“Yes, sir. I apologize. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Obviously,” Superintendent Durand sneered. “You are to report to the inspection room. The rest of you are dismissed.”
The assembled Pedigree omegas gaped. There weren’t many of them. Their dragon Overlord, Alexandre Boudreaux, was a bit of a hermit, and had a very small coterie of Attendants. As such, the Pedigree cloister in this region never housed more than a hundred omegas at a time, and only seven were of Matthieu’s age: Louis, the toady; Chloe, the sweetheart; Victor, the ambitious idiot; Raphael, the clueless innocent; Maxine, the bitch; Juliette, the snitch, and Matthieu himself, the unwanted, eternal cynic.
“Why him?” Victor spluttered. “It’s ridiculous he should be selected first for inspection. I’m the eldest and, by rights, I should go first!”
“What do you care, Vic? It’s not like he’ll be chosen,” Maxine whispered back, loud enough for Matthieu to hear.
One more year, Matthieu repeated to himself.One more year.
Raphael, all dark, tousled curls and soulful brown eyes, bounced on the balls of his feet. “Does this mean there’s a dragon here? What clan? I’m so excited.” He clapped his hands like he was a toddler.
“I did say you were dismissed,” the superintendent reminded them.
The omegas’ faces, except Matthieu’s, fell into either disappointment or resentment.
“Please, sir,” Chloe implored, and even Durand thawed a trifle. Everyone tended to humor Chloe.
“Yes, there are two dragons here—” he paused when most of the omegas gasped, “—but neither are looking for mates.”
“Then why are they here?” Victor whined. “And what do they want with the Mistake?”
“None of your business,” snapped the superintendent. “Now, back to your rooms. Matthieu, come with me.”
“Yes, sir.” Not that Matthieu was in a position to say no, but now he was insatiably curious. When Superintendent Durand turned and left the room, Matthieu followed, wondering what all this was about. It was the most intriguing thing to happen to him since his first heat, and that had occurred well over a decade ago.
There was speculation, always, among the omega and beta Attendants about what happened in the Pedigree cloisters. In truth, the answer was banal: largely nothing happened.
Ever.
Matthieu looked forward to that changing.
* * *
Having it pounded into him by years of repetitive training, Matthieu began to undress as soon as he entered the inspection room, which was furnished much like a doctor’s examination room crossed with an upscale hotel room.
Someone cleared his throat and addressed Matthieu in his mother tongue. “Disrobing is not compulsory.”
The voice was cool and dry, and belonged to a dragon. One of middling age, probably, although that could be hard to tell. His hair was dark and severely slicked back, and he had an austerely handsome face. He wore a charcoal bespoke suit of a somewhat antiquated style, and his tie was a subdued violet. It perfectly matched his eyes.
Matthieu froze and stopped unbuttoning his shirt.
“Ideally, the omega should be comfortable,” another voice chirruped. It belonged to a rather small, bespectacled man. He was pretty in an ordinary sort of way, and smelled like an omega, but also not like an omega. It was very curious. On one shoulder perched a sort of lizard. It appeared to be wearing a shirt. The probable omega began to unbutton his own shirt. “If it makes him feel more at home, we can all disrobe.”
The third stranger, another dragon, put his hand out. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, crumpet.”
Unlike the first dragon, the second dragon and the omega spoke in English.
The second dragon was dressed more casually than the first, with whom he shared a superficial likeness. They were possibly brothers—maybe even clutch-mates. Around his feet, a tiny pinkish dragon whelp frolicked with a larger, purpler one. The second dragon looked down at them. “Julius, do stop being a bad influence. Charlie! Settle.”
This was… new. Matthieu had never seen a whelp in person before. Something buried very deep inside him panged with illogical longing for something he’d never, ever have.
The first dragon cleared his throat again and picked up the conversation in flawless French. “Good afternoon, omega. We understand that you are Matthieu Boudreaux, borne from Veronique Roux, sire Alexandre Boudreaux.”
It hadn’t been a question, and Matthieu was annoyed by being addressed by his biology, rather than directly by his name, so he said nothing.
The superintendent, used to a mulish Matthieu, hastened to say, “He is. We have a copy of his birth record and ancestry on file, as we do with all our Pedigree.”
