It was because of the Drakkon, but this time she was deliriously happy. It wasn’t just about finally getting what she had wanted. It was what it meant, what it felt like to be wrapped in his arms, to explore him and be explored in return. And gods, when Hektor focused on something, hefocused. She was having multiple orgasms at all hours of the day.
So this was what people meant by the honeymoon stage.
She snorted at herself. Corny, yes. Cringe, not yet.
Her eyes drifted back to the sketch pad on her knees, then to the window of the sunroom. She’d grabbed the pad and some pencils and tried drawing his neighborhood, the terraced stone homes built into the red-gold mountainside, bridges looping between rooftops, smoke spiraling like ink. It was beautiful, but her sketch didn’t do it justice.
A cup of coffee was placed in front of her. Then his warmth pressed against her back, solid and comforting in a way she was rapidly becoming addicted to.
Yes. This was nice, too.
Too nice. Waking up early was nearly impossible now because she kept sinking into that big, warm, muscular furnace of a body?—
“That’s nice,” Hektor murmured.
She smiled.
“But,” he continued, “there’s something I want to show you. Something you can’t draw.”
She glanced at him dryly. “I’m not even interested in drawing your package. But I do love your big D energy.”
“Big D…” he repeated. Then, “Zara, this is important.”
She reached up and squished his cheeks. “Okay, okay. Lead the way. I’m all yours.”
He guided her through the house, deeper into the middle, through a door she hadn’t noticed before. A staircase spiraled downward. As they walked, he said, “There’s one thing the Upperworld stories get right. Dragons do have hoards. And yes, we’re a little possessive of them.”
“A little?” she teased.
“A healthy amount,” he corrected.
“If you say so.”
He typed in a code, scanned something, and placed a hand on a panel. With a soft hydraulic hiss, a reinforced door slid open.
“Oh.” Zara’s brain shut off.
It wasn’t cartoonish piles of gold coins. It was organized. Shelves of gold bars. Display cases of gems and rare metals. Rows of intricately carved objects. Stacks of bullion. Jewelry like museum pieces. It glowed everywhere, a warm light catching on surfaces and throwing reflections along the dark stone walls.
“This is…”
“Yeah,” Hektor said.
“Do all Drakkons have this much?”
He shook his head. “No. Like any society, we have versions of status. Wealth. Responsibility.”
“And your…?”
“My family is adjacent to the leadership of Drakkoria,” he answered simply.
Zara blinked.
Right. So, she was sleeping with, and now being shown the private hoard of someone essentially in Drakkoria’s ruling class. She stepped deeper into the hoard room, the low lights glinting off rows of gold bars stacked with near-military precision. Jewels glittered in glass cases, gemstones so large they looked unreal. It was overwhelming, beautiful, and almost clinical in its organization…exactly like him.
“Drakkons not only manufactured the gold for Vale Crossing,” he said, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space, “we also traded and built large-scale businesses. Sure, we use paper currency and digital credits like everyone else, but gold is…cultural. Foundational.”
She touched a finger to the cool metal of a bar, letting out a low whistle. “Okay, but…why this much? This is like…dragon Fort Knox.”
