Chapter Three
Gatlin
It’d been almost two hundred years ago when he’d first met Viraj. A scared Drake clinging to the side of his mate when he returned from business up north.
Their relationship had been an open one, so the union wasn’t surprising or offensive, but what had shocked Gatlin at the time, was the instant attraction he shared with the male.
He knew to expect a Vritra Drake to stay with them awhile, but not how lovely he was.
All dark-clay skin and eyes like gold on fire.
And his scales? In his shifted form, he shone like rubies, a beautiful creature that had slotted between Gatlin and Teige every night for two centuries.
And all that time, searching for a Dette that was right. Under. Their. Noses. No wonder their search for a Dette bothered Viraj so deeply. They’d spent the better part of two hundred years interviewing, searching out, visiting and talking about an omega that was there all along.
Gatlin and Teige sat in their solar, watching two great Vritra dragons roll about the paddock, their rooster flock scattering fruitlessly and attempting to land on any surface of them that remained still for too long.
Perhaps it explained why, after all these years, Viraj was the one of the three the roosters tolerated.
They didn’t view him as competition, like they viewed the Drakes.
But as for the pups? They were having the time of their lives chasing and pouncing at roosters that had far more sense and agility than to be caught. After all, they were the survivors of two hundred years of Sunday dinners.
“All this time. Right under our noses,” Teige said it, not Gatlin, as if their minds operated on the same channel of thought.
Then again, they bore perfect mate marks.
They’d clawed the sigils on Viraj and taken his not a week after Gatlin returned from his trip.
And since, none of them had been with anyone else.
“I know.” The words escaped Gatlin in a whisper as Bastien and Gaspard kept silent, brooding with irritation.
“Are you telling Righ-an?” Teige glanced to the side, staring Gaspard down. The way he said the Dette’s name always heralded of its true meaning, a little king.
Gaspard grinned widely. “I so dearly want to. And Ryan deserves to know, but I am under obligation to say nothing, and Ryan knows better than to ask. It’s every bit his business, but not my place to say.”
Bastien nodded, echoing the sentiment.
“Though we will have to convey this to our other physicians in the area.” Gaspard cleared his throat. “As per our standards.”
“Gossip this juicy and you, of course, claim dibs on repeating it to the one person we’re allowed.” Bastien sniffed.
“Absolutely.” Gaspard’s brilliant smile couldn’t be contained.
So, in silence, they sat for long minutes, all the while Gatlin comparing every feature of their mate to his brother.
Their scales were identical; both shaded a beautiful carmine.
And aside from spines running the length of Viraj’s back, they looked the same.
It was easy to say that Viraj was a Drake at a distance, knowing that, but what were spines, really?
A little feature that meant nothing, ultimately, considering so many different varieties of Drakes didn’t have them, and like the Finnish dragons, there was no difference until that fated spring hit. Poor lads.
But here Viraj was, about to hit a spring and maybe find out just what those Dettes did. And while Gatlin thought there might be some bitterness or angst, ultimately, he knew that Viraj would embrace his new identity. He is enough Dette for us.
And before Gatlin realized it, a hot tear stung his eye, welling there stubbornly before falling. His throat choked up, squeezing tight. “I can’t imagine how miserable he’s been.”
Teige remained silent.
“All the time. Looking for a stand-in for him.” Gatlin scoffed and shook his head, giving in to a sob that shook his chest. “How would I feel if you two kept gushing about finding a Drake for us, a stand-in for me, like I wasn’t enough?”
Teige pulled out his phone, burying himself in it as his thumbs flew. The clicking sound he’d programmed in ticked in Gatlin’s ears like billet in an hourglass, hammering its way down. Each click, a deafening smack.
“Who are you telling?” Gatlin choked as he glanced over.
“Not a damn soul.” Teige clicked and scrolled. “Ordering things.”
Gatlin glanced over; the sleek design of a gem trader’s website promising high quality materials flowing under his fingers. He scrolled from one window to the next, thumbing through his email before typing one out with flying thumbs.
Gatlin raised a brow.
“Our nest needs treasure. Emeralds would look amazing next to him.” Teige kept typing away. “Big raw ones.”
“And opals,” Gatlin added, swallowing hard. “Beautiful, polished ones. White opal, not black. Black… I want faceted obsidian, too. Fire obsidian. That kind you only get up in Glass Buttes, Oregon.”
“Ohh, if you have contacts there, get some sunstone. Ooooh, and picture jasper, too. Get slabs of that; I want to tile the floor in it.” Teige bit his lower lip, heat simmering in his eyes.
They’d wanted a Dette for so long, and it was time they made him feel the part.
Time they truly pushed their desire to spoil their mate.
The instinct had been there all along, and it was time their Dette was adorned finer than any other Stoor’s mate.
A rumble started in Gatlin’s throat, ending in Teige’s as they leaned in, firm lips pressed into a deep kiss that lingered, enjoying the contact more than the lust.
“Ew.” Bastien buried his attention in his cellphone, but Gatlin knew full well as a Dette, even as Dior complected as he was, he held the blood of Vritra in him. And Vritra Dettes loved to watch their mates.