Matthieu glanced at Geoffrey and Ian again, all the while running his fingers down Nikita’s back. Perhaps the mate bond wasn’t the prison sentence he’d originally thought it to be. For dragons, Geoffrey and Ian were remarkably progressive, and with two alphas to help care for his young, Matthieu believed there was a chance he could still achieve what he wanted from life—to study law, pass the bar, and one day bring the Pedigree down. Never had he dreamed that he’d be able to do so while sharing a dragon’s bed, but the more he learned of his mates, the more he thought it possible.
The life he wanted, the clutch he’d never expected to carry, and the love he’d never thought he’d have—all of it could be his.
Would be his.
Nikita stretched and sighed, then rolled onto his back and nuzzled Matthieu’s stomach, his legs in the air. He’d curled his wickedly sharp silver claws away from Matthieu, taking special care not to prick him. The compassion ignited a new cord of paternal desire that sang through Matthieu like a note perfectly plucked from the string of a harp. He wanted this—both his freedom, and his future family—and he wanted it with breathtaking intensity. It made him feel strange and itchy and restless, almost as if—
Matthieu shifted his thighs, causing Nikita to lazily snap his jaws in protest. A thought had occurred, and it set Matthieu on edge as much as it enticed him.
But it couldn’t be.
It wasn’t time, and it wasn’t possible.
It was all in his imagination.
It had to be.
Matthieu laid a hand on Nikita’s belly to settle him in place, then looked across the room at the others who’d come to listen to the conversation. Aruna, who’d curled up on the couch beside Vadim and had her egg rested against her stomach, met Matthieu’s wandering gaze and held it. Confusion sparked in her kind brown eyes, and she narrowed them slightly. A moment later, Vadim, who’d been more or less staring at Snorre’s crotch since the conversation had begun, turned away from his mate and looked at Matthieu. While Aruna’s curiosity was mellow and docile, Vadim’s was far more intrusive. He looked at Aruna, then at Matthieu again. His brow furrowed. Nikita, who’d been soaking up Matthieu’s attention, scrambled onto his feet, glanced at Vadim, then looked at Matthieu apologetically and hopped down. He made a beeline for Vadim, who scooped him up and set him on the couch.
What was going on?
“Harrison is so far removed from your bloodline that he can barely be considered a Jormun,” Geoffrey protested. The conversation had been going on for some time, but Matthieu only tuned back into it now. He wanted to stop the dragons from bickering so he could politely demand to know what Aruna and Vadim were doing, looking at him like they were, but Geoffrey spoke with such impassioned insistence that Matthieu couldn’t bring himself to interrupt. “After his lineage was discovered, I was charged with investigating the validity of the claim, and spent some time poring through the archives, tracking his family tree. You were not mentioned.”
Snorre laughed. It was a deep, unencumbered laugh that led Matthieu to believe that nothing anyone said or did could put Snorre in a bad mood for long. “Ingrid and I have been producing clutches for well over a thousand years, Geoff. At this point, there might not be an Opal alive who isn’t at least distantly related to us.”
“It’s Geoffrey,” Geoffrey murmured. “And that… that seems impossible. How many clutches have you been sanctioned for?” He waved his hand at the room at large. “I’m fairly certain that the council never received any paperwork permitting all of this.”
“I tried to tell him,” Erik grumbled. He shot Snorre a dirty look. “The old man doesn’t care. After he and the others arrived, I alerted him to the fact that what he was doing was illegal—as clearly stipulated by the familial branch of draconian civil law—but all he did was…” Erik blushed.
“What?” Geoffrey demanded.
Erik crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “He seduced me.”
“Multiple times.” Snorre wiggled an eyebrow.
Bare skin on skin. Plunging. Thrusting. Cum.
So much cum.
You need cum inside you. Now. If you don’t get it, you will die.
Matthieu tried to wipe the thoughts from his mind, but the more he tried, the harder they stuck. He shifted his position on the couch to try to get comfortable, and when his efforts proved ineffective, he leaned into Ian so he could fold his legs beneath him. While he’d been raised to be a dragon’s sexual object, thoughts of sex seldom occupied his mind. This was unusual.
Troublesome.
Ian slid a hand onto his thigh and squeezed gently, and Matthieu, already turned on, tucked himself against Ian’s side to increase their contact. Alongside the lust now simmering in his gut came other emotions—discomfort, then fear. What if something was wrong with him? What if he embarrassed Geoffrey and Ian in front of their peers? Aruna and Vadim were already looking at him like he had two heads. If the others caught on, would it tarnish his lovers’ reputations?
The situation was already precarious enough as it was. War was a distinct possibility. If they lost their potential allies, then what?
A noise from across the room startled Matthieu, who jumped. Ian’s hand slipped inward on his thigh, both to secure him to the couch and, seemingly, to torment him with thoughts of what couldn’t be. Matthieu, distracted by Ian’s hand, barely noticed that the noise had come from Ingrid, who’d cleared her throat.
The conversation ended.
Snorre picked himself up stiffly from where he’d been sitting and came to stand by Matthieu, who suddenly found the thought of the ancient, lecherous dragon terrifying.
No, no, no, no,his mind protested.Not his cum. Don’t let him touch you. Don’t—
Snorre bent down and unceremoniously sniffed the air next to Matthieu’s shoulder. Matthieu recoiled. Ian tensed, and small topaz scales plunged down his fingers and wrist. Geoffrey half-stood with great importance, crowding Snorre’s space in a stunning display of hostility.
