Cecilia finally opened all the backlogged ssages.
The notifications had been accumulating since yesterday afternoon. Now, sitting in the quiet aftermath of the steakhouse confrontation, with Oathran still radiating the faint tension of a dragon who had just discovered he was going to be a father, she began to scroll.
Most of the ssages were from Gregor and Thalia. She made a ntal note to apologize to them properly later. But there was one more na in her inbox that caught her attention.
Igor (Arz’s Scr).
Cecilia recognized the na. In the real world, Igor was almost always at Oleg’s, Arzhen’s top aide and bodyguard, side. But Igor was not a warrior like Oleg. He was more like a scribe. The man who handled the paperwork and the logistics.
Arz’s Scr. The abbreviation suddenly made sense. Arzhen’s Secretary.
She tapped on the ssage thread.
There were two items. A brief text, and an image.
Yesterday:
"Please pick up your belongings. Enter the mansion from the back gate and don’t disturb the master."
And the image accompanying the ssage... was a photograph of the ground, the back courtyard of the Vasiliev mansion, she assud, though she had never seen it in this world.
Scattered across the paving stones, tossed carelessly like garbage, were her personal belongings. Clothes. Books. Toiletries. A jewelry box, its contents spilling into the dirt. And a picture fra.
It was broken, its glass shattered, its wooden edges splintered, lying face-up among the debris.
Cecilia widened her eyes.
"Secretary Gregor."
Gregor’s head snapped toward her. He had been hyper-vigilant after discovering that his employer’s new partner was a mythological creature and was still processing the implications. "Yes, Madam?"
"Can you help pick up my belongings?" Cecilia turned her phone toward him, showing him the image Igor had sent. "They have been thrown out of the house."
Gregor leaned forward, and the mont his eyes registered the photograph, his face underwent a transformation. It started at his jaw, which clenched so hard the muscles bulged, and spread upward, darkening his complexion from its usual warm bronze to sothing closer to thunderstorm black.
Beside him, Thalia had gone through the exact sa progression. Her hands, resting on the table, had curled into fists. Her eyes were blazing.
"Those bastards..." Thalia hissed venomously.
"Don’t make a commotion," Cecilia said calmly. "Just send soone quietly. Especially for this frad picture." She pointed at the broken fra, her finger steady. "Can you do it for , please?"
By the ti everyone’s gaze reached the shattered picture fra, their expression had turned murderous. Even Oathran—
The photograph in the broken fra was old and a bit faded. The colors had softened with age and the edges curled slightly, but the image was still clear.
A child stood beside a middle-aged woman with long silver hair, wearing a white doctor’s coat. The woman’s hand rested on the child’s shoulder and the child was smiling.
It was her. The child was Cecilia. And the woman—
Gregor’s massive head nodded once. "Yes, Madam. We promise—" His voice dropped, acquiring a dark, rumbling edge. "—we will make a commotion another day."
Cecilia chuckled. "Thank you, Gregor. Thalia."
Outside the steakhouse, the winter air was cold and sharp, a welco relief after the warmth and tension of the restaurant. Cecilia had finished her steak and it was ti to leave... lest the restaurant ban them for disruptive behavior...
Gregor and Thalia shook hands with Cecilia.
And then, after a mont of visible hesitation, nodded respectfully at Oathran. Now, their expressions were caught sowhere between deference and the lingering fear of two people who had caused a scene in front of a dragon and were grateful to be leaving with all their limbs intact.
"Let’s see how it will go." Cecilia smiled, watching them depart.
Oathran looked at her face for a long, quiet mont. The afternoon light caught the edge of her jaw, the curve of her cheek and the faint, tired shadows beneath her eyes.
He grasped her waist and hauled her up into a bridal-style carry, her legs draped over one arm, her shoulders cradled against the other. She weighed almost nothing, less than she should. He filed that away for later.
"Alright. Doctor now."
Cecilia looked at him. His face was very close and his mist grey eyes, glittered a little bit. It looked a tiny bit fragile.
She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, and his knees imdiately wobbled.
"Cecilia..."
"Oathran..." Cecilia caressed his cheekbone with the sides of her fingers, tracing the line of it, up and down, feather-light. The touch was soft and ticklish. It scratched the deepest part of his heart, almost teasing. "...I need to pee."
Oathran got whiplash.
"Yes." He cleared his throat, regaining so of his composure. "Let’s find sowhere clean to pee."
***
The underground parking garage was lit under the fluorescent light from the LED fixtures. Sowhere in the distance, a ventilation fan rattled. Sowhere else, a car engine ticked as it cooled.
Eastiel’s truck, sat in its usual spot near the elevator bank. He had just killed the engine and was reaching for his bag when he saw him.
Arkai, hauling groceries. Struggling with groceries, actually. Three overstuffed reusable bags dangling from one arm, a fourth clutched against his chest, his keys sohow balanced between his teeth. He was trying to close the trunk with his elbow and failing.
He approached silently. Not intentionally because his work boots were heavy and the concrete was unforgiving, but Arkai was too focused on his losing battle with the trunk to notice.
Eastiel’s hands found his waist from behind, gripped and squeezed.
"Fucki—"
"Eheheheheheheheheh—"
"Just help like a normal person, you little—"
Eastiel’s laugh echoed through the parking garage. He released Arkai’s waist and reached for two of the grocery bags, slinging them over his own shoulder casually. Arkai, freed from his burden, finally managed to slam the trunk shut.
They walked toward the elevator together, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead and the grocery bags rustled. Neither of them spoke for a mont.
"Mrs.—no, Miss Araceli? Cecilia." Arkai said, carefully approaching a topic he was not sure he was allowed to discuss. "She has not told you anything about what happened yet? You... t her at the hospital, right? And... the divorce? The—" He hesitated. "—everything?"
"I was about to ask you." Eastiel’s finger found the elevator button and pressed it. The doors slid open with a soft ding and they stepped inside.
"She likes your service best, after all." Eastiel said, teasing and lilting, his hips moved back and forth in a slow, exaggerated and inappropriate sway. "Admirable and strong~"
Arkai chuckled and kicked Eastiel’s ankle. Not hard, just enough to make him yelp and stumble and dissolve into breathless, cackling laughter.
"I’m serious."
"Yeah. I know." Eastiel’s laughter faded as the elevator ascended. "Unfortunately, I’m afraid to ask. And she didn’t tell either. What she said last night to us is all I know."
"Fuck. I’m scared to ask too..."
"Right?" Eastiel said. "She is so... hot. And intimidating. How is she both of those things at the sa ti? How is that fair?"
"Damnit..." Arkai’s wolf ears drooping slightly. "You think we will get it tonight? I an—" He paused, reconsidering. "—if she is still here."
"Take off your shirt, man. You have nice abs. She might consider it."
"Shut up."
DING.
The elevator doors slid open onto their floor and they stepped out, turning the corner toward their apartnt door.
But when they got inside...
"URP—HURL—UGH—NGH! HUUUUURL—"
"Ssshhh... it’s okay... it’s okay... you want... you want water...?"
"HUUUUURL—COUGH!"
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