were sad in that moment, and she added, “Please, for your own sake, Miriam.” Luke crept toward the eggs, keeping an ear open to the talk behind him. He didn’t even dare use his magical sense to “watch” Mark, because she would feel that too. Thus powerless, he crept across the sand. “Would you doom them all, Claudette? Your children are almost grown out of their shells, and they will be strong mere moments later, but my children have their own young ones who will find it nearly impossible to survive without them.” She said more, but he allowed it to become noted background as he resisted the urge to crouch or break into a run. He couldn’t do anything if the dragon turned around before he reached the nest, but he could try not to draw any of the humans’ attention. Once he was at the nest and had the eggs in his arms, he could transport far away, and it would take her too long to reach the eggs. She would be willing to bargain. Maybe even to stop drinking from anyone and everyone. Almost there. His shadow fell across the nest. He saw the three eggs nestled together under a thin layer of grass and wondered, inanely, why the waves didn’t wash them away. Maybe they were closer to hatching than he feared, and she had started to dig them out?

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A wordless roar—warning and denial—sounded behind him, and Luke whirled, recognizing Mark’s cry. The world became a series of still photos: he saw Mark dive forward, the blinding flame issuing from the dragon’s mouth engulf him, and Jonathan, Naomi, and Mrs. Tavery prostrate themselves. He might have still had the presence of mind to seize the eggs, but then the wind shifted, bringing to him the smell of roasting flesh. Mark. His stomach and heart both rose into his mouth. He gagged. The other dragon stood over Mark, her foot on his throat, and though flames curled down Mark’s arm to his taloned hand, he didn’t scream. He didn’t stir. His eyes were open, but even from where he stood, Luke knew they saw nothing. “He lives, breakfast. For now. Move away from my daughters. Walk to these mortals, take them by the hand, and transport them away from here. Do that, and stay away for just twelve hours, and I will be gone with my children.” Luke’s gaze dropped to the fire that was slowly devouring Mark’s hand. He couldn’t speak or move, and that was obviously what she wanted. What he needed to do, or Mark would die. “Claudette, please,” Mark’s mother said, and still Luke couldn’t move. “Please,” Naomi sobbed. Luke watched the hungry flames lap their way along Mark’s wrist, watched Mark’s sightless eyes reflect the sky. He gagged again. “Take me hostage instead,” Jonathan said, dropping the useless gun. “Let my brother go.” The dragon didn’t look away from Luke; he felt her regard like a knife. “Or does he mean so little to you? Maybe he’s not your mate after all?” Her sudden nervousness, thinly veiled by sarcasm, cut through all the layers of Luke’s numbing terror. With it gone, his heart raced; he wanted to offer himself as Jonathan had. Instead, keenly aware that all he had on his side for the moment was deceit, he walked toward Mark’s family. “I’m taking you home. Not because it’s what he’d want”—he jerked his thumb over his shoulder—“but because the One-Who-Decides would never forgive me if I left you here.” Aware that it was really the dragon he was speaking to, he met Mark’s mother’s gaze and tried to imitate Reese at his worst. “I’m not Reese, but we have something in common: Mark’s

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kept us both around because he likes to know there’s always something more terrible out there than him.” Her eyes filled, first with tears and then with fury. Jonathan leaped at him, the dragon forgotten, but Naomi was there first, clawing at his face. Luke hooked an arm around her, yanking Mark’s mother close with the same hand, and seized Jonathan with the other. With the stench of Mark’s charring flesh still curling about his head and trying very hard to scramble his thoughts, he took his lover’s family out of danger. They appeared in the living room; the house was silent, as though Abraham and Becca had fled. Luke stepped back from Mark’s family as they stumbled in surprise. He read the hatred in all their eyes and knew: the intolerance he and Mark had experienced before at their hands was nothing compared to their love for Mark. How two such incongruous truths could exist made no sense to him, but right now he had no time to figure it out. Neither did he have time to convince them that he’d been lying in order to save their lives and possibly Mark’s. He met their gazes, one by one, and said, voice shaking as he fought to keep from shouting while his panic and need to be back with Mark now rose, “Stay here. I need to save him, and I can’t do that if I’m worried about you.” Jonathan started to speak. “Please.” He realized he was crying and tried to stop. If he lost his head now, he’d lose Mark. Forever. “All we have is time,” he’d told his lover, and when he’d said it, he’d thought it was true. But now he knew: even for supposed immortals, time held meaning. He looked to Mark’s mother. “Can you reach SearchLight? I’m going to need backup.” She nodded, her lips pressed together. “Tell them what’s going on. Tell them—” He stopped. There wasn’t time for details. She’d have to figure it out for herself. Still he took a moment longer to give both of them comfort. “I won’t come back without Mark.”

*** He never truly lost consciousness, and that meant he was at the height of the shedding: that twelve-hour period when, come exhaustion or just about any physical threat, he wouldn’t lose touch with the physical world unless death came. That wasn’t supposed to happen until the tenth

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day of his shedding, but why not now? His shedding had been one for the record books even before it started. Mark heard, through the partial paralysis that kept him from screaming, his dragon mother —strange how he felt suddenly close to her, felt like he understood her—swallow the lie that Luke didn’t love him. He heard Luke feed the lie. And then Luke left, and he was alone. He thought he might be crying, but he couldn’t feel it. Luke was gone. It was as if they hadn’t shared that moment in the bushes when he’d pressed his naked body, full-length, against the genie, his lover, and confessed his never-ending love. Dimly, he felt himself being dragged. “My daughters don’t need charred meat,” she said somewhere above him. “Are you awake, Rodneyson? I think you may yet be.” Her voice was almost gentle. “I would kill you before they feast, to ease your pain, but their first meal must not be carrion. You understand.” She paused. “They’re breaking free now. They will be here soon. I wish I could force your change, let them feast on your human form. That would be safer for their first time.” He was sure he was crying now; he felt wetness on his scaled cheek. He needed her to know, though, why he was crying, and as he struggled to form words, he laughed silently at his pride. Even now, apparently, when no one but him would care, he wanted her to know he wasn’t afraid of death. Except… If he died, he’d never see Luke again. Fear—terror, horror—ripped at the paralysis, and he shoved himself up, screaming as his burned hand dug into the dirt and rocks along the shore. “Luke!” Oh God, he’d never see Luke again. He’d never get a chance to fix things between them. He’d never get a chance to roll over in the night and find his lover there, dozing or reading or watching him sleep. There were claws at his throat, and he tore at them. She would not keep him from begging Luke to give him just one more chance. He bit at her, blew fire, kicked at her, screaming the genie’s name again when his feet skittered down her scaled belly.

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strength, he let out every breath as his lover’s name. As a Yom Kippur prayer of atonement.

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Chapter Seven Luke transported himself back to the edge of the lake, near the nest. And so he almost lost a foot as a tiny, scaled babe tried for her first meal. He saw that the other two dragons were encased fully still even as he took to the air to escape the bold one. The tears were drying on his cheeks as he watched the two dragons fight in the shallows. Mark’s hand no longer burned, but as Luke started toward them, reluctant to conjure the useless sword once again, his lover screamed. For an instant—an hour, maybe—he thought it was Mark’s death cry. But then, in a slightly weaker voice, Mark screamed again, and the genie realized what he was saying: Luke. Luke. He froze again, like he had when he saw Mark’s hand burning, but this time it was a memory that shoved him into action: his own voice, raised and cracking in rage, telling Mark he’d freeze his feet to the ground to keep him still. The genie took a single step, calling to him all the power since he’d come out of the lamp in response to Mark’s hand back in April. Thinking of the bird in its nest that he’d almost killed, he offered the One-Who-Decides a silent apology for the fish and plants he was about to destroy, and then he froze the water just around the mother dragon’s feet. He couldn’t risk Mark, weak in his shedding, weak from the fighting, getting caught in the ice and so being hurt more. She straightened, shaking off Mark’s grip on her shoulder as if it was nothing. She roared. Luke conjured rope that wound itself around and around her jaws, yanking her mouth shut again. As she clawed at the bonds—she’d have it off in a moment; it was nothing compared to the natural knives she possessed—and because Luke couldn’t interfere with Mark’s free will by simply transporting him out of the water, the genie created three visions that rose out of the lake: kelpies, furious at their territory being invaded. The three illusions went for her eggs and for the baby dragon.

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her own life if necessary, if it only meant she could save her daughters. He didn’t wait for her to reach them and discover that the kelpies were fake, but poofed to Mark’s side and grasped his unburned hand. “Mark.” He shook him lightly, hating the way his lover’s breath rattled in his chest. Was Mark more injured than he feared? “Give me permission to get us out of here.” Mark’s talons dug into Luke’s hand and above, into his arm. “Luke…” He sucked in another breath; this one sounded like it was being dragged down a narrow stone canyon. “Luke,” he said on the exhale, and his hand spasmed again. His eyes were unfocused, and his burned hand scrabbled feebly in the general direction of Luke’s head as if he was still trying to defend himself. He had no idea Luke was here. But unlike those times when Mark had huddled into himself, this wasn’t something he could control. “Mark, please. Just give me your permission. I can’t get us out of here without—” “Breakfast, you’re not very wise to come back.” Luke refused to look at her. “Mark.” His lover’s talons dissolved into a human’s fingers. Mark shrank before him, giving up the rest of his shattered armor. “It was probably best my daughters didn’t taste dragon flesh for their first meal,” she said, sounding no closer. Mark’s hand in his was slack. Luke fumbled for a pulse, couldn’t find one. “Mark. Mark, please. Mark.” “Has he stopped breathing, breakfast? I think he’s well out of it. You will join him now.” This cold truth cut through rising numbness: if Mark was dead, then Luke didn’t need his permission to work magic. “Marie, Candace, Sophia, it is time to feast. Come now, Sophia. Your sisters will leave you behind if you don’t hurry.” Not sure who he was talking to, Luke thought, “Take us to the nearest SearchLight-run hospital.” He bent and pressed his lips to Mark’s for the moment of transport, not for any last-

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ditch effort at saving his lover’s life or to satisfy any superstition, but because the SearchLight agents might well take Mark away from him, and this could be his last chance to hold his lover. The moment of transport froze his powers, and Luke closed his eyes, memorizing the feel of Mark’s naked body pressed against his own. The moment they reappeared, he made his own clothes disappear and drew Mark even closer. “Move!” ordered a Voice of Authority. Luke pulled Mark even more firmly against him, scarcely feeling a steely warmth press against his belly. A low growl of pain began at the base of his skull—maybe someone had hit him, maybe the owner of the Voice of Authority—but then it was overwhelmed by a wave of sleepiness. He couldn’t feel Mark in his arms anymore; he felt only that steely press against his stomach. Far away, he heard someone bark a laugh and someone else snap, “Shut up, asshole.” Then he felt and heard nothing at all.

*** “—mission, Luke. You have my permission. Okay?” Semiconscious, he thought he heard the fading echoes of an ending scream. “He’s not cramping anymore. And you need to rest.” Luke knew both those voices. He saw nothing, felt nothing—blessed relief!—and only a slight salt scent reached him. Gulf, sun, seawater… “…stay for another few…” Mark? He tried to open his eyes, fought for the right to speak. Mark! “No,” a third, unfamiliar voice said. “Your ‘brush’ with death was more like a head-on collision. You need to rest.” Mark! A sting. Another wave of sleepiness. He fought this one with every ounce of strength he possessed, but that was no strength at all: dimmed by medicine or not, the pain had stolen everything.

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Mark’s hand shook as he brushed Luke’s sweaty bangs off his forehead. He laid a gentle kiss on his lover’s brow. “That was too damn close.” He leaned back in the hospital chair and closed his eyes, fumbling for Luke’s hand where it lay on the blanket like a fallen flower. “He wouldn’t have died from the magical backlash unless you had been unconscious for another week,” the nurse said. You don’t think he suffered enough in eight days? Of course that wasn’t what the nurse was saying at all, and where Mark would have snapped at a human nurse, he restrained his reaction to a simple glare. The woman was a fae, and he didn’t yet know her strength. He needed to avoid offending her. He shifted his gaze, softening it marginally. “I still have to see Mom.” Jonathan, standing just behind the nurse, said, “I’ll take you back to your room, and then I can bring her in.” “You have five minutes only, Agent Tavery. Then you must rest.” Mark nodded, squeezed Luke’s hand, and pushed himself to his feet, glad when the dizziness came and went in an instant instead of lingering. He managed to avoid Jonathan’s offered hand and got into the wheelchair under his own power. Jonathan took the handles and guided the chair out into the hallway. “You’re a stubborn ass.” Mark nodded. “But in love and meaning to stay that way.” “Can you also manage to keep in touch with the rest of us a little more often?” “If you’ll agree—” “No conditions.” Jon stepped around to the front of the chair and crouched so they were eye to eye. “You’re not allowed to mention conditions after almost dying.” He looked away. “But if it will make you happy, I’ll call him Luke and make sure Abraham does the same.” Mark sensed he could push for a lot more. The rush of power he expected never came, even though he’d never had so much pull with Jon before, not even when his older brother had been cowering under him, begging Mark not to hurt him again. Instead, he felt an odd desire, like

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the realization he’d made on the fringe of Lake Ontario, and he said, “Thank you.” He touched Jon’s shoulder until his brother was looking at him. “I promise I’ll talk to all of you more and visit at least once a year.” “Careful the promises you make on Yom Kippur, Mark,” said his mother. He raised his head and watched her approach. She had aged years in the last week, but he sensed she would lose them again once her family was settled. “I know.” She shook her head. “You’re not just making it to your brother.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I know, Mom. I’m making it to Yahweh too.” Her eyes narrowed. “As soon as you’re well, I’m going to hit you upside your head. Promises to Yahweh don’t mean anything unless you believe in Yahweh. What I’m talking about is the promise you’re making to yourself.” The fae nurse poked her head out of Luke’s room. “Go to bed, Agent Tavery. Now.” Jon got behind the chair again. “She’s a little scary,” he muttered. Should I tell him she isn’t human? “She’s a fae, Jonny,” their mother said. “She could turn you into a sex slave and make you like it.” Mark twisted around in the wheelchair to catch his brother’s expression. It was just a little more shocked than his own, he judged, and he laughed.

*** The subtle scent of lake water and an unfamiliar shampoo woke Luke the second time. He opened his eyes, shocked at how easily this was accomplished, and stared at the dark, tousled hair before him. He was spooned close behind the owner of all that untamed mass, but neither of them was naked. He realized he was dressed in a hospital gown—it was cottony, porous, letting in air and not retaining any of his body heat—but that Mark was in a T-shirt and boxers. What kind of double standard was this? Wait. He shouted, voice hoarse, “Mark!” He fumbled at the other man’s shoulder, not quite daring to call it his lover’s shoulder yet until he saw his face, heard his voice.

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instantly into happiness. Luke pulled him up and into his arms, all but crushing him against his chest. “Mark?” It didn’t smell like his Mark, but the feel of him was right. The look in those blue, blue eyes had been right too. “Mark? Mark? Please, tell me this isn’t—” The man mumbled something against his chest. The timbre of his voice was right too, but Luke rushed on. “—a lie. Please tell me it’s not a lie.” “Not,” his Mark said, and he was laughing as he clung to Luke just as tightly. “Even the shedding’s over, though the doctors want me to stay for another few days so they can run some extra tests. Apparently no dragon in their records has gone through its shedding in less than two weeks. I’m just a mystery from beginning to end.” He nuzzled Luke’s neck. “Everything’s okay now. I…” He stiffened. Luke pulled back at once, keeping Mark in the circle of his arms. “What is it?” Mark dropped his gaze. Yeah, definitely my Mark. And then Mark was looking at him again. “It’s not all okay. I’m pretty fucked up.” He chewed his lip for a moment. “Luke, I love you. You know that. Right?” The fear in his eyes—not fear of being hurt, like he’d shown most of the times Luke had seen him around Reese, but fear of another kind—was also painted on his face and kept the tension in his shoulders. He cupped Mark’s cheek. “I know. And—” “Wait. Please. This is really hard for me.” Luke nodded. Their position was awkward, both of them sitting up partially in the narrow hospital bed, neither of them with any support from pillows. And he didn’t know about Mark, but he was still feeling pretty wrung out. But he could sit here and not move as long as Mark needed him to.

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For a moment, Mark was silent, as if he’d lost either the train of his thoughts or the courage to say them. But then, still meeting Luke’s gaze, he said, “I need you. Do you know that too?” Why else call out for Luke with his dying breath? He laid a soft kiss on the corner of Mark’s mouth. “I know.” Mark pulled back so their eyes met again. “I need you to know that I was scared for the first time in a very long time last week.” Despite his best intentions to let Mark talk, Luke asked, “Last week?” “You’ve been asleep that long. Mostly because I was unconscious for eight days and couldn’t give you my permission, so the doctors had to keep you drugged to keep the pain down.” “I worked… Oh. But…” Then it all caught up with him, and Luke yanked Mark close again, needing to feel his heartbeat against his own chest. “I thought you were dead, so the magic wouldn’t affect me. Even at a SearchLight-run hospital, I didn’t think there was anything they could do for you. I just held on to you and…” He could feel Mark’s heartbeat now, strong against the right side of his chest, and he stopped speaking to enjoy it for a moment. Mark’s arms tightened around his waist. “I’m sorry you had to be in pain because of me. If I’d called for backup, this wouldn’t have happened.” Luke said, “When we first arrived, I didn’t feel any pain. That’s why I really thought you were dead.” Mark chuckled. “I had an erection, Luke. There’s no way I could have been dead.” Luke sat back, unable, for shock, to speak right away. Mark was still laughing, his eyes alight with it. “Apparently your magic affects me even when I’m unconscious and about ten minutes from death.” The blood drained from Luke’s face; he felt it go. “That’s not funny.” Mark was serious at once. “You’re right. I was just scared. Like I said.” He wriggled free of Luke’s right hand and squeezed it between both of his. “You were afraid of dying?” He couldn’t help it; disbelief crept into his tone.

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again.” His voice tightened. “Luke, I thought I was going to lose the chance to apologize and make everything right.” Oh. Mark’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. He blinked, and they were gone, but they had been there. “I’m fucked up, Luke. I’ve got a real problem with not caring whether I live or die, and even though I have someone to live for now, that doesn’t negate all the unresolved shit I’ve got hanging over my head.” He sat up, facing half away from Luke, and ticked them off on his fingers. “Killing my father. Putting four guys in the hospital the year I was fifteen.” He glanced back at Luke. “I don’t even remember exactly what I did to them. Breaking Jonathan’s arm when I was thirteen.” “What?” “Yeah, Mom didn’t tell my…birth mother that’s why I ran away.” Mark shook his head. “Unfortunately, I remember that very well.” He was still looking at Luke, and now he lay back down, drawing Luke with him, trying to act as the genie’s pillow. But that had never been a comfortable position—his torso was shorter than Luke’s, his legs longer—so they ended up as they almost always did: with Luke taking up the pillow job. For a moment Luke thought Mark was going to fight this, but once they were settled, he had the pleasure of feeling all the tension slip out of his lover’s body. Mark sighed and snuggled very close, wrapping his right arm around Luke’s waist and squeezing. “It’s not that I can’t be afraid; it’s just that I haven’t let myself be afraid. Even when we’re talking about Reese, I wasn’t afraid.” His voice roughened. He tried to see Mark’s face and failed, but he felt the dampness through the nonexistent protection of the hospital gown. Mark was allowing himself to cry. So he held his tongue, tried to set his own thoughts about how abused people were supposed to react to their abusers aside, and listened. “Do you know how easy it would have been for me to kill him?” Mark sniffed hard. “I know how I acted every time you saw Reese and me together until that last time looked like a fear reaction.” He turned his face even more fully into Luke’s chest, as if trying to hide. “But do you know how easy it would have been? I mean, that’s how most dragons get on SearchLight’s

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radar: they get angry and can’t control it. Anger’s as much a genetic part of who a dragon is as a werewolf’s obedience to the call of the moon.” Mark was trembling in his arms; his breath was catching and releasing like a badly oiled hinge. He held his Mark close, expecting to feel the familiar wash of helplessness that had always coiled in his stomach. Instead, he became conscious of an unexpected lightness: Mark loved him enough to acknowledge how much he needed Luke. The lightness grew, and he rubbed his lover’s back, trying to spread the love. At first, he failed. “That’s why allowing myself to bite you, and sometimes to take the dominant role when we have sex, was such a big deal.” He laughed shakily. “Is such a big deal.” He pushed himself away just a little, leaning up on one elbow so he was looking at Luke. Tear tracks stained his cheeks. And yet, Luke could smell him now, the lover under the unfamiliar shampoo and the smell of the lake water. Mark wasn’t aroused, but still his own musk had begun to rise through the other smells, to drown them. Luke’s mouth watered. Maybe some of what he was starting to feel showed on his face, because Mark’s voice eased. “The anger I haven’t dealt with might splash on you if I let my guard down.” He laughed again. “It sounds melodramatic and fucking queeny: ‘Oh, dahling, I’m afraid that if I love you too much, I’ll hurt you,’ but it’s true for all that.” He flopped back down on the bed, nestling close again. “And that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you ever since we started that damned fight about me disrespecting and not valuing your abilities in battle.” Mark’s arm was around Luke’s waist, so close to his erection that the genie couldn’t believe he didn’t sense it. Mark continued, “I’m sorry about that, by the way. It was—” He picked up Mark’s hand and put it over his cock, groaning at Mark’s touch. Mark stilled, his whole body seeming to pause on the edge of some precipice, and then his hand closed, lightly at first, around Luke’s cock. He squeezed. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

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quick steps alerted them. They didn’t spring back—there was nowhere to spring in the narrow bed—but Mark rolled onto his back and drew Luke onto his side so his erection was hidden. She looked like a human nurse, but when Luke reached out with his magical sense, he knew she was fae. He nodded to her. “Madam.” She nodded. “You will both continue to rest, or Mr. Tavery will be escorted back to his room.” Her almond-shaped eyes sparked like stones being struck, one against the other. “Do I make myself clear?” “Yes, madam,” Mark said, and his voice was so demure Luke could hardly credit it. She glared. “See that you mean it, dragon. My kind has been eating your kind since the world was young.” Her face softened, though it looked like she had to make a great effort to accomplish this feat. “You are safe now, agents. But you must rest.” She stalked out. He had three questions, but before he could manage any of them, Mark kissed him. His mouth was open, and he pushed his way between Luke’s lips, claiming him completely. They had to rest. The fae nurse was waiting outside the door. But one kiss wouldn’t hurt. She pounded on the door. Once. The door shuddered in its metal frame. “Rest.” Questions and kisses would have to wait. Luke spooned himself behind his lover, drawing him almost close enough that they were one, and settled in to sleep.

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Chapter Eight They were in the back bedroom again, the door locked between them and the rest of Mark’s family. It was midnight, and all the humans supposedly asleep. (The halfbloods, too— until now, Luke had never thought of Mark’s brother and sister as being his real brother and sister, having shared partially in his heritage, having lost their father when Mark was forced to kill him.) Everything wasn’t okay, but maybe it was getting there. Luke sat on the bed with the remaining six presents arranged around him and watched Mark stare out the window. There was silence between them, but it was a different silence. Or maybe that’s only my own wishful thinking. “Mark?” His lover turned, and his eyes shifted briefly yellow-green before settling—temporarily, Luke sensed—back to blue. “Luke.” He licked his lips. “Am I going to open all of those here, now? Or do you want to do this in my grove?” They still had to talk, and Luke was strongly reminded of the first time he and Mark had made love. That time, Mark had tried to keep talking through most of it. Luke had convinced him to give over talk in the name of pleasure. But tonight he was going to use pleasure to soften the talking that had to happen. “Tempting, but I have a challenge for you.” He selected the first present he wanted Mark to open and tossed it. Mark caught the soft package. “No box,” he noted. “Clothes?” “Something like that.” Luke stood. “Here’s the challenge. I’m going to set up a partial soundproofing shield around this room. What we talk about won’t be overheard. But any sounds of pleasure we make will carry right through the barrier to be heard by anyone who happens to be eavesdropping.” Mark snorted. “I don’t think Rebecca or Abraham can take much more from this family.” A shadow of pain crossed his face.

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Emily Carrington “Let Jonathan and Naomi worry about them. The first one to make a pleasure sound loud

enough to draw anyone’s attention will have to do anything the winning partner chooses. Agreed?” Again Mark’s eye color flickered before returning to blue. “Agreed.” He ripped the Arkand-two-by-two-animals paper off the present and shook out the buckskin shirt. He ran his palm over the front of the shirt, stopping to trace the neckline. “This will go with your collar. This is for you, isn’t it?” Luke already had his T-shirt off. He poofed the gift from Mark’s hand, grinning when it stretched taut over his chest so that his nipples showed. The buckskin was thin, almost artificially so, and he caressed his nipples lightly just to watch Mark’s jaw hang. Play first. Talk soon. Mark had let the wrapping paper fall, but when he started forward, maybe toward Luke, maybe for the next gift, Luke put the next present in his hands, grinning broadly, innocently, when Mark almost dropped it. “Fuck. You,” Mark muttered, laughing again. He tore the wrapping off this gift as well, probably not noticing that this paper was the same as the first. Nor did Luke care if he noticed. When he needed to pay attention, the genie would let him know. “Pants?” These too were buckskin, and Mark ran his palm over them, making Luke grin despite the first question he was already holding in his mind. It was way too easy to imagine Mark touching him the same way. Mark ran his tongue over his teeth. “I don’t think you’ll be wearing these long.” He brought them to Luke, who had retreated to the bed and was slipping, gradually, out of his jeans. “Do you have to put these on?” He caught Mark’s hand and drew him forward between his knees until his cock was pressed against his lover’s thigh. “Mark?” “Yeah?” Best to start with the simplest questions first. The most innocuous ones. “What did that nurse mean when she called us both agents?” Mark tensed, but he didn’t hesitate. “SearchLight wants me to ask you to join us.”

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Oh really? But any sarcasm failed him as his heart soared. That security officer hadn’t been the final word after all. And if they were both being called agents, did that mean Luke didn’t have to go through the three years of schooling? He pushed those questions aside and asked the most important one. “Do you want me to?” Some of the tension went out of Mark’s hands where he’d tightened them on Luke’s shoulders. He began running his palms over the soft, almost velvety buckskin. “I want you happy. And if that will make you happy…” He sighed, crouching so they were at eye level. “No. I want you safe. But you saved the lives of my mother, my brother, and my sister. And you saved me. So who am I to tell you not to join SearchLight?” He stood, drawing Luke to his feet. He offered the pants. “Let’s see these.” Luke magicked them on and tried to concentrate on how honest Mark was being. Up until now, he would have lied and pretended. But, damn, that hurt. “If you think I can defend myself, why don’t you want me in SearchLight?” Mark dropped to his knees and unzipped Luke’s new skintight pants. He took Luke’s cock into his mouth, deep throating instantly, as if craving Luke’s taste so badly that he couldn’t ease into anything. Luke’s hips bucked, and he moaned, his hands finding their way into Mark’s hair. “You can’t just…” He moaned again, closing his eyes as the muscles in Mark’s throat worked and his lover’s tongue caressed the head of his cock and halfway down his shaft, toying with him, cajoling him. Mark’s throat worked again. Luke’s orgasm broke over him, and he clapped both hands over his mouth as he almost lost the game right there. When his orgasm had passed, leaving him weak-kneed but supported by Mark’s arms around his thighs, Luke gladly gave over most of his hurt feelings too. Maybe the idea of talking while playing wasn’t just to make things easier for Mark. “I promise I’ll be careful.” “I know.” Mark laid a soft kiss on Luke’s cockhead before sitting back on his heels. “I take it back: the pants are great.” He stood and looked down at his hands, which were doing up Luke’s fly. “I’ll be more careful too.” His head was up now, eyes intense. He looked…pissed off. “I promise.”

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Emily Carrington Luke brought him the next gift. This one might channel his anger, especially because Luke

thought he knew what was causing it. “What’s wrong?” Mark shook his head. “Angry with myself.” He took the gift, started to rip the paper. Luke stopped him. “Look at it this time. Please?” This wrapping had been impossible to find in any store, and Luke was no artist with ink or paint. His powers even had some limitations: if he couldn’t imagine how something looked, he couldn’t make it appear. So he’d hired an artist to draw the shapes, and then he’d mass-produced them on a large piece of white paper. He ran his fingers lightly through his lover’s hair as he watched him realize what the images were. “It’s us,” Mark whispered, his cheeks coloring slightly. “In…what do the Japanese call it? Chibi form?” He laughed. “And we’re naked too. Where did you get this?” He was tracing one of the pairs, running his fingers over the stenciled genie’s raised ass, then up to the paddle poised to strike. “Look how excited we are.” Luke reached under the gift and cupped Mark’s crotch, grinning when he found evidence of his lover’s excitement. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t just stop with the first two, could I?” “But aren’t they just variations on a theme?” Mark’s fingers were shaking ever so slightly as he ran them, again and again, over the tiny genie’s ass. His tongue flicked out over his lips, and his eyes shone. “This will grant us both a new sensation. And don’t worry: it’s the last striking gift you’ll get.” He ran his thumb lightly over Mark’s balls through the flimsy cover of his shorts, working to keep his face innocent when Mark hissed in pleasure. “At least in this group of eight. But I couldn’t leave it out; I knew we’d enjoy it too much.” He caught Mark’s wandering fingers, earning a startled glance. “We’ll lose the challenge you’ve set,” his lover whispered. We. Not you. Mark would be just as subject to the play. Which meant, in a very real sense, that neither of them was taking the dominant role; he wasn’t giving Mark any more power over him. Luke swallowed a groan of need. “We’ll manage.” He stepped back and executed a perfect military-style pivot before bending at the waist. “Go on. Open it.” The tearing of paper was his answer, followed by the thump of a box hitting the floor. “With your pants on?”

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“I want to get a little more use out of them.” Some of that anger Mark was directing at himself had crept into his voice. “Well, I don’t.” There was a quick, high whistling sound, and the paddle struck Luke’s ass full-force. He sensed that Mark had shown barely any restraint and grinned, both at his ability to take it and at his body’s love of the sting. “I won’t take them off.” He paused. “Master.” Here came the paddle again, harder, if that was possible, and Luke braced himself against an invisible wall of magic. The sting was like Mark’s teeth: hot, steely pleasure, and he wanted it again and again until he came, Mark came, or he was able to talk Mark into letting go of the rage —guilt; he knew it was really guilt—that drove the paddle. If he had his way, he was going to accomplish all three. “Don’t call me that. We’ve talked about that. It’s mawster or Mark, not master. Got it?” Again, the sting. Luke moaned softly and called one of the pillows from the bed so he could plunge his face into it. He was struck twice more; he could hear Mark’s labored breathing. He held himself perfectly still, the pillow tight over his mouth, until he was sure he wouldn’t lose their bet. And then, slowly lowering it, not turning to face Mark, he said, “You can forgive yourself now, Master. You have”—he grunted as the sting came again, catching him off guard, but no less welcome for it—“earned that forgiveness.” “What am I feeling guilty about?” Two more blows, the first weak, the second much harder, as if to make up the difference. “Everything you’ve done wrong while you’ve tried to blend in as a normal human being. Not just as a fully-human human”—Mark snorted, and Luke felt some of his own tension release —“but as a homosexual in a heterosexual world. As a short man in a tall man’s world. As a Jewish man in a Christian—sort of—world. As a—” The clatter of the paddle hitting the wooden floor stopped him, and Luke turned. Mark was stripping his shirt off over his head. “You forgot a murderer in a society where most people only think murderous thoughts.” He let the shirt drop, and his eyes burned with that intensity again. “So, you think I’m supposed to forgive myself for all of that?” Luke poofed them both out of the remainder of their clothes and turned so Mark could see his erection. “If you don’t acknowledge that sometimes people are made better for having dealt

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with the fierce parts of your nature, it might be hard for you to enjoy this next bit.” He faced away from Mark again, offering a good view of his ass. He glanced over his shoulder, saw the guilt warring with need in his lover’s eyes, and slapped his own ass. The sting was nowhere near what he craved. “Please, Mawster, hit me. I need you to.” He turned back around, bending forward, offering himself. And waited. Come on, Mark. Make the leap. Trust me. There was a scraping sound as Mark picked up the paddle. “You’re different, though. I can’t really hurt you.” The paddle whistled, but the sound was low and faltering. The sting was weak. Come on, Mark. You can do better. “Yeah? If dragons couldn’t kill us, why would genies be afraid of them?” He slapped his ass again, shaking his head at how pitiful it felt. “Mark, please hit me. I need you.” He circled his hips, taunting. “I’m not afraid of you.” He resisted the urge to poof the final, greatest gift into Mark’s hand. It might get the point across, but it would lessen the others. He sensed Mark closer behind him, maybe hesitating, maybe planning. He bounced on the balls of his feet, giving into the need to move something, since he was trying to hold his mouth. The paddle whistled, almost as freely as before, and Luke moaned as it connected, the sharp sting like Mark nipping at his throat. Knowing Mark would see, he ran the fingers of his left hand down his chest, over his stomach, and down the length of his cock, teasing his stiffening erection. Mark hit him again. “Don’t touch yourself.” Luke didn’t stop. “Only if you’ll admit that you should, someday, forgive yourself.” The paddle struck, but only a glancing blow. “Why?” Luke stroked himself faster. He wasn’t going to be able to take much more of this talking while playing, because it was taking the edge off the play instead of taking the edge of pain off the talking. How the hell had Mark managed it? “Because that’s the first step to real love. If you want to be with me forever, you can’t bring all this other baggage into the bedroom. No bed’s big enough for that.”

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Mark struck him again. “Fine.” Another blow, harder than the first, but the pissed-off edge in his voice was being replaced by hunger. “I’ll forgive myself for all of it.” One more blow, and Luke had to bite his lips to keep from crying out. “Just so I can fuck you.” Fuck you. Yes, that was what he wanted. And he knew Mark didn’t mean that: claiming Luke. But he was going to try and make that a reality before this night was over. The paddle clattered to the floor, and his hand was seized. Mark grabbed him, spun him, and shoved him backward until the backs of his legs struck the bed and he was forced to sit. He found himself staring up at his lover, unable to breathe as Mark leaned over him, holding all of his attention. “Stop. Touching. Yourself.” Mark grinned, showing too many teeth in a predator’s needful smile. “Do you understand?” He wasn’t sure he could get his voice to work and right now; this was very important because he wanted to fall to his knees and pull Mark into his mouth as his lover had done for him. He swallowed, almost able to taste the salt-tang. “Yes, Mawster.” “Good.” Mark stepped back. “Kneel.” Luke did. “You have something in mind, Mawster?” “No, but you do. I can see it in your eyes.” He lifted his balls with his left hand, and with his right, he very slowly stroked his cock, seeming to focus all his attention on the movement of his hands even while continuing to meet Luke’s gaze. “You want to suck me. Right? You want the chance to make me lose the challenge?” His mouth watered; he closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled, breathing in Mark’s wonderfully heady scent. “No,” he told the backs of his eyelids. “Look at me.” He obeyed, groaning when Mark stroked himself again. “I want to taste you. Whatever happens as a result of that is beside the point.” Precum was beading on Mark’s cockhead; as Luke watched, his lover caught the precious drops on the tips of his fingers and held them up to the lamplight as if examining fine jewels. “What should I do with these, Luke? I could wipe them somewhere. They’re sticky and in my way.”

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Emily Carrington He bit his lip. “Mark, please…” Fuck the rest of the things they needed to talk about.

Everything else was secondary to this truth: he needed to taste his lover. Now. “Please what?” Mark left off playing with his balls as more liquid appeared, glistening, on the delicate slit where Luke wanted to run his tongue. Mark collected this nectar also and now stood with his hands out, elbows bent like a Hindu god of fertility and promise. “Well? What are you asking of me?” “Fuck me.” He’d said that in a whisper. Maybe Mark hadn’t heard. “Let me taste you.” His lover crossed to him and extended one hand like a king offering a royal ring to be kissed. “As you command, Mawster.” His eyes sparkled with laughter. Luke relaxed and took Mark’s index and middle finger into his mouth, sucking enthusiastically while Mark swayed above him and moaned softly. His lover was bent slightly forward, so that there was no chance his cock would brush Luke’s chest, and his other hand hovered close to Luke’s mouth, as if waiting. He drew back but didn’t reach for Mark’s other hand. “May I, Mawster?” Mark’s reply was breathless: “Please.” When the first two fingers of his lover’s other hand were in his mouth, Luke cupped Mark’s crotch and caressed, ever so slowly. “Please, Luke, please…” Mark’s free hand clenched on his lover’s shoulder, and he shuddered strongly. “Please…” He released Luke’s shoulder and brought his hand up toward his face. Luke didn’t follow the gesture, assuming Mark was covering his mouth to suppress a moan. Instead, he released Mark’s fingers and took what he really wanted, pulling Mark in as deeply as he could. He sucked hard, hollowing out his cheeks to increase the volume of his lover’s cries. “Please, Luke, please…” Mark’s voice was muffled. Shaky. “Please. Don’t ever…” His hips jerked as he came. Luke drank him down, smiling to himself. Mark hadn’t lost the bet. They would still have time for the final challenge. And somehow he would cajole or persuade his lover into it.

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When Mark stood still above him, hands on his shoulders as if for support, he looked up, meaning to tease or maybe make an appreciative remark or two—whatever it took to steer them toward the last three gifts, the two he knew and the one he couldn’t know until Mark opened it. But Mark’s cheeks were wet with tears. “No.” The word was out before he could stop it, and he was on his feet and in his clothes an instant later. “Damn it, Mark, don’t you fucking go into self-pity mode.” His anger flared as if it had never left him, and he wanted so badly to vanish into his lamp and never come out that he could all but feel the familiar walls around him. And because he could almost feel them, he stalked forward until he was toe-to-toe with this man who’d said he wanted to be with him forever. “Son of a fucking bitch. Don’t you dare.” Mark didn’t flinch. He met Luke’s gaze and the tears continued to flow. “I just realized how badly I want you to be part of my family.” He shook his head slightly, and a brief frown lined his forehead. “That’s not right. I mean that I realized how much I want to be part of a family with you. With my mother and siblings, with the others too, if they’ll stick around for counseling, but especially with you. I’ve never wanted a husband before. Not really.” He wiped his eyes as if he didn’t even notice the tears as a symptom of sadness. And maybe they’re not. Luke’s anger was shunted aside for the moment by wonder. Maybe they’re all about surprise. “I wanted to be in love, yeah, but I couldn’t see ever bringing someone home to stay.” He caught Luke’s hands and squeezed. “That’s what I want.” He stepped around Luke, tugging him back to the bed. “Which one next?” He glanced at the genie, and his lip quirked. “Be mad at me if you want; apparently it makes for good sex.” He didn’t know what to think, couldn’t know what to say. So he pointed to the box wrapped in silver paper. “That one first.” The chains for his wrists and ankles. “Then”—he hesitated; maybe it would be better to open the present he didn’t understand last—“that one.” The dildo shaped just like Mark’s cock. Mark turned his back while he opened the boxes, as if giving Luke a moment of privacy. Luke took it, magicking his clothes off again, though doing so made him feel more naked than he’d ever felt before. He realized he was trying to understand Mark’s tears, Mark’s shaking voice, Mark’s strong emotions about family.

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Emily Carrington But then, as the soft tinkle of light chain accompanied Mark’s appreciative whistle, he

heard a small voice say: “Luke, my listener, his reasons don’t matter. His love matters.” “Are you trying to tell me something?” There was no way to read Mark’s voice, but maybe that was because Luke was still in shock from hearing from the One-Who-Decides at such an…inappropriate…time. He looked up, grinning at the idea of the One watching over them and maybe jerking off, depending on how he/she/it swayed. Mark turned toward him, and he had one of the handcuffs open. “You can poof out of these? They’re not magic-proof?” Not yet. That would come when both he and Mark were comfortable. It would add a new frisson of pleasure. “Yes, Mawster.” Mark clicked the circle of metal around Luke’s wrist. “It better be. Bed. Facedown.” That would be easier for Mark’s first time if he was going to… Luke leaped forward and prostrated himself. Mark nudged Luke’s hip with a pillow until the genie lifted himself enough that the pillow could be slipped underneath. Mark slapped Luke’s ass. “I need you.” He closed the other cuff around Luke’s wrist after threading the chain through a gap in the decorative headboard. His voice softened. “You’re going to have to guide me through this. Oh,” he added as he chained Luke’s right ankle, “and we don’t need this.” He dropped the dildo beside Luke’s cheek. “But if you feel the need to suck it, I wouldn’t mind.” The left cuff closed, and Luke was immobilized. He traced the head of the dildo with his tongue, grinning when Mark let out a soft sound of pleasure between his teeth. “Like that?” “Yes. Just like that.” The bed creaked as Mark took his place behind Luke. “Now guide me. Fingers first, or tongue?” Again, as it had been in Mark’s grove, his lover’s sudden tentativeness was sexy as hell. “I’m completely clean. You can choose whichever you want. It’s been so long since I’ve been…” He couldn’t think of a word that didn’t sound too crude. There had to be a word for how amazing Mark was about to make him feel.

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Mark’s left hand was on Luke’s hip. He had bent close to Luke’s ass so that his breath ghosted across the genie’s skin as he spoke. “Not that this is sexy at all, but did Jesse…?” He sensed Mark’s lips and teeth hovering just above the cleft of his ass. He pushed himself upward. “No. Mark, can we—” “You know, the only reason I was nervous about taking you was because I didn’t want you to think I was trying to be dominant in everything.” He laid a soft kiss on Luke’s left cheek. “Mark, please. We can talk later.” Mark slapped where he’d kissed. “Quiet, or I’ll get the paddle. Isn’t it bad enough that the sylph ignored you? I didn’t want you to think I see you as second class. Ever.” He bit Luke’s right cheek. Hard. Luke shouted as the shock of pleasure and pain ran up his spine. Mark struck him again. “Quiet.” The genie poofed the dildo into his mouth, struggling not to spit it back out when Mark started laughing. “Better,” Mark said after a moment. His fingers were working subtle magic at the base of Luke’s spine. “I need lube.” Luke made a small vial appear. “Thank you.” Mark leaned forward, rubbing the head of his cock over Luke’s ass. “You wanted me to do this in my grove, didn’t you?” Luke nodded and sucked hard on the dildo to keep silent. His cock throbbed against the pillow, and he moaned far back in his throat. He wouldn’t last long like this. “I was still so fixated on my own idea…” Mark rubbed harder, faster. The grind of his hips became a glide as precum began to ease the feeling of his skin against Luke’s. “I love you,” Mark whispered as he sat back, the sudden loss of his weight making Luke groan again. Mark was laughing, though, softly. “I know: you want me to shut up.” The genie nodded enthusiastically. Mark ran a slicked finger down Luke’s crack, pausing to dip briefly into his hole. Maybe, in some past life, Mark had done this before. Luke held himself perfectly still, afraid that if he rubbed himself against the pillow at all, he’d explode.

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Emily Carrington “But I have you at my mercy. How can you expect me not to take advantage of it?” Again,

Mark’s finger made that torturous journey, but when he reached Luke’s hole, he pushed deeper inside. “All right?” Not sure if he was agreeing to give Mark permission to keep talking or to claim him, Luke nodded. Mark added a second finger. Pushed in a little deeper. “I love you,” he said again. “After I’ve forgiven myself for all the shit that’s happened to me and that I’ve caused, will you…” He bit Luke’s right cheek and then his left. Would Luke what? But the feel of Mark inside him scrambled his thoughts. He was going to come if Mark didn’t shut up: his words were fiery as his touch. In an act of desperation, the genie made the dildo disappear. “Fuck me now.” Mark’s fingers were gone; the genie mourned the loss. And then he felt Mark’s cock, steely hot, like it had been when pressed against his stomach in the hospital. But Mark was hesitating! Luke all but shouted, “Please. Please—” Mark pushed in, all the way, filling him so completely that Luke almost lost it right there. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe, tried to keep some semblance of control. “All right?” Mark gasped above him. “Y-yes…” He was rocked forward, unable to control the movement because of the chains that bound him and the pillow that raised his hips. Mark was riding him like an ocean wave, and Luke loved it, giving his will completely over to Mark’s need. Yes, Mark had definitely done this in a former life. How else would he know just how to angle his hips so that his cock scraped Luke’s prostate, not once, not intermittently, but every time? Luke tried to smother his cries as Mark rode him, crashing, spiraling, over the edge.

*** There was a rattle of something being shaken lightly. “What’s in this last one?” Luke opened one eye. Mark was still lying on top of him, his own personal blanket, and for a moment, he considered feigning sleep. But when Mark shifted, rolling off him to settle on the sheet, he made the chains and the pillow under his hips disappear. “I don’t know.” He ran his

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fingers through Mark’s dark hair, tugging at the snarls gently. “It’s a bit of magic I don’t even fully understand. It’s a gift you get to choose for yourself. Whatever material thing you want most, that’s what’s in the box.” He knew that some genies gave this gift to their masters when first meeting them as a way to judge who they were dealing with. Mark didn’t need to know that. “I have what I want.” Mark set the present aside. And so, of course, Luke’s curiosity was kindled. He magicked the gift back onto the bed between them. “Open it. I want to know what you want.” His lover’s cheeks were pink. “No, because I know what’s in there.” Luke grinned. He sat up, cross-legged, still naked, and trailed his hand down Mark’s arm, bringing goose bumps. “Now you’ve really got to open it.” Mark’s hand darted forward, reaching for Luke’s half-erect cock. The genie swatted his hand. “Open it.” Mark sat up, also cross-legged. He was pink to his hairline. He stared down at the gift. “Fine, but only because I have the feeling you’re not going to let me play until I do.” “Exactly.” Mark ripped off the brown paper to reveal the plain cardboard box underneath. “Interesting start,” Luke murmured. “Usually the box gives a clue as to what’s inside.” Even Mark’s ears were pink now. “This one just says I don’t want you to know.” He hesitated for a moment but then tugged at one flap. It came up easily, and he lifted out a gobletlike cup. “What is it?” Mark shook his head. “I’ll, uh, explain in a minute.” He set the cup between them and then lifted out a small box. Staring down at it, he turned the hinges toward himself and pulled up the lid so Luke could see inside. Two plain gold bands winked up at him from the depths of the purple plush velvet. The bedroom door opened. Mark squawked and dived for the sheet, trying to cover both of them.

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Emily Carrington Luke conjured two robes, tossed one over his lover, and tried not to blush too deeply as he

met Mark’s mother’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Tavery. Did we wake you?” Probably he’d woken her when he’d been begging Mark to fuck him now. She gazed at them for a moment, and then she crossed to the bed. She picked up the goblet. “Ah, a good make. You have been doing your research.” She kissed Mark’s forehead. And then she picked up the box with the rings. “These are well made also.” She looked between both of them. “Now all you need is a chupah.” She set the goblet and box back on the bed, smiled, and then walked back out, closing the door behind her. Luke stared at the door for a moment but then managed to drag his gaze back to his lover, who seemed to have turned to stone. “What’s a chupah?” Mark’s eyes were bright with something that might have been amusement or shock. “It’s a Jewish wedding canopy.”

Loose Id Titles by Emily Carrington The DRAGON IN TRAINING Series Dragon Food Dragon Fire

Emily Carrington Emily Carrington was born and raised in the wilds of Western New York. She has been pursuing a career in gay romance since 2004. She lives in Buffalo, NY near the gay Mecca with her guide dog.