Eros clapped his hands together. “Excellent. You’re going to be a valuable addition to the team. When can you start?”
There wasn’t any urgent business back in Drakkoria that he needed to attend to at the moment. His hoard was safe and he only had to tell the other members of the council that he would be going away for a few weeks.
“Anytime. But I should go back to Drakkoria first and finish up some business, make sure my den is secure while I’m away.”
“Sounds good. I’ll have Perseus send you over a contract, along with the benefits and salary of course. What’s the going rate for Drakkon services these days?”
“It’s fine,” he said with a snort. “We can work out something.”
“Excellent.” Eros stood up, so Hektor did the same. “Welcome to the team, Hektor,” he said, holding out his hand.
He hesitated, eyeing the outstretched palm.
Perhaps this was what he needed.
He couldn’t keep on dwelling on the past.
He had to move forward.
And you already agreed,he told himself, so he took the hand of his mortal enemy—former mortal enemy, he supposed—and gripped it. “Alright. I shall be back in a few days.”
“I have a feeling you’ll do great things here.”
Hektor just hoped he wouldn’t regret this.
Chapter 3
Zara
Zara stood in front of her open closet, hands on her hips, trying not to overthink the question looping in her mind.
I wonder what Drakkons find attractive?
It wasn’t even confirmed that he would be working with them.
Not that she was dressing for him. Obviously not. She just…wanted to look nice. For herself. And maybe because she’d accidentally,totally accidentally, fallen down a Lifting the Vale rabbit hole last night.
Honestly, it wasn’t her fault the gossip site had a whole section dedicated to Drakkons. It wasn’t even good journalism; it was just memes, grainy pictures, and vaguely dramatic “eyewitness accounts.” But it was far more interesting than the boring academic articles about Drakkon physiology and mountain governance she’d tried before.
From what she’d gathered, Drakkon mates were almost always human women. All shapes and sizes, but decidedly feminine, flowing skirts, soft hair, delicate jewelry. A vibe.
“Well,” Zara murmured, “luckily I can do feminine.”
She sifted through the hangers until she found a soft, flowy dress in a shade of blue that made her brown eyes look brighter. Just as she slipped it off the hook, her bedroom door flew open with the force of a minor hurricane.
Liora strode in.
Her sister’s hair—shaved on one side, short on the other—was styled into sharp little spikes today, like she’d fought gravity and won. She wore ripped black jeans, heavy combat boots, and a slate-gray cropped T-shirt layered with silver chains and rings. Bold, brash, and unapologetically herself.
Decidedly not the “feminine mate material” Zara had seen online.
But undeniably stylish.
And very much Liora.
Zara sighed. “Do you knock?”
“No,” Liora said, flopping onto the bed. “You’re welcome.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you look like you’re getting ready for a date? Who’s the dress for?”
