Dior woke and spent a moment enjoying having all four of his mates in the nest. It was a crowded nest, admittedly, he thought with amusement. Something that they would need to rectify soon. It was pleasant, however, how the rounded sides scooped all his mates in together, creating a warm jumble of limbs and touselled hair in a beautiful array of shades, from Blaise’s white-blonde through to Etienne and Charon’s dark curls.
Gargoyle artwork, he thought smugly, well sated mates in their skin. Etienne and Charon were cupped together to one side of him, and Blaise and Verity to the other side. Etienne’s eyes opened and he slid his hand up Dior’s chest, tweaking his nipple, raising an eyebrow in invitation.
“Roll over then, mon griffon,” Dior rumbled and gathered the griffin gargoyle to him, and Etienne arched back as the lion stroked hand down his chest, over stomach, to close around him.
The griffin hardened immediately on a moan. “I love to feel your hands on me,” he said softly.
“I love to hand my hands on you,” Dior pressed his lips against the other man’s throat and jaw. He felt a little hand stroke over his stomach and close over him, and he groaned, his eyes fluttering close under the soft touches as Verity reached over him.
Charon’s eyes opened and he smiled, inverting himself so that his mouth was on level with Etienne’s c-ck and Dior released his hold on the griffin as Charon’s lips sealed around him. Etienne, his eyes closed enjoying Dior’s stroking, gasped in surprise and then laugh, leaning forward in order to reciprocate and take Charon into his mouth.
Dior turned to face Verity and lifted her chin so that he could kiss her, stroking his big hands down her little body, cupping breast, stroking over the swell of her stomach, until his touch made her moan into his mouth. He felt Blaise’s hand stroke between his chest and Verity’s and cup her breast.
“Share?” Blaise asked.
“Non, take me, my goat, as I take her.”
Blaise grinned. “Even better.”
Dior waited until Verity’s nails scored his back before rocking her onto her back and stroking into her wet heat with a moan of pleasure. He kissed her, stroking his tongue against hers, and felt her tangle her fingers into his hair. Blaise watched, his hand on himself, waiting until taking the lion would cause a prostrate orgasm, knowing that was what Dior sought.
Verity lifted into Dior’s strokes. “Oh,” she threw her head back.
“Good?” Dior asked watching her expression. “Does it feel good, mon chou, to feel your mates in your body?”
“Yes, so good,” her reply was breathless. She liked it when they talked dirty to her, Dior thought with a smug smile, when they pushed her boundaries beyond the edge of comfort, thrusted just a little too hard, or took her sweet throat a little too deep.
“I could let Blaise take your arse,” he said. “But I would prefer to shoot my seed hard and deep.”
“Oh god,” she was on the edge of orgasm, and he grinned as he spread his knees wider for Blaise to position himself.
“You like it when we come hard into you,” he nuzzled under her chin, tasting the pressure point below her chin and feeling the slick heat of her increase as his balls tightened in preparation for his orgasm.
He could hear the muffled groans of Charon and Etienne, and the press of someone’s skin against his calf, and roared out his release as Verity tipped over, clutching around him and Blaise stroked into him, the weight of the goat against his back driving his pubic bone against Verity, and he ground against her, extending her orgasm as Blaise’s strokes pushed him through his last throes.
Verity caught Dior’s face between her hands and kissed him, breathless and gasping, but with tenderness. “I love you,” she told him. “All of my mates.”
Dior groaned as Blaise came, and the goat sagged over his back.
“We all love you too, Verity,” Blaise’s breath was hot against Dior’s back as he panted out the words. “It is good to have so many mates,” he added. “There is always someone to f-k.”
“A different way for every mood,” Etienne agreed.
Dior took his clothes to the other bedrooms of the apartment to shower and had just finished shampooing his hair when the door opened, and Charon entered, setting his towel and clothing down on the vanity.
“Can I join?” He asked.
“Of course, mon pigeon, you do not need to ask,” Dior moved to make room for him to join him beneath the spray, enjoying the slide of the other man’s wet skin against his. He tilted Charon’s head back into the spray and ran his fingers through the curls to wet them before taking out the shampoo and rubbing it into his scalp.
“I may not have much time,” Charon said hesitantly. “When the portal opens to say goodbye properly.”
“Not goodbye, mon pigeon, au revoir,” Dior stroked soap over Charon’s chest and stomach. “It means we will see you again.”
“Au revoir,” Charon repeated taking the soap and returning the favour, washing Dior’s skin. “I should be back by evening.”
“Much will happen quickly soon,” Dior savoured the feel of his mate’s hands on his skin. “But as long as we all look after each other, we will see the end of another war, and will be able to focus on raising our cubs.”
“That would be…” Charon sighed. “My family has never known life without the pressure of the games, the absence of the player, the fear for them. I look forward to offering them a life free of all that.”
Dior gripped his shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. “We look forward to your return with them, my mate.” He shut off the water.
“Be safe, too, Dior,” Charon said as he dried himself. “I know that whilst I will be going through the portal, you, Blaise and Etienne will be fighting, and I will not know…” He swallowed heavily and shook his head, dropping his eyes to the ground as he pulled on his borrow trousers, hiding his emotion.
“We will be fine,” Dior told him. “Stone heads, stone bodies and stone hearts, remember?”
Charon looked up and grinned. “Cael calls you stone heart,” he said.
“I think he means it as a cheeky insult,” it did not bother Dior, he knew that in his own way, the vampire hybrid was fond of the gargoyles. “But I regard it as a compliment. This stone heart can love fiercely, all my mates, and I cannot ask for more than that.”
As if summoned by their mention of his name, the vampire hybrid landed on their balcony as they finished their breakfast. Dior saw Etienne exchange a look with Blaise, neither gargoyle happy with the plan to let Cael and Charon go alone.
“Elior wants to speak with you Dior, about the gargoyles, and I am here to keep my dear friend company in case a portal opens,” he slid onto the seat beside Charon, and looked at the plate before him with interest. “I haven’t eaten food for ages,” he confessed. “I don’t miss it, strangely enough.”
“Is it true that vampires do not need to shit?” Blaise was intrigued.
“Not unless they eat and drink food,” Cael replied. “The blood absorbs different and does not produce a waste product. But food goes straight through.”
“Why do vampires eat then?” Verity hung off every word with fascination.
“Mostly nostalgia,” Cael replied. “Habit. Even now, I feel like I should reach out and eat something off this plate, but I am full,” his grin was wicked. “I just ate a tasty Eliod Nephilim young man captured in the last portal to replace,” his eyes slid to Charon. “You were very tasty,” he added and sniffed at the other winged man. “Still would be.”
“No eating my mates,” Dior reprimanded sternly.
“I am full, anyway. That is the one shame,” Cael stood and stretched decadently, capturing the attention of everyone in the room as his top rode up. Dior met Etienne’s eyes, the griffin grinning. The vampire hybrid was very edible himself, Dior thought. If there was ever a temptation to f-k outside their mates, he and Etienne had agreed the blonde man would be on the top of their list.
“Verity, Etienne and I will continue to help the city,” Blaise said as he collected the dishes.
“I have to go to the donation center first,” Verity reminded him. “The vampires need my blood.”
“Of course,” Etienne leapt on it. “I will take Verity to donate whilst Blaise does the dishes.”
“No fair I cooked,” Blaise pouted but tied on his apron anyway.
Verity paused by Charon, taking his hand in hers, her green eyes luminous. “Charon…”
He cupped her cheek with his other hand. “I will be back by bedtime.”
“Be safe,” she stood on tiptoe and kissed him, before stepping back to let Etienne do the same, the griffin taking the winged man’s face between his hands and lingering with his kiss before withdrawing, shifting into his gargoyle form and scooping Verity into his arms before leaping into the air.
“Don’t worry,” Cael said to Dior. “It won’t be my first return home. I am quite good at sneaking in and out.”
“Take care,” Dior ran his fingers through Charon’s hair and kissed him. “I hope I see you before a portal opens, but in case…”
Charon hugged him tightly, pressing his face into Dior’s chest and breathing in. “We will be back by night.”
“If the portal opens today, and if it opens at a reasonable hour,” Cael added, laying himself out onto the couch. “And in the meantime, we wait,” he yawned.
Dior shifted into gargoyle and flew across to Elior’s building. The door to Elior’s apartment stood open, and the guards gestured for him to enter. He ducked as he passed through the doorway.
Elior and Ashlynn stood against the window, their arms around each other. The vampires released their embrace as Dior entered. “I am sorry to interrupt,” Dior apologized.
“No, it is fine,” Elior gestured for him to take a seat. “Just… nerves. You understand, of course.”
“I do,” Dior sighed. “It is not easy to know that they will head into danger the moment a portal opens in the sky.”
“They will be fine,” Ashlynn sat on the arm of Elior’s chair and leaned against his shoulder. “Cael has been home many times since his exile.” For all her brave words, her eyes were worried, Dior thought.
“Thank you for coming, anyway, Dior,” Elior took Ashlynn’s hand in his. “Have you managed to pass the instructions to the other gargoyle triads?”
“Yes,” Dior knew that the vampire was intrigued as to how. The gargoyles had their own magic, and their own means of communicating across distances, but they guarded their secrets carefully. “They understand and are prepared. The two other triads in close range to the city are on their way here.”
“Wonderful,” Elior relaxed. “Alatar and Rune have gone to Alatar’s shop to prepare spell pouches for you and to open portals to transport the werewolves’ witches and warlocks back to the city, and Theo and the coven are also working on the larger, more disruptive spells.”
“And the food for the city?” Dior asked.
“Distributed this morning,” Elior assured him. “So, the portal today, the aim is not to kill but to capture?”
“Understood.”
“If we hold them for twenty-four hours, they cannot leave,” Ashlynn was smug.
“Have you the facility to hold so many?” Dior wondered.
“We can handle a few hundred,” Elior replied. “We will transport the more reasonable amongst them out to Raiden until we can return them…” His eyes were caught by a change of light, and all three turned to look out the window.
“And there it is,” Ashlynn murmured rising to her feet. “Time to fight, Dior.”