Personally, I thought even those who claimed that they would be fine should get some therapy. I was definitely going to recommend it for my father, and so far he seemed like the kind of guy who would accept that.
My idea about Gerald’s mansion had apparently made sense to Caspian, but given the state of the place, he’d instead purchased a different estate there in Avalon, even closer to my mother’s, and started arranging security and more importantly, the medical professionals needed to help acclimate the tortured dragons back into the world.
If somewhere along the way we encouraged them to form a community but didn’t immediately tell them it might be where a dragon’s power came from, then that would only be in their bestinterests, wouldn’t it? Also, the best interests of the world, to possibly keep any super-antisocial dragons like my grandfather from gaining power.
Just because they’d been imprisoned didn’t mean they were good guys, however bad I felt about what had been done to them. So they could have the same chances to prove themselves as anyone else.
My mother listened to the full explanation of every detail, even though she turned particularly pale at the descriptions of the fight, and nodded along, prompting me to get back to it every time I got distracted by a tangent.
Personally, I preferred Davin’s way of letting me tangent myself out, and finding them as entertaining as I did.
Not that I would ever tell my mother that.
“You understand,” she said when I had finished explaining everything, “that you are never, ever allowed to do this again. Yes?”
I paused, considering, then cocked my head at her. “I mean, unless your father is also a monster who’s going around imprisoning people, and we already know Caspian isn’t. Are you hiding another one somewhere?”
She scrunched her nose and rolled her eyes at that. “Both of my biological parents have been dead since before the Common Era. I hardly think they’re ever going to be a threat to anyone again.”
My father reached out to take her hand, smiling at her. “And I have no intention of ever being kidnapped again, so we can ignore that possibility.”
For a second I worried she was going to have a freak out at the mere mention of what they’d dealt with, but instead, she turned to him and...melted. “You’d best not,” she whispered. “Iwillassign you permanent bodyguards.”
He was still weak, but when he leaned in her direction, it wasn’t because he couldn’t hold himself up. Nope, he was just pathetically in love with her, and drawn to her like a magnet.
It was awesome.
Over the years, I’d heard people complain about their parents being embarrassing, or too lovey-dovey, and how shameful it was. Maybe it was just that I had a unique point of view on the subject, but when my parents leaned in and kissed each other? It was one of the best things I’d ever seen.
Maybe my favorite.
Twist stood on the end of the table, her burned paw wrapped with bandages, eating what looked like a giant hunk of beef, but I hadn’t asked. My mother was continuing to spoil the crap out of her, and had called Doc the minute we’d arrived home and she’d seen that my poor kitten was hurt.
That, of course, was why Doc and Tobias Cain were also at the dinner table. As usual, Cain was watching Twist consume meat that far outweighed herself with amazement, while Doc looked at him like he was the cutest damn thing he’d ever seen.
Caspian had gone back to pretending he didn’t eat, probably because he thought it would be rude to eat in front of other vampires who didn’t do it. So the three of them sat with glasses of water or...well, I’d learned very young never to look inside a vampire’s mug.
“You don’t really need to worry about me rushing off to any more fights,” I promised. “I’m really, truly terrible at it. I practically let Davin and Twist do all the work. And Twist got hurt.”
Davin was...well, for the first time ever, he seemed completely comfortable at my mother’s table, and not at all worried about her opinions. Case in point: he leaned back and casually put an arm around my shoulders. “Not enjoyingviolence isn’t a bad thing. It means you’re not a violent person. I like it.”
“I think it means your mother did an excellent job raising you,” my father added. “I’m proud to have a son who doesn’t go around wanting to hurt people.”
“You are a helper, Father,” Twist added. “It means you help people who need it, when they are frightened. I saw the man talking about it on the television. You do not need to fight. When the fights come, and you need us, we will be your protectors.”
I blinked, staring at my kitten for a moment, then had to take a deep breath. Davin squeezed my shoulder, so I turned to look at everyone else, but I couldn’t find the words to explain.
Fortunately, I wasn’t the only person at the table who could understand animals anymore. “She was watching PBS this morning,” my father explained. “I thought it might still be educational for a youngling.”
Sexton, wrapped in sweats and a blanket and drinking soup that Meg had specifically made for all the previously imprisoned and drained dragons, shook his head. “The murdercat is watching Mr. Rogers. Why not? There are far worse role models out there.” He turned his head slightly to look at me, a wry smile on his face. “She’s not wrong, though. You’re a compulsive helper. You can’t seem to stop yourself from helping even people who don’t deserve it.”
I just smiled in return. “Maybe that’s because I’m better at recognizing who deserves help than you.”
He didn’t question that, just ducked his head and drank more of his soup, flushing pink when everyone looked at him speculatively. His father was already upstairs in bed, because he’d been drained only recently, and didn’t have the extra energy to spend on sitting up at the table. But he was there. Safe.
Both of our fathers.
Because he’d been wrong when we met. It wasn’t that only one of us was going to survive the coming disaster. It was just that one person—Tadhg—couldn’t survive it.
