Clayton eyed her warily. She was sweaty, singed, and irritated, but she wasn’t scared of Mal at all. He took in Jack, who appeared so harmless and cheerful that Clayton would have been fooled if he didn’t know Jack had won a game of tug-of-war with a goddess just so he could reclaim Marshall. Then Clayton looked at Marshall, who seemed so oblivious to the situation that Clayton was concerned he’d suffered brain damage from whatever Jack had done to make him forget Mal’s existence.
“I’ll see you next week, then?” Clayton asked hesitantly. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He began corralling his kids out the door like a smart man.
Mister Stabby made a bid for freedom, leaping from Mal’s arm, and Clayton caught him mid-air by the horn just as he exited the door.
“Without the unicorn,” Samantha clarified.
“Yes, of course,” Clayton agreed, holding the wildly thrashing beast out at arm's length.
It spurted flames in every direction in outrage, but Mal had done something to keep Clayton safe from its fire. Merry had shown that, regardless of Mal’s claims, she only had a small amount of control over the beast. With Mal’s intervention, instead of getting burned when Mister Stabby went on a rampage, Clayton only felt a gentle breeze tickle along his skin.
Just when the front door slammed behind them and Clayton thought he was home-free, Trouble came jogging up the walkway to the chapter house.
Cym, the new patriarch of the Blaike family on paper, but an adorable, homeless mooch in reality, called out, “Clayton! You brought your family? How awesome is that?” He raced to the top of the steps, and Clayton’s eyes flashed with panic.
What was Cym doing outside? His grumpy murder hobo keeper, Fourteen, had him on such a tight leash that Clayton had assumed the possibility of Cym meeting Mal to be slim to none.
Stupid, useless mantra. Clayton had been back in the Real for less than an hour, and his magic had already gone straight to shit.
Clayton tried to subtly stand between Cym and Mal, but Cym darted under Mister Stabby, still dangling from Clayton’s hand, and got right up in Mal’s face.
Sweet Vis. Cym’s magic was volatile and barely under control. It was known for turning unhinged people into raging monsters. What would it do to Mal, an already unhinged and occasionally raging monster?
Clayton’s butthole clenched tighter than any butthole ever should as he waited to see if his lover was about to turn into the giant whatever-the-hell-asaurus he’d been earlier when he’d glutted himself on too many demons.
“Hello, Stillbringer,” Mal said in a relaxed tone.
He was enjoying himself, the filthy bastard. He was absolutely thriving on the chaos around him and likely on watching Clayton’s imminent mental collapse.
“Hello, brave person who’d better be treating Clayton like his own personal god,” Cym said, voice dripping with venom.
“He seems to like the way I treat him,” Mal said easily.
Cym narrowed his eyes. “Your magic clings to every inch of him, so he’d fucking better.”
Clayton looked down at himself, but since he still couldn’t see magic, he saw nothing. He didn’t put it past Mal to sneakily put a magicalno trespassingsign on him, just for kicks.
“It’s okay, Cym,” Clayton said hastily. “Mal is my boyfriend?—”
“Co-parent,” Eira corrected.
“Husband!” Merry shouted
“No, he’s more like your partner-in-crime,” Holly said.
“Mate.” Mal’s voice rang out in finality.
“We should have biscuits with dinner,” Grampy said to no one in particular.
“Yes, we should, Grampy,” Clayton agreed in an overly cheerful tone. He was taking the statement as a lifeline and running with it. “Let’s get home and start on dinner right now.
“It’s morning, Red,” Mal said, voice filled with amusement. “You made a huge deal about how we had to get here bright and early to make a good impression, remember?”
“So this is your new sweetie?” Cym asked, bulldozing past Clayton’s pitiful attempts at deflection.
The Stillbringer, as young and new to his powers as he was, had an uncanny ability to see to the heart of every situation, and if he wanted to, he could bring the power of creation itself to meddle in whatever way he saw fit.
Clayton really didn’t want to see what would happen if Cym decided to meddle with Mal. The gods only knew what Cym was able to learn just from looking at Mal. Further scrutiny from him didn’t bear thinking about, so Clayton unleashed the reins on his anxiety and started talking as quickly as possible.
