Heart's Price (MxM)

Chapter 37

Morning arrives at last, but it brings little to improve my mood. I'd lain awake for hours, listening to Ambrose breathe and mumble my name in his sleep, until I'd finally dropped into an uneasy slumber near dawn. Now, I wake to find myself alone, the only sign of my mate a brief note on a square of paper resting on the pillow beside my head.

Have to go to work ~ love you.

Beneath the words is a little drawing of a rose.

In my dazed state, I stare at it for a full five minutes, unable to pinpoint why it's making me so mad. Then I remember.

Thom.

I'd told Ambrose I wanted him to know everything—that I was ready for him to know everything—and he hadn't given me the chance.

Rationally, I know it's not his fault. Last night he'd had his horrible family to deal with, and then me and my stories of figures in white and whispers in the dark (which, in the broad light of day seem admittedly less alarming than they had), and now—as weirdly mundane as it was—he'd had to go to work.

In the midst of dealing with dragons and thieves and semi-immortal psychopaths, it was easy to forget that Ambrose had a day job.

As did I, and if I didn't get my act together soon I'd be late for it.

"Come on, Dougal," I say, standing with a sigh and tossing the note on the side table. "Rise and shine."

He'd been watching me from his dog bed, head resting on his paws, floppy ears half-perked, and tail thumping with barely contained energy. At my words, he leaps up, shakes himself, and runs towards me with his usual convulsive happiness, and I can't help smiling at his innocent enthusiasm to greet the day.

Throwing on some clothes, I head downstairs, Dougal leading the way, and let him outside to take care of his morning 'business.' On the way, I take in the fact that the house no longer feels like a refuge to me, and that our guests have made themselves at home.

Brutus is in the library, shouting at the top of lungs on what sounds like a business call, Aileen has turned my breakfast nook into an art studio, and Mathilda's staff have taken over the kitchen. Mathilda herself, the cook informs me, is still in bed, which is where it is 'her custom to take breakfast' every day.

Even the sitting room is occupied—August ensconced in Ambrose's large, wing-backed chair.

He's not doing anything, and he hasn't rearranged or messed with the furniture, at least. He's just...there.

Grabbing a slice of toast from what appears to be a breakfast buffet, I head outside, thinking that the garden, at least, will be my own.

I'm disappointed in this, too, finding Penelope leaning over a rosebush, dressed in a long, wispy nightgown. To my alarm, Dougal sits next to her, a stick in his mouth, obviously hoping for a game of fetch. Fortunately, Penelope is too entranced by whatever she's looking at to have noticed him.

She looks up as I approach, though, and beckons me over with her pale eyes shining with delight.

"Oh, Noah! Come see, come see! Oh, please come see! No one ever wants to see the things I find."

I wonder why, I think to myself, but offer her a cautious smile and pretend a look of interest.

"Blossoms?" I ask hopefully, though I know it's too late in the year.

"No—much better. Look!"

She points and I lean in beside her, at first seeing nothing unusual among the dark green leaves and the remnants of old blooms.