“People tend to be around here. Come on.”
He removes his arm from around my waist but grips my wrist instead. I wonder if he’s nervous, but his mood seems light as we trudge up the crumbling concrete steps. The constant shame of my lackluster existence wafts around me, but at least I’m not trying to impress Drax for any reason.
I’ve always reasoned that my dragon doesn’t care about the things other dragons do because we don’t have a mate. Maybe we never will since all I hoard are stolen demon artifacts. What kind of dragon mate would want that? Sure, I have some gold and jewels, but nothing like I should have given how long I’ve been alive. I would die if any of my brothers ever caught on to how paltry my hoard is.
“Something bothers you?” Drax asks. “Your energy shifted.”
“Oh, uh, no. I’m fine. Just thinking about…” I gesture vaguely. “Everything, I guess.”
I stop in front of my door and open it. I never bother to lock it since there’s nothing valuable in here. If someone wants to steal my ratty clothes and beat up furniture, let them.
Drax glances around while I grab a few piles of clothes from the floor. “Sorry. I wasn’t planning on having anyone over.”
He smiles with a slightly clueless expression, like he has no idea what I’m apologizing for. Maybe he doesn’t.
“Just gonna get some clothes together. Make yourself comfortable.”
“I’ll do that.” He settles on my couch, adjusting himself around the tears in the fabric. My dragon huffs, releasing a tendril of smoke, and I know what that means. He’s displeased that Drax is seeing the squalor we live in, but why would he care? We’ve had plenty of hookups come in and out of here and he’s never so much as blinked.
He does seem kind of fond of the demon. Maybe he’s hoping for a hookup, but that sounds like a super bad idea, even for me. When I glance back at Drax, his eyes are half-closed and his head has lolled back on the couch. He looks drugged.
“You okay, Drax?”
“Mmm.” His eyelids flutter. “It’s the human realm. It makes me so sleepy.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, rest. I’ll wake you up when I’m done.”
“Mm. Good, dragon.”
My dragon weirdly chuffs at the praise, but I brush it off, hurrying to my bedroom to pack a bag of clothes and toiletries. I’d like to swing by my hoard just to check things out, but I’m not sure if Drax is okay humanside for that long. I’ll have to ask him.
I wait for a reaction from my dragon about the idea of bringing someone anywhere near our hoard, but get nothing but a calm vibration—almost like a purr, but less dramatic. That makes sense, actually. Why would my dragon be protective of demon items if a demon was around? There’s no way Drax would want any of it.
After packing my bag, I return to the living room where Drax is sprawled out on my sofa. I start to wake him, but the lure of that pretty ring entrances me, calling to me to touch it. Own it.
He’s so vulnerable right now. I could take it, and he wouldn’t even know until it was too late. But then what? It’s not like I canavoid him. I don’t even know how to get back to Auri’s without him.
Hey, maybe that’s the key out of this. I snatch the ring, take to the skies, hide out in my hoard room for a while, and wait for Auri to forget I ever existed. I can lie low for a few centuries. That’s a good plan.
I lean over the back of the couch, hovering above the conked-out demon. A prickle of guilt tugs at my chest. He’s so nice, but I can’t control what my dragon wants, and right now, he’d burn this whole place down to get our hands on the shimmering piece of gold and emerald in Drax’s possession.
As usual, my base instincts take over and before I can think it through, I’m delicately removing the ring from around Drax’s neck and slipping it onto my finger. It’s tight, but in the best way, like a comforting hug.
I gotta go. If he wakes up and sees what I did, there’s no telling what he’ll do. I pause to scrawl a note, then change my mind and tear off through the front door, heading straight for the abandoned alleyway I use to shift. No one ever wanders down this way, and after peeling out of my clothes and tucking them into my bag, I take one look back at my apartment, then take flight, leaving a new list of bad decisions in the dust.
It doesn’t take long for me to land safely on the wooded grounds near my cave, and after shifting back to my human form, I dart inside, calming my nerves with the homey scent of my hoard. My entire mood instantly brightens with the feeling of security that washes over me.
Home at last.
No, not the little stone house in the French countryside where my parents raised a dozen fire-breathing whelps over several centuries. Not the opulent compound where my older brothers live with their mates. And definitely not any of thetemporary places I’ve laid my head over the years in between chaos and adventure.
Homehome. My hoard. All my beautiful, shiny, priceless things stacked and arranged exactly the way I like them, with a damn near indestructible door between me and the rest of the world. I drag in a slow, deep breath and I can feel my dragon relaxing, a happy purr vibrating in my chest and the feeling of utter rightness washing over me.
After I spent days trapped in a cage, tortured by a demon, you’d think the distinct scent of hell would raise my hackles and make me sick to my stomach, but it stirs my dragon the same way it always has, drawing the beast to the surface to pulse right beneath my soft, human skin. I blink and the room comes into sharper focus, bits of metal and jewels glinting in the light.
A lovely, greedy, prideful feeling makes my cock stir and emerald scales ripple over my skin. A tendril of smoke tickles my nostrils as I exhale, then breathe in deeply again. It’s hard to describe the exact scent of my hoard. I could list off the mingling smells one by one—the sweet aroma of the gold, the earthy notes of silver and copper, the surprisingly sharp, almost citrus scent of precious gems—but that would be like describing the shape of a cloud when someone asks what it feels like to fly. There’s something more, something that calls to me on a level that’s so much deeper. I don’t know how other dragons choose their hoards, but every item in this room has called to me. Every dagger and chalice and piece of jewelry looked and smelled andfeltlike mine the second I found them.
My cock gives a needy throb. I reach for the nearest dagger—a short sterling silver blade with a jewel studded gold handle. There are words carved into the blade in the unmistakable language of the underworld, but fuck if I know what they say. Don’t really care either. It could be a demon cure or an enchantment, maybe song lyrics for all I know. I drag my tongueover the flat edge all the same, moaning like I would if I were lapping at warm, responsive flesh instead of cold, unfeeling metal.
