VIII

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

"Bring me Leowyn!" Aëghan snapped, latching onto the arm of a passing servant who pivoted sharply, an expression of shock and fear displayed openly on their visage. The tufted tips of her ears quivered with her trepidation, her large dewy eyes wide and stricken as she took in the clearly agitated frame of a very large male.

Inwardly, he chastised himself. He was never one to frighten or demoralise serving staff, especially those of fae descent, so he endeavoured to visibly relax, loosening his hold on the female- who was almost in the process of toppling over a stack of crisp linen sheets she cradled in front of her- and inhaling a deep breath.

"Leowyn," he repeated, his gruff tone gentling somewhat. "Summon him to me at once in my personal quarters."

A look of perplexity now combined with the small thing's terror, her mottled brow pulling together tightly over her dark eyes. "Sir?"

This time, he did swear aloud, which did not aid matters in the slightest. Frustrated, he released the fae and huffed an impatient breath. "Lord bloody Ravensfield," he said through clenched teeth. "Say it is urgent!"

Thankfully, the serving girl didn't seem prone to stand in the middle of a dimly lit hallway and make protestations with a worked up Dravolese male and hurried back the way from which she came.

He watched her retreating back for a moment before stalking off himself, his steps long and purposeful as he made his way to his quarters.

Lillian Adams was paving a path directly to the pits of his insanity and there was nothing he could do about it.

His fingers clenched into hard, balled fists at his sides, the muscles in his shoulders and back tensing until they ached. Every part of him, every sordid inch of his skin, felt alive- crawling and writhing- with the need to seek her out, to encage her in his talons and take her away from this place.

From whatever was continuing to cause her unrelenting waves of distress that carved veins directly to his very soul.

Their brief encounter midmorning was to blame, he realised. If he hadn't touched her, hadn't held her supple form close to his body, he would never have become so vehemently aware of the fluctuations of her emotions, of how intrinsically part of her the volatile and disturbing inner turmoil was.

It was an effort in futility attempting to convince himself that he was so afflicted by her because of the mark when every breath he inhaled held traces of her delicate floral scent, and whenever he closed his eyes, a twin set of preternaturally blue ones swam before him tauntingly. If he was left to his own thoughts and silence pervaded his surroundings, the calm superiority of her voice drifted through his memory with appealing titillation.

And what a voice Lillian Adams embodied! Sultry, with a feminine husk, imbued with a tone that was almost always closely monitored and even. Even when she was lambasting him for the liberties he had taken with her that afternoon, her voice never rose higher than a few octaves above a murmur. No, he thought, Lillian Adams used careful phrases and her naturally authoritative presence to administer her set downs and that was tidily more effective than outright shouting.

So consumed with the memory of her, of how she felt once she relaxed within his hold amidst a cold, snow-peppered winter day, Aëghan scarcely knew he had stumbled into another fleshy form until he instinctually reached out and steadied the fellow who he had barraged into.

Blinking rapidly to clear his recollections, he took stock of his surroundings and noted that he was in the process of crossing the polished tiles of the large foyer that dominated the entrance of Ravensfield.

"I say, do watch where you are going!" came a slightly indignant voice several feet below Aëghan.

He tipped his chin against his chest and deduced that the owner of the put-out words belonged to a rather unassuming human male he had never met or seen before upon the estate. Was this another esteemed guest of Ravensfield? In that case, the calibre of males they were permitting inside the manor house was certainly lowering in standard- and Aëghan was very much aware with acute dryness this summation applied directly to him, as well.

There was a particular weediness about the man who stood a few inches short of Aëghan's shoulder. His appearance and overall attributes could be construed as simply nondescript, par a poor attempt to add leverage to his weak jaw by allowing the whiskers of his top lip to grow out. Finding him unworthy of a moment's further attention, Aëghan grunted noncommittally by way of apology and skirted about the fellow.

"Damn rude of you!" the man harped on, pivoting and beginning to hound his steps. "I say, I demand to know the name of the dishonourable chap who has caused me such offense! Out with it!"

"Piss off."

A gargling sound emerged from behind Aëghan and he glanced over his shoulder, noting with amusement that the weedy fellow appeared to be choking on his own indignation. Brown eyes bulged from their sockets, affording him an almost amphibian-like quality, and his pasty cheeks began to redden and splotch with an unpleasantness that was not lost on the other male.

"I'll have your head!" the fellow blustered. "I demand recompense for the insult you have caused! Out with it, you ruffian!"

A beleaguered sigh escaped Aëghan then and he ground to a halt, turning once more to the peculiar specimen attempting to throw his weight about as if it would allow him to administer his own self-conceived import. He knew of men like him, had come across them multiple times throughout his life on this realm- men who only took worth from their actions towards others by the affliction of browbeating and set downs, until only final and complete supplication was fit to his standards.

The dragon within him had been itching for release, clawing at its confines as if its talons were raking across the canvas of his skin, since his meeting with Lillian that afternoon. Subsequently, the pique of anger and annoyance intermingling with prevalent desires and longings, of an arousal so astounding he had been hard and aching for hours, only served to make his restraint wither and fizzle out like the end of lit wick meeting a droplet of water.

Towering over the man, Aëghan narrowed his eyes and straightened to his full, imposing height. He was not human, despite the immediately noticeable outward appearances, and therefore he often surpassed other men in height, build and stature. It was not uncommon that he was found intimidating and he took dark pleasure in the trickle of fear he witnessed in the fellow's moistening gaze.

"And who are you?" he asked, injecting no small amount of derision into his tone.

The man puffed out his chest, the slim plaid coat stretching taut across his shoulders and straining the buttons. "Sir Harold Montagu," he informed him in a pert, nasal tone of pomposity. "And you have offended my honour."

"I do not believe it would take much to do so, what little of it you have," Aëghan drawled.

Rage made Sir Harold's eyes pop out once more and a vein began to throb against his temple. "I do hope you are one of the suitors," he sneered wrathfully, "to allow Lady Ravensfield the opportunity to defer your match and turn her attentions to what a true gentleman embodies!"

Aëghan stiffened, his blood reaching a roaring crescendo in his ears. "Suitors?" he heard himself repeat, his tongue thick against the roof of his mouth.

A smug expression came over Sir Harold and he crossed his arms over his measly chest. "Ah, so you are not, then." Derisively, he ran his gaze from the top of Aëghan's unkempt hair, to his torn and soiled shirt and trousers, to the boots that were smeared and caked with mud and dirt from his foray with Lillian earlier. "How silly of me to assume so. Naturally, Lady Ravensfield's tastes would certainly be more refined than... you."

It snapped, whatever poor excuse of twine that was wrapped around the splintering coffer's walls that were heaving against his control, and when it did he reacted explosively. Sir Harold was lurched from the floor by the lapels of his unassuming coat and thrust against the nearest wall with a force that rattled the sconces above their heads and shook the gilded frame of the painting beside them. Aëghan slid the fool up so that his feet dangled uselessly off the floor and Sir Harold was afforded the opportunity to look down upon him for the first and last time in his pitiful existence of a life.

"Listen here, you weedy little toad of a man," Aëghan sneered, "I have eaten things larger than you for breakfast, so you best believe I'd tolerate the foul taste of you simply to put an end to your incessant chatter."

Undiluted terror clustered within the depths of Sir Harold's brown eyes and he kicked out uselessly with his legs, his fingers curling about Aëghan's wrists and tightening desperately as he held on for all he was worth. "P-put me down!" he hollered desperately, his gaze darting to each side no doubt in search of a saviour.

"First you will tell me what the hell do you mean by one of the suitors," Aëghan grated, bringing his face close to the smaller man's. "And be quick about it!"

"I am one of the m-matches!" he squawked. "Mrs Holt sent for me this afternoon! Surely you... you must know that the house has been readied to receive her suitors? Lady Ravensfield intends to find her duke among the throng of us arriving henceforth, starting this eve!"

Aëghan felt a nerve in his eye twitch.

"Dranora!"

Timing, as usual, was not one of Blayne Leowyn's strengths. Not bothering to turn his head in the approaching Draëllian's direction, he tossed out to him flippantly, "Never you mind, Leo. Simply doing a bit of weeding."

"Aëghan, I'll not tolerate unsavoury behaviour towards my wife's, or her sister's, guests," Blayne told him firmly, coming to stand close to them.

He threw the other man a roguish grin even through his face was straining, every muscle in his entire being primed to tear this specimen apart. "That's a shame," he murmured and without preamble released Sir Harold.

The man slid down the wall and crumbled to the floor.

Trampled like a weed.

Aëghan spared him a glance, snorted, and turned his attention to the other faeborn male. "Are you positive we cannot dispose of him?"

"I say!"

Blayne's molten gaze was unflinching as he regarded Aëghan, both of them ignoring the indignant Sir Harold who was only just stumbling to an upright position. "Quite."

"Ah well." Aëghan shrugged. "I am in need of your services, Leo. If you'd be so kind...?"

The beastkeeper scrutinized him with no small amount of doubt reflected in his darkening gaze. "Is this why you have summoned me?" he asked, he nodded at the blustering human beside them.

"Alas, no. What I need of you is from within my chambers."

"Are you propositioning me, Dranora?"

Aëghan pretended to give Blayne a once over, casting a wry grin his way for effect. "Well, I certainly have had worse-"

"Lord Ravensfield!" Sir Harold bemoaned with aplomb from his disadvantageous height, causing both men to tilt their chins down to examine him. "I demand satisfaction! Your guest has caused me grievous harm-"

Blayne huffed a sigh. "You'll be duly compensated Sir Henry. Now, if you'll excuse us-"

He moved forward, past the raging, punitive man, and urged Aëghan to accompany him towards their aforementioned destination. If Aëghan knew Leowyn, and he did, he knew that the beastkeeper was as averse to dealing with human males with an inflated sense of self-importance as he was.

Once they had traversed a fair distance down the hall, Blayne asked him in a quiet voice, "What's this about, Aëghan?"

He waited until they were safely ensconced within his private chambers before he broached the reason why he required his old friend. The chamber was lavish, as most rooms within Ravensfield were, and the furnishings composed of sturdy oak or mahogany finishings.

Which was good for Aëghan's purpose that evening.

Wordlessly, abandoning Blayne on the threshold of the room, he moved towards his armoire and threw open the doors, procuring from within two long leather straps.

It was not much and he could only hope it would fair well, at least for the evening. If it didn't... well...

Noticing the instruments of restraint in Aëghan's hands, Blayne's expression darkened and he shifted his stance, wariness inhabiting his shoulders and rooting his feet wide.

"Do you know the cause?" Blayne asked, his voice neutral despite the edge to his features.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

Aëghan shook his head, holding out the leather restraints to the other male. "Do not ask that of me now, old friend." Once, Blayne had needed to restrain him as the whims of the dragon became impossible to contend with, as they were now. Trifling matters pertaining to trinkets and hoarding were harmless, normally, and contained within Aëghan's own holding- moments that were fleeting at best. This, however, involved another person, a human woman marked as his mate, and the dragon would not be appeased until she was within his proximity, safe, untouched, whole... Before, many years ago, it had involved Blayne and their odious employer- who had made the mistake of hunting one of their own.

Damn her! If she would only acknowledge the bloom he had flown halfway across the Continent to procure... the Elusia Shade was temperamental in nature, preferring to grow in warmer climates, though its soporific and calming properties were insurmountably useful. He knew where they grew in abundance in the southern regions of France and Spain, having need for the blooms in the past. The season ensured their appearance was rarer, and he almost regretted not plucking more. 

Since meeting Lillian Adams, his focus had dwindled it seemed. 

Sensing Blayne's unwillingness to do his bidding, Aëghan thrust the restraints at him once more for emphasis. "Do this for me without question and I will forgive you for breaking my wings," he urged, unable to suppress the manner in which his fingers began to tremble.

Reluctantly, the Draëllian accepted the restraints, the leather sliding from Aëghan's fingers like a caress. "I haven't entirely forgiven you for abducting my wife," he muttered. "Does... does this happen often?" he asked, his brows knitting together in consternation.

"Once before only." Noting that Blayne was examining the leathers in his hands, Aëghan added, "I keep them as a precautionary measure... after last time."

The beastkeeper nodded, his gaze intent upon the straps yet still. No doubt he was recalling that long evening so far in their past that it was any wonder they still remained acquaintances after such a thing. The dragon had made Aëghan wild, uncontained, and any means to stop him... it was impossible to discern if the dragon would know friend from foe in that state of blinding incomprehension and the power of its desire was so palpable, so demanding, that Aëghan was not willing to take that chance. Restrained, he was unable to expand and contort his limbs, manipulate his tendons and flesh into their desired form.

It was the only way he could guarantee that he wouldn't inexplicably ruin whatever tentative opening he had to Lillian Adams.

Determined, Aëghan loped to the bed, indicated the heavy four postered ensemble with deep blue silks draped over the canopy atop. "This should do."

There was a look of wryness on Blayne's face then as he came towards Aëghan, who leapt onto the bed and sprawled upon his back, limbs akimbo. "Gods, my wife better not walk in on this."

"It would merely affirm to all the women of England that I am far prettier than any of them."

Blayne made a disparaging growl in his chest, yanking one of Aëghan's wrists to the first post of the bed and, none too gently, secured his appendage. "Are you certain you're in need of these?" Blayne retorted sourly. "You seem in remarkably good spirits for someone in the throes of a dragon's control."

"I need it," Aëghan told him, sobering. Blayne moved to the other side of the bed, securing his other arm. "You would take the risk?"

"No." The answer was irrevocably quick. The beastkeeper knew that the dragon was unpredictable, its needs and desires ordained by its nature and that alone was more temperamental than most creatures that existed in their realm.

The other male grunted at the sharp tug of the leather against the flesh of his wrist. Finished, Blayne stood back and folded his arms across his chest, cocking his head to the side to study Aëghan with an indecipherable expression. "You may take your leave now, Leo," he said, deliberately taunting. "Unless you find me appealing, all bound up and helpless-"

"You can fool anyone all you like, Aëghan, but not me. I know you well enough that something has you spooked, and I am not entirely certain it is something we can ignore."

"Yes, my liege."

Blayne gave him a deathly glare, his anger successfully pricked. It was a small matter of satisfaction to Aëghan that he always knew how to agitate the stoically calm beastkeeper. Wordlessly, Blayne turned on his heel and marched purposefully from the chamber, but Aëghan halted him with, "Leowyn, wait!"

The Draëllian turned partly to regard him across the chamber, strands of his hair gilded with deep coppers and burnished golds by the light emitted from the lit sconces within the chamber, his eyes mirroring the embers of the fire in the hearth.

"How long is this bloody ordeal going to last? The one with your wife's sister?"

Blayne frowned, his gaze switching from annoyance to suspicion. "The socials, you mean?"

"Whatever the loving fuck that little toad of a man was here for!" he snarled, feeling the dragon surge at the thought, the mention, the slightest notice of his heartmate.

At that, the beastkeeper turned fully to study the other male. Aëghan felt the tendons in his arms straining against his flesh, the muscles flexing as he gripped the leathers between his fingers, his knuckles whitening with the tension, the wood of the posts creaking softly.

"Why?"

"Blayne..."

Possibly, Leowyn sensed that Aëghan was reaching his limit because he sighed audibly and the tension in his limbs relaxed slightly. "However long it takes for Lillian to choose one as her husband, I suppose," he answered.

A blinding, white hot rage blistered and boiled through his veins and for a long moment, Aëghan could only writhe as darkness overcame him.

Mine.

He had no right to Lillian Adams, he had no right to be sniffing around her, to be toying with notions of sinking his lips against the sultry plumpness of hers- lips that were designed to entice and captivate with their natural, full pout.

Mine.

It was best she choose another, bind herself to a man- a human man- who would be able to tend to her every whim, to make her at least marginally happy if such a thing was possible. Aëghan couldn't give her that, not in this world, not when his only desire was to leave it.

MINE.

No, she was not his- she never would be. Aëghan thrashed his head to the side, clearing his vision to pin Blayne with a determined look. "Keep them away from this floor," he pleaded, his voice a guttural echo of what