LLLDragonWings Smashwords

by Lizzie Lynn Lee

  “Grandkids.” She blushed again. “Do you like children?”

  “I do. They taste delicious.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  Rovik laughed. “I do. I want a large family. I’m was an only child growing up, and it’s kind of lonely. When I broke something I couldn’t blame it on anyone else. It would have been different if I’d had siblings.”

  “So your ulterior motive is to have a large family to give our kids alibis to blame each other when they’re into mischief. Just lovely.”

  He smiled.

  “What?”

  “You said ‘our kids.’ Are you looking forward to making them?”

  Her face reddened even deeper. She grabbed her fork and started jabbing at his hand.

  “Getting violent, are we?” Rovik dodged her attack. At the same time, his phone rang. He lifted a finger at her. “I’ll be a moment.”

  It was Marcus, one of his men. The jack of all trades in his office. “Boss, Jericho said you need tickets to Texas. I booked two first class flights to Waco. American Airlines. It departs this evening at seven. I also rented a car for you. The tickets will be ready at check-in. Are you okay with it or do you want me to pick up the tickets myself?”

  “No, that’s all right.”

  “I put an open date on the return flight since I didn’t know when you planned to be back. Do you need anything else, boss?”

  “I don’t think, so. Thanks, Marcus. Are you holding up the fort all right?”

  “This is a slow week, so I can catch up on the paperwork. You have a nice flight, boss.”

  Rovik returned to the kitchen. “We have tickets for tonight. Seven o’clock. That means we should be getting ready soon.”

  “Seven o’clock? There’s plenty of time.”

  “Yeah, but we need to get you clothes first. That means we need to go shopping. Have you been to Barney?”

  She shook her head.

  “You’ll love it.”

  Chapter Seven

  By the time they arrived on Rovik’s parents’ ranch, it was close to ten o’clock. Rovik parked the rented car in the driveway, behind a red pickup truck. Rovik’s parents’ house was a two-story brick bungalow and well maintained. The house was situated in the middle of twenty acres of wooded property where neighbors were scarce. The concrete walkway was lit with solar lights, illuminating a well-tended flower garden.

  As soon as they got out of the car, the front door opened and a beautiful woman came out, sweeping in their direction.

  “My son!” She gave Rovik a motherly, smothering hug. “I’ve missed you. You should visit more often, you rascal. Have you been eating right? Do you eat your vegetables?”

  Rovik reddened in an instant. His body was ramrod tensed. He looked uncomfortable that his mom still treated him like a small child.

  Emily enjoyed the spectacle. It wasn’t every day she got to see a macho man like Rovik being cajoled like a baby.

  “Why, look at your hair, dear!” His mom gave him a critical once over. “It’s too long. And you forget to shave, too. You do look so scruffy.” She pulled Rovik’s jacket open then frowned upon seeing the tattoo on his neck. “Is that a new one? Oh, son of mine, that tattoo is absolutely dreadful. People would think you’re a homeless person when you present yourself like this. Why can’t you dress like your uncle Sven? He looked respectable even though he was penniless.”

  “Mom. Cut it out.” A tight smile plastered itself to Rovik’s face. “This is Emily, my mate.”

  Rovik’s mother squealed in delight. “Why of course, my son told me he’d taken a mate. Come here, my dear, let me take a look at you.”

  The matronly woman swathed in blue vintage 50’s style descended upon Emily without losing a beat. Seconds later, Emily found herself being hugged tightly to the point she had trouble breathing. Rovik’s mom was unbelievably strong. She smelled of English rose, butter, and cookie dough. Suddenly, Emily was shrouded in nostalgia of her own mother’s memory. Money was always tight, so her mom preferred to bake cookies for snacks instead of going out.

  Rovik’s mother released her. The woman had blue eyes just like Rovik—it was clear where he inherited them from. She had a pert nose, wide mouth, and petulant chin. “Child,” she beamed, “you’re such a beautiful girl. How lucky my son is to have you, scruffy as he is. I hope you’re feeling peckish, yes? I’ve made roasted capon and stuffing and apple pie. We’re having a late supper tonight. Oh, where’re my manners? I bet you must be tired from travel. Come, do come in.”

  Rovik’s mom herded her into the house, chirping happily about stuff. Rovik himself stalked silently after he retrieved their overnight bags from the car.

  Inside, an older replica of Rovik greeted her with open arms. “You must be the girl my son’s talking about. Welcome.” The man hugged and kissed her on the cheek. “Are you tired, child? Would you like some tea?”

  “Thank you. I don’t want to impose.”

  “Hush, you. It’s no trouble at all.” All his warmth and friendliness vanished the moment he was face to face with Rovik. The tight expression on his face cracked into a forced joviality when he addressed his only kid, one would think he was facing his archenemy. “Son.” He nodded stiffly. “Long time no see. How’re you doing?”

  Rovik behaved in the same manner. “Doing well, sir. Thank you.”

  Sir? Emily lifted an eyebrow. How friggin’ formal.

  “Well, your mother has slaved over the stove all day. Why don’t we all eat, shall we?” Rovik’s dad waved in the direction of the kitchen table.

  The delicious smell wafted from the oven and a pang of hunger gnawed at the pit of her stomach. She took her seat after a brief dash to the bathroom to wash her hands. A steaming cup awaited her by the time she returned. Emily took a delicate sip. The fragrance of the black tea was heavenly. It was laced with a rich, luxurious scent of citrus.

  “This is amazing. What kind of tea is this?” she asked.

  “Earl Grey,” Rovik’s father answered. “A friend of mine sent some from England. He’s a purchasing agent for a tea company in London. Said their batch this year was particularly excellent. Don’t you agree, dear?” He turned to his wife.

  “I’m rather partial to bergamot, I’m afraid. I used to add it to everything I cooked: cake, pudding, stew, so much Rovik got sick of it. He refused to eat my cooking—that son of mine. He’d rather scarf down any questionable comestible as long it was topped with melted cheese,” said Rovik’s mother as she brought the plate of gorgeously roasted plump bird to the table.

  Comestible? Emily was amused. Rovik’s parents might be Texan but they seemed stuck in the Victorian Age. Come to think of it, they didn’t have an accent either, while Rovik did talk with a slight twang.

  Rovik scoffed. “It’s called pizza, Mom. It’s the only food you didn’t bother to cover with citrus.”

  “Hardly!” She sniffed. “If such a thing could be called food. I fail to see the allure of baked dough slathered in tomato sauce and dripping cheese. It’s revolting, I daresay.”

  “It is not. Pizzas are delicious.” Rovik was being stubborn.

  “Son, do not argue with your mother,” Rovik’s dad warned in a grating voice.

  Rovik cast him a dark look.

  Suddenly, Rovik and his dad leapt from their seats, growling dangerously, ready to tear out each other’s throats. Long, sharp spikes burst out from their forearms. Claws scraped the surface of the table.

  “That’s enough!” Rovik’s mom roared. “No violence at the dinner table. And Senior, where are your manners?” She glared at her husband, then her son, “Junior! I know the urge is in your blood, but show respect to your father. I swear I should have sent you to a fine finishing school instead of letting you to join the army.”

  Rovik quickly recovered himself. “I’m not a debutant, Mom, damn it. I’m a guy! And I’m a former marine, not army. Don’t lump us together.”

  “Language, Rovik, language!” his dad tensed aga
in.

  “Let’s eat!” Rovik’s mom clapped her hands, clearly ignoring her son and husband this time. “My, my, I hope you’re hungry, my dear Emily.”

  She found Rovik’s family hilariously dysfunctional. Watching them was entertaining. “Ah, yes. I’m starving, actually,” she admitted.

  Under the glare from the matron of the house, Rovik senior and junior behaved themselves. Rovik’s dad carved the capon and Rovik’s mom piled Emily’s plate high with food. Everything she ate was delicious, even though each dish was complemented with a citrusy flavor. It was nice to eat a dinner she didn’t have to cook, like she’d been doing for years in the McGuire’s household.

  After apple pie was served, she helped Rovik’s mom clean the table and do the dishes, and then they joined Senior and Junior on the backyard patio, having after-dinner coffee. Rovik told his dad his purpose for the visit.

  “The person you’re looking for is Sir Walsingham, that ancient coot. As my memory serves, he has been the record keeper since the Prince Regent era. He might be able to tell you about Emily’s lineage if she’s one of the wingless.”

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “It’s a term for dragonlings that no longer have the ability to shift,” Rovik explained. “This would explain why I thought you were a human when we first met. Usually dragon kin can easily detect one another with one look. We have some kind of built-in radar. Call it instinct.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “Indeed,” Rovik’s dad chimed in. “I did think you were a Mundane when we met, but that would be unlikely if you’re truly my son’s mate.”

  “Because dragons’ fated mates are always within its breed,” she said, remembering Rovik’s earlier explanation. “If it’s true, then my father should be a Schwarzen. Given there aren’t many Schwarzen left, tracking them should be easy, I suppose?”

  “In theory, yes. However, Schwarzen are notoriously elusive. We’re hard to find if we wish to remain unnoticed.”

  “So, where could I find this Sir Walsingham?” Rovik asked.

  “He lives in Bangor, Maine. A chicken farmer, if you’re curious. Though, he ate most of them himself. Raw, feathered, and still clucking. That fellow has an unhealthy fondness for poultry.” Rovik’s dad and mom laughed together as if they were sharing some private joke.

  “Maine?” Rovik’s expression darkened. “Maine is near Blutrot’s territory. What kind of dragon is he?”

  “Reinweiss. He’s a librarian, a perfectly suitable occupation for a peace-loving fellow such as him.”

  “Reinweiss?” Emily had to ask. She’d just realized there were many things she had yet to discover about her true lineage.

  “White dragons. The least confrontational breed of our kin,” said Rovik’s dad.

  “Or we like to call them the pussies,” added Rovik.

  “Junior!” Rovik’s mom chastised. “Is that the kind of language you use in front of a lady?”

  Rovik lifted both palms. “I apologize. Does Sir Walsingham have a number I could call?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t recall it. He lives in a rural area. You must see him in person if you want to contact him. Walsingham lives under a rock and detests technology. However, I can take you to see him. It has been a long time since I paid him a visit.”

  “Thanks, but I can manage it myself. Tracking people is my specialty.” Rovik clearly disliked the idea of a road trip with his father.

  “Nonsense,” this time Rovik’s mom chimed in. “We can’t let you go gallivanting by yourself when the entire Blutrot clan is looking for you and Emily. Have your father go with you. It is for your own safety.”

  “I don’t want trouble, Dad.” Rovik seemed to be trying to be diplomatic.

  “I assure you, your father would not be trouble. Don’t be silly.”

  “Dad has a store to run.”

  “He has employees.”

  “But—”

  “Son, it is not up for discussion,” said Rovik’s mom with an air of finality. “I wish I could take some time off but I have classes to teach. It would be a good opportunity to have some quality father-son time, heaven knows how rare that is. I’ll book tickets for the earliest flight available.”

  Rovik clearly disliked the idea, while Senior seemed to regret his offer to help his son. Perhaps he realized he’d be forced to act civil, when the two of them couldn’t stand being in the same room more than a minute—the nature of males Schwarzen.

  Rovik tried to object, but when he saw his mother’s expression, he clammed up immediately. Well, what do you know? Rovik’s mom is clearly the dragon in this household who reigns supreme, Emily thought amusedly.

  They moved inside to seek refuge in an air conditioned room. While Rovik and his mom were involved in a deep discussion, Senior put on Netflix and they watched a Korean action movie so violent that if the film went on for another thirty minutes, everybody in Korea would have been killed. After the movie was over, Rovik’s parents declared it was time to retire for the night.

  For some reason, Emily was deeply intrigued by Rovik’s childhood bedroom. His mom said she had left it the way it was, staving off the urge to tear down the room and turn it into the extension of the kitchen. Rovik left Waco at eighteen to join the military. A recruitment poster for the Marine Corps hung on one wall, joined by several heavy metal bands. Somehow, it didn’t surprise her that Rovik was a Metallica fan.

  For a hell-raiser, Rovik was a tidy guy. His bedroom had no clutter. Everything was organized just like his apartment in Manhattan. She ambled to his bookshelves and delightfully found his collection was alphabetically arranged. She was sure this wasn’t his mother’s doing. His pantry in Manhattan rivaled Martha Stewart’s. Rovik was a fan of Sun Tzu Art of War. He had several versions of them. Hamlet and King Lear were among the tomes. He also kept Oscar Wilde, Dumas, Poe, Murakami and surprisingly, Marquis de Sade.

  She looked over her shoulder and leered at him. “Seriously, de Sade?”

  Rovik shrugged nonchalantly. “Internet porn was rare when I grew up and I was curious.”

  She laughed. “So you learned your smut from de Sade. Should I be worried?”

  “My taste goes along the vanilla side, actually. Nothing kinky.”

  “Right.”

  “It’s true.” He leveled his head with hers and grinned mischievously. “Don’t tell me you actually like kinky stuff?”

  She blushed. “I wouldn’t know.” He knew she had limited experience in the sex department.

  Rovik planted a kiss on her lips. “Then, maybe we can find out together if our tastes run through the edgy side. Consider it as our adventure.” He straightened his tall posture. “Do you want to use the bathroom first? I need to take a shower. I’d forgotten how hot Waco is this time of the year.”

  “I won’t be long. I want a shower too.”

  “Go ahead.” Rovik groped her ass and squeezed it playfully.

  Emily raised an eyebrow at him.

  “What?” He played innocent. “I can’t touch you whenever I want? You’re mine, aren’t you?”

  She sniffed and marched into the bathroom so he wouldn’t see she was at the verge of grinning too. It was absurd. She was actually pleased that Rovik openly declared his possession. She used to hate it when Norman did that.

  Maybe because Rovik was her savior.

  And she was his mate.

  The longer she was with him, the harder she fell for him. She closed the bathroom door behind her and leaned against it. She put her hand on her chest, feeling the galloping thunder of her heartbeat.

  Crazy. It had only been a few days since she first met him, and yet, she was giddy like a schoolgirl each time he paid special attention to her.

  She sighed. And again, love had never made sense.

  She undressed and folded her clothes neatly. Ran the water and showered. She was shampooing her hair when Rovik decided to join her in the cramped bathroom. He shed his clothes, socks and shoes and stepp
ed into the shower. “Here, let me wash your back.”

  She cleared the water from her eyes. “Why do I feel you have an ulterior motive other than just washing my back?”

  “What? How could you say that?” His grin belied his words. Besides, his cock started to stir as he raked his gaze over her naked body.

  “Uh-huh.” She knew this going to be a long shower.

  Rovik grabbed the sponge from her hand and squirted a liberal amount of rose-scented soap. He gently scrubbed her back, lathering her with the suds. And of course, he helped himself along the way, groping her breasts and whispering dirty suggestions into her ear.

  She laughed and pulled him under the shower head. They kissed—sloppy, wet kisses. Her heart raced as she found herself increasingly aroused. Before she met Rovik, she never was so easily turned on. But with him, she became horny when he looked at her for too long. Her nipples hardened. Her pussy clenched and creamed.

  Rovik watched her as if he wanted to devour her in one bite. He skimmed her generous curves, causing electric thrills to spark at the base of her spine. He kissed her, full-mouthed, greedily. He groped her ass and pulled her closer. His cock throbbed between their naked flesh. He ground his pelvis against her belly, as if he wanted to let her know how much he needed her.

  “Are you still tender?” he asked.

  “Hmmh. Why do you ask?”

  “I want you. But I don’t want to force you if you’re still uncomfortable.”

  “Oh.” She smiled sweetly and ran her hands on his cock. It jumped, alive with just a touch. She squeezed and stroked him teasingly. He groaned aloud. “How do you know I’m uncomfortable?”

  “Well, I haven’t exactly been a considerate gentleman for the past few days.”

  “And what would a considerate gentleman usually do, may I ask?”

  He laughed. Then groaned again when she tightened her hand around his shaft. “A gentleman doesn’t try to mount his lady at every chance he gets. But how can I resist you? I couldn’t help myself, Emily. You’re driving me insane.”