Washed Up

The sea had nearly doused the sun when Sinder dragged himself wearily onto the beach below Stately House. Cold seas and bitter winds had him curling tight atop snowy sand. He might like swimming, but crossing the ocean twice in a matter of days had stolen the last of his reserves.

“Shit, it’s cold.” He tried to think who to call for help.

“I knew you’d be back.”

Dunce and double dunce. “Heyyy, Fend. Here to do me in?”

“That would hardly be sporting. Not when you’ve already half-killed yourself.”

Sinder had been expecting teeth. Or perhaps claws. Instead a tongue rasped across his shoulder, and a velveted paw rolled him onto his back. He stared with mute misery into mocking eyes.

“Come along, Damsel.”

“Not going anywhere with you,” he muttered, jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Wrong. I found you, and I intend to keep you.”

The big cat lowered himself over Sinder, which may have been some kind of feline posturing, but all that really mattered was that Fend’s fur was warm. Sinder grabbed hold with numbed fingers, burying them deeper, seeking heat.

“Unless you want to be scruffed like a kitten, you’ll need to get on my back.”

“Can’t.”

“You should be honored that I’d offer.”

“I’m serious. Body’s shutting down.” Sinder was helpless, and he was too tired to care.

“Rouse yourself, and I’ll bring you to Timur.”

“Michaelson?”

“You want him, don’t you? Fan that ember of desire so we can get on with it.”Fend lifted off him, moved alongside. “All you need to do is climb on.”

“Can’t,” he repeated weakly. Sinder wasn’t being stubborn. “Bring help? That’s a good kitty.”

“I don’t like having my hand forced.”

Those words fanned against Sinder’s ear, and there were hands tugging, arms lifting. Sinder guessed that meant he was rescued, but … by whom? Heavy eyelids dragged upward enough to give a glimpse of a stranger looming near. Sinder managed a quizzical trill.

“Hush. I’d rather not draw attention at this juncture. There’s a good dragon.”

Sinder tensed, though there wasn’t much strength to coil.

“Don’t struggle against the inevitable. I have you, and I will keep you.”

That voice. He knew it. Sinder whispered, “Fend?”

It had to be. The mocking gaze was much the same, but the Kith had taken speaking form. Sinder wasn’t sure which part surprised him more. That Fend could take speaking form, meaning he had to be Kith-kin. Or that the cat who’d only ever tormented him was being so gentle.

Shaking his head, Sinder asked, “Since when?”

“That’s a secret you can barter for later.” Lips brushed Sinder’s eyebrow. “Don’t expire, lovely one. You’re integral to my plans.”

Sinder faded in and out of consciousness, but each time he revived enough to take note of his surroundings, Fend’s whispers brushed his ear, plying for more trust, promising him safety. So far, Sinder’s trust had been richly rewarded, because he was clean and warm and dry, and the scent of spikenard was slowly gaining strength. A homey touch.

Fend’s voice filtered through the haze. “I’m keeping him. He’ll let me. See how he clings?”

“All dragons cling when they’re cold. And really, you can’t lay claim to someone without their consent.”

“I can because he’ll let me. My reasons are as excellent as my inducements.” Claws lightly scraped the nape of Sinder’s neck. “Don’t pretend you dislike the idea. A dragon is just the thing for your plans, too.”

“Not that way. Like this.” And then a larger, surer hand was plucking and adding pressure, working its way down Sinder’s back.

A groan slipped out. “More of that, Michaelson, and I probably would let you keep me.”

“See?” The damned cat sounded far too smug. “Pass me the gruel.”

Sinder tried to pull away, but he and Fend were all tangled up. And though Sinder was awake enough to track with the conversation going on over him, he was beyond weary and oddly muzzy. Which could only mean one thing. “You pollinated me?”

“A whisper of huddlebud. Timur insisted we skimp, but it definitely went to your head,” said Fend. “Do you remember the bath?”

“Nooo.”

“I kept you from drowning.”

“Okay. Thanks for that. I guess.” He squinted in the low light. “Where is this?”

“My old room. We’re crowding in for now.” This time, Timur’s voice came from a little way off. “Fend left you on my doormat, figuratively speaking. There was a bath. You’re terribly depleted, and I needed to warm you.” Timur came back to the bed and passed something to Fend. “There’s tea cooling, but first, eat.”

Then Fend was spooning something custardy past his lips, which was awkward in bed. “Let me sit up, at least.” Sinder tried to pull away, and some dribbled down his chin.

“No need to panic.” With a soft tut, Fend swooped in and lapped it up. “Not poisoned. See?”

Before Sinder could summon words, another spoonful arrived.

“Warm enough?” Fend murmured solicitously. A furred leg rubbed Sinder’s skin.

He searched the feline’s unfamiliar face, needing to reconcile new facts against old assumptions. When he took more gruel, Fend purred over him. It was probably patronization, but Sinder was starving, and it’d been a hot minute since his last taste of Sonnet’s cooking. How long had it been now? Eight years?

“You’re surprisingly docile. I suppose Juuyu’s recent match left you ripe for the picking. I’ll make a much better partner.”

Sinder rebelled against the suggestion with a soft hiss.

“Oooh, I hit a nerve. Don’t be sad. I’ll value you properly.” Fend chased the final spoonful of gruel with a kiss.

“You little shit.”

“You’d be more convincing if you weren’t so comfortable in my arms.” And raising his voice slightly, Fend said, “Reward our captive, Timur. Welcome him with a kiss, as is his due.”

Sinder stilled. Okay, yeah. A kiss was technically traditional, and Timur was classically trained. But he didn’t like that Fend was toying with him. And while pollinated? “This is coercion.”

Fend countered, “Only if the pact is sealed while you’re under the influence.”

“What pact?” Sinder was beginning to be angry, but … it was such a fuzzy, listless thing.

Fend brought a cup to Sinder’s lips.

“Tea,” said Timur. “Take all of it. And don’t let Fend get to you.”

This time, the cat let Sinder up enough to drink. He grumbled and gagged, but he downed the lot. He knew from experience it’d clear his head. And possibly clarify his predicament.

Fend slipped an arm around his waist. “I’ll lay out every detail once you’re lucid. For now, rest. I need you at full strength, with all your wits about you.”

This was quite the turnabout from past aggressions. Sinder accused, “You hate me.”

“Do I? That would be incredibly shortsighted.”

He asked, “What’s changed?”

“Quite a lot.” Fend flopped against fat pillows and smiled up at him. “First and foremost, you’ve turned out to be a reach. Very convenient. I need someone who could take orders without my having to shift.”

“No. Just, no. Why would you even think I’d take orders from you?”

“Because Hisoka is weak right now. Washed up. Next to useless. And you hold all his secrets.”

Sinder blinked. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Your lot had their chance, and you did well enough. But you left the job half done. That’s where we come in.” Fend nodded toward his partner. “Timur’s a dragon slayer. He’s going to kill the Rogue. And I have vixens to outfox.”

“Uh-huh. Pretty sure Argent’ll take issue with your trying to take over.”

“Should Lord Mettlebright ever notice the asset that exists right under his pointy muzzle, I have little doubt he’ll recognize my value. In the meantime, you and I will hold the world together. Carefully. Quietly. Which is why I cannot afford for you to sicken. There’s too much at stake.”

Sinder frowned. “I haven’t agreed to anything.”

Ignoring him, Fend continued, “We’ll triumph, and in the peaceful years to come, you can help us train Gregor and the rest. All Timur’s progeny will need practice.”

“I don’t wanna fight baby battlers.”

“Not fight,” said Fend. “Most dragon lore is about prettying and pampering. Timur’s sons and daughters will adore and adorn you.”

“I don’t like kids.”

“But you’d do it for Timur,” he coyly countered.

“You’re not listening,” Sinder grumbled.

“To a pollinated youngling who’s too tired to see the sense I speak? No. I refuse to dignify your protests. At this point.” Fend was back to petting his hair. “We’ll revisit any valid concerns at a later date.”

Sinder scowled. “The tea’s working just fine. My head’s clear. And leave off with that youngling business. I have the years.”

“Sure about that?”

“I remember when you were born. Added you and your littermates to the file myself.”

Fend flashed fangs. “Years are not maturity.”

“Maturation isn’t experience.”

“I don’t mind if you underestimate me, but don’t dismiss me just to be petty.” Fend rubbed their cheeks together and whispered, “Want me to remind Timur that you’re waiting for a kiss?”

“What did I ever do to deserve this?”

Fend said, “You’re perfect.”

“Look, you helped me out. Maybe even saved my life. But I’m not joining a new taskforce.” Sinder grimly added, “Stop patronizing me.”

“Sway won’t work. On either of us. And this isn’t patronization. It’s peacemaking.”

“Because I’m perfect,” he said flatly.

“Mmm. Intelligent. Informed. Connected. Capable. And becoming increasingly attached to both me and my plans for you. Or at the very least, to the place they’ll create for you.” His next words slipped unspoken into Sinder’s mind. “Timur moped for days when you abandoned him. Retake your place. Come and abide at my hearth.”

As a reach, Sinder was able to counter in kind, speaking without words so Timur couldn’t overhear. “A hearth, huh? Wasn’t last summer all about my needing a harem?”

“Semantics.”And then Fend adopted an entirely too innocent expression as he tugged Sinder’s head down onto his shoulder. “Make room for your hearthmate. Timur, help me warm him.”

The mattress dipped as Timur eased onto the bed with them. “All right there, Damsel?”

This time when Sinder twisted away from Fend, the feline let him go. In fact, he gave a little push so that Sinder rolled straight into Timur, putting his nose firmly in the center of Michaelson’s hairy chest.

Sinder looked up into brown eyes that shone with happiness. Had Timur really missed him? He announced, “Your cat is a megalomaniac.”

“If you can tell, then you’re definitely thinking clearly.” Timur’s smile was apologetic. “Feline presumption and all that.”

“I intend to resist capture.”

“You’re not a prisoner.”

“You’re home,” interjected Fend, who plastered himself against Sinder’s back.

“I don’t have a home.”

“Says you.”

“Yes, I do say so. I would know.”

“Fend only means that you could consider this home. If you wanted. Though the room’s temporary. We’re going to build a house.” Timur’s free hand sought the back of Sinder’s neck and began to knead. “You could join the enclave. Bunk with us. I have far too many special skills and no one to appreciate them.”

Sinder wilted into the man, biting his lip to hold back a too-hasty reply.

“We’re really just glad to see you. And that you’re safe.” Timur quietly pointed out, “Crossing the ocean at low ebb was dangerous, Sinder.”

“I just wanted ….” Sinder tensed when Fend’s tongue made a slow swipe across his shoulder blade. Would teeth be next?

“Hmm?” invited Timur. “What did you want so badly that you’d risk yourself?”

Sinder tried to come up with an answer that made sense. All he really had was a pocketful of yellow seashells, vague worries about Hisoka’s state of mind, and … this. He’d wanted to get to where Timur was. “Maybe it was stupid,” he mumbled.

“It’s all right now,” the man soothed. “Sleep. We’ll guard your rest.”

Sinder really should protest.

“Stop pretending to resist,” ordered Fend. “This is a mutually beneficial arrangement for all three of us. An unassailable alliance—brains, brawn, and beauty.”

Sinder frowned. “Which of those am I meant to be?”

Timur’s voice held a smile. “Admit it, Fend. He’s smarter, stronger, and prettier than either of us.”

“Mmm. All the more reason to woo him to our side.”

“Time enough for that later.” And then Timur asked, “Do you want tending?”

Oh, Sinder wanted it. Probably needed it, too. “Sure. Okay. Yeah.”

“Thank you for your trust.” Nobody could fault Timur’s manners.

“Yeah, yeah. Duty and delight, yadda, yadda.” But the first splash of tending curled his toes. Sinder was dragon enough to believe himself smarter, stronger, and prettier. But the way things had piled up and played out, he was also needier. And the damnable cat knew it.

A velvety tail came up to lightly boff Sinder’s nose, then quiver under his chin.

Sinder muttered, “I’m going to be so pissed with you in the morning.”

“Morning?” Fend’s amusement had a superior quality. “You’ll sleep a week. And by the time you wake, you’ll be so used to my softness and my scent and my voice in your ear, you won’t even question why you’re willing to take your first meal from my hand, morsel by tender morsel.”

“Not happening.” And to Timur, “Don’t let him mess with me.”

“I have you.” Timur reached around, and it felt like he was playing with Fend’s hair when he amended, “Both of you.”

“Lucky us,” said Fend, a peevish edge to his tone, though a moment later, his happy sigh fanned Sinder’s neck.

Sinder still thought he’d be angry later. Or … annoyed. Or at least embarrassed.

Because—dunce and double dunce—the space between Timur’s tending and Fend’s purrs felt warm and safe and homey and his. Which was definitely going to bite him in the ass. In about a week. Because Fend was right. Possibly about everything.

Normally, he liked that about cats.