“Thanks. Me too,” my youngest brother mutters.
Perhaps we’ll all sit Mac down and have another talk with him about not stealing from demons in the future. But right now the only thing I’m concerned about is taking my mate to my hoard room and getting some rest.
Chapter Twenty-three
VALENTINO
Ilift Xaze’s head and pour cool water down his throat. He’s been out for days, only stirring briefly and smiling at me before falling asleep again. I don’t know how I know, but he’s getting better. Stronger. Maybe it’s the mating bond giving me the sense of security I feel.
After laying his head gently on the pillow again, I massage the scented lotion Lake brought by into his hands and forearms. He told me Xaze loved it when they went shopping together, so he bought him some to cheer him up. Lake is so much more thoughtful than I thought he would be upon meeting him. He’s kind and truly cares about this family.
Dempsey and Dahlia have been by a few times too, telling me what they’ve learned about dragons mating with non-dragon supes. It’s information that might interest me if my mate was awake, but right now, it’s all noise. They couldn’t find anything about how demons bond though, which does tickle the back of my brain. Maybe the bond isn’t secure?
My dragon reacts to that thought, surging closer to the surface and sending ripples of scales across my arms. Yeah, okay, it’s definitely secure on my end, but what does Xaze feel? Does he know what I did? Will he understand?
I rise from the chaise and busy myself straightening the hoard room. All the art and jewels, the stacks of money and other luxury items I’ve gathered over the years don’t seem to excite my dragon, even knowing we can share them all with our mate.
A thought comes to me—more like accosts me, holding me hostage for several tense seconds—and a tendril of smoke rises from my lips. Gods of fire. Xaze is an incubus. He feeds off energy and emotions, notthings. He meant it when he said that what I’d been hoarding for him all these years wasn’t physical.
I hurry back to him, squeezing onto the chaise beside him and putting my hand on his chest. Then I close my eyes and recall centuries of memories, letting them flow through me and hoping like hell they reach my love.
Visions of my adventures come back in vivid detail—all the traveling and flying, the early years when I was just as easily triggered as Nico and often backed him up torching people who pissed him off. I laugh at that. We didn’t really hurt people, but scaring them was fun.
Then as teen whelps, my bond with Arson grew, and I remember all the times I kept look out him while he stuffed shiny trinkets in his pockets from the street markets back home.
Then there were the times when Hemingway would bore me with summaries of all the books he’d read, but I loved spending time with him so much and drinking up his excitement, so I happily did it.
The time Lord taught me how to drive after I avoided it for decades flits through my mind next. It was one of those rare moments when Lord dropped the ‘serious big brother incharge’ act and laughed his ass off when I crashed the car into a snowbank for the third time that day. Damn, that was a good time.
With a deep exhale, I blow out those memories and summon my most carnal moments. Nameless, faceless bodies tumble through my mind, an erotic mixture of limbs and orifices, of steamy nights and chilly mornings, an endless chase to soothe an itch that couldn’t be scratched.
Until now. Until Xaze.
My mate stirs, his eyelids fluttering until he finally pulls them open, gazing up at me. He’s completely in demon form right now, glorious and perfect as he was made.
“Deliciae.” A slight smile pulls at his lips as he licks them. “Now that’s a hoard,” he says. His voice is scratchy and strangely deep, and I remember what he said about the trapped souls.
“You felt it?”
He nods slightly. “It’s warm like medicine spreading through me.” As he speaks, his voice starts to normalize, but his face flickers between the demon and human form. “Were you saving that for me?”
“Saving what?”
“Your memories. Your experiences.” His smile brightens. “Delicious.”
My dragon flips with joy before purring and rolling into a contented ball. “Apparently. All that chasing and sex and debauchery was for you.”
“Sweet, lusty dragon,” he murmurs, his demon eyes searching mine. “Where am I?”
“My hoard room, baby. You’re safe.”
“Mag…” He shakes his head, refusing to finish the word.
“He’s dead.”
He visibly relaxes, his shoulders dropping and tension draining from his face. “Mac?”
“Not dead. Thank you for protecting him.”
