For a moment, Grimbold shut his eyes and imagined the boy at his feet without a stitch of clothing. He'd be all smooth, pale limbs, slim hips and delicately arched spine. He was like spun sugar: sharp and brittle and achingly sweet.
Grimbold opened his eyes, grateful Walter couldn't see his completely inappropriate erection. How long had it been since he'd sought out a human beta for sexual gratification? Was it this century, or the last? Probably the last. He had a vague recollection of a man with long blond hair and a woman in a silver dress, but that was all. He wasn't even sure which had been more recent. That was the problem with memories—they built up and faded away, and when they were gone you had no idea what you'd lost.
“Will we watch something soon? If not, I can wait. I'm good at waiting.”
Innocent enough words, but they twisted in Grimbold's stomach. “No need for more waiting. Let's watch this favorite television show of yours. I'm curious about the man you wish to live with.”
Walter sighed. “I know he's not a real person,” he said. Then he added, in a softer tone that Grimbold barely heard, “I just wish he was.”
Grimbold turned on the television and tried to navigate through the electronic maze Reynard had set up. “Damn the boy!”
The boy on the floor jumped guiltily. “I'm sorry.”
“Not you, Walter. That damn whelp of mine, Reynard. I don't understand how this blasted thing is supposed to work. The last time I watched television, all you had to do was turn a dial.”
Walter turned around and peered at Grimbold uncertainly. “A dial?”
“Yes, a dial. It was a knob on the television you turned to select a channel.”
“Um, sir, might I…” Walter looked pained.
“Might you what?”
“Can I try? Getting the show to load, I mean? I think I can do it.”
Grimbold smiled. “By all means. But please sit in a chair. I'm not sure the remote will work if you don't. Lord if I know why.”
“It's the infrared scanner. It should work from down here, but I can sit beside you if you insist.” He looked nervous as hell and Grimbold wasn't sure why.
“I do insist.” After the boy sat, gingerly, on the very edge of the seat cushion, placing the plate of éclairs on the armrest between them, Grimbold handed over the remote. “Here,” he said. “Work your magic.”
The boy took the remote and blushed hotly, the color spreading down his neck. “I have no magic,” he said. “Only dragons have magic.”
“You don't believe you're a dragon, then?”
Walter looked at his lap. “Of course I'm not a dragon. I don't understand why you’d say I was. Are you trying to trick me? Is that what all this is about? To tempt me and tempt me and tempt me until I break a rule? To encourage me to blaspheme? Is that what you want? For me to be a bad boy you can punish for your own amusement?” He trembled and his voice shook, but he didn't shout or cry. Instead, Walter seemed resigned to whatever fate awaited him.
This, Grimbold recognized, was a cusp moment. The right words would start to mend the boy and the wrong ones might shatter what was left of him. Therefore, he thought before he spoke, a skill he wished more of his sons were adept at. “Was your sire a Brand?”
The omega gave a whole-body shudder, then nodded.
“Excellent. And, thus, your sire was a dragon.”
“I am a Disgrace, yes.”
Terminology the council was trying to change, but Grimbold let that go for now.
“You are the son of a dragon, Walter. I am also the son of a dragon. Magic runs in your veins, as it does in mine. Even if you develop no other magic over your lifetime, your body can make new life. Either dragons, like me, or dragonets, like you.”
Walter looked frightened. “They could have you in front of the council for saying things like that. The head of the council could order your death.”
Grimbold frowned. “Why would you think that?”
“It was what we were always told.”
Again, a sour mixture of anger and guilt churned within Grimbold. “What you were told, Walter, was wrong.”
Walter looked unconvinced, but stayed silent.
