Hendrik took Dagan’s hand and put it to his own mouth, then slipped two fingers inside it, licking them clean, then sucking them all the way into the back of his throat.
“Perfect.” Dagan gave a little groan, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re fucking perfect, Hendrik.”
Hendrik was absolutely not. But he would try, if this was his reward.
A while later, muffled music still filtering through their front door and into the bedroom, they slid between fresh blankets and came together, forehead to forehead, legs tangled.
Dagan asked, “I didn’t hurt you, though? Really?”
Hendrik kissed his nose on impulse. “Really. You can go harder next time; I just needed to make sure I hadn’t forgotten how to do it.”
“You certainly haven’t.” Dagan laughed. “And my plan worked.”
“Which one?”
“You’re not the least bit broody, now.”
“I may never brood again.”
“Darling Hen.” Dagan rubbed his nose against Hen’s now. “I know it’s not true, but I’ll take the compliment anyhow.”
“You know your way around an apricot.” Hendrik tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t.
“Some are just so delicious, they make it easy.”
They kissed and made stupid jokes and laughed and held each other until the music outside faded and they both fell into a blissful, exhausted sleep.
Chapter 5: Wildcrafter Settlement, Heart Wood, Grain Moon Waning
Morning light washed away the bliss almost immediately, of course. An hour after dawn, someone knocked sharply on their door. Dagan, who was pressed snugly into Hendrik’s back, his arm around Hen’s waist, groaned. “Nooooo.”
The knock came again, louder and crisper.
“Sounds official,” Hen muttered. His heart beat a little faster in anticipation and dread. Could there have been a decision, finally?
“Ugh.” Dagan pushed himself out of bed and pulled on his shirt, then his pants without bothering with undershorts. Cheerfully, he said, “I hope it’s someone I can tell to go fuck themselves.”
Hen levered up out of the sheets as Dagan left, closing the door behind him. Voices came from the front room, just Dagan and one other, deeper and too quiet to understand. Hen stood and stretched and—yep, he’d definitely gotten fucked, last night. Well, the residual soreness would wear off eventually, if experience was any indication. Otherwise, he felt remarkably refreshed and invigorated.
Again, he took a moment to revel in having a piece of himself back. Sex might not be the most important thing in the world, but he did love it, and burning hells, how he’d missed it.
As he pulled on his clothes, the voices got louder and nearer. Then there was quiet for a moment. By the time Hen had himself dressed and tidy and had run his fingers through his hair, Dagan was pouring hot water into a teapot on the central table and another person was sitting on the lounge, blond hair flecked with silver.
Bartolo. That was about as official as it got, for Dagan. Who, perhaps unfortunately this time, had his shirt hanging barely on one shoulder and halfway untucked. When he finished pouring, he sat and pulled his hair back into a quick braid, fingers moving like lightning. “Ah, here he is.” He glanced up and smiled at Hendrik.
Bartolo turned to nod politely in greeting.
Hen moved to sit next to Dagan on a puffy cushion, sniffing the air. The tea smelled green and almost sweet.
“Mint and melissa,” Dagan told him.
“Apologies for not coming to meet you sooner, Hendrik.” Bartolo’s gray eyes were serious but warm, crinkling at the edges. “The damned Council held me hostage.”
“We noticed. It’s an honor, Bartolo.” Hendrik put a hand over his heart, as so many in the Heart Wood did when they wanted to indicate sincerity. He wasn’t going to make the mistake he’d automatically made with Alonza, last night.
Bartolo raised his eyebrows. “Nicely done,” he said in appreciation. “I spoke to Innan this morning. They said I should speak to you before the Council announces anything.”
“So they have come to a decision?” Hen asked.
“Well, Jessica came to a decision and convinced everyone to agree, but I think she’s in the right, for what it’s worth.”
Dagan and Hendrik shared a look.
Of course, Bartolo caught it. “She told you, then?”
“Sort of a proto-version, anyhow,” Dagan said. “An unfinished plan.”
“Good.” Bartolo nodded. “And you, Hendrik? What are these thoughts you have that Innan wants me to hear?”
“He thinks we’re all going to die.” Dagan sat up on his knees and started pouring the tea.
Hen barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Even though it was true. “I understand that you want to send scouts; you need your own eyes on the City and the resistance within it if you’re going to commit to helping them. But I think we should keep personnel to a bare minimum. If we keep it simple, we cut down on risk.”
“I agree,” Bartolo said thoughtfully. “Reducing risk factors should be a focus. My concern is that you might be a bigger risk than any scouts, since you could be recognized.”
Hen nodded. “I thought of that, too. But I also think it won’t take much to disguise me. Traders and patrols wear hoods to shield them from the weather; If I could get hold of one and keep to places I know I won’t be recognized, it shouldn’t be difficult. Other guards are the ones most likely to know me, and if they see a hooded figure, they won’t look twice. No one knows they should be looking for me.”
Bartolo hummed thoughtfully. “Piret is convinced that she needs you to watch her back. I agree that she shouldn’t go in without someone to do the job.”
