Chapter Six
Rux
“This is not going well.” Monday morning found Rux stabbing at his eggs with more force than strictly necessary.
“He took everything to the pub.” Fork met plate with a sharp clink. “Showed that bartender. He probably thought we were trying to scam him.”
“We didn’t exactly leave a return address.” Mabon pushed his untouched toast around his plate. “Or any way for him to respond.”
“How was he supposed to respond?” Urien’s coffee cup hit the table hard. “Dear anonymous stalker, thank you for the gold bar, please leave more expensive items on my doorstep next week.”
Rux’s dragon rumbled unhappily in his chest. A week of carefully selected gifts - premium coffee beans, special editions tracked down through three different book dealers, artisan chocolate from Belgium, a custom mug commissioned from that potter in Glastonbury, the softest cashmere jumper Mabon could find - and their Treasure looked more anxious than courted.
“The gold bar was too much.” Mabon rubbed his temples. “I told you the gold bar was too much.”
“Dragons give gold.” Rux threw his hands up. “It’s traditional. It’s what we do.”
“We also used to eat knights who annoyed us, but I don’t see you suggesting that. What do you suggest we do? Find a knight and leave his leg on Sam’s doorstep so he knows we can protect him?”
Urien’s chair scraped back. He paced to the window and stared out at his garden. His reflection showed the same frustration Rux felt burning under his skin.
“He didn’t throw them away.” Urien’s voice was quiet. “He kept them. He simply took them somewhere safe to verify they were real.”
“Because he thought someone made a mistake.” Mabon pulled up something on his laptop. “Or that we’re criminals. Look, I’ve been reading forums. When people receive unexpected expensive gifts, they worry about scams, money laundering, or stolen goods.”
“Our gold isn’t stolen.”
“Sam doesn’t know that.”
Rux shoved his plate away. His dragon wanted to shift and fly to that cottage so he could explain everything properly. He wanted to show Sam exactly what they were, what he meant to them, and why gold bars were genuinely reasonable gifts when a dragon had been hoarding wealth for centuries.
“So what do we do?” He looked between his mates. “Keep leaving things? Stop leaving things? Neither option gets us closer to him.”
“We have to talk to him.” Mabon closed his laptop with quiet finality. “Properly. Face to face.”
The dragon in Rux’s chest surged with approval. “Finally.” He stood. “When?”
“One of us should go. Today.” Mabon glanced at Urien. “Make actual contact with him and have a conversation. We need to find out what he likes, what he wants, and whether he’s…”
“Whether he’s interested in dragons who’ve been leaving gold bars on his doorstep like deranged crows.” Urien turned from the window. “That conversation?”
“We don’t tell him about the gifts.” Mabon’s tone went firm. “Not yet. We just...talk to him. Like normal people having a normal conversation in a coffee shop.”
Rux’s dragon was slowly going off the plan.
He loved the idea of talking to their Treasure, but he didn’t like hiding, didn’t like pretending, and he definitely didn’t like anything that involved not claiming their mate immediately.
But Rux had learned something over the years – patience… sort of…to a point anyway.
“I’ll go.” The words came out before Rux fully thought them through. But they felt right. “I saw him first. My dragon recognized him first. I should be the one.”
Mabon and Urien exchanged one of those looks where whole conversations were compressed into a single glance.
“Are you sure?” Urien’s blue eyes searched his face. “You won’t accidentally tell him we’ve been watching his cottage?”
“Or that we know his schedule?” Mabon added.
“Or that we followed him home from the coffee shop?”
“Or that we’ve been leaving gifts worth thousands of dollars?”
Rux scowled at both of them. “I can have a normal conversation.”
“Can you?” Mabon’s eyebrow rose. “Because just last month you told Mrs. Channing you couldn’t meet her nephew because you were already mated to two males and waiting for your fourth.”
“That was different. She was being pushy. Besides, she suggested her Derek would make a very enthusiastic fourth, so clearly it wasn’t that weird.”
“We don’t need a Derek, we need a Sam. What are you going to do if he smiles at you? If your heart stone pulses?”
Rux’s dragon preened at the thought.
“I’ll handle it.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. “I’ll go in, order coffee, and make conversation. Simple.”
“Simple.” Urien didn’t sound convinced.
“Normal.” Mabon looked even less convinced.
“Human.” Rux headed for the door before either of them could talk him out of it. “I’ll be completely…human.”
His dragon rumbled with anticipation. How hard could one conversation be?
/~/~/~/~/
The bell above the door chimed when Rux pushed into the Daily Bean.
His dragon surged immediately. Every instinct screamed mine, Treasure, claim, protect - but Rux forced himself to breathe and get his feet to move at a normal human pace instead of launching across the café to vault the counter.
He’d seen Sam dozens of times since that first moment through Harrison’s window - through the Daily Bean’s front glass, from the Range Rover parked down the street, through his cottage windows while Sam cooked dinner or wrote at his laptop.
It had always been from afar, separated by glass or darkness or the careful distance required to avoid looking like the stalkers they definitely were.
This time, there was no barrier or distance. This time, Sam would actually know he existed.
The shop smelled like coffee, cinnamon, and something sweet baking in the back.
Eight tables were scattered across warm wooden floors, and the windows took advantage of the morning light.
A glass cabinet displayed pastries and muffins, and beside the menu board, a chalkboard listed the week’s specials and…
Rux’s eyes caught on the staff schedule. Right there, in public, posted for customers to know who’d be working when. Sam’s name was clearly on there, with a list of days and times beside it.
I knew it. They’d been watching the cottage, tracking patterns, and yet Sam’s schedule had been displayed in a public spot for all to see the whole time. That made them perfectly innocent…well, mostly innocent.
Sam stood at the espresso machine, explaining something to an elderly woman in a purple coat. His voice carried softly and patiently across the space.
“So a latte has more milk and just a little foam on top.” Sam gestured with his hands, demonstrating layers. “A cappuccino is equal parts espresso, steamed milk, and foam. Much frothier.”
“And which would you recommend for someone who doesn’t like their coffee too strong?”
“Definitely the latte. I can make it with a half shot if you’d like, but the milk ratio keeps it smooth.”
The woman beamed. “You’re such a dear. I’ll have the latte, then.”
Sam’s smile transformed his whole face, and Rux’s dragon rumbled, he’s so perfect.
Sam glanced up as he reached for a cup, and his gaze landed on Rux. His eyes widened slightly, just a fraction, before his professional smile returned. “I’ll be right with you.”
Rux managed a nod. It was best not to speak in that moment because his dragon wanted to rumble something possessive and wildly inappropriate for a first meeting.
He forced himself to look at the menu board instead. Americano. Espresso. Flat white. Words that meant coffee, but his brain couldn’t quite process them because Sam was right there, less than ten feet away. Every fiber of Rux’s being wanted to close that distance.
The espresso machine hissed. Sam’s hands moved quickly - pulling shots, steaming milk, creating that ideal ratio he’d described. He chatted with the elderly woman about the weather, about her grandson’s upcoming wedding, and about whether she’d tried the lemon scones.
Then she left, and Sam turned to Rux with that same gentle smile.
“What can I get for you?”
Rux opened his mouth.
His dragon chose that moment to flood his brain with completely unhelpful suggestions: Tell him he’s beautiful. Tell him we’ve been waiting centuries. Tell him about the gold. Show him the heart stone. Shift. Claim him. Take him home where he’ll be safe and warm and…
“Coffee.” The word emerged too loud, too abrupt. Rux cleared his throat. “I’d like coffee, please.”
Sam’s smile remained patient, kind, the same expression he’d given the elderly woman moments ago. “What kind?”
What kind? Right. Because there were dozens of kinds. Because people didn’t just walk into coffee shops and demand coffee like some kind of…
His gaze darted to the menu board. Letters and words swam together. His dragon was still chanting ours, ours, ours on repeat, making it almost impossible to think.
“Pumpkin spice.”
Sam blinked.
“With extra...” Rux’s eyes landed on the description. “Foam?”
A beat of silence. Sam’s pen hovered over his notepad, and something flickered across his face - surprise, maybe, or confusion - before the professional smile returned.
“Sure. One pumpkin spice latte with extra foam. What size?”
Size. There were sizes? Rux never had issues dealing with human interactions in the past – it was why he was the one who did the grocery shopping. But with his dragon taking up most of his brain space, Rux could barely think at all.
“Large.” Rux paused. “Please.”
“Coming right up.” Sam turned toward the espresso machine.
Rux stood there, watching Sam reach for a cup, and then the pumpkin spice syrup. His hands curled into fists at his sides because he needed to do something. Mabon had said to talk to him, to seem normal and friendly.
“Nice weather we’re having.”
The words tumbled out before Rux could stop them.
Sam glanced over his shoulder, and his expression shifted - just slightly - toward polite bewilderment. His gaze flicked to the windows where brilliant October sunshine poured across the street, golden and obvious.