The Cambion's Hoard

Henson’s father walked around the kitchen, picking up things. He was very much the house-husband he claimed to be. Though for a Fae, he wasn’t dainty as most. Hen’s mother was outside working on a sculpture, that woman could sculpt. She chipped away at the stone as quickly as I blew smoke. Hen had inherited his father’s looks and smarts and mother’s strength and horns.

Hen looked at me and grinned. He was finally relaxed after the first few weeks of Thatcher breaking up with him. Thatch wouldn’t even give me a real explanation. The main thing about it was I couldn’t comfort them both. It was one or the other. If Hen hadn’t insisted, he have us both, it wouldn’t have been like this. I could have stopped it, but I’d never seen Thatch so happy.

Now, now he looks like he’s in pain every day. He doesn’t smile. He mopes around the house and looks sad. Henson still had me to help him heal. Thatcher didn’t have anyone. Rose, maybe, but he wasn’t going to get her. We were. Henson wanted her desperately. Then again, the need to fuck her, screaming and writhing in pleasure, wasn’t far from my thoughts. I would watch as Hen plowed into her ample cunt, and I would knot her after. It would give us both an excellent chance to get her pregnant.

Pregnant? Where the fuck had that come from?

Twwhack!

I nearly jumped out of my skin. “The fuck?”

Hen glared at me. “My dad told us your mom is on her way over.”

“No, I said. She pulled up. So why don’t you go get her, Henson.” Drave threw his rag down. He gave his son the very same glare I’d received.

I took a deep breath, rolled my neck, closed my eyes, and gritted my teeth. I didn’t like being surprised by my mother. She had her favorite, and she made it very clear whether she realized it or not.

“Oh. Where is Thatch? I brought him some new shirts.” So, there it was, always in the open for me to see.

Her second hatchling. Her weaker second baby. I’d hatched first. The yolk had sustained me better. I was stronger. My scales were brighter. My smoke darker. Thatcher was a shadow of what I was. He was a paler copy.

“He’s not welcome here, mom.” I spun my glass around.

She sat the bag of clothes down. She crossed her arms over her chest, and smoke seeped from her nose in thin whisps. Let her be pissed. She could see him sometime else. “Why?”

“He dumped me. Not sure why because the sex had been excellent there for a while. Then he went limp.” Hen shrugged his shoulders.

My mother frowned. “Was this extremely sudden?”

“Yeah, over 3 weeks.” Henson gave her a sideways look.

“Did anything change during that time?” She pulled out her chair and sat down.

“We got a new roommate.” I fingered my glass again.

She nodded, clicked her tongue, and abruptly turned to Drave. “Did I tell you Kelley is back in town?”

My eyes narrowed on her. She knew why. This was her tactic, changing the subject when she knew something. And she knew I wouldn’t be able to focus on it if I knew Kelley was around.

“What is that dick doing back?” I couldn’t help but bite.

“Oh, his annual attempt to see his sons, that’s all. When he rejected me, he rejected you. That’s how it works. Your mate rejects you. They reject your children.”

I nodded my head. She was right. If I was ever lucky enough to get a mate, she’d never be able to reject me. I’d have Henson to help keep her warm. Our biggest hope, my biggest hope was our mate...was Rose.