Page 6 of Delinquent Dette
The royalwe, the Nielsen Drakes that came with him.
“No, but I do not trust those French zealots.”
“They don’t even like Dettes!” Sten hissed out a low breath before snatching Frikka from the stair rail and slotting him over his shoulder as easily as a sack of grain.
“Put me down, Drake!”
“If you really cared about that Dette, you’d have attempted to free them, not caused property damage.” Sten stomped through the house, out the door, and down the house’s front lane. The Dior estate, a quick jaunt down the lane, still scented of smoke.
“Five versus one. I know my odds against that many Drakes.” Frikka wriggled and thrashed over Sten’s shoulder. “And the Dette is aBhaldraithe.”
He hated when Dettes got sold like property, but not enough to do anything for a Bhaldraithe.
Sten halted mid-step and took a hissing breath. “Dette. I will take you. You will listen to the Dette and to the Drakes. You will apologize, and then I will fuck you. Because it is spring, I can very well blame your heat coming on.”
“How dare you?”
“I dare! Like this!” Sten flung a hand around and slapped Frikka’s ass with a stinging clap.
“Bastard!” Frikka cried out and wrestled harder, but Sten didn’t relent, just marched toward the estate.
“I am! And we have five little bastards we’re raising who need a better example than this, Dette! If Freya didn’t love you so much, I’d not tolerate half your behavior!” Sten, breaking out the gods, settled Frikka down like a safe word. He meant what he said.
“And I mean to cause them enough damage to regret crossing a Dette! And the fucking Nidhogg in there knows better.” Frikka settled down, crossing his arms. He could still pout, at least.
“Colborn was gracious and invited you over to explain. I’m not angry with him or their den. I’m embarrassed for you.” Sten stomped, quieting Frikka until they reached the scrollwork gates of the estate, across an elaborate cobblestone carriage park, and up carved steps to an elaborately oiled door. There, Sten pulled the rope for their bell.
It wasn’t a servant that answered the door but rather an anxious and stooped Drake, eyes a watery brown with hints of Dior gold and hair a pretty sort of auburn. “Oh, Sten. Come in. And your mate.”
“Not my mate!” Frikka huffed as Sten walked in with him.
“Not his mate, the Drake unfortunate enough to be tasked with corralling him.” Sten slid Frikka to the floor and glared.
“Apologies. I told you, Sten, it is not necessary. The damage is being repaired. Dettes can get testy this time of year.” He held up his hands and stepped back as Frikka glared.
“You are kind, Gaspard, but Frikka needs to hear from you and your den why you have this Bhaldraithe Dette locked up here.” Sten slapped Frikka on the back.
“Oh. Um.” Gaspard, who Frikka had been told was a physician, stepped back and cleared his throat, eyes flicking from him to Sten. “Well, for one, he’s not really a Bhaldraithe. He’s a Loch born from a Bhaldraithe Drake. For another, he’s here on a contract—so you’re correct that we’re bending some rules.”
Anger boiled in Frikka’s belly. Bhaldraithe kin or no, they were holding the Dette against his will for his heat. To use him.
Sten halted his anger and grabbed Frikka’s collar. “Dette! Listen.”
“Do I have to explain?” Gaspard gave Sten a pitiable look.
Sten nodded once.
“We bought their contract for a few years, very cheap to keep them from being given to the Lochs. We were owed a debt and settled it that way. And we do not want a Dette. Not him, at any rate.” Gaspard cleared his throat. “My mates are of the opinion that I am enoughDettefor them.”
Frikka’s stomach knotted. He’d known the den were fully vested in one another, but mates without a Dette? And a Drake who wanted to be a Dette.
Frikka’s face must have been sour, because Gaspard straightened up, steeling his chin. “And by virtue of having a—aknot, I have escaped that dreadful life. We are protecting Cairn. He will live out a contract here and have his heats in quiet while we visit social circles securing his freedom andhopefullyfinding him a mate.”
Sayingknotmade Gaspard’s cheeks flame red.
“See, now let’s go see this captive Dette they have.” Sten gestured for Gaspard to lead the way and walked obediently at his side. Chastened.
“Cairn, dear. The whelps’ paters are here. Sten and Frikka, recall I told you?” Gaspard led them into a solarium with beautiful leaded-glass windows. And in the sill was a prim little Dette, hair a shock of Irish red and face well-freckled. Despite his beauty, the tilt of his body and certain features showed a very broken Dette. A withered arm cradled at his side and a scar marked his forehead into his scalp line, healing his brows crooked. At his feet was Hallr, the youngling sitting with a book on herbs, talking about all the flowers he’d seen.
