Saris answered, “He looked like our brother, Radre, King of Myrgren, but the sickly red and black aura wasn’t his.” She asked Chynne, “He can’t find us here, can he?”
Chynne pushed past Saris, climbing into Wycke’s lap. “Doubtful. I cast a protection spell. Only someone whose strength exceeds mine can get past.” He stroked his furry head against Wycke’s chin. “I agree that the king might be under the influence of another.” Chynne lowered his voice, mumbling under his breath. “I felt a presence, an energy from long ago. But no. It couldn’t be.” More clearly, he addressed Wycke again. “Your brother, or rather, the one who wears him like a cloak, distracted you while siphoning your energy. He didn’t take much, but enough to send you off-kilter. If he’d known how strong you are, he’d have put in more effort.” Chynne shifted his attention to Piers. “Which makes me wonder what he wants with you. Saris sent you here with a guard. You went undiscovered a very long time, thanks to what I believe was Sir Lyvianne using every bit of his power to protect you. Now, you’ve got the boys lining up at your door, so to speak.”
“Oh, damn! I love your ears!” Jess squealed.
“Ummm…” Chynne focused on Jess, now deep in conversation with the elf. “Does your colorful friend know she’s not flirting with a human? Elves of his tribe are celibate until choosing a life mate; then, they bond for all eternity. She might want a heads up to that little detail.”
“I’ve got a question. How the hell do you all speak our language?” Piers huffed out. “I’ve been meaning to ask.”
“We don’t,” Chynne replied. “Old enchantments allow you to understand us. Weak minds are so easily swayed.”
Piers opened and closed his mouth a few times before getting out, “But I couldn’t understand that hellhound.”
Chynne made a gesture likely meant to be a shrug. “Even hellhounds can’t understand hellhounds most of the time.”
“Can everybody just stop?” Wycke screeched. Everyone froze—except for the ogre, who took an extremely loud sip from his cup. Wycke took a few deep breaths in and out. Yes, less jangling nerves. Saris, Piers, Jess, Chynne. Those he knew.
He eyed the ogre from his perch on the floor. What was the guy’s name? Oh, yeah. George. “And how did you come to get mixed up in this?”
George shrugged. “One night, the kid here took a look at me and really saw me, you know? Then all hell broke loose, and I wasn’t doing anything better at the time.”
Ogres always had been more adventurous than sensible. “What about him?” Wycke nodded toward the elf, currently reciting a number while Jess tapped her phone keys.
“He owns this coffee shop,” Piers supplied. “Until recently, I didn’t know he was an elf. Hell, until recently, I didn’t know elves were anything more than book characters.”
The room began to slow its spinning. Wycke breathed a sigh of relief when the lunch he hadn’t even eaten stopped threatening to reappear. “So, let me get this straight. You sent your friend and the ogre here. How?”
“Yo, dude. I got a name.” George harrumphed. Wycke ignored him.
“Even before I knew about magic, sometimes if I wanted or needed something badly, bang! It would happen. I wanted them out of the warehouse and thought of this coffee shop.” Piers shrugged.
“And Saris?”
“I didn’t want her hurt. I mean, how long would her husband let me live, being high king and all, so I sent her to join Jess.”
“Mates. We call them mates in the magical realm,” George said between bites of cookies.
Wycke exchanged a look with his sister. Nyanda likely wouldn’t have managed such a feat even at her most powerful. Had she somehow done something to increase her son’s magical potential?
Potential buried until connecting with Wycke’s compatible magic. Or maybe, because Piers never used much magic before, doing so now drew on accumulated interest, similar to money at a human bank.
Piers and Wycke bonding amplified both of their powers. How connected were they?
Damn, Wycke needed something to drink.
Piers nudged him with a water bottle, moisture clinging to the side. Wycke’s stomach, now free of nausea, rumbled. Oh, for a nice slab of seared meat and…
“What the fuck?” Piers stared at his hands, one holding a water bottle, the other holding a plate. The scent of sizzling steak wafted through the air.
“Interesting,” Chynne said. “Piers. You didn’t want these things?”
“No, I…”
“But I did,” Wycke supplied.
“And because the two of you are joined, Piers felt duty-bound to see to your needs, even unspoken. Very interesting indeed.” Chynne stroked his chin with a paw.
Wycke grabbed the plate, conjuring utensils since he’d not thought to want those too. “Eeeek!” He threw down the pitchfork he’d gotten by mistake.
