Rhyme of Longing

By Emily Carrington

Gilbert Sullivan hates his name, but refuses to go by Gil because of a rhyme he fears is a prophecy. When he meets Jack Sowerby, the new head of SearchLight, he’s terrified the rhyme will come true and he’ll lose his place as Crown Prince of the basilisks, but his attraction to Jack won’t let him stay away.

Jack, born human, is, above all things, practical. Still, when he meets Prince Gilbert, his need for the prince blossoms and he’s unable to resist -- at least until he’s forcibly changed into a magical creature. He’s terrified of the new world he’s entering. When Gilbert tries to fight the rhyme, will their shattered relationship ever be restored?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Feb 10, 2023

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Rhyme of Longing (Jack & Gil 1)

A Searchlight Paranormal Romance

Emily Carrington

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2023 Emily Carrington

BIN: 010678-03471

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Publisher:

Changeling Press LLC

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Martinsburg, WV 25404

www.ChangelingPress.com

Editor: Crystal Esau

Cover Artist: Angela Knight

Adult Sexual Content

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Table of Contents

Rhyme of Longing (Jack & Gil 1)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Emily Carrington

Rhyme of Longing (Jack & Gil 1)

A Searchlight Paranormal Romance

Emily Carrington

Gilbert Sullivan hates his name, but refuses to go by Gil because of a rhyme he fears is a prophecy. When he meets Jack Sowerby, the new head of SearchLight, he’s terrified the rhyme will come true and he’ll lose his place as Crown Prince of the basilisks, but his attraction to Jack won’t let him stay away.

Jack, born human, is, above all things, practical. Still, when he meets Prince Gilbert, his need for the prince blossoms and he’s unable to resist -- at least until he’s forcibly changed into a magical creature. He’s terrified of the new world he’s entering. When Gilbert tries to fight the rhyme, will their shattered relationship ever be restored?

Chapter One

Gilbert Sullivan hated his full name. It had been bestowed on him, as often happens, by parents who didn’t realize what fresh hell to which they’d doomed their child. The reference to the talented light opera writers was a source of amusement for others rather than pride for him. And almost a hundred years into his life, he was still occasionally irritated.

Like today, although he realized his annoyance was only a screen for his true feelings of dread. This morning, he’d run out of excuses and needed to face his murderess sibling.

Jackie Sullivan had gotten off easy. Her namesake was a song, not a famous duo. Named for the song Jackie Munroe, her only trouble with her name had always been that no one knew, upon first hearing the nomenclature, if she was male or female. That had changed with the twenty-first century as Jackie became an accepted form of Jacqueline. No confusion about gender then.

And, yes, he was definitely obsessing about names because he didn’t want to think about what, exactly, his older sister had done. From kidnapping a human SearchLight agent to forcing dragons and werewolves together sexually, she had violated every basilisk tenet, especially when it came to the royal family. And she’d broken her parents’ hearts. Or so the king and queen of the basilisks told Gilbert over and over again.

It was partially to please his parents that he’d come up to Jackie’s tower room. He found the usual guard outside the room and nodded to the female basilisk who was older than him by several decades.

Prince Gilbert, she said in the sibilant tongue of their ancestors. Well, and of their present-day counterparts. Gilbert just didn’t spend a lot of time outside the palace talking in anything other than a human language. He spoke the Romance tongues, Cantonese, Mandarin, and Afrikaans, which was a Germanic language. This helped him tremendously as he dealt with magical beings all over the world. As his parents’ go-to for negotiations, he’d found learning a number of different ways to say hello was more helpful than, say, spending numerous hours prattling on in Werewelsh. If he wasn’t going to seem rude, he really needed to drag his mind out of minor annoyances. Cassie hadn’t even addressed him in the werewolves’ native tongue!

Forgive me, Cassie Westerfeld, he said as he bowed slightly. My thoughts are wandering.

You don’t want to see her, she said, her tone not quite a question.

He sighed. Can she hear me?

No, my Lordship, Cassie answered. The door is soundproof. She raised an eyebrow. As you well know. And I am guarding her mind so no psychic communication passes to her from the outside.

He nodded and bowed again. Forgive me. I am disturbed by the atrocities she has committed.

Cassie made a sympathetic sound. As are we all, Your Lordship.

Steeling himself for the sight of his sister confined like an animal, Gilbert said, Please let me in.

The room was bathed in brilliant sunlight from three high windows. The walls were unscalable. And many plants decorated the places touched by the sun. In a few more shadowy corners grew plants that didn’t need as much light. There was a bed, a chamber pot, which, Gilbert was happy to see, was clean, a bed, a desk, and an assortment of musical instruments. His Jackie had always been talented with her fingers and music had ever soothed her when she couldn’t sleep.

Which was often in the last ten years or more. Gilbert had gotten rather adept at playing himself because he worshipped his sister. Or had. Until he’d found out what she was about.

In her defense, she had only wanted what they all wanted: for the basilisk race to survive. But her methods…

Squaring his shoulders mentally, Gilbert took in his sister’s appearance. She sat cross-legged on the bed with her back to him. She was, he saw, painting something on canvas. All art, pottery, music, photography, dance, and many other expressive arts, bowed to her will. Like him, she was elegant in her poise and the tilt of her head. Unlike his black and kinky hair, hers was dark brown. As was their mother’s. He didn’t truly resemble either of their parents so closely, and she’d teased him about being the foundling when they were younger. Now, watching her ignore him, his heart cried out for the big sister he’d once known. And still loved.

You can stop staring, Gil, she said without turning. I know it’s you. I figured you’d be asked to play negotiator with me, too.

He tested the psychic space around him to detect if she’d known him by his mental fingerprint. But the room was dead of all psychic sendings. What made you think it was me?

Your smell. Your footsteps. And… She sighed. It’s not time for lunch, so I guessed.

He wanted to ask her to look at him but was afraid he’d see madness in her midnight blue eyes. Fair enough. Can you tell me why you did it?

To which ‘it’ are you referring?

So, they were going to play that game. His sister was notorious for never answering the question you asked, at least not directly. Let’s start with the kidnapping.

Was it wrong? she asked, or seemed to ask, the canvas. When there was so much to gain and so little to lose?

You lost your freedom, he pointed out, completely uncomfortable with her blasé attitude.

She sighed. Yes. And I didn’t accomplish my aim. But there are worse things than imprisonment. Like knowing my entire species will someday cease to exist. That by creating dragons and werewolves out of our own genes, we destroyed those genes.

This might not exactly be true, but since the truth was unknown, he couldn’t argue with her. Their wonderful power to create new life had disappeared, lost to history. And he was letting her distract him. It’s still possible, he said, wanting to lull her. The werewolves and dragons have agreed to donate sperm and eggs and --

She spun then, and he saw what he had dreaded: insanity lived in her gaze. "It’s not the same! Those monstrosities will have four forms. More than any being should possess."

But your method, raping the werewolves full of dragon seed, would have produced the same.

Not if we perfected it! She pushed herself off the bed, turning her face from him. Go away. You’ve ruined the muses.

He retreated, his guts roiling. We could have perfected it, she’d said. She and her desperate followers. He should have known Jackie would pursue this. After all, her lover had died trying the same madness.

When the door was closed behind him, he looked to Cassie and saw the sympathy in her eyes. He couldn’t bear it. Whipping his head away, he spun on his heel. He marched out the second door and down the steps.

* * *

Jack wanted so badly to be done with this night that he felt uncomfortable in his skin. That was not the proper way to begin thinking about his sixty-eighth birthday, his five-year anniversary as the head of SearchLight Academy. This was a party for both those things but no one said no to Agent Weinberg.

Not necessarily the most powerful magical being in the world, she was still the head of the entire organization. Even though she held the nominal title of head of Public Relations, SearchLight’s whole reason for existing was to protect the relationship between magical and nonmagical peoples. Which was, of course, officially, no relationship at all. SearchLight was a secret and must remain so.

The influence she held would make most magical creatures bow in submission. Jack, being merely human, was suitably impressed. And although as yet not cowed, he was too fond of his life to waste it needlessly. Not that Agent Weinberg had killed anyone. Recently.

Jack took a deep breath in through his nose as the limousine pulled up to the curb. He’d been commanded to take this limo and the implicit service of a driver, and although he hadn’t enjoyed it particularly, he was glad that he hadn’t needed to find a place to park in downtown Washington, DC. So, unsure if he was supposed to tip the driver but wanting to show his appreciation, he stepped around to the driver’s side after the car was parked at the curb and offered the person behind the wheel, whom, his telepathic sense, told him wasn’t human, ten dollars.

Would you be trying to bribe me to take you home, Agent Sowerby?

Jack saw the humor in the green eyes turned up to his and smiled. Never in life, he told the Irish-sounding sprite or Faery or leprechaun. Damn, sometimes he wished for a werewolf’s sense of smell so he’d know the magical creatures around him at once.

You’re a good man, Agent Sowerby. Don’t let her bully you now. And with that, he winked and rolled up his window. Jack stepped around the car to the sidewalk and watched the limo drive away.

Hey there. The voice was soft, lightly accented, and full of a syrupy, sarcastic undertone that put Jack’s hackles up. He turned more slowly than he could have, wanting to appear older and so less threatening. He gazed at the three people facing him and saw they were all armed.

He was aware of others watching from the doorway of the restaurant but knew they wouldn’t intercede unless it became obvious he couldn’t handle himself. That was one thing about Agent Weinberg he didn’t like much. She believed in the sink or swim philosophy.

The woman who’d spoken was smiling in a particularly condescending way. Got a handout for me? She twirled the knife in her right hand as she reached out with her left for the ten spot Jack still held.

Jack offered it, keeping a good distance from her, forcing her to step forward to take the bill. He was aware of the other two moving to flank him. He disliked using his telepathic sense against what he considered to be defenseless people, magical or mundane, and yet he wouldn’t risk his own life to preserve theirs. I suggest you take this and be on your way, he said softly, putting a slight psychic push into the words. He blanketed the area with his calming presence, lacking the ability to focus on more than two people at once. Both of the men who’d been flanking him stopped. One of them shook his head but the other was definitely under Jack’s control.

Back off, Jack said and watched the woman lower her knife a little.

She snatched at the bill and her knife hand flicked upward.

Jack dropped the ten spot and caught her wrist. The knife’s blade skidded across the waterproof material of his trench coat. He forced her to drop the knife as he said, Go away.

The man under his control turned and fled. But the other lunged at Jack. Yanking the woman close, Jack used her as a shield. The other man’s blade slid between her ribs. He swore, stumbling back, and lost his grip on his knife. As he turned to flee, Jack lowered the woman to the ground. He shouted, Someone call nine-one-one.

Someone joined him out on the sidewalk. It wasn’t Agent Weinberg. It wasn’t a SearchLight agent he knew. There was regal bearing in the other’s posture as he crouched beside Jack. Let me heal her.

Jack didn’t protest, although he did skate his telepathic sense outward to determine if this was a magical creature. The fact that he’d said heal rather than help argued for him not being human. He came into contact with an impenetrable psychic wall and winced as his telepathic sense bounced off. Well, there weren’t all that many humans who could resist even his most casual reach. Ergo, this was a magical creature.

Jack nodded and said, Go ahead. He retreated inside his own head and as he pulled out his cell phone, unwilling to trust to others to call for help, he watched the broad-shouldered male beside him spit into his hand and press the palm against the wound even as he pulled the knife free.

Dragon, Jack thought. Dragons could heal with their saliva or a blood exchange. But this wasn’t a dragon Jack knew. And there were only four naturally born dragons working for SearchLight.

Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?

As Jack calmly talked, he watched the magical being tend the woman. He reported the attack, saying she’d lost some blood but that it didn’t look like a serious wound. He asked for police and an ambulance. He gave the address of the restaurant and watched as the dragon cleaned the wound with more saliva.

You’re bleeding, the dragon said.

Jack glanced down to see if he was talking to the woman, if she had started to struggle. That was when he saw his torn sleeve and the blood caking it. I’m running high on adrenaline. That’s why I didn’t feel it.

Is someone else hurt? the dispatcher asked.

I have a cut on my arm but I’m not sure how bad it is, Jack told her.

An ambulance is on the way.

The dragon spit in his hand again. Meeting Jack’s eyes, he asked, May I look?

Jack nodded. The dragon put his fingers into the wound and Jack swore.

Sir? asked the dispatcher as the feeling of being doused in iodine washed over Jack’s entire body.

I’m… He gasped. I’m fine. He’s just checking the wound and… He closed his eyes in an attempt to slow his racing heart. Because the magical person touching him wasn’t a dragon. A dragon’s