Scenes From Buffalo: Part Two

More fluff! More NY pack in Buffalo, spoilers for Golden Eagle. 

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Val sighed, and returned to his body. 

He’d never met another dream-walker before, and so he’d expected Dante’s powers to work like his own. But they didn’t. Val could visit in the present, and he could visit his own past, and the pasts of those he made direct contact with. Sometimes he still shivered when he remembered seeing himself through Vlad’s eyes when they were only boys at the Ottoman court. When his brother had loved and hated him at the same time.

But Dante’s abilities were something else entirely. Weaker, he said, head ducking, receding into a subservient role. But he could mine all of history and pick a moment to pop in on. Even if the visions fritzed out, as he claimed, and even if he couldn’t make contact with others, he could see. It was like reading through every book ever written; like watching all the documentaries with the insight of the men and women who’d lived moments only half-preserved by actors and voice overs. It was astonishing.

Finding one man – one mage – though, amidst the tapestry of human history, was very much a needle-in-a-haystack situation. Dante had offered, with sleepless circles beneath his eyes, to attempt to find him. Val had entertained the offer, because he understood wanting to feel useful, and wanting to prove oneself to new allies. But he planned to find the bastard himself – in the present day, apparently, because his attempts to touch the general past outside his own personal history had proved fruitless.

“No luck?” Mia asked.

He opened his eyes and smiled at his mate, who was dressed in clinging clothes and held an impressive stretch on the little foam roll-out mat she’d borrowed from Trina’s mother. Yoga, she’d called it, this sequence of slow, careful stretches that reminded him, in their way, of the sword exercises he’d learned as a young knight.

“No, not yet,” he said, discouragement – faint as it had been – vanishing like his own vaporous form as an astral projection. He unfolded from his cross-legged position on the floor, and crossed the short distance between them, looking down at her so that his hair slid forward, the ends trailing against her forehead and nose.

She giggled, and abandoned her pose, kneeling back on the mat. “Want to join me?”

“Hm,” he hummed, excitement unfurling in the pit of his stomach. “I’m not sure I understand how it works. This yoga of yours.”

She reached up to wind a golden lock of his hair around her forefinger, her smile delighted, the faintest bit impish at the corners. It was a marvel, the way she could do that: the way they could do this. Play games without them being laced with threat; tease and prod at each other, suggestive and leading without any trace of malice. Love, this was love, and not just carnal urges.

“You don’t?” she asked. “Even after you spied on me for months?”

“It’s only spying if you don’t know I’m watching, darling. And if you don’t want me watching.”

Her turn to hum. Then she tugged lightly on his hair and he sank readily to his knees so he knelt in front of her, their faces inches apart. “You don’t have to just watch anymore,” she said, low and full of want.

“And isn’t that wondrous?” he asked, and kissed her.

A knock at the door interrupted them.

Val sighed, and pulled back slow, with one final stroke of his tongue inside her mouth. By the time he turned away, Anna had stuck her head in and door and was grinning at them, eyebrows waggling.

“Am I interrupting?”

“Yes,” Val said sweetly. “Please stop.”

“Sorry, boss, no can do. Mia, Trina’s ready.”

“She is? Okay, cool.”

Val looked at his mate. Clearly, he’d missed something. “Ready for what?”

She tilted her head in apology. “Girl stuff.”

“Girl…stuff?”

“We’re gonna hang out. Just for a little while.” She leaned forward and smacked a parting kiss to his lips before she stood.

“Wait.” He plucked at the hem of her shirt, but didn’t keep hold of it. Blinked up at her when she glanced back over her shoulder, his excitement fading into a colder emotion he refused to call loss or fear. Whatever girl stuff was, it wouldn’t keep her away for long. She wasn’t rejecting him.

He knew that.

But he watched them leave feeling bereft all the same.

After a moment of kneeling on the floor like a lovesick fool, much too sorry for himself to admit aloud to anyone, he got up and ventured out into the main part of the guest house.

The TV was on, and though he couldn’t see his head over the back of the couch, Val could smell and sense that one of his wolves was still here. He went up and rested his forearms on the couch, leaning forward enough to glimpse Fulk lying down, stretched out along the length of it. He took up the whole sofa with those legs of his. He stared mindlessly at the screen, expression inscrutable – though not serene, as Val felt it should have been.

“Hello, dear.”

Fulk’s lashes fluttered, lowered; a faint crease appeared at the corner of his eye, as he held it pressed shut. His scent was a tangle of gladness and regret; reluctance and comfort.

Val’s stomach tightened unpleasantly. “Have you any idea where our ladyfolk have gone off to?”

Fulk’s eyes opened again, and he turned his head fractionally on the pillow, just enough so he could slant a look up and over to Val, gaze carefully shuttered. “I believe they’re practicing.”

“Practicing what?” Val asked, baffled.

A beat passed, Fulk’s pale eyes fixed on him. “Combat,” he finally said.

Val let that sink in for a moment. Allowed himself the horror of picturing Mia fighting anyone – and remembered his mother painted blue, her blade gleaming in the firelight. The terror of seeing Mia laid out on a makeshift table in a warehouse, her clothes streaked with dried blood – and the vicious satisfaction he’d known when Fulk described the way she’d cracked Dr. Fowler’s jaw with her bare hand, and beaten his head open like an egg against the wall.

He said, “Why hasn’t she asked me to teach her?”

Fulk’s brows went up. “Why would she?”

“Well, I do have some experience in the area. And I’m her mate!” If he sounded defensive, he thought it was with good reason.

“So that automatically means she’ll want you to teach her how to punch people in the throat?”

“Who taught Anna?” he countered.

“The first time I met Anna, she kicked me in the balls and cut me with my own knife.” The ghost of a smile touched his mouth at the memory. Then sighed. “But I did teach her the finer points.” He tipped his head, conceding. “I take your meaning. Anna and I were all on our own for a long time,” he said, voice softening, his guard dropping. “We had to depend on one another. Mia has more resources – she has friends. It’s only natural she’d turn to them for help with something like this.”

Val nodded. Then he climbed over the back of the couch. Fulk pulled his knees up, and Val settled into the place he’d made. “I am glad she has friends.” He smiled. “I never counted on that.”

“Mia’s lovely. Everyone likes her.”

“You’re protective of her. You and Anna both,” Val observed, and Fulk’s guard snapped right back up, like a steel trap closing over his face. “I’m glad that you are. I’m glad she has the two of you in her corner.”

Fulk’s face kept smooth, but his throat jumped as he swallowed. “She’s our master’s mate. It’s instinct.”

His belly clenched again. “Does it pain you?” he asked, softly. “Being bound to me?”

Silence. Fulk swallowed again and said, “No.” Just a whisper.

Val reached for his foot on the next cushion: bare, narrow, and pale, the ankle bones so prominent they looked nearly delicate. Fulk resisted, a moment, and then relaxed, and let Val pull both his feet into his lap and dig into the soles with his thumbs.

Fulk grimaced, a moment, toes flexing – and then he went boneless all over, head falling back on the pillow, gaze lifting to the ceiling. He sighed, a low, long sigh that sounded like one he’d been holding for a while. “You’re terrible,” he said, tone something like affectionate.

Anna and I were all on our own for a long time, he’d said. And now they weren’t. And, much to his own horror, he liked having others.

Val’s stomach relaxed, and he smiled. “Thank you, darling.”

After a long moment, Fulk lifted his head a fraction, and smiled back.