by M. A. Church
LeMoyne tsked. “How unfortunate.”
Warwick snorted. “I’m sure he’d agree with you.”
“When do you foreclose on his properties?”
Warwick took another bite, then picked up his wine and took a sip. “I’m not going to.”
LeMoyne raised an eyebrow, a look of shock crossing his face. Warwick chuckled in amusement. It wasn’t often he managed to catch LeMoyne off guard—he was unflappable.
“Interesting. I wonder, what could possibly have happened to make you forgo claiming such a lucrative investment?”
“Oh, trust me, he didn’t get off scot-free. But in regard to your question, did you know the werewolf has a son? An Omega? His name is Avery Montgomery.”
“No, sir, I did not. I take it he was the ‘unexpected’ development?”
Warwick nodded. “I would say so. My dragon took one look at him and… I don’t know how to explain it. He went nuts. You would’ve thought he’d found the shiniest, most expensive treasure in the whole world.” He scowled at his glass of wine, remembering how his dragon had carried on. “He wants Avery with a passion I can’t quite understand.”
“Oh.” A look of confusion crossed LeMoyne’s face. “Do I take that to mean you don’t feel the same?”
Warwick put his fork down. Heat climbed up his face. Surely he wasn’t blushing. Dragons simply didn’t do such things. But how could he adequately put into words what it was he felt when he wasn’t sure himself?
“Ahhh, I see,” LeMoyne continued, not giving Warwick a chance to interrupt. “You want Avery too. Badly, if I’m not mistaken.”
Warwick scowled. “Damn dragon took one look at that cute little Omega and promptly lost control. He was hopping around inside my mind like an overgrown puppy, his tongue practically hanging out and tail wagging.”
LeMoyne chuckled. “Now that’s something I would’ve paid good money to see.”
Warwick scooped up some of the garlic mashed potatoes. They, like the rest of the meal, were seasoned to perfection. “Trust me, no one needs to see that.”
LeMoyne smiled serenely. “Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s wonderful that your dragon has found a playful side.”
“‘Playful’ and ‘dragon’ do not belong in the same sentence, I’ll have you know.” Warwick shot LeMoyne an aggravated glance when LeMoyne snickered. “Shut up, old man.”
Most dragons stopped aging somewhere in their midthirties. LeMoyne might have been fifty when he took the first sip of Warwick’s blood, but he was a well-preserved fifty. Dragon blood basically froze a person’s aging process. It also made them invincible to human illnesses. But that wasn’t to say a human who had consumed dragon blood couldn’t be killed. It did not make them immortal.
Warwick himself was not invincible either. Cutting off a dragon’s head would do it, as it would with most paranormals, and so would taking their heart. A bullet to the brain or heart would do the job too. Otherwise, they could pretty much recover from any type of wound. Poison didn’t touch them since their metabolism was like that of a five-year-old hopped up on sugar. It took a hell of a lot to kill a dragon.
“This from someone centuries older than me.” LeMoyne laughed loudly, slapping his knee. “But you do look good for your age.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Warwick ate another bite of his steak.
After several minutes, LeMoyne spoke again. “So, we’re soon to have someone new at the castle.”
Warwick continued to eat, barely nodding. “Yes.”
“Is there anything you need me to do?”
That made Warwick pause. He looked at LeMoyne. “In regard to what?”
LeMoyne frowned. “I see bluntness is in order. Is he moving into your room?”
Warwick blinked. What kind of silly question was that? “Of course. Where else would he sleep?”
“I wouldn’t claim to know, which is why I was asking. I’ll start moving your extra clothes out of the other walk-in closet. Also, what is he bringing with him?”
Warwick scowled. Moving his clothes? And what exactly did LeMoyne think Avery would be bringing with him? But then, he hadn’t thought about anything past getting his hands on Avery. “What do you mean?”
LeMoyne sighed. “The pup is bringing more than himself—surely you realize this, sir. I assume you plan to claim him as your mate. That means he’s going to be living here. Which means he’s going to bring his things with him.”
“What do you mean, I plan to claim him as my mate? There is no planning to it. I’m going to.”
LeMoyne cleared his throat. “Sir, do you not know anything about werewolves?”
“They’re werewolves. They can shift into a wolf. What more did I need to know to do business? I haven’t really paid much attention to them until recently, so would you stop beating around the bush and tell me what it is you think I need to know!”
LeMoyne released another long-suffering sigh. “There is a ritual, a physical ritual they go through.”
Warwick scowled. “English. Explain this in plain English, if you please.”
“Then stop and think about this, if you please, sir. When wolves claim each other, they exchange bites. And yes, I mean bites—as in, breaking the skin and drinking each other’s blood. From my understanding, a mating bite leaves a scar, something that’s practically unheard of with their incredible healing abilities. That scar is a warning to other werewolves. It shows that person is claimed.”
“Dragons don’t do anything like that,” Warwick added. “We fly to great heights and synchronize an aerial display, then spiral downward, performing loops and twists.”
“Which isn’t possible with a werewolf, obviously. Which is why I’m telling you how they do it. I also understand that this happens while making love. So you need to be prepared. If you truly plan to take him as your mate by their rituals, you’re going to have to bite him. Usually the mating bite is placed where the neck and shoulder meet.”
“Fine. I can do that. Do you think it will work, though, since I’m not a werewolf?”
LeMoyne opened his mouth and closed it. He pursed his lips. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
“Indeed.” Warwick was quite looking forward to it, in fact. Especially the making love part. His dragon stretched in his mind, uttering a low rumble of agreement. It appeared he wasn’t the only one. “Is he expecting to bite me too?”
“From my understanding of the ritual, yes. But Avery is an Omega, so I’m not really sure if they have the… the ability to bite someone who’s more powerful than them.”
Okay, that was confusing. Didn’t LeMoyne tell him that’s what werewolves did? “Why wouldn’t he?”
“Again, I’m going by what I have heard about werewolves, but Omegas are the least dominant members in a pack hierarchy. They’re usually not aggressive, tend to be somewhat shy, and are often spoiled rotten because of the special abilities they have. And before you ask, each Omega is gifted with some sort of special talent. You might want to ask Avery what his is. I would highly suggest you do some reading on the subject.”
Warwick ran a hand through his hair. “I had no idea this would be so involved. This is why dragons are such uncomplicated creatures.”
“Yes, sir. Uncomplicated,” LeMoyne said, a completely deadpan expression on his face.
Warwick scowled. “Are you saying we’re not?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You’re some of the most complicated, demanding, hardheaded, know-it-alls—”
“We are not.”
“Right, sir. You keep telling yourself that. Anyway, as I was saying, research werewolves’ mating rituals, and, specifically, of Omegas.” Now that he’d properly reprimanded Warwick, LeMoyne stood. “On that happy note, I’m going to retire to my quarters and enjoy a well-deserved brandy. Good night, Master Warwick.”
“Have a good night, LeMoyne.” Warwick continued to eat, but he no longer tasted the food. Instead, his thoughts turned inward to the dragon who h
ad taken a keen interest in all this talk about biting and drinking blood. His dragon was fascinated. Very fascinated.
Warwick found he wasn’t exactly uninterested either.
Chapter Five
THE bleak morning fit Avery’s mood. Snow-laden clouds blocked the sun, and the wind shrieked outside his window. Avery snuggled in bed, not wanting to rise. Today was the day, the day everything changed. Maybe if he stayed in bed and ignored it, it wouldn’t happen.
A knock on his door told him that wasn’t likely.
“One moment! I’m not even up yet. Jeez.”
Damn, he hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet and already it was starting. Actually, it started last night. Mandy must’ve told his sisters, or they’d been eavesdropping, which wasn’t hard to do with werewolves’ sensitive hearing. Each sister had stopped by to check on him. His mother was upset, but mostly because Warwick was a dragon and not a werewolf.
He yanked on a pair of jeans he’d thrown over the back of his desk chair and padded over to the door. A discreet sniff informed him it was his father. Lovely, just what he wanted to deal with right off the bat, and him without his coffee too.
Running his hand through his hair, he tried to push it into some semblance of order, then opened the door. “Father.”
“May I come in?”
He stepped out of the way so his father could enter. “Sure.”
“Thank you.” His father walked in and stood in the middle of the room.
Unsure what else to do, Avery sat down on the foot of the bed. His father never just showed up in his private space to chat.
“I know you’re not happy with me—”
Oh gods, again? “Father, we’ve already been through this. I’ve agreed, so I don’t really understand why we have to rehash this again this morning.”
“I wanted to let you know you can have the furniture in this room. Is there anything else you wish to take?”
“I haven’t had a chance to really think about it, but thank you, regardless.” Avery needed coffee, breakfast, and a magic wand that would cancel out the previous twenty-four hours. Since he was not going to get the last one, the first and second seemed the most viable. “Can we talk about this after I’ve had breakfast?” And by all the gods, coffee.
“Certainly. As I told you, Warwick will be here this afternoon at three. I think it’d be best if the two of you met then.”
I can think of a hundred other places I’d much rather be. “Okay.”
“Very well, then,” Alpha Montgomery said. “Get dressed and meet me in the dining room. Breakfast is going to be served shortly.”
“Yes, Father.” And there had better be lots and lots of coffee. I’m going to need it.
After his father left, Avery showered, brushed his teeth, and dressed, then hurried to the dining room. His parents were already seated. He barely sat down before a servant brought him a cup of coffee. He almost told them to bring the pot. He nodded to his mother as he sipped his drink.
His father cleared his throat. “While we wait, I thought I’d tell you what I know concerning dragons.”
“Well, considering I’m about to be mated to one, that might be a good idea.”
“Really, Avery, it’s too early in the morning for you to be this snarky,” his mother snapped.
“My apologies. Not enough caffeine in me yet.” And, well… he was in a snarky kind of mood. Having a mating sprung on him—and to a dragon, no less—tended to do that to a guy.
“Dearest, you might want to make more of an effort to control that tongue of yours. Your father and I love you dearly, so we put up with such unbecoming behavior from an Omega, but your mate might not.”
“Yes, Mother.” My mate can bite me, then.
The next thing he knew, his wolf was bounding around inside his head in total agreement with the sentiment. Oh shit, how could he have forgotten biting was part of the mating ritual? He frowned into his coffee.
But Warwick wasn’t a werewolf. Was a mating bite possible? Hell, who knew. He could ask his father, but, yeah… no. That was a conversation he was sure neither one of them wanted to have.
“As you probably already know, dragons are apex predators and are at the top of the paranormal hierarchy. Unlike us, there are several different kinds of dragons. Going by Warwick’s indigo eyes, I’m going to hazard a guess that he has control over storms.”
“What does that mean?” Avery asked. That sounded cool and totally intimidating.
“I’m not exactly sure, to be honest. As a whole, the species tends to be quite mysterious. But I do know some dragons can breathe fire. Others have the ability to control ice. I’ve met a couple who have an affinity with water. From my understanding, Warwick is able to create storms. So, instead of breathing fire, I’m going to assume he breathes lightning.”
“Well, that’s not dangerous at all, is it?” Avery slouched in his chair.
“Sit up straight, dear,” his mother admonished.
Avery, knowing his mother would glare at him until he did, straightened.
“He’s a dragon.” Alpha Montgomery shrugged as if that explained it all.
Visions of being electrocuted danced through Avery’s mind. He wanted to bang his head against the elegant dining room table, but his mother would probably throw her highly polished silverware at him. The urge to throttle his father was strong.
“Oh, and he lives in a castle. It’s a reproduction, of course, but quite nice,” Alpha Montgomery added.
That was all well and good, but Avery wanted to know about the man. “What do you know about him, though?”
Blankness covered his father’s face. “He’s an astute and ruthless businessman. He owns stock in nearly everything, and rumor is, he’s insanely rich. He also loans money to those of us in the paranormal community who, shall we say, need a little discreet help. His holdings are vast too, but that’s not surprising, considering how old he is.”
Avery jumped in before his father could continue. “About that. Just how old is he?”
Alpha Montgomery started to speak, then paused as servants emerged from the kitchen, each bearing several plates. He waited until breakfast was placed in front of them before continuing. “I’m not entirely sure. Dragons are extremely long-lived.”
Avery picked at his eggs. “Does that mean he’s immortal?”
“No, but they’re very hard to kill.”
“Good to know,” Avery quipped. That earned him a frown from his mother. Maybe right now, retreat was the better part of valor, so he reined in his unruly tongue.
Avery’s stomach growled, and for the time being, he concentrated on his food while his mind ran in circles. Rumors said that dragons were cold, ruthless, and dangerous. But then, the same thing could be said about any dominant predator. That didn’t worry Avery. As an Omega, he spent his whole life dealing with Alpha-type personalities.
What concerned him was what Warwick was like in his shifted form. When any werewolves were changed, they retained their memories and knowledge. They were animals, but they knew right from wrong, even if some of them didn’t act like it at times.
But dragons… what were they like? He’d never met a dragon, and technically still hadn’t, much less seen one shift. But he’d heard things. Who hadn’t? It was whispered they were quite the terror in their dragon form—a truly monstrous nightmare that had some reptilian traits, things like scales. And deadly. Hell, they could bite a body in half, or squash it flat with one well-placed step. They could burn someone up with flames or freeze them whole. Everybody knew not to fuck with a dragon.
He was so screwed. But there was no denying how his body responded. That had nearly driven him out of his head last night. Warwick was sex personified, but even the most gorgeous man could be an asshole. From what his father told him, Warwick might be a rich asshole with a monstrous Alpha complex.
Yep, he was going to need more coffee.
Apparently his father had exhausted the wealth of information he had on
dragons and was chatting with his mother. Fine. That suited Avery. He really wasn’t in the mood to carry on a conversation. As he ate breakfast, he kept returning to one question: Why? Why would Warwick do this?
On the surface it made no sense. Instead of taking everything his father owned, Warwick said he wanted three of his most profitable businesses and Avery. It didn’t add up. Warwick was obviously one of those who was obsessed with wealth, be it gold, jewelry, or paper money. But still. Warwick was actually taking a loss by the course of action he’d set. Not that Avery wasn’t thankful to some degree. He was… as long as he didn’t factor in sacrificing himself to make Warwick happy.
Avery bit into a perfectly cooked strip of bacon. He wasn’t arrogant enough to think Warwick had taken one look at him and fallen in love. Did dragons love? Avery had no idea, but he also knew he wouldn’t be making any “Top Ten Sexiest Man Alive” lists either. As a werewolf, at six feet tall, he was on the short side for their species. Nor was his body covered in bulky muscles. Even his hair color was an abnormality in werewolves—only Omegas had this irritating shade. And hazel eyes? Who’d ever heard of a werewolf with hazel eyes… except, again, in regard to Omegas. He’d seen numerous weres who were way sexier than him.
So if his stunning good looks hadn’t attracted Warwick, what had?
Avery finished breakfast, excused himself, and returned to his room. In the normal course of a day, he’d dress, then drive to his father’s corporate headquarters, where he had an office. He didn’t have a title, per se. Even though they had accountants for every business, he still kept an eye on profits. His inborn talent as an Omega might be less than useful, but he was good with numbers.
He flopped back down on his bed. Considering the monumental change his life was about to take, he didn’t see the point in going. Hells, he wasn’t even sure he’d be allowed to keep his job. Avery dropped his head into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees.
He’d fought his father hard for that job too. Most Omegas didn’t work. They were too busy shopping, partying, or whatever the hell else they did. But not Avery. Such a lifestyle didn’t appeal to him. Now there was a possibility he’d have to give up his hard-earned position, and that infuriated him.