“Oh.” Matthieu paused to consider what was going on. “Is this how all lawyers do battle?”
Ian coughed loudly to conceal a laugh. Erik glared at him regardless.
“No, kitten,” Ian whispered once Erik’s ire was directed back at Geoffrey. “Not all lawyers do battle like this. There is usually much more research and preparatory work done beforehand. It just so happens that our Geoffrey is an exceptionally talented combatant.”
The praise made Matthieu glow with pride, and although Ian couldn’t tell for sure from where he stood, he thought that Geoffrey stood a little taller, too.
“So unless you want to bring up Drake v. Brand,” Geoffrey’s tone tightened. The dispute had happened a hundred years ago between their fathers and remained a point of contention between their clans, “which I’ll rebut by calling upon Ludwick v. White, then I believe there is nothing left to debate. Our colleague, Mr. Brand, his mate, Mr. Matthieu Boudreaux, and I are all well within our rights. In addition—”
“Stop it. That’s enough.” Erik pried himself from the armchair and stood as straight as he could, his multicolor eyes flicking from Geoffrey to Ian to Matthieu, then back to Geoffrey again. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
Geoffrey’s reply was simple. “Kangxi v. Jormun.”
The study fell so silent, Ian was able to hear the low rumble of the consulate’s central air conditioning. Erik’s eyes widened, and he tripped over his tongue. “Wh-What?”
“You know what we’re talking about, Erik. We’re here to see Snorre.”
“Snorre isn’t here.” Erik waved a hand at the door, frantically dismissing them. “I’m sorry you’ve come all this way, but you were mistaken. It’s best that you return home now before you waste any more of your time.”
“This is Snorre’s last reported residence,” Ian said, stepping forward to join Geoffrey. With their combined intellects and individual legal expertise, Erik stood no chance. “Ever since the Kangxi v. Jormun ruling, Snorre has been legally obligated to report his permanent residence to the council. All records point here, and, more to the point, you yourself disclosed that you were, and I quote, ‘babysitting the old lecher and his brood.’ Ring any bells, Erik?”
“Well, I regret to inform you that the records are wrong and I have no recollection of any such conversation.” Erik crossed his arms and took a bold step forward. Had he been a larger dragon, and had he only been facing off against Geoffrey, he might have gained some ground by doing so. However, with Geoffrey and Ian standing as a united force, the gesture was almost pitiable. Erik was trying to hide something, and Ian wouldn’t stop picking until he found out what it was. “Presently, Snorre is—”
Matthieu shrieked, and for a terrible second, it felt as if Ian’s world had broken itself into a million little pieces too fine to ever be put back together. Horror gripping his heart and clouding his common sense, he spun to see what had happened, vaguely aware that Geoffrey was doing the same.
A tall, well-built man stood in the doorway. He wore a simple white linen shirt, its buttons completely undone, and a relaxed pair of jeans thin from use and faded from exposure to the sun. His thick, loosely curled silver hair hung past his shoulders and was almost long enough to hide the erect nipples of his sculpted chest. A long, dignified nose and sparkling blue eyes gave character to his face, but it was his well-maintained white beard that truly drew the eye. One of his age-worn hands was slid casually into his pocket—the other was cupped in front of him at the exact height necessary to grope Matthieu’s ass.
Which was exactly what the old lecher had done.
Destroy,the dragon in Ian’s head hissed.Strike, maim, kill.
The dragon in Geoffrey’s head seemed to have the same idea, because no sooner had Ian clued in to what was going on than Geoffrey had rushed forward, his wickedly sharp black claws already manifested. Purple scales cascaded down his arms and replaced the fine hairs on the nape of his neck.
Ian, whose dragon’s bark was worse than his bite, looked down at his own hands and remarked that small, copper-colored scales had appeared. They originated at the cuticle and ended at the knuckle. Despite Ian’s racing heart and his lingering terror at having heard Matthieu screech, he had to wonder at his own reaction.
Matthieu wasn’t his omega—no bond connected them.
Why had he had such a physical reaction to Matthieu’s fear and distress?
“For God’s sake, Snorre!” Erik grumbled, disturbing Ian’s train of thought. “Really?”
“What?” Snorre asked. He held Geoffrey back by his forehead with a single hand. The other remained tucked in his pocket. “Did youseethe boy’s ass?”
“Myassis to be looked at, not touched!” Matthieu spouted off. He whacked Snorre on the chest. If the way Snorre’s lips twitched was any indication, he liked it. “Use your words,monsieur dragon pervers!I am of the Pedigree! I am not to be… be handled like a piece of meat!”
Geoffrey snarled in agreement. He continued to fight Snorre’s singlehanded defense, but failed to gain any ground.
It was a little sad.
Ian stepped forward and laid a hand very delicately on Geoffrey’s back, hoping to snap him out of his rage-induced stupor. Geoffrey hissed at him, but his claws disappeared, and his scales began to recede. At last, he fell back, giving Snorre a wide berth. The fight had been lost and he knew it.
Snorre hummed. “I don’t know—those look like ham hocks to me.”
Erik planted his hand over his face. Snorre laughed.
“Ian,” Matthieu huffed, outraged. “Monsieur dragon perversis calling me a swine.”
“You?” Snorre asked. “Never. Not unless you like it.”
