Embers - Dragon shifter romance story, Chapter Four (Patreon)

Sorry it's a tad later in the day than I'd intended! Here's Chapter Four! Again, it's longer than I'd intended, but that's ok, right?

  One, Two , Three  

“A job?” you asked, tilting your head with interest. His quick, golden eyes tracked the movement and the harsh line of his pale mouth softened a little more. 

“Yes. My department at the University is holding…” he broke off and sighed. He took off his round glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m almost embarrassed to admit to you what the event is. It’s so… cliché…”

As your own mouth twisted into an amused grin at his obvious awkwardness, Mikaeïl looked up at you and rolled his eyes.

“I don’t even know what your department is,” you said. “I don’t know what you do at the University; you could be manager of the stationary supplies for all I know…”

He bristled visibly at that, and then caught himself before he could allow his pride to get the better of him. “I am a research professor in the Department of Criminology. I specialise in forensic anthropology, especially in cases which involve magic and, or, necromancy.”

Your eyes went wide. “Holy crap,” you breathed. “I barely even know what those even words mean…” You cleared your throat and ventured, “So… like… you study dead people and what happened to them?”

He shrugged and left the conservatory to go and rescue your brewing tea before it stewed and went bitter. Over his shoulder as he walked away, red hair swinging down his back, he said, “In a nutshell. I can tell you more about it if you’re really interested.”

“I’m always interested in stuff I know nothing about,” you admitted somewhat eagerly. “I’m the cat whose curiosity will get the better of me one day, I’m sure…”

In response, you heard a low, warm, rumbling chuckle from the other side of the kitchen. There was something about it that spoke of an altogether bigger creature than Mikaeïl was, and though you had your suspicions about him, you weren’t entirely sure what he was precisely. He hadn’t been exactly forthcoming when you’d had a go at guessing earlier, shutting your ‘tiefling’ line of questioning down immediately. 

A few minutes later, he returned with a china mug of tea and gracefully set it on the table beside the sofa in the conservatory, but he didn’t take a seat beside you. He remained standing with his arms hugged defensively across his slim chest, hands cupping his sharp elbows. The white shirt and black waistcoat and trousers made him look harsh and almost unfriendly, but his eyes were gentle enough. 

“Well,” he said, “The department is hosting a charity event in a few months, and we’re looking for someone to design some posters for it.”

“What’s the event?” you asked. “You’re going to have to tell me eventually if you want me to work up some sketches for you…”

“It’s a murder mystery evening,” he said flatly. 

“People actually do those?” you asked. “And what’s wrong with -”

“It’s the criminology department,” he said slowly, somewhat patronisingly. “It’s…” he shuddered.

Instead of elaborating, he rolled his eyes again and crossed to the glass door of the conservatory, keeping his back to you as he stared out at the lawns of the gardens beyond. 

“They do a charity event - usually for rich benefactors it has to be said - every year. This year they decided to host a murder mystery event set in a 1920s jazz club…” When you didn’t immediately respond, he glanced over his shoulder at you and your amused and intrigued expression must have caught him off guard because he added, “You actually think that sounds like fun, don’t you?”

You shrugged, a bit embarrassed for being enthusiastic about it when he clearly thought it was ridiculous. “You want me to come up with some sketches? I don’t have all that long before Celia finishes her lesson, but I could rough out at least a few ideas now, if you wanted.”

“What would you charge?” he asked. “I shouldn’t ask you to go ahead before I’ve cleared it with the administrative staff of the department…”

You waved your hand. “I’ll doodle a few ideas now anyway,” you said. “I’d like to.” 

He fixed you with an odd look that might have hidden a good amount of bafflement at your offer, but he nodded. “If you’d like to, then I’d be most grateful.”

You grinned and sipped your tea. “Oh, that’s delicious,” you murmured, eyeing the steaming cup for a moment. 

“I’m glad.”

So, while he fell still, gazing silently out at the gardens with a thousand-mile stare on his sharply-beautiful face, you roughed out a few ideas that involved variations on a knocked over martini glass and a few splotches of blood. 

It was only when the patter of small boots across the kitchen floor, closely followed by the clop of hooves, drew your attention off the page that you realised how lost you’d become in the sketches. The only thing which had halfway drawn your attention away from the soft strokes of pencil on paper had been the delicious tea. 

Celia flapped her dusky brown wings in excitement and you saw that she had her flute in one hand and a sheet of music in the other. “Look!” she half-screeched, wings flapping. Her whirlwind entry of excitement and enthusiasm made Mikaeïl jump which, in turn, made Frankie chuckle. “Listen! I learned a tune!”

“Already?” you asked, abandoning the sketch pad on the sofa beside you and turning your attention completely onto her. “You going to play it for me?” 

She nodded and thrust the page at you so you could hold it up for her. Frankie gave you a thumbs up over her shoulder and she brought the flute to her lips and began to play. It was… pretty ropey, but then again she’d only been learning for an hour in total. She played ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ in a breathy, squeaky, faltering melody, and when she was done, she grinned at you in triumph. 

“That’s amazing!” you said, and you meant it. “You’ve learned to read those notes and play them in that short time?”

She nodded. “It’s actually not that hard,” she said a little pompously. 

“Well then, I take it you like your new teacher? You can tell your papa too when we get home.”

Her nod this time was vehement. “Frankie’s so cool,” she said and you grinned up at Frankie, whose cheeks had flushed an attractive pink. 

The ovine satyr ran a hand through his woolly white blond curls and grinned. “She’s a natural, I’ve got to say,” he smiled. 

“Looks like we’ll be coming back,” you said, turning to look at Mikaeïl. Your words died when you saw that he had stooped to pick up your sketch book and was holding it in his slender fingers as if it were some kind of holy relic, staring at your drawings. “Something wrong?” you asked. 

He didn’t respond, and Frankie trotted over to him and dug him in the ribs. Mikaeïl’s lips peeled back into a tiny snarl, but Frankie just ignored him and looked at the page of the sketchbook and whistled. “Bloody -” he broke off, remembering that there was a child present, and finished with, “I mean… Holy smokes! You’re one talented artist!”

You kept your eyes on Mikaeïl and asked, “You like it?”

He swallowed thickly, his throat working visibly. When he met your eyes, his own were glassy and almost teary, which struck you as odd. “Yes,” he croaked, his voice rough and raw. “Very much. I’d like to hire you for this, if you want to do it.”

There was something going on beneath the surface here, you were sure of it, but you nodded slowly and agreed. “Talk to your department and let me know what the budget is. I’m not normally that expensive when I do freelance stuff anyway. Assuming the University will handle the printing costs…”

“I’d cover the difference myself anyway,” he murmured. 

You shot another look at Frankie and he shrugged mutely, as nonplussed about the depth of Mikaeïl’s reaction as you were. Celia stood there, seeming a bit deflated now that the attention had moved away from her after her debut performance, so you cleared your throat and stood, finishing the last mouthful of tea and taking it over to the sink in the kitchen. 

When you returned, Mikaeïl seemed to have recovered, and his usual frosty exterior had returned. “Your art style is perfect for this,” he said, handing you back your sketchbook. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Right,” you said, feeling distinctly off-balance from his strange reaction. 

At a reprimanding glare from Frankie, Mikaeïl’s shoulders dropped a little and he chuckled. “May I assume you’ll be coming back next week with Celia?”

“Please?” Celia interrupted, her attention drawn by the mention of her name. “Can we?”

“You’ll have to tell your papa what you learned,” you smiled, “But I think he’ll be happy enough to let you continue your lessons with Frankie if you’re enjoying them.”

“Yes!” she hissed, pumping her fist and spreading her wings broad for a moment before tucking them in. 

You had to smile, and it even drew a smirk from Mikaeïl. “Well,” you said, “I look forward to hearing from you then,” you said. “You’ve got my number after all…”

“That I have,” he said, and to your surprise, he walked past you and pulled a ragged paper napkin out of a kitchen drawer. 

He held it between his finger and thumb with surprising gentleness, as though it were a lady’s favour and he a knight at a tournament, worried about smudging it. The thought immediately seemed preposterous to you and you snorted with laughter, hoping a second later that he didn’t take it the wrong way. 

“Until next week,” he said, his baritone clipped and stiff, showing you out of the kitchen and escorting you to the front doors of his grand mansion. 

As you and Celia headed back to your battered old car, you heard Mikaeïl give a soft ‘oof’ and a second later caught Frankie’s hissed, “You’re a fucking idiot, Kae, you know that?”

“Yes,” he said wearily. “I have been told as much once or twice in my lifetime,” came his rather melancholic response before you had closed the door and were concentrating on making sure Celia’s seatbelt was done up. 

When you looked up to wave goodbye, you found that the front door had been closed and the house had fallen silent once again. 

Part Five (And I promise the story will move on a bit now that we’ve had all this buildup! It’s tricky when I’m limiting myself to 800-1000 word chapters [this one is 1.7k but shhhhhh])

Don't forget to let me know your thoughts on how it's going so far, either in the comments or on Discord! 

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