Chapter 6 #2
He set a plate in front of me—perfectly scrambled eggs, toast cut diagonally because even that small detail mattered to him, berries arranged like someone cared how they looked. Steam rose from the food, and my stomach growled loud enough that we both heard it.
"When did I eat last?" I asked, picking up my fork and marveling at how natural it felt to use utensils again. "I mean, as Little."
"Dinner last night. Mashed sweet potato and soft bread." He settled across from me with his own plate, and for a moment we just looked at each other across the small table. "You tried to share with Stormy, but I explained he ate invisible food."
The memory surfaced—fuzzy but there. Stormy with his crooked button eyes, always tucked under my chin, keeping away bad dreams. I'd loved that dragon with a simplicity I could barely access now, all the complicated adult feelings stripped away to just: mine, soft, safe.
"I remember pieces," I said slowly, working through eggs that tasted impossibly good after a week of simple food.
"Not everything, but fragments. Building block towers.
You reading stories in different voices.
The time I—" Heat flooded my cheeks. "The time the mark tried to pull me out and I climbed into your lap and tried to kiss you. "
His expression softened with something that might have been pain or tenderness or both. "You were stuck between Little and Big. It was the mark's last real attempt to corrupt you through the bond."
"You put me in time-out."
"I helped you find your way back to safe headspace." He set down his fork, gave me his full attention. "You weren't in trouble, Wren. You were fighting something terrifying while too small to understand what it was. The discipline corner was just a tool to help you resettle."
I nodded, processing that adult explanation for something I'd experienced as confused frustration. Little Me hadn't understood why Daddy wouldn't hold her. Big Me knew exactly why, and was grateful for his control.
We ate in easier silence after that, the initial awkwardness fading into something more comfortable.
I watched him move—economic gestures, everything purposeful, the way someone moved after living long enough to pare away unnecessary motion.
He caught me staring and raised an eyebrow, and I realized I was allowed to look now, allowed to want openly without fear that it would trigger the mark's corruption.
"The Pact ceremony needs to happen soon," Caelus said, pouring tea from a pot that had been steeping.
He added honey to mine without asking—he knew how I liked it, had learned through the bond or observation or both.
"Probably tomorrow, to give you time to fully resettle into adult headspace.
You're Big now, but you've been Little for seven days straight.
Your mind needs time to remember how to hold complex thoughts for extended periods. "
"And the ceremony itself?" I accepted the tea, cradling the warm cup between my palms.
"The other Dragon Lords will want to witness it—they have to be sure that the Unnamed’s power doesn’t corrupt the bond.
" He leaned back in his chair, and I could see him shifting into explanation mode.
"Plus, the Caretaker Pact isn't just a contract between mates.
It's a magical binding witnessed by the old powers, the same forces that created dragons in the first place.
Having other bonded pairs present strengthens the magic, creates witnesses in both the legal and mystical sense. "
I tried to imagine it—standing before Davoren, Sereis, Garruk and their mates, declaring my submission and trust in front of people who'd watched me at my most vulnerable.
The idea should have been mortifying. Instead, it felt right.
They'd seen me corrupted, helped plan my salvation, stood guard while Caelus guided me through regression.
They'd earned the right to witness what came next.
"And until then?" I asked.
"Until then, we review the contract." His voice took on weight, seriousness that cut through the domestic warmth like a knife finding important flesh.
"We go through every term, every implication, every clause.
We negotiate what you need, what I can provide, where our boundaries are.
This isn't something you can undo, Wren.
Once the Pact is sealed, it's permanent.
You need to be certain—not just emotionally certain, but intellectually certain.
Understanding exactly what you're agreeing to. "
I set down my teacup, met his eyes across the table.
"I'm certain. I've been certain since—" I paused, searching for the moment.
"Since you caught me falling and the bond formed.
Since you refused to take advantage when the mark was pushing us both toward something that would have destroyed us.
Since you spent a week caring for me with patience I didn't know existed.
" My voice dropped lower. "But I want to understand the details.
Want to negotiate what I need. Want to build this right. "
His smile was proud, warm, edged with heat that made my toes curl in my borrowed slippers.
"That's exactly right. The Pact requires negotiation, requires you to advocate for yourself even as you agree to submit.
It's not about erasing your voice—it's about using it to build something that works for both of us. "
He stood, started clearing plates with efficient movements that suggested this was ritual—clean up before moving to serious work.
I helped without asking, falling into a rhythm that felt natural despite having never done this before.
Domestic partnership built in the space of washing dishes, our hands occasionally touching in soapy water, each contact sending sparks racing up my arms.
"So the timeline is," I said, drying a plate with methodical attention, "contract review today, ceremony tomorrow, then—"
"Then consummation." He didn't soften the word, didn't dress it in prettier language. "Once the Pact is sealed, once the witnesses have verified the bond, once we're certain there's no lingering corruption—then I take you to my bed and we complete what we started."
The plate slipped in my grip. I caught it before it fell, but my hands were shaking. Two more days. Two more days of this burning want, of careful distance, of knowing exactly what was coming and having to wait for it.
"Two days," I said aloud, and it sounded like both forever and not long enough.
"Two days," Caelus agreed, taking the plate from my trembling hands. "And then, little one, I'm going to show you exactly what it means to belong to a Dragon Lord."
The promise hung in the air between us, electric and inevitable. Two more days of waiting. But this time, the waiting wasn't torture—it was anticipation, the kind that built slowly and burned clean.
I could survive two more days. Especially when I knew exactly what waited at the end of them.
The contract lay spread across Caelus's study desk like something alive, dragon vellum that seemed to breathe under my fingertips.
The material was impossibly thin but warm to the touch, and when I moved my hand across its surface, I could have sworn it pulsed in response—recognizing me, accepting me, preparing to bind me with magic older than human civilization.
The script covering it wasn't written in ink—it was woven from light itself, flowing characters in storm-gray and silver that matched my bond marks. As I watched, new words appeared along the margins, writing themselves as Caelus spoke terms aloud.
"These are the foundational clauses," he said, standing beside me close enough that his sleeve brushed mine.
He traced one glowing paragraph with a careful finger, not quite touching the vellum.
"My authority covers your safety, your health, your daily structure.
You agree to follow rules I establish for your wellbeing.
You accept discipline when those rules are broken.
You commit to honesty about your needs, even when being honest is difficult. "
I read the elegant script carefully, taking time to process each phrase.
The language was formal but clear, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
His authority wasn't unlimited—it was specifically bounded by my welfare.
He could make decisions about what I ate, when I slept, how I spent my time.
But those decisions had to serve my best interests, not his convenience.
"And in return?" I asked, though I could see the next paragraph glowing slightly brighter, waiting for me to read it.
"In return, I provide protection, care, structure, and safe space to be Little whenever needed.
I commit to seeing you clearly—not the mask you wear for survival, but the truth of who you are underneath.
I promise to treasure both your strength and your vulnerability.
I vow to help you carry weights you've been bearing alone. "
My throat went tight. I'd survived so long by being entirely self-sufficient, never asking for help, never admitting I needed anything. The idea of someone taking that burden—choosing to take it, wanting to take it—felt almost too big to hold.
"What counts as discipline?" I asked, shifting to practical questions because emotions were threatening to overwhelm my capacity for clear thinking.
"Correction for broken rules." He moved to lean against the desk, facing me directly.
"Spanking, time outs, loss of privileges.
Always followed by aftercare to help you process what happened and why.
Always proportional to the infraction. If you're ten minutes late checking in, you might lose screen privileges for a day.
If you deliberately endanger yourself, the consequences would be more significant. "
"How significant?"