Barion pressed a kiss to Jon’s temple. “I’m fine with whatever you want to do. Yes, this is our baby, and doing this on our own is what has brought us together, but having access to the knowhow of such a huge company? It’s worth thinking about.”
“I think we should definitely talk to them and see how they would want to play this. If we don’t like it, we can always back out.” Jon’s fingers were already hovering above the keyboard.
“Then do it. When do we want to talk to them?”
“How about Friday? It’s Monday. We’ll be in New Orleans on Wednesday and back Thursday, Friday morning at the latest. And if we can cite a business meeting, we have no reason to extend our stay over the weekend.”
“You are such a smart man, my mate.” Barion kissed Jon again, this time on the top of his head. The soft dark locks teased his lips, gave him some delicious ideas that had nothing to do with computer games and everything with christening the couch. Having a mate was so much better than he had ever imagined.
Chapter Fifteen
Wednesday came quicker than Jon had ever thought possible, time flying as if it wanted to spite him. He and Barion had been busy having sex in every single possible spot in his apartment—as well as some impossible places—and working on the levels of Demon Wars in between. The new physical component to their relationship seemed to fuel their creativity, and work was flowing so easily that Jon almost found it eerie. Now it was time to face the family. Barion’s side, as well as the book club, had shown remarkable discipline, respecting their wish for privacy, with only Sammy coming by Tuesday evening to report how happy they all were for them. Jon had no illusions about how things would be at his Grann’s.
“You said your Grann lived on Saint Louis Street?” Barion was in his half-demon mode as Jon had silently named it. It was very obvious from his deep blue scales and almost eight feet that he wasn’t human, but the wings and horns were still hidden. His demon was so gorgeous that Jon was drooling.
“Yes. Do you think you can get us there?”
“Iubit, I can get us anywhere.” Barion winked. “I just think I’m going to open the portal at the crossing of Burgundy Street. I know a nice quiet alley there where we can pop up. Since I haven’t been to your Grann’s yet, I don’t want to accidentally destroy something or alarm anybody. It’s funny how people can get all worked up about a rift opening in their living room.”
“Yeah, very thoughtful of you, taking people’s sensitivities into consideration.”
“You do realize I know sarcasm when it hits me in the face?”
“One of the things I love about you.” Jon lifted his face for a kiss and his incredible mate complied immediately.
“And I love you, my zombie surprise.”
The first time they had said the L-word, it had felt strange, like an unknown taste in his mouth. Jon thought it was because he had never deemed it possible that he would have love, not to mention a mate. They had both practiced and now the declaration flowed easily from their lips, feeling so right that it almost hurt.
“Ready to go?”
Jon took a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Barion lifted his hand, did the familiar slicing that took them from a moderately tempered spring day in Beaconville to the humid heat that was New Orleans. The alley he had mentioned was more of a deadlock, smelling of everything that should never be left out in this heat for any amount of time. It was also so narrow that Jon wasn’t even sure if it could be called an alley. More like a passage or a squeeze way. Is there such a term as ‘squeeze way’? There definitely should be. And he was panicking because his brain was going all directions in a desperate attempt to escape from what was coming.
“Hey, iubit, it’s going to be fine. This is your family. Remember that they love you.”
“I know, and I love them. I just want them to love you as much, and I’m terrified they won’t, even though there’s no reason and—”
“Shhh, it’s fine. Let’s go.” Barion pulled him under his arm before he started to leave the squeeze way. Yep, a word. A good word. The walk along Burgundy Street to the crossing with Saint Louis Street was short, shorter than Jon remembered it to be. They went past the familiar beautiful houses with their brick walls and wrought-iron balconies filled with flowers of all colors until they reached his Grann’s house, one of the oldest in the area. The bricks were a little darker, the shutters of the floor-length windows painted in an intricate pattern of soft lilac, pastel green and a vibrant yellow. The wrought iron wrapped around balcony on both stories and was overgrown with ivy and passionflowers, and the porch was painted pink and flanked by two golden raintrees. It was a tranquil sight in the hubbub of the French Quarter, at least until they entered through the wooden gate with the whittled cocks guarding it from their perch on the poles. Once they set foot on the dirty brown gravel—Grann had never seen the appeal of white gravel, saying she distrusted things that pretended to be pure, even though Jon suspected her reasons were of a more practical nature concerning cleaning costs, but he wasn’t dumb enough to say that out loud—all hell broke loose. All of a sudden, the air was filled with the ghostly apparitions of ancestors who were swarming them like bees defending their nest, cries of welcome mixed with the first questions, all merging to one big wall of sound where only single words were audible.
Demontre…pwalkom… welcome… te sonje ou… missed you…what are your intentions… majik…dezod… chaos… enkyetid… unseen… danje… danger…
“That’s enough!” Grann stepped onto the porch, wearing a beautiful scarlet red dress with huge flowers printed on it in white and blue. The chattering stopped and the ancestors were hanging in the air like puffs of smoke. Jon looked at Barion, who didn’t seem to be fazed at all. His mate was so confident, and why shouldn’t he be? There was practically nothing that could really hurt a demon. Barion tugged Jon a little closer to his side to comfort him before letting go of him so he could greet his Grann.
“Grann.” Jon went to her, grabbing Barion’s hand to drag him along. No way was he leaving his mate alone. No way was he walking up there alone. They were one.
Grann smiled broadly, her eyes full of warmth as she opened her arms. Jon sank into the hug, the familiar scents of herbs and majik and death surrounding him, soothing him. Grann opened the circle of her arms on one side, tugging Barion in as well, not an easy feat for a woman of only four foot nine—there had to be magic involved, Jon was sure of it—and she was greeting them with soft words.
“Welcome home, cherie, and welcome to the family, Barion.”
“Thank you, Grann.” Jon could feel Barion’s smile in his words.
“It’s good to be back.” Jon leaned his head back a little to look at Grann’s face. He thought he saw a shadow in her usually bright eyes, there and gone again so fast that he was sure he had only imagined it.
“Good enough to stay, cherie?” Grann winked when the chorus of ancestors started anew, chattering away about wonderful houses in the area, the perfect places for a zombie and his demon mate to live.
“I’m afraid not, Grann. But we’re going to visit you regularly. Thanks to Barion, there’s no need to book a flight or drive a car.”
