Page 30 of Hexes & Heartstrings (Shifters of Bastion Keep #2)

The day before his scheduled procedure, Sergiy was browsing through an upscale clothing store, fingering different garments to check their material.

"What about this one?" he asked, pulling out a silken long-sleeved shirt.

"It looks like something you would wear," his dad said affably, lowering his muzzle down to sniff at the cloth. "Not so much your orc mate."

Sergiy frowned, then put it back as he continued his search, trying to find something nice to buy for Bruin.

He'd gotten his measurements when he'd bought him the one outfit, and had even memorized the adjustments the tailor had made to accomodate Bruin's orcish stature—thick neck, more rounded shoulders, and a roomier derriere despite an average waist.

"He'd cut a striking figure, though," Sergiy said, imagining dancing with him in it.

"With his broad jaw and green coloring, I do not disagree, little pup. But you already got him that one nice outfit that's more his style. Come along."

As his dad headed out of the store, Sergiy gave a last longing look at the rows of fine shirts styled in the Free Glades fashion with right-sided buttons and split sides.

"Trust your papa," Zell said to him as he caught up. "With as much of a fuss as your mate made last time, he will not appreciate a surprise outfit as much as you are hoping, I do not think."

Stopping outside the store, Sergiy looked around at the boutiques that lined the pedestrian-only road, seeing if anything caught his eye.

"Then what do you suggest?"

"He's your mate," his dad yipped, scanning the street and ignoring the rare stare; less his being a practically nude werewolf in the city, and probably more the Usenko insignia on his collar that indicated he was from the well-known Bastion Keep. "Just think about what would make him happy."

"He likes gardening."

"He does, but you already took him shopping for tools for his birthday, didn't you?"

"I did," he agreed. "Though apparently telling Bruin that he can buy whatever he wants from the gardening section means he'll just grab a twenty dollar trowel and a few bags of soil and be done.

I spoke with Russ afterwards, and apparently what made him happiest was just that the three of us spent time together. "

"Time is a more expensive commodity than money for an Usenko warlord," his dad said sagely, patting him on his chest. "Come on, Ser-bear, if you want to give him a gift, you must think harder. What do you know about him?"

"I know he's a pain in the tail to shop for," Sergiy muttered. "Okay. He doesn't like expensive gifts, or money being spent on anything frivolous that doesn't have a real purpose. It just wasn't how he was raised."

"Good, that narrows it down. Have you considered getting him something personal?"

"I actually have a painting series in the works for him, but there are surely some other things he needs.

I've seen everything that he owns, and apart from his witch's supplies, most everything looks like he picked it up from a donation bin, or a dumpster.

Like his shoes! How was he expecting to do the mountain anchor walks with holes in both the toes and the heels? "

His dad held a footpaw up, wiggling it while he gave him a cheeky grin, and Sergiy groaned.

"Bruin's not a shifter, though, and as much as he loves going around barefooted, it wouldn't do for the snowy peaks. Oh!"

"Thought of something?"

"Yes, I know what to get him that he can't object to. Probably."

Sergiy looked around, trying to remember where he'd seen the store, then backtracked the way they'd come, his dad plodding along behind.

It was another clothing store, but this one specialized in accessories.

After exploring its stock and conferring with his dad, his morning of searching finally culminated in a collection of gifts; a long brown scarf, a pair of gloves, and a hat with ear flaps.

Winter things for the witch that spends a lot of time outdoors, and hadn't yet experienced the cold mountain temperatures.

"Cashmere is a good choice," his dad said approvingly, then held his hand out to take the shopping bag, adding it to the other one that he was carrying for Sergiy with its large blanket for Russ.

"It is warmer and longer-lasting than wool, which you can bring up if he complains about the expense.

But for now, it is back to the hotel. You are smelling strained again, pup. "

Sergiy nodded. His back was feeling tense, and he had an overall body ache thanks to three days of pokes, prods, and diagnostic testing, all in preparation for tomorrow's procedure.

The one bit of good news was the confirmation that he wouldn't need to go under the knife again; sometimes his wing bones would demonstrate renewed growth and have to be shaved back down, but it was getting to be a rarer occurrence as the years passed.

As physically uncomfortable as it was to stand still while they waited for Rolf to pick them up from the nearby transit point, it felt worse knowing that their hotel was only a few minutes' flight away.

If only Sergiy could trust that his wings would last.

He and his dad had timed the end of their shopping well, and after Sergiy insisted that he'd be fine, the three of them went to a nearby hibachi restaurant for lunch, and for dessert, a patisserie to get a delicate trifle that was airy and succulent.

Then it was a half-hour rest in the hotel, before going back to the clinic for final check-ups and paperwork, confirming the next day's procedure. At three o'clock, Sergiy gratefully laid himself down on his hotel bed.

"We'll be back in time for dinner, little one," his dad told him, leaning down to plant a kiss on the top of his head. "It is time for your papa to do his own present shopping."

"By which my wonderful yet sneaky bat'ko means he intends to spend a couple of hours in that kitchen store we saw earlier, right?"

He heard his dad howl, pleased. "Yes, that is a necessary part of the present! I will be making my Gregory and Galina a most wonderful dessert when we return, and I am wanting to see if there is anything to help with spinning sugar decorations."

"Ha, alright. You and Rolf have fun, I'll probably just rest."

His dad gave him a last pat on his back, and then closed the blackout curtains and shut off all the lights before leaving.

Sergiy had planned on napping, but after twenty minutes of being unable to get comfortable, he sat up on the edge of the bed. Reaching to the bedside table, he grabbed a small pouch.

It was Bruin's charm bag, with three of his crystals within it, carefully chosen just for him. His mate had topped off their energies when he'd left on Wednesday morning, but he knew that they'd already expended even their renewed charge. Despite that, holding it was still a comfort.

How had he been lucky enough to be blessed with not one, but two mates who were kind and considerate? Is this how his mom felt, having Greg and Zell? Two loving husbands, easing the burdens of being a warlord?

Some warlord he was, though, laid up simply because his damned body didn't work right.

He grunted, carefully setting the pouch back on the table before standing to his feet. He approached the middle of the room and shifted into his weredrake form with ease, then summoned forth his wings with something that resembled very much the opposite of that.

Sluggishly they appeared, casting their cool green light into the dark room. Sergiy brought them forward in front of himself, then ran a hand through their ephemeral forms.

They had a draconic design that matched his species, but were vague and blurry when compared to his actual scaled arm. His prostheses spent their energy more on function, on granting him his birthright ability to fly, than on anything silly like appearance, or normalcy.

The things flickered, sensing his agitation, which made him more agitated. Taking a deep breath, he flexed his shoulders, trying to keep them stable.

These wings let him do his job, so it hadn't even really been a choice. What had been the other option? Being a wingless drake with just some knotted knobs of bone and muscle where his limbs should have been? Entirely grounded, unable to provide air support when there was conflict?

No, it had been the right decision. Bastion Keep had almost always had a drake shifter as their warlord, and not to blow his own horn, but just between the dark room and himself, he felt he could admit that he did a pretty damn good job.

He fought well, he led well, and he trained others well. A model Usenko warlord.

A model warlord, except for these stupid, broken wings.

Snarling, he began pacing. He should be back home right now! He should be leading the packs, should be defending the keep, should be hunting for Kerry Wintersbane, should be enjoying time with his fucking boyfriends, but instead he was here, he was…

Sergiy tensed, his tail tip slapping the ground, and then slammed his wings repeatedly into the wall; left, right, left, right, then both together.

Nothing, of course. Just some wind, just some counter rocking motion as his efforts moved his own body. The wings weren't real, just a trick of ink and light and magic.

He wanted to scream at them.

He wanted to cry.

But no. He was a model warlord, so no.

Dismissing his wings, Sergiy laid himself back down on the bed, waiting for tomorrow when the damn things could be made whole again.

◆◆◆

"Lord Sergiy Usenko?"

"Yes, that's me." Standing up from his seat, he followed the medical assistant down a familiar wide hallway.

After a preliminary review by a nurse, Sergiy changed into a white toga and was escorted into an inner area of the clinic. The room was built to accommodate larger myths, with each counter and table able to be adjusted to the best height for both patient and doctor.