Chapter 12 Zara
Zara
Zara sighed.
It was because of the Drakkon, but this time she was deliriously happy.
It wasn’t just about finally getting what she had wanted.
It was what it meant, what it felt like to be wrapped in his arms, to explore him and be explored in return.
And gods, when Hektor focused on something, he focused.
She was having multiple orgasms at all hours of the day.
So this was what people meant by the honeymoon stage.
She snorted at herself. Corny, yes. Cringe, not yet.
Her eyes drifted back to the sketch pad on her knees, then to the window of the sunroom.
She’d grabbed the pad and some pencils and tried drawing his neighborhood, the terraced stone homes built into the red-gold mountainside, bridges looping between rooftops, smoke spiraling like ink.
It was beautiful, but her sketch didn’t do it justice.
A cup of coffee was placed in front of her. Then his warmth pressed against her back, solid and comforting in a way she was rapidly becoming addicted to.
Yes. This was nice, too.
Too nice. Waking up early was nearly impossible now because she kept sinking into that big, warm, muscular furnace of a body—
“That’s nice,” Hektor murmured.
She smiled.
“But,” he continued, “there’s something I want to show you. Something you can’t draw.”
She glanced at him dryly. “I’m not even interested in drawing your package. But I do love your big D energy.”
“Big D…” he repeated. Then, “Zara, this is important.”
She reached up and squished his cheeks. “Okay, okay. Lead the way. I’m all yours.”
He guided her through the house, deeper into the middle, through a door she hadn’t noticed before. A staircase spiraled downward. As they walked, he said, “There’s one thing the Upperworld stories get right. Dragons do have hoards. And yes, we’re a little possessive of them.”
“A little?” she teased.
“A healthy amount,” he corrected.
“If you say so.”
He typed in a code, scanned something, and placed a hand on a panel. With a soft hydraulic hiss, a reinforced door slid open.
“Oh.” Zara’s brain shut off.
It wasn’t cartoonish piles of gold coins.
It was organized. Shelves of gold bars. Display cases of gems and rare metals.
Rows of intricately carved objects. Stacks of bullion.
Jewelry like museum pieces. It glowed everywhere, a warm light catching on surfaces and throwing reflections along the dark stone walls.
“This is…”
“Yeah,” Hektor said.
“Do all Drakkons have this much?”
He shook his head. “No. Like any society, we have versions of status. Wealth. Responsibility.”
“And your…?”
“My family is adjacent to the leadership of Drakkoria,” he answered simply.
Zara blinked.
Right. So, she was sleeping with, and now being shown the private hoard of someone essentially in Drakkoria’s ruling class.
She stepped deeper into the hoard room, the low lights glinting off rows of gold bars stacked with near-military precision.
Jewels glittered in glass cases, gemstones so large they looked unreal.
It was overwhelming, beautiful, and almost clinical in its organization… exactly like him.
“Drakkons not only manufactured the gold for Vale Crossing,” he said, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space, “we also traded and built large-scale businesses. Sure, we use paper currency and digital credits like everyone else, but gold is…cultural. Foundational.”
She touched a finger to the cool metal of a bar, letting out a low whistle. “Okay, but…why this much? This is like…dragon Fort Knox.”
He laughed softly behind her. “Family. Legacy. Preparing for the future. If someone in your bloodline needs something, make sure you can provide it. Drakkons don’t accumulate wealth just for indulgence; it’s a responsibility. Something you safeguard.”
She raised a brow and shot him a look over her shoulder. “You definitely don’t need this much for me. I mean, I grew up comfortable, but it wasn’t like I had access to my parents’ bank account. I don’t require…whatever this is.” She waved her hand dramatically.
His lips curved. “It’s not about need.”
“Oh?” she teased. “So, you are planning on taking me shopping?”
“Not shopping.” He stepped closer, his hand settling on the small of her back. “But I will take you on a date.”
She blinked, pleasantly startled. “A real one? Like…dress up, go out, talk about normal-people things?”
“Yes,” he said, amused. “That.”
“Well then,” she said, brushing her hands together with exaggerated seriousness, “I very obviously need to get ready. I’m not meeting the ruling class of Drakkoria looking like I rolled out of your bed.”
“You did,” he reminded her.
“Exactly,” she said, lifting her chin. “Hence the getting ready part.”
He chuckled, and she couldn’t help glancing back as they left the hoard room, because holy crap, she was seeing a man whose basement looked like the treasury of a kingdom. The heavy security door closed behind them.
And apparently, she was getting a date out of it too.
They reached the upper floor, the warm sunlight spilling across the hall. Zara felt the spark of anticipation flutter in her stomach. This wasn’t just the honeymoon phase. This was something expanding into something that made her want to look good, feel good, be good for him.
“Alright,” she said brightly as she headed toward the bedroom. “Give me twenty minutes.”
He arched a brow. “You take at least forty.”
She gasped, scandalized. “And now I’ll take forty-five.”
His laugh echoed down the hallway as she disappeared inside, her pulse already quickening with excitement for whatever came next.
She slipped into the bedroom, humming under her breath as she headed straight for the walk-in closet.
Of course, he had a dressing area, an entire corner of the closet fitted with a mirror, a seating bench, warm lighting, and shelves for accessories.
It wasn’t just functional; it was curated, exactly like him.
What surprised her was how full it all was. Not messy or cluttered, just intentional. She hadn’t even noticed he’d hung up her things neatly. Her stuff mixed with his in a way that made her chest warm. She tried not to read too much into it. She failed.
Forty-five minutes later, she tugged on one last earring and adjusted the neckline of her sweater when she sensed him enter. She turned just in time to see him pulling off his shirt and changing into a fitted dark one that made her pulse skip.
He glanced at her, paused, and tilted his head slightly. “You did something different.”
She lifted her brows. “Do you like it?”
“Still pretty,” he said, stepping in to kiss her, slow and appreciative, like he was marking the approval with his mouth.
She sighed against his lips. “Good. Because now I’m going to put on lipstick.”
He huffed a low laugh and stepped aside, watching her with a softness she felt on her skin.
The domesticity of it, him leaning against the frame, arms folded, eyes following her reflection, settled deep and sweet in her bones. She capped the lipstick, gave him a quick spin, and declared, “Okay. Officially ready.”
The city was only a short drive, but the change in atmosphere hit instantly.
His home was on the outskirts, where it was quiet and scenic, tucked near the mountains.
Here, the landscape shifted to structured beauty: tall buildings carved with Drakkon patterns, a mix of stone and glass, the gentle hum of commerce everywhere.
Still mountain air, just…busier. Important.
She tightened her hold on his arm, enjoying the calm. Shops were open, and they had time to look around. She was looking up at an intricate mural carved into a wall when someone called out.
“Hektor!”
They both turned.
A Drakkon approached. He was almost Hektor’s size, but with a different weight to him, less coiled aggression, and more polished power. His scales were darker and his gaze sharper, as though he saw everything and stayed amused by half of it.
“Nyxion,” Hektor greeted, clasping his forearm in a traditional grip.
Nyxion’s attention slid to Zara almost immediately, curiosity sparking across his features. “And who is this?”
She felt the subtle flicker of his energy; it was a quiet, probing, yet not invasive, assessment.
“This is Zara,” Hektor said with a steadiness she felt through his touch. “Nyxion and I grew up together,” he added to her, “and I used to work with his father.”
Nyxion offered her a polite nod that somehow still felt like he was gathering intel. “Welcome, Zara. How are you finding Drakkoria so far?”
“It’s beautiful,” she said honestly. “I love it.”
“Well,” Nyxion said, smile curling at the edges, “I wasn’t aware there was another mating ceremony. How did you two meet?”
Zara blinked, because that felt like…a loaded question.
Hektor’s jaw ticked, just slightly.
And Zara suddenly had the sense that this was more complicated than a casual crossing of paths.
“We work together,” Hektor said evenly. “With Lord Eros.”
Nyxion’s brows lifted, the corner of his mouth tugging. “Ah. So that’s the reason you left the fold.”
The tone was joking, but not really. It was light on the surface, edged underneath.
Zara studied the two of them. There were layers there, shaped by history she didn’t know. Loyalty, rivalry…tangled in a way she’d recognize anywhere. It was giving fake friends, but actually brothers energy.
“You can never leave,” Hektor shot back, the dry bite in his voice making Nyxion laugh.
And just like that, the tension broke.
Nyxion tipped his chin at them. “I’ll let Father know you’re here. You two should come to the race tomorrow.”
Hektor nodded once.
“Well, I’ve got to get back. I only came out to run an errand for my mate. She’s craving this cake.” He lifted a paper bag from a bakery, a satisfied grin on his face, and strode off.
Zara watched him go, then turned to Hektor and froze.