Page 24 of Delinquent Dette
But what was a few more?
Sten stalked through the house and stared at the counter, counting jars of herbs and things that Frikka had used to keep his heats at bay. He’d taken them again, and there’d be no clutch come fall for them. But perhaps it was best they not make more. They’d had so much tragedy already.
When his phone rang, he snapped out of his thought and answered without checking the number. “Hallo?”
“Sten. It’s Tyler, Leo’s brother.” The shifter-raised Dette had never called him before, but he humored the boy with a noise of acknowledgement. Despite his attention being on Frikka, he listened. The Dette’s adoptive brother sought the affection of a Dette.
“Not without a fortune. A Dette must be courted—” but Sten only gave Frikka mating coins after their first clutch. And they too were about as mismatched as a coyote and a Dette ever could be. “But to honor Frikka… Tell me more.”
Together, they hatched a plan, to grow the alpha’s fortune, to expand his consulting and construction firm. But Sten had a small fortune to invest. He sat on too much money and spent little. What was a few million for his Dette? He had Hallr’s luck of turning one gold into five. “Tell your brother I’ll make a Drake of him yet. I’ll boost him to silver if he builds me a home worthy of Frikka.”
And that was all it took. Sten did not have knowledge of the future, but the moment he said those words into the phone, his Dette glanced up from his sunning spot, one eye open and shining blue like pale sapphires.
“You’d really do that?” Tyler couldn’t hold back his joy.
“Yes. And I’ll teach him how to build a nest worthy of his Dette.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sten
One year later
Frikka walked the halls of their new estate. It was very different from any home they’d ever owned. There was brick and cobblestone, elements of his homeland that he dearly missed. There were also new elements, and more steel in the frame than was necessary. Enough so that no termite would ever find home in anything but their furniture. In his eyes was pride—pride in his Drake, pride in his new life.
“You have always had a way with coin, bastard.” Frikka swayed his hips a little when he walked, drawing Sten after him like the pied piper to the rat he truly was.
“I do, that’s why I didn’t spend any of mine on this.” Sten grinned as Frikka wheeled on his ankle, frowning.
“And you took Hallr’s money? I didn’t realize you were poor these days. You should have told me. We can liquidate some of my—” Frikka halted when Sten held up his hand.
“The house is yours, in your name alone. Every paper, every bill, every item.” Mostly true. The bills drew from Sten’s accounts, but the house? The investment in Ansel Construction? Every penny came from Frikka’s blood hoard.
“This is quite a gift, better than a coin, I will admit.” The joy seemed to flicker from Frikka’s eyes as Sten guided him out the back door.
“Not a gift. I’m going to tell you what I did before I give you your true gift. You may hate me, but it needed to be done.” Sten swallowed hard. “I invested your hoard. I liquidated it. Every gold piece in there was a reminder you needed to be parted of. Every blood-stained trinket a reminder. I grew something great of it for you. Something you’ll never be able to see the blood on.And from those spoils, this house was built. So, instead of a gold coin, which means nothing to you, I ask you if you still like your home?”
Frikka froze in place, eyes wide and mouth open. Several emotions passed—rage, angst, profound sadness, and it all settled into confusion. “So, it is my home, really?”
“You don’t need a Drake to care for you. Never have, never will. I won’t give you another coin or pester you again. This home is yours, and I am merely a fixture here, and I promise never to leave again. You will not be my port wife, waiting for me to come from the raids or trade.” Sten drew Frikka to his chest and leaned down to kiss him. “How is that?”
Frikka returned the kiss, the gesture soft and sweet. No more fear, as if hundreds of years of threat went away in a breath. “It’s wonderful.”
“But I do have something greater than a coin.” Sten walked Frikka through the house, toward a set of doors that led into the back gardens. A roundabout walkway with a fountain on it had been built with a plinth that had, until recently, been bare. Now stood the feet of a statue, broken off at the knees. Chunks of it lay precariously and purposefully placed in the rippling water. But there was too much rubble to be one statue alone. A bust of another male lay at the bottom of the water, staring up with empty eyes. Jarl Fjallarr, a man Frikka had once calledfather.
Frikka approached with a cautious step and stared into the tepid surface, each step he took nearer to the thing filled with more trepidation than the last. “What is this?”
“A Drake who thought himself king and a fool.” Sten put his hands in his pockets as Frikka looked back at him, confusion twisting his face.
“Who? And why is my father’s head inside our fountain?”
Sten rocked on his heels. “Aodh Loch’s trial finished a few days ago.”
Frikka had kept up with it diligently, but hadn’t said a word. His testimony was sent in via a letter, one he spent hours alone writing and had not permitted Sten to read.
“His fortune is being split among many Dettes he wronged. His estate was being auctioned off and the new owner didn’t want the gaudy addition. I fear it didn’t survive transit.” Sten smirked.
“And where is the statue’s head?” The flicker of fear in Frikka’s eyes made Sten proud.
