When he was alone, Geoffrey sat and stared at his paperwork, both wanting and not wanting a baby with equal, ferocious intensity. It was, to say the least, very strange. He had no idea what had gotten into him, or where this distant longing was coming from, but one thing was certain: Geoffrey would not be turning to his brother to find an answer. Rather, he wanted to lose himself in touch and sensation and surrender, but not to one man. In his mind, he saw two.
8
Ian
“Arrête!”
Ian jolted awake, flinging himself up from the mattress in time to see Matthieu’s bare foot connect with Sigric Brand’s face. Sigric, who held Matthieu partially aloft by his ankle alone, grunted and dropped Matthieu, stumbling back from the bed. Matthieu landed on the mattress with a startled, “Oof!” then flung himself from the blankets only to trip and land on the floor. The thick, fleshy sound of Matthieu’s body hitting the hardwood snapped Ian into action, and he tore out from beneath the sheets to put himself between his sire and his omega.
He was just in time—a jet of flame swallowed Ian’s leg, so impossibly hot that Ian’s skin didn’t so much as blister before it sloughed off, leaving behind charred, bloody muscle and terrible heat that sank all the way to the bone. Ian’s mind screamed at him to buckle from the agony, but his spirit persisted. If he were to give in to his father’s intimidation, then Matthieu would surely die.
As a dragon, Ian could heal himself. Matthieu, delicately human, could not.
“Ian!” Matthieu shrieked.
“Stay back,” Ian uttered, drawing on all of his resources to keep as much suffering from his voice as he could. The end result was gritty and foreboding, but solid. He could not let his father see how much pain he was in. If he did, Ian knew it would be exploited until he could take no more. “This is between us, Father, not you and Matthieu. You don’t want to harm the omega, remember? How will it look to the council if you maim him irreparably before he even comes into his first heat? Think, Father. Please.”
Ian’s father, whose reptilian nostrils were obscured from the thick smoke billowing out of them, growled. Bronze-colored scales plunged down his brow and across his eyelids. They slotted one into the next down the length of his snout, fitted over his narrow jaw, and tumbled down his too-thick neck, where they disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. Part of his forehead remained unscaled, and while his long blond hair, presently affixed atop his head in a tight bun, had not yet vanished, Ian was sure that, given time and incentive, his father would do away with it to complete his transformation. If the look in his half-human eyes, their pupils shaped like fat black almonds, said anything, it was that Sigric would destroy what he perceived had wronged him no matter what stood in his path.
The furniture, the room, and even his son.
He had, in short, run mad. Again.
But Ian refused to move.
“There is no need for such savagery, Father,” Ian said in a low voice. The more time passed, the more his nerves and synapses clued into the fact that his entire leg had been turned into dragon barbecue, and the harder it became to maintain his composure. Ian’s limited healing abilities weren’t doing much to help. The time, energy, and focus he’d need to stitch himself back together would be in short supply for as long as it took to face down his enraged pater. “Calm yourself and speak to me like a man, not a beast.”
The dark smoke that poured from Sigric’s nostrils grew thicker and darkened. Flames licked their way around his wickedly sharpened incisors. Ian, jaw clenched in a feeble attempt to stop himself from screaming in pain, stood straighter and puffed out his chest in defiance of his sire. He regretted his next words, but he knew from experience that there was no other way to get through to Sigric when he was already lost to anger. There was nowhere to run, no place to hide, and Ian had to protect the fragile omega. He steeled himself then said words calculated to thrust all of his sire’s irrational ire onto a sturdier target—himself. “Are you so weak that you’ll let a single transgression from an omega send you over the edge? I expected better of you. It’s no surprise the Topaz clan has been in such a steep decline over the last several centuries.”
There was no time to think, let alone act. Before Ian could fully brace himself, Sigric’s clawed hand grabbed him by the throat, each tip of his six-inch claws poised to puncture Ian’s carotid.
Still, Ian considered it a success—his plan had worked. With Sigric’s fury focused on him, Matthieu had become an afterthought. If Ian managed to survive this encounter, he was confident that Matthieu wouldn’t come to harm.
“You would speak out against your own clan, whelp?” Sigric hissed. His transformation had regressed, and his mouth and jaw were human again, granting him speech. “Tell me why I shouldn’t slaughter you on the grounds of treason right this instant, or the Disgrace will not be the only one whose life will end today.”
Ian’s shoulder blades pinched together in apprehension of what was to come. “He is a gift from the Ruby clan, Father. Do you really think it wise we make another enemy?”
Sigric sneered in disgust. He cast Ian aside. His claws disappeared, as did the rest of his scales. Ian only noticed in passing—he was doing his best to remain upright. Between being tossed aside and the crippling pain pulsing bone-deep in his leg, standing was a struggle. By the time he righted himself completely, he was breathless, and his chest heaved from exertion.
“You need me, and you need this omega,” Ian continued, speaking in a low but steely voice that refused to be broken. “If I die, you lose your connection to Amethyst territory. The bureaucracy required to elect a new clan representative and grant him diplomatic immunity will take years, perhaps decades, should the desired candidate not gain the favor of the council. Besides, if you slaughter one of the gifted Disgraces, do you really think the rest of the Council would let our clan have another? I think not. With the current political climate, and especially with the Amethysts in control of the council, that’s not a risk you can afford. If you want to plant roots on enemy soil, we are vital. Don’t let your temper take this opportunity from our clan.”
If the hatred in Sigric’s eyes could coalesce, Ian was sure it alone would have filled the room and suffocated him. It was a dark, spiteful, and crazed thing, dampened only by Ian’s logic. It didn’t surprise Ian that his own father would wish him dead, but to see it expressed so plainly was heartbreaking. The bond they’d shared when Ian was a whelp was gone, and any kindness and tolerance that connection had once afforded him was gone along with it.
“If the Disgrace acts disrespectfully toward me again,” Sigric snarled, “or ever acts out and disobeys, I will kill him whether you stand in my way or not. I will not tolerate insubordination. I am the head of this clan, and you will not forget that. See that the omega does not, either.”
“He won’t,” Ian replied, unwilling to let the threat get under his skin. “We’ll be leaving for Aurora in the morning, and after that, you won’t have to see him again.”
Sigric’s gaze flitted to the naked omega huddled behind Ian, then locked on Ian’s face once more. “For your sake, whelp, I pray that is true.”
“Now, what did you come here for, Father?” Pain continued to throb in Ian’s shin, darting up past his knee until it felt like his whole leg had been reduced to ash and charred bone. “What reason did you have to snatch my omega from our bed?”
Sigric’s mouth twisted in ugly ways. “I came to verify what I’d been told—that he’d been bred.”
“And?”
“And he has been.” Sigric’s voice did not soften. “How fortunate for you both. I expect you will breed him regularly to temper his womb prior to his heat. Need I remind you that the Amethysts have borne three successive clutches, and are attempting yet another?”
“You need not.” Ian swallowed, fighting his urge to lash back. “You may go, Father. Confirmation has been had, the omega has been intimidated into docility, and you’ve been given my word.”
