I let out a massive, rumbling huff, my huge, scaly chest rising and falling with the effort of it, a tendril of smoke escaping my nostrils to encircle my head. We solved his problem. He’s free to go back to pickpocketing vampires, or whatever dumb ass klepto shenanigans he plans to engage in next.
I curl my large tail around my body. The shift causes some of the treasure beneath me to clatter off the pile and skitter noisily across the hard floor. I make another grumbly sound in my throat and close my eyes. A nap sounds nice, and the afternoon sun coming through the high glass ceiling to warm my scales only makes it more tempting. Something in the back of my mind points out that I’ve been sleeping a lot lately.
I stretch my wings and yawn. Maybe I have been sleeping a lot since the whole Xazedose fiasco, but the bone-deepexhaustion that continues to plague me isn’t giving me much choice. Besides, what’s the difference? So what if I spend a decade locked in my hoard room in my dragon form doing nothing but dozing and counting my treasures? Ten years is but a blink in the lifespan of a dragon. The worst of it would be the ravenous hunger I would have when I came out of my hibernation. Nico once ate an entire field of cattle after a period of hiding himself away in a cave. The farmer waspissed.
I rumble a dragony laugh in my throat. We were forced to leave Italy by a mob of men with pitchforks after that. Lord was so annoyed, but Arson and I couldn’t stop laughing about it, which only made our uptight eldest brother grumpier. The memory buoys my spirit for a moment before fading and leaving the heavy exhaustion in its wake all over again. It’s better than the pure rage I can’t seem to shake in my human form though.
After a week of rampaging through my own house, setting things on fire and breaking anything that wasn’t nailed down, I came up to my hoard room and shifted. And now I can’t quite find the energy or the desire to shift back… or to do anything but sleep, if I’m being honest.
I barely register the sound of more shuffling feet on the other side of the door, or the low, murmuring voices. It sounds like they’re arguing about something. If I cared, I could concentrate and make out what they’re saying, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Montrose is gone.
Xazedose.
I growl the correction to myself, the anger of my human emotions tearing at the lethargic depression my dragon is so content to wallow in.
I ignore the first sharp rap on my door, tucking my snout under my tail and closing my eyes tighter. I think there’s a second knock and maybe even a third, but it’s the sound of a power drill that actually forces me into action. I jumpup and lumber off my resting spot made of gold coins and sparkling jewels that have warmed to match my scorching body temperature and shifted into exactly the right position after days and days of lying there. Trinkets and treasure shake loose from my underbelly and bounce along the floor.
I pull myself into my human form, groaning lightly at the stiff tugging sensation in my joints as I fold my massive form into one that’s a tenth the size. Thetinkof a screw falling loose from my door and the continued whirr of the drill makes me roar, but it’s a very human sound this time.
“Are you fucking insane?” I bellow, stomping across the room and turning the key in the lock. “You don’t break into a dragon’s hoard room. It’s fucking sacred.” I continue to rage as I fling the doors wide, not bothered by the way Arson tumbles forward at the sudden loss, nearly falling on top of his drill. His wolf catches him around the middle and hauls him to his feet, and the rest of my brothers and their mates have the good sense to take a step back and look mildly apologetic.
My jaw ticks and I glare at them, waiting for someone to say something. They wanted to see me badly enough to break into my hoard, they can damn well find their tongues and tell me what’s so damn important.
Lake scrunches his nose. “No offense, but if Nick Nolte’s mugshot was a scratch-and-sniff, it would smell like you.” He waves his hand in front of his face.
“Get out of my house and you won’t have to smell me. Problem solved,” I grumble. I’m well aware that I’m doing a hell of a Nico impression right now with all my growling and snapping, but is it too much to ask for a little space in this family? Is the humiliation of being used and dumped by a fucking incubus not enough? I have to have a family fucking meeting about it too?
“We’re worried about you,” Hemingway says, and Dempsey nods vigorously, his glasses slipping down his nose with the action.
“I needed some quiet time in my hoard for a few days. What’s the big deal?”
“Three weeks,” Arson says.
“What?” I snap.
“You’ve been locked away for three weeks.” An uncharacteristic look of worry flickers over his face.
Has it really been that long? I suppose the days do tend to blur together in dragon form.
“I know demon dick is pretty fucking awesome, but…” Dray starts to say, and I turn on him with a bellow of flames pouring from my mouth. Arson jumps in front of his mate with a roar of his own.
“This is what we fucking mean, asshole.” He shoves at my chest, pushing me back a step and getting in my face. “You’re acting insane. Did Xazedosedosomething to you? Demons can get in your head and shit, right?” He’s clearly asking someone other than me, even though his flaming gaze is still fixed on me.
“They can…” Dempsey is the one who answers, but he doesn’t sound certain, or maybe he just doesn’t agree that that’s what’s happening.
“I’m fine.” I push Arson back. “If it’ll make you all happy, I’ll take a fucking shower, okay?”
“That would be a start,” Lord says. “But if you want to talk about?—”
“I’mfine,” I snap again.
I can tell they all want to say more, looking around at each other, then back at me. But none of them work up the courage to open their mouths before I stomp past them and slam the bathroom door behind me hard enough to rattle it on its hinges and splinter it down the middle.
Nosy fuckers. So fucking high and mighty, like none of them have ever needed some space and privacy to lick their wounds and coddle a bruised ego. I can think of atleasttwo different occasions when Arson sulked in his dragon form for over a year after some petty disappointment.
I grumble my way through a shower, cranking the heat up high enough to melt the scales right off my back—figuratively speaking, of course. Not that I’ll admit it to those dickheads, but the clean steam filling my lungs and the scalding water cascading over my skin to wash away what was apparentlythree weeks’worth of sweat and grime actually does make me feel marginally better.
The pulsing rage in my gut is still there, and if I reach for my dragon, I can feel the weight of his oddly heavy despair, but on the surface, I feel a little steadier. I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my hips. My stomach clenches and growls loudly, reminding me that I can’t ignore my hunger in human form. With my skin damp and my hair still dripping, I leave the bathroom and trot down the stairs towards the kitchen, hoping like hell that Mac has kept the place stocked while I’ve been…resting.
