Mikhail smiled. “Sorry, just lost in thepast.”
The servant looked older than him at forty or fifty years old, but Mikhail was over two thousand. It just so happened that as a dragon shifter he didn’t physically age past his mid-thirties. Only far older dragons, those five or ten thousand years old, would start to show their age, and even then their hair might just have a few silver streaks in it. Dragons didn’t grow old and wrinkled, but without purpose, many of the ancient ones simply remained in their dragon forms and buried themselves in caves deep in mountains and went to sleep, never to wakeagain.
It was why finding one’s true mate was important—it gave a dragon a reason to stay alive, unless of course one’s mate was human. He’d known many dragons who had given up on finding true mates and contented themselves to breed with dragonesses simply for the sake of continuing the bloodlines, but he’d never wanted that for himself. He’d been determined to find and claim his true mate—but that dream had been shattered centuriesago.
“The room is this way.” The servant led him down the hall and paused by the door. “Mr. Belishaw is inside. I shall send someone to bring you drinks.” The servant opened the door and allowed Mikhail to passthrough.
The small private room was lushly decorated, furnished with leather chairs and a warm fire crackling in the hearth. A lone man with dark brown hair and aristocratic features sat in a chair, reading anewspaper.
“Belishaw,” Mikhail greetedhim.
Randolph Belishaw—or simply Belishaw to his friends—raised his head and grinned. “Been a long time since you came to see me. Still hiding in that little cottage in Cornwall?” Belishaw stood and clasped hands with Mikhail with genuinewarmth.
“Cornwall is right for me. You know I love the cliffs—excellent for flying. You’ve always been more of a citydragon.”
Belishaw laughed, his brown eyes twinkling. “True.” He was the eldest son of the Belishaw family—a noble line of English dragons—and one of Mikhail’s fewfriends.
Belishaw offered him a chair by the fire. For the first time in a century, Mikhail felt guilty for not coming to London more often. He liked to think he was all alone, but he did have friends here.I am too used to playing the martyr, Ifear.
“You’ve seen the news?” Mikhailasked.
His friend grinned. “Of course. Bet you leaped at the chance to see the jewels foryourself.”
“I already have.” Mikhail’s smile slipped at the memory of how the pearls had looked. Once a bag of opalescent joy he’d carried in a large red cloth bag, now a pinkish-gray and sunken looking. It was enough to break a dragon’s heart. Jewels were meant to be guarded and cherished, nottarnished.
“Oh?” Belishaw looked surprised, and then it changed to a keen gaze of comprehension. “That’swhy you’re here. You wish for me to bring you to the Thorne Auction House reception tonight, don’t you?” There was a flicker of pain in Belishaw’s eyes. It was clear that he thought he was beingused.
Damn, I can be a bloody bastardsometimes.
Mikhail leaned forward in his chair and raked his hands through his hair. “Please, Randolph. I wouldn’t ask,but—”
“Say no more. If the promise of gems draws you out of your little cave in Cornwall, then consider it done. I’ll go with you, of course. I’m rather fond of the new American gemologist they brought here. I should like to see heragain.”
Mikhail’s body went rigid. An American gemologist? His little virgin gemologist who smelled like heaven? The one he’d done a poor job of not thinking about for the lasthour?
“Gemologist?” Mikhail forced himself to soundneutral.
“Oh yes. A succulent little creature with the biggest brown eyes and legs that go on for days, as the Americans say. I’d love to have them wrapped around my hips, if you understand my meaning.” Randolph grinnedwickedly.
Brown eyes? Not pale blue? So it hadn’t been the woman named Piper Linwood. The small, curvy human with eyes like alexandrite, a bluish-gray that could change shade with whatever she stood close to. He’d taken one look at those eyes, and for a moment he was lost in fantasies of stripping the woman bare and draping jewels over her body. He wanted to see diamonds glinting across her stomach and strings of pearls rising and falling over the mounds of herbreasts.
The fact that her profession was studying and understanding such treasures had made his dragon growl in pride and the man part of him hard asstone.
“So tonight we go to the reception.” He looked at Belishaw, who was still grinning as though he, too, was lost in personalfantasies.
“Indeed, but you’re going to need a suit.” Belishaw eyed Mikhail critically. “You didn’t bring one to London, did you?” Belishaw was known for his fine taste in clothing: the finest suits, the most expensive Italian leather shoes. Mikhail simply wore whatever was in his closet with little thought to it so long as it was dark incolor.
Mikhail chuckled. “You know I did not. Rolling up a fine suit and strapping it to my leg during flight would have ruinedit.”
Belishaw burst out laughing. “I forgot you Russian imperials are always so rustic. British dragons don’t fly anymore, not unless it’s an emergency. I only fly now when I need to clear myhead.”
Mikhail shuddered at the thought of going so long without transforming. The dragon inside him could not go that length of time being caged inside his humanbody.
“I suppose I am more rustic.” He thought of the cliffs by his home and how often he leapt from them, allowing his body to elongate and his skin to turn into scales. There was nothing more glorious thanflight.
A pang of longing for home—his true home in Russia, the Fire Hills—slammed into him. He hadn’t seen his brothers in two hundred years. He hadn’t spoken to them for that long, either. He wasn’t sure what to say to them after so long. The last time he’d gone home, his father and mother had been traveling the world. He’d defied his father’s orders of exile and come home for thatyear.
He had brought the Englishman James Barrow with him. Barrow had been a friend and confidant. He had known what Mikhail really was, and rather than be afraid, he’d been curious. Fascinated. Barrow had been a naturalist, and exploring the world of dragons had been one of his greatest joys. Mikhail had worried that his brothers would not open up to Barrow, but they had been welcoming. Grigori, his eldest brother, was a man who lived for duty to his family, and the younger hotheaded Rurik was the Barinov battle dragon. Each brother had a duty assigned tohim.
