21. Bree

21

Bree

Marcus's words about the sword rang through my head. And the look in his eyes when he'd said them…

Riggs sat beside me and stared at Tyrez as the turquoise Dragon shifter talked about battle strategies. Although he was quite compelling, my mind continued to spin, and I found it impossible to focus.

Riggs seemed intent on the class, as though Marcus hadn't just told us that the sword was trouble.

He'd called it Caledfwich.

Have you heard of that sword? I asked Caliel.

I sensed him coiled within my mind, but to my worry, he was sluggish to answer.

The name is familiar, but I am not certain. I was a healer, not a scholar. And I don't wish to discuss it based on my suspicions.

He sounded even more prickly than usual, and far from helpful. I itched to ditch the class and return to the library. Surely, one of those references would have information on the sword. We now had a name to search for.

But when the class wound up, Riggs let Leah and Nar squeeze past him. A little closer than truly necessary—I was sure Leah's breast pushed against Riggs's arm.

Sid climbed toward the exit with us. "There isn't a late run today—we have Night Games later," he said. "So we have time to go to the library before supper, if you like."

"Why are we going there?" Adilyn asked from her perch on his shoulder. "I thought a walk in the woods would be nice." Her wings fluttered, just a little.

The big Anisau hesitated, and there was an uncomfortable moment where their eyes met. By what I sensed, I figured a walk in the woods with Adilyn—if that was what they would really be doing—trumped the library.

Riggs met Sid's eyes. "I think Cara will have the information I need. I'll ask her."

"That's a good idea." I was all for trading hours with our noses in books for a more direct source of information.

The Anisau was clearly torn between the mystery of the sword and Adilyn's suggestion of a stroll. Which, by her body language as she hovered near his face, confirmed my suspicion about an entirely different kind of exercise.

Did he see it, too? Or were they still dancing around each other?

Riggs met my eyes, and my heart flipped right over. I figured if anyone understood dancing, it should be me.

I scolded myself, and even without my inner grump, decided that I needed more of the cycle powder. Yet I'd had enough of it by now—it should have been working.

Riggs seemed exempt, somehow.

Damned Fate.

I waited for a snide comment from within, but nothing came. The fact my clothes remained a throat-to-toes venture was an indication he was there, though. Just not speaking to me.

"Go for your walk," Riggs told Sid with an upward twitch of his lips. "I'll keep you posted on what I find out. We'll see you at supper."

That seemed to resolve things. Sid headed down the stairs with an unusually enthusiastic Adilyn flitting around his head, while I followed Riggs to the entrance of the staff quarters.

But when we knocked on the door to Cara's suite, it wasn't the Watcher who opened it.

It was Nettie.

With all the craziness that my life had included as of late, she seemed like the most welcomed of surprises. I swept her up in a hug. "Nettie!"

"Hi, Bree!" She turned her focus toward Riggs, and smiled. "You are looking much better than when I last saw you, big man. You even have color in your cheeks."

"Think that's dirt." Riggs glanced past her. "We were looking for Cara?"

"Come in, come in." Nettie stepped back to make room. "Cara's gone to check on things at the treehouse. I've got to get back to her garden, but there's no rush."

I followed the diminutive woman into the suite and ran into Grunt. He was lying on the living room carpet, but when we entered, he jumped up and came over. This time, the barrettes holding the shaggy hair out of his eyes were pink with some kind of bird design.

I scratched behind his ears, delighted to see him, if a little surprised he was inside the suite. "Is he housebroken?" I asked.

Nettie's grin widened. "Oh, yes. Grunt is a very clean little critter. And the spaces here are set up for larger beasties. We were delivering greens to the kitchen and dropped in on Cara to say hi."

Her explanations continued as she headed for the kitchen. "Ended up swapping cookie recipes with Cara, and we were trying one of them out, when a Phoenix brought a message from the Watcher at the treehouse—Cara had to leave. The cookies were in mid-bake, so she told me to stay. You just missed her."

My mind sifted through to the relevant facts. "You made cookies?"

Riggs came up with a different priority. "When will she be back?" he asked at almost the same moment.

"I think she's spending the night there," Nettie stated. "Your mother is, apparently, restless. It is hard for her to sit back and watch the Dragon Empire fall apart. Cara went to stop her from doing something rash."

I glanced to Riggs. His lips had pulled into a straight line. Between the mystery of the sword and his exiled-presumed-dead family, he had a lot on his mind.

Nettie seemed to detect his mood and decided upon a strategy. "I'm only halfway through this batch of cookies. You guys can help."

Her tone brooked no argument, and I shed my other worries to embrace the concept with enthusiasm. We left Riggs standing with Grunt in the living room.

"Sit," Nettie told him. "The first tray is ready. You can tell me what you think."

The dark gaze that slid to mine held a hint of desperation. "I really should?—"

"Statements that include ‘should' are usually an indication of what you don't want to do," Nettie stated from the kitchen. "There is nothing that can't wait when cookies need to be baked—and eaten."

Seemed like a perfectly reasonable comment. I joined her, and she handed me an apron before pointing to the sink. "Wash up, and we'll mix the next batch of dough. I'll just?—"

"What can I do?" Riggs rumbled from behind us.

Nettie jumped. "You move damn quietly for such a big guy," she complained, and then handed him oven mitts. "Take the cookies out of the oven, would you? Put them on those racks to cool."

He couldn't cram his big hands into the mitts, so he just grabbed one and folded it around the tray of cookies. As he pulled them out, a waft of scent came with them.

"They smell amazing," I said. With Riggs in the kitchen, there wasn't a lot of spare room, but he nimbly swung the tray right over Nettie's head and lowered it to the racks on the counter.

"Don't touch them until you've washed your hands!" Nettie protested when he reached for one.

I stood back from the sink, handed him the towel when he finished, and gravitated to the cooling cookies.

The first melted in my mouth. I reached for another.

"Hey. My turn," Riggs complained.

I rotated to face him, cookie in hand, and without a thought, raised it to his lips.

He took a careful bite, his warm lips brushing my fingertips. My breath caught as electricity shot from them, straight through to my core.

I met his eyes, and they were glowing metallic.

"Yum," he rumbled. "Tasty."

My knees threatened to buckle as I stood there with the cookie remnants between my fingers. His lips twitched as he extracted them from me, his own wrapping around my hand before they did so.

Something spun restless circles deep within me, but there was no scream and flailing arms. No belch. And certainly nothing else. I was reassured by the clothes. It meant he was still paying some attention.

"Is it just me," Nettie complained, "or did it just get much warmer in here? I thought we were baking."

"I think we are." Riggs turned to her. "What do you need me to do?"

Nettie handed him a bowl and pointed to a square foot of available counter space. "Stand there and mix up what I tell you to." She gestured to another bowl, and a measuring cup filled with a mixture that included milk. "Bree, take those through to the table. Mix the wet stuff into the dry ingredients until they are well blended."

Separating me from Riggs was a solid idea if she wanted to get the cookies made—because my body had another type of mixing in mind. Even sitting at the table, I found myself staring at Riggs as Nettie added ingredients to his bowl. She even strapped an apron around him, although it absolutely did not fit.

He looked sexier than hell, even in that. Memories of him in a towel danced through my mind. And of him out of the towel… under the water. Stroking his?—

Ahem.

I mixed my own ingredients in a somewhat haphazard fashion until Nettie turned to me. "Ready to put them on the tray?"

I looked down. No. No, I was not. But I nodded anyway and mixed with intense focus as she brought the tray to me.

She looked from the mix, to me. "A little more stirring, and a little less staring, perhaps?"

I blushed bright red. A few moments of intense supervision later, she nodded and returned to the kitchen.

A soft nose nudged at me. Grunt stood beside my chair with hopeful eyes. I scooped up a spoonful?—

"Don't feed him the dough," Nettie said without turning around. "He sneaked half a bowlful off the counter before you came. Can't even visit the bathroom without him getting into mischief. Any more, and he'll end up with a bellyache."

"Sorry, Grunt," I said, and he snorted at me before shuffling off. But he didn't shuffle too far.

I began to place the dough on the tray. My mixing efforts seemed a little off, and I soon had bits all over me. I got bored of simple blobs after the first two, and started sculpting rough animal shapes. Little Grunts, and even a Dire. So long as you squinted and looked at them sideways.

The tray filled after using only half the dough, and I rose to take it to the oven. Riggs moved aside to give me access—but there wasn't much space. When I bumped into him, he glanced at me. His eyes gleamed metallic, and then he smiled.

I almost dropped the tray. He caught it as it sagged and shoved it into the oven.

There was a crash from the table, and we all spun to see Grunt, with the remainder of the cookie dough stuck to him as he licked the bowl.

We gathered round, and it was immediately obvious that bearing beast fur and cookie dough were mutually attractive.

Nettie surveyed the sticky mess with disgust. "He needs a bath."

I looked down at myself. "Think I do, too."

Riggs's brows rose. "Grunt is a little much for the bathtub. We'll have to use the lake."

"I've got things under control here." Nettie disappeared down the hall to the bathroom. Her voice echoed from its depths. "There's loads of shampoo—this should work." She re-emerged and waved a bottle. "It's safe for the lake, too."

Considering his permanently disheveled coat, I wasn't sure the dough would be noticed, but we would try. Nettie clipped his lead to his halter and handed it to Riggs.

"Don't turn him loose. I tried, but he raced around the meadow and trampled the gardens at the entrance. Apparently, he likes the flowers that are the pride and joy of the headmaster." She shrugged. "It didn't go over well. I think that's why Amadeus let me bring him inside. His prized shrubbery was then safe."

Riggs tugged tentatively on the lead, and Grunt followed him. With more confidence, he led the bearing beast out into the hall.

I was surprised about how calm Grunt remained, even when surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the academy. He squeezed into the elevator without batting an eye. As the car took us down, I poked at the sticky bits of dough in his coat.

"This might take a lot of shampoo." I now picked out chunks of goo. "He's kind of a mess."

"Hopefully he'll go in the water," Riggs said. "Or we'll be carrying pails to him. He's too big to pick up."

The elevator spat us out on the ground floor, and we marched the bearing beast through the foyer and out the front door. Not exactly a straightforward process, as students were drawn to him, and wanted to scratch his hairy little face.

Grunt planted his sturdy legs and insisted on standing frozen until they quit. Apparently, you couldn't force a bearing beast to move if he decided he wasn't going to move. Which meant if he didn't like water, we were sunk. Sort of.

We need not have worried. Grunt loved water.

When we got him to the beach, he dragged us right into it. Until he was almost swimming. Riggs had to pull hard on the lead to stop him from heading straight into the deeper water.

I surveyed Riggs's rapidly dampening clothing. "I would say strip, but it's too late."

"Can't anyway," he said as he pulled hard on the lead. "Tatts, remember?"

Hard to forget, but he had a point. Many of the students had them, but nothing like what Riggs had flying across his skin. They were way too typical of a Dragon shifter.

Grunt finally yielded to the lead, swung back to the shallower area, and began to paw. He sent great waves of water over us until we were thoroughly soaked.

My feather, fur, and scale clothing combo seemed to repel adequately, but Riggs's dark clothes clung to his muscular frame. As I squeezed the shampoo onto Grunt's shaggy coat, I found myself distracted…

"Hey. That's me, not the beast," Riggs complained as a stream of it shot across his hand. "I'm not the one covered in cookie dough." He was trying to stop the splashing by holding Grunt's head up.

It wasn't working.

Then he tried a headlock, but the bearing beast joyfully butted him, and Riggs plunged into the water.

He surfaced, spluttering.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said with a grin. "Just drenched." He straightened—still, fortunately, holding the lead—and winced. Then reached down and yanked on the sweats, which were outlining and defining in truly fascinating ways.

"Blasted clothes," he muttered.

The discomfort in his features had my lips twitching, and then I couldn't help it—I began to laugh. He arched a brow at me, but then he laughed, too.

I'd never heard him laugh before. It was a wonderful, booming sound, totally contagious. And irresistible.

And then, as we grinned at each other like kids over the back of a rather soapy bearing beast, something pinched my butt.

I yelped and spun, but there was nothing there. Nothing, that is, except swirling water?—

Wait a minute.

"Nar!" Riggs bellowed.

The Sea Krayt materialized so close to me that I stumbled back into Grunt.

"I'm so glad you've come out to play," Nar said.

"We're not here to play with you," Riggs growled, all traces of laughter gone.

A sleek, whiskered head popped out of the water only a few feet away. I turned my back on the sea creatures and gestured to Riggs. The sooner we got away from these two, the better.

"Let's get Grunt rinsed off," I said.

Unfortunately, Nar and Leah decided to help. Leah shifted to human and moved over to Riggs's side, brushing her damp fur-clothes all over him. Nar spent a lot of his time proving his scales could be used to stimulate my ass.

Even Grunt seemed ticked off. He decided he'd had enough, and marched out of the water, dragging us with him.

"Stay," Nar pleaded.

"Go," I ordered, pointing back toward the water.

He did an admirable impression of Adilyn's eye roll, but turned and vanished into the water, Leah following.

Grunt didn't stop until he was on the sand, and then he shook, sending droplets everywhere. Riggs backpedaled, and then, now that we'd discouraged the sex-crazed barnacles, he grinned.

"Well, I'm totally wet," he stated, unnecessarily, and reached down to tug again. "And infernally uncomfortable. How do guys swim in clothes?"

"I don't think they swim in sweatpants," I said.

He cast an envious glance at the water cascading off my scaled leggings. "Next time, tatts or not, I'm stripping to skin," he announced.

Even the thought of it had my breath hitching. Our eyes met, and held, and heat pulsed straight through me.

Which might explain why neither of us were prepared for Grunt launching into a buck, followed swiftly by a bolt. He whipped the lead right out of a startled Riggs's hand and headed at full gallop for the gardens along the front of the building.

"What the heck." Riggs headed off in rather damp pursuit. Students stopped and stared as we ran by. Grunt was surprisingly nimble on those stubby little legs, and he easily outran the both of us. He reached the coveted bushes in more than enough time to do much trampage in his pursuit of the dinner-plate-sized blooms. The bushes showed clear signs of his previous attack, with liberal scatterings of bright-pink petals.

"Why are we chasing a bearing beast?" Sid jogged up, looking puzzled, while Adilyn buzzed at Grunt, waving her tiny arms at him. He snorted at her, sending her tumbling before she could right herself.

"He belongs to a friend. We gave him a bath," I explained.

Sid continued to look puzzled as Riggs snagged the lead. With me pushing on the bearing beast's ample rump, we extracted him. With only a dozen or so grinning witnesses to the destruction of the headmaster's prized bushes.

Adilyn flew overhead, and sparkly dust fell down on them. In an instant, they looked better than new.

"Wow," I said. "Thank you."

"It's only a glamor." She shrugged. "It will wear off in a couple of hours. We'll stay for a bit to reinforce it."

I cast a look to Sid, in time to see his eyes flash. My gaze shot to Adilyn, and hers did, too.

My heart stuttered. It seemed while we'd been baking cookies, these two had been up to something else. Fate had been busy today. And I experienced a tingle of envy—for them, the uncertainty was no longer a factor.

Riggs seemed oblivious to their change in status. "Let's get Grunt out of sight," he suggested, pulling on the lead.

We left the Faerie and Sid behind. With his mouth full of blossoms, Grunt sedately followed us back into the foyer. We skittered him through and into the elevator as fast as possible, breathing a sigh of relief when the doors slid closed.

Riggs grimaced and tugged at his wet sweatpants. "Chafeage," he explained.

Considering he'd spent most of his life in scales, he'd likely never had the issue. I did my best not to look, and didn't entirely succeed. "Cara could probably help with that," I suggested.

He snorted a laugh. "Don't think I'm letting any Watcher near my manly bits. Especially not Cara. She is far too meddlesome." He hesitated, then, and frowned.

"Have you found Watchers meddlesome?" I asked, curious.

"I have no idea," he admitted. "I don't know where that came from."

The doors opened on the third floor. We were hustling Grunt along the staff quarters hallway when a suite door flung wide, and the headmaster emerged.

His eyes fell on the bearing beast. A gorgeous, bright-pink petal fell out of Grunt's mouth, and drifted slowly to the floor.

The headmaster's mouth opened, but we were already hurrying the bearing beast past him and around the corner. We didn't stop until we'd pushed him into Cara's suite.

Nettie stood there. She looked from our dripping selves, to the damp bearing beast using his fat tongue to clean his ill-gotten goods from his teeth.

Then she sighed, and stretched a fragrant tray toward us.

"Cookie?" she asked.

It didn't look like we were going to make it to the library.

Riggs didn't suggest it, and I didn't push. Maybe he'd had enough revelations for one day. I wasn't sure I was ready to know why Marcus, or rather Iskar, had been so concerned.

Or why I could draw the sword when others couldn't.

All I knew was that Riggs's prime concern when we returned was to rummage through Cara's stash to get himself into dry clothes. My fur, feather, and scale combo just needed a quick dab with a towel.

He emerged much drier, which was a bit of a disappointment from the voyeur standpoint, but made him a lot more comfortable. As we sat and ate cookies, I decided he was sexy regardless of what he was wearing.

The Gryphon inside me grumbled something about Nar rubbing off on me—or maybe just rubbing on me—but I decided if he wasn't going to speak up, I didn't have to listen.

Nettie kept up a more or less constant, easy chatter. Or rather, she asked key questions that kept us talking. About the volcanic eruption, and the rescue of Riggs's family, which we hadn't talked about at all. Couldn't, of course.

"Think we're missing supper," I pointed out at some point.

Nettie perked right up. "I can solve that." She practically bounced out of her chair and began rummaging through the fridge and freezer.

Which was how we ended up eating potstickers after an indecent helping of cookies. And playing a ridiculous board game Nettie found in a cupboard. Which she suspiciously won.

"Are you sure you've never played this before?" I regarded her with narrowed eyes.

"Define ‘never'," she said with a grin.

Riggs rubbed a big hand over his leather skull cap and glanced at the clock. "No way Cara's coming back tonight. And we've got that class in just over an hour."

Night Games. I had no idea what to expect of it. I stared as the rubbing of his head turned into an itching, and he grimaced. "Wish I didn't have to wear this thing. I've shaved my head, but my hair grows like mad."

"I'll have a look," Nettie suggested.

He regarded her cautiously. "Are you going to attack me with a razor blade?"

"Maybe," she said. "Are you afraid?"

He sighed and pulled the skull cap off.

I hadn't seen the scar since we'd last healed him, and it surprised me that it was now just a raised red line. Deep within me, Caliel stirred.

It has healed well, he said.

The stubble of fresh new hair covered Riggs's scalp, and it was thick. No wonder he itched beneath that cap.

"You aren't using a sharp enough razor," Nettie stated.

He regarded her with no small amount of alarm.

"I'll see what I can find." She rose and disappeared down the hall to the bathroom.

Riggs's alarm seemed to grow as she re-emerged with a straight razor, a bowl of warm water, and a bar of something that looked like soap.

"I can do it myself." He leaned away.

"Don't be a big baby," Nettie scolded as she worked the bar into a lather.

He stared at her. She stared at him. He sighed, and rose to turn around on the chair, so that his back was to her.

While Nettie happily lathered up his scalp, Riggs rubbed at a patch of half dried dough on his arm. "First I was wet, then I was sticky, now I'm both," he complained.

She smacked his shoulder. "Just sit still. I used to do this for my brother. He was going bald, and preferred to be shaved rather than stubbly."

I scritched Grunt behind his damp, shaggy ears as I watched Nettie expertly shave Riggs's head. His waist-length hair had been beautiful—Dragons tended to have incredible hair—but the shaved look suited him, too.

Once she was done, he replaced the cap, smoothing it over his skull. The pointed metal earcuffs and the skullcap gave him an exotic air.

Even without the sword, he looked dangerous. A thrill shot straight through me, followed by a pulse of pure heat.

Have you taken your powder today? grumped Caliel.

At lunch, I reminded him.

You need to up the dose.

I was pretty damn sure that my attraction to Riggs was not entirely due to hormones.

But what I sensed radiating from Caliel… my thoughts stopped dead, and my heart gave a single, hard spasm. I remembered my hands, that were not my hands, running over my body, and my face heated.

I wanted him, too.

I wanted both of them.

Despite the fact he was likely following my thoughts, the Gryphon did not offer a comment. In fact, he seemed to retreat deeper within me.

Riggs glanced at the clock again, and rose. "Thanks for the cookies, dinner, and entertainment, Nettie. But we'd better get going. If Cara gets back—well, I'll see her tomorrow."

As I offered farewells to Nettie and gave Grunt one last scritch, my thoughts were on Caliel.

The Gryphon existed within me. It felt right, him being there. His recent silence was like a hole in my soul.

But he didn't exist outside of me. And now, he might be fading, becoming nothing more than an extension of me.

My heart ached. Because I wanted him to be so much more…