More importantly, what had happened that was so bad that he’d willingly climb into bed?
Wally took a few deep breaths and tried to remember, but only fragments of the night before remained. There was the media room with its plentiful seating and seemingly infinite screen, éclairs, panic, and the touch of Grimbold’s strong, safe arms.
Safe?
Wally pursed his lips, troubled by the association. Nothing about dragons was safe. To think otherwise was dangerous.
Desperately seeking a distraction, Wally glanced up, intending to scan the room for something else to focus on. He found Grimbold instead. The dragon sat in a wingback chair which had been positioned at the foot of the bed. Grimbold’s elbows rested on his thighs and his hands were clasped between his legs. Had he been looking at Wally, seeing him would have been startling, but Grimbold’s back was hunched and his head was lowered. It looked like he was in the midst of prayer.
For safety, Wally dropped back down onto the mattress and tugged his bedding over his nose.
Minutes passed. Grimbold didn’t stir.
He wasn’t praying—he’d fallen asleep.
Had he sat in that chair all night?
Wally’s gaze darted from his mass of thick dark hair to the clothing he wore. It was unchanged from dinner. Without a clear recollection of the night before, it was impossible to tell what had and hadn’t happened, but Wally’s gut told him that Grimbold had taken him from the media room, tucked him into bed, and spent the whole night by his bedside while Wally slept.
Why?
Another few fragments of memory returned—the sensation of claws, the hiss of hateful words spoken long ago, and acrid bile that churned in Wally’s stomach and scorched the back of his throat. The blunt smack as he launched out of the recliner and landed in a heap on the floor. Grimbold’s panicked cry and the way he’d held Wally close, like Wally meant something to him.
It was unfathomable, but it was real.
“Sir?” Wally murmured. Under ordinary circumstances, Wally would have never woken a sleeping dragon, but the chair didn’t look half as comfortable as the bed, and it seemed to Wally as though Grimbold had fallen asleep on accident.
Grimbold didn’t stir, so Wally spoke a little louder. “Um, sir?”
Grimbold snapped awake, back ramrod straight. He blinked a few times as if to clear the sleep from his eyes, then focused on Wally and visibly relaxed. “Walter. You’re awake.”
Terror spiked in Wally’s subconscious, tightening his shoulder blades and urging him to hide. Not only had he been a terrible example of a proper Pedigree omega, but he’d caused a scene and forced Grimbold to care for him. It was unacceptable behavior. He owed Grimbold an apology. “Yeah. I, um, I’m sorry for what I did. It won’t happen again.” Wally licked his lips nervously and noticed, to his surprise, that his mouth tasted like mint instead of bile and morning breath. “I accept that you need to punish me. I’m—”
“No.” Wally flinched. The word had been surprisingly forceful. Usually, when a dragon took that tone, it meant that reprimand was on the way, but all Grimbold did was get up from the chair to kneel by Wally’s bedside. Wally dared look into his strangely purple eyes and wished that he hadn’t—there was emotion in them that Wally didn’t know how to process. “You are not in trouble, Walter. I don’t know what I can do to make you believe it, but it’s true.”
Wally swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth, too frightened to speak.
“You will not be obligated to come to dinner tonight,” Grimbold continued. While his tone was as firm and certain as ever, Wally heard underlying emotion behind it—sorrow. It matched the look in Grimbold’s eyes. “You will not be obligated to eat what is made for you, or to come sit in the media room, or to attend fittings with Carsons. I foolishly believed I’d figured out what was missing in your life and that I might be able to fix you, but this mulish old man has come to realize that not every problem can be resolved with good intention.”
There was nothing Wally could say to that, so he said nothing at all. Grimbold didn’t seem to take it as an affront—he frowned, but not in a menacing way. Wally thought his expression looked rather mournful.
When it became clear that Wally would not speak, Grimbold bowed his head. “All I ask is that you hear what I have to tell you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Grimbold lifted his head, his eyes no less soulful than they’d been moments before. The emotion in them stuck in Wally’s heart. Grimbold lifted a hand, palm up, and presented it to Wally. There, dark as midnight against his pale skin, was a small dragon’s claw. Its tip was mercilessly sharp, and although it was small, it was sturdy. Wally was well aware of the damage it could do.
“As long as I am alive,” Grimbold said, “no man or beast will harm you. The horrors you’ve survived are in your past. Wherever you go, and whatever you do, it is my intention that this claw remind you of that.”
“Dragons aren’t supposed to shed their claws or their teeth,” Wally muttered. He didn’t dare touch the offering. “You could get in trouble.”
“And I would gladly accept whatever punishment came my way if it meant that you were safe.” Grimbold placed the claw beside Wally. “A dragon’s claw will slice through even the toughest scale. If used in offense, it will slit a man’s throat like a razor. Should anyone ever threaten you with bodily harm—myself included—I want you to use it.”
Wally looked at the claw. It was approximately two inches long and slightly curved. He reached from beneath the blankets and slid it into his cocoon of bedding, then closed his palm around it and held it to his chest. It was still slightly warm—Grimbold had grown it and shed it for him while they’d been talking.
The same claw that would protect Wally against the world and those in it who wished him suffering could have ended his life.
“Why are you doing this for me?” Wally asked, barely mustering the courage to raise his voice above a whisper. “I’m a Disgrace. I don’t deserve anyone’s kindness.”
