Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
SEB
I’m not the type of person who has a lot of hang-ups around sex.
It’s a bodily function. A need. When we’re hungry, we eat.
When we’re thirsty, we drink. When we’re a dragon in our alignment, we fuck as often as possible.
As long as all parties are consenting adults, there’s no reason to be shy about it.
Only moments ago, I’d considered telling Zoe that I wanted her.
I considered confessing that the reason my dragon was interested in her was that I desperately needed sex.
That sweat she keeps noticing on my forehead is a sign of a serious fever with only one cure—her.
For reasons unknown to me, she’s the only medicine my dragon wants to take.
Spooning her tight ass over the last several hours was like smelling my favorite appetizer baking in the oven.
Now I’ve got clinical-grade blue balls and heart palpitations.
One thing stops me from sharing all that with her, though.
She’s not well, and it’s my fucking fault she can’t walk three feet without almost passing out.
I’m not sure I can ever compensate her for what she’s doing for us.
What I saw on that paper of hers was the start of something seriously valuable to my kind.
I knew when I roped her into this mess that she was taking a personal risk to help me.
I just didn’t realize how immediate and intense the side effects would be.
I may be straightforward about sex, but I’m absolutely not going to seduce a woman who has a growling stomach and is fighting dizzy spells. I’m not a monster.
I sit her down at the breakfast nook and pour her a glass of orange juice. Then I dig under the counter for a frying pan. “What are you going to make?” she asks.
“The only thing I actually know how to make.” I reach into the cupboard and pull out a box of pancake mix, holding up the box for her. “Sorry, I don’t have blueberries, and I guarantee these won’t be as good as Alice’s.”
“Do you have whipped cream?”
“Of course.”
“They’ll be perfect. They may not be Alice’s, but I can eat them in the middle of the night in a pair of silk pajamas. That makes up for a lot.”
“True. Chocolate chip or strawberry?”
She grins. “You’re thinking small, Seb. Why not both?”
I chuckle, loving that she’s feeling excited enough about this meal to joke with me.
“Both it is.” I grab a bag of sliced strawberries from the freezer and dump them into a pan over low heat, then add a little sugar and water.
While that’s cooking, I collect the ingredients for chocolate chip pancakes.
“How is it you only know how to make pancakes?”
“Mom cooked, and then Patrick cooked.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see her cringe and backpedal quickly. “It’s not that I think I’m too good to cook or anything. My brother Connor is a chef and makes the best food you’ll ever eat. Cooking just never seemed important enough to learn.”
“You have a brother named Connor? How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“Oh, uh, Connor isn’t my biological brother. I do have a sister, but she lives in upstate New York with my brother-in-law, Todd, and their two rugrats. Connor is a fellow member of the Zodiac Brotherhood, the band of warriors charged with defending dragonkind.”
She rests her chin on her fists. “So that’s why you were the one who came for me. You and your brotherhood are responsible for stopping the Saint’s Order from killing dragons.”
“That’s right.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Twelve, just like the Zodiac, but you’ll likely meet Remus, Ellison, and Lucas in the near future. We’re the four taking point on this one.”
A pocket of silence opens behind me, and I dart a glance over my shoulder at her as I finish mixing the batter. “That wouldn’t be the Remus who works at Venomous Ink? I mean, Remus is a name you don’t easily forget.”
“Uh, yeah. He mentioned that he did the tattoo on your calf.” I might as well be the batter dripping into the hot pan with that admission. Is she going to think we manipulated her into doing this?
“I knew he was trying to get into my head. I felt it,” she says with a snort.
“He does it to ease people’s pain. He didn’t know you were a witch.”
“Yeah, I bet. Tell me, have I run into any other brothers before I volunteered for this?”
“No,” I answer quickly. “We didn’t manipulate you, Zoe. I would’ve been willing to ask another witch if you’d referred me, but then you agreed to help us.”
She nods. “I didn’t think you manipulated me. I got that tattoo years ago. I’m just surprised. I thought you were the first dragon I ever met, but I was wrong.”
“We are relatively rare compared to humans. We tend to live around art or art communities.”
“Why?”
“Dragons are made of creative energy. We emit it. Being near us brings out innovation in humans, and I guess you could say it’s our purpose. Creating is definitely wired into us, like a compulsion.”
“So, you have to produce art?”
“Yes, but art is a lot broader than you might think. Designing buildings is an art. Agriculture can be an art. There’s art in everything.
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love music, and I can play a great many instruments, but I’m a partner at Full Throttle because I also enjoy the art of the deal. The art of business.”
“How many instruments?” she asks, repositioning herself and crossing her legs. The neck of my silk pajamas falls off her shoulder again, and this time, my dragon is particularly interested. I have to look back at the pancakes to keep my dragon inside my skin.
“About twenty, I guess.”
“Twenty!”
I laugh. “It’s not a ton when you consider there are over 1,000 different musical instruments in the world. And I’m a dragon, which means I can master any one of them if I put enough energy into it.”
“Are you saying you can pick up any instrument on the planet and, if you tinker with it long enough, become proficient? Like, without lessons or years of practice?”
I shrug. “More than proficient. I could stand in for any musician at any event if given a few hours with their instrument and their music.”
She shakes her head. “That’s impossible. What, without even practicing?”
“Look, you probably learned to ride a bike in a day, right?”
She flips a hand through the air. “I had training wheels first, but yes, once they came off, I had it in a day.”
“There you go. The arts are like that for dragons.”
“Playing the piano is like riding a bike?” Her voice is incredulous, and she’s shaking her head at me.
“That’s a good way to think of it, actually. Twenty isn’t even that remarkable. Plenty of humans can play twenty instruments.” I flip the first pancakes onto the plate and drop a second round into the pan.
“After years of lessons and practice, maybe.” Her brows shoot up incredulously. “What is your favorite instrument to play?”
“I’ve always been partial to strings. There’s nothing quite like an acoustic guitar.” Gods, when I think back to the night I saw her playing at the Barrel Room, it gives me chills.
She grins. “Me too. I actually prefer it to electric when I perform.”
“Definitely in my top ten. But if I have to pick one favorite, it might be the violin.” I pour the warm strawberries into the first bowl I find and bring them to the table with a spoon and some maple syrup.
I snag the whipped cream from the fridge and bring that over too.
Then I turn back to the stove to finish up the pancakes.
“The violin? You play the violin?”
I nod. “As well as the viola, the cello, the bass, the harp, the banjo.”
“The banjo?” She laughs.
“I’m partial to the violin. I had the privilege of playing a duet with Lindsey Stirling once. Positively magical. Thought she was a dragon until I met her in person.”
As I turn to bring the pancakes to the table, I see a strange expression flit across her face, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was jealousy.
But it’s gone so quickly, I can’t be sure.
In any case, she mounds a pile of whipped cream at the center of her pancakes and digs in like she hasn’t eaten in a week.
“My god, this syrup is incredible.”
“It’s the best. From a tiny maple orchard in Illinois, of all places. Someone gifted me a bottle a few years ago, and I’ve never gone back.”
A few minutes later, at the end of her second pancake, she leans back in her chair. “I’m going to have to use gold dust again to get the rest of the details on the ring. I can’t do it right away, though, or my wetting myself will be the least of our worries.”
“You said the day of your audition with our label, you went into cardiac arrest?”
She nods. “I died… Twice.” I wince. “I’m lucky to be here, actually. Each time I use it, the length of effectiveness shortens and the consequences grow worse. And it changes me. I’ll get mean, manipulative, cruel. I—”
“You?”
“I burned my bridges with my family and most of my friends. I borrowed money, spent it all on gold dust, and never paid it back. I lied to people I loved. I drained my parents’ savings to pay for rehab.
That’s why I’m here. That’s why I need the house and the money you’re paying me.
Gold dust has taken everything from me. Well, almost everything. I’m still alive.”
I reach across the table and take her hand, her fingers slightly sticky from where she was holding her fork. “Well, I know what’s coming, and I promise I’ll care for you. I’ll make sure gold dust doesn’t steal anything from you again.”
“I’ll have to wait to go back in. Wait until I’m stronger. Otherwise, I won’t be able to get the most of my time in the Gold Room.”
“How long?”
“A day? Maybe two?”
I nod. Dark circles have formed under her eyes.
She needs rest. “I’ll help you back to your house.
” I release her hand. A drop of syrup lingers on the corner of her mouth.
Absently, I wipe it away with the pad of my thumb.
I bring it to my mouth and suck the sweetness from my skin.
Her eyes lock on my mouth, and I remove my thumb quickly, shifting in my chair.
“You’re sweating again.”
“It’s a dragon thing. Don’t worry about it.”
She drains the rest of her orange juice. We stand and walk slowly toward the back door.
“Will you play for me sometime?”
“The violin?”
“Yes.”
“Sure.”
She smiles weakly.
I gather her things for her, including her outfit from the wash, and walk her past the pool to the door to her cottage. She fishes the keys out of the side of the black bag and lets herself inside, before taking her bag from me. Our eyes meet and hold as she slips the strap onto her own shoulder.
“Goodnight, Zoe,” I finally say.
“Thanks for the pancakes. Again.”