Her home, again. The oasis of perfection.
Maya muttered a quick prayer as they crossed the threshold. He thought it sounded something likePlease don’t let there be any diapers anywhere they shouldn’t be,and a whole new world of the problems inherent in raising a flying shifter child opened up in his mind.
She didn’t bother asking if he would like a drink this time. She made him a coffee, exactly the way he liked it. Not with the same expensive beans and equipment she used when she worked for him, but—
His heart thudded. The coffee was exactly the way he liked it, becauseshewas the one making it.
She curled up on the armchair opposite him, holding a drink loaded with far more cream and chocolate than anything she’d drunk while she worked for him. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
She took a deep breath. “You told me yesterday that if treasure is given to a hatchling, it’s untouchable. That’s one of your dragon rules?”
“Our dragon rules?” He raised one eyebrow. “Yes.”
“What other rules are there? Around treasure.”
Corin sat back. “All dragons collect their own hoards. Is that what you mean?”
“I know that. But there’s clearly a lot Idon’tknow. Because the only things I do know are what Apollo told me, and his dragon couldn’t care less about treasure. You have your own hoardandyour clan hoard? As separate things?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Our clan hoard is—the clan’s. It’s our power. Our bragging rights,” he admitted, and was rewarded with the curl of her lip into a brief smile.
“And your personal one?”
“Power and bragging, again. And…” He hesitated.
“And?” Her eyes fixed on him.
“And dragons collect treasure in order to gift it to our fated mates, if we are lucky enough to find them.”
Maya’s hands clenched and unclenched around her mug. “I see.”
How much did she see?
She lifted her chin. “And are there any … rules around that?”
“Around gifting treasures to a mate?”
He had nothing he could give her. Nothing appropriate. The Ocean of Stars was in a lockbox in his house on the hill; what he was wearing, rings and cufflinks and tiepin, would be laughable as a first gift to her exquisite beauty.
His dragon nudged him. There was gold thread woven into his clothes; he could wrap his jacket around her, wreathe her in his gold…
He tightened his jaw.
He wasn’t going to do any of that. Gifting treasure was too close to the ritual to claim her, the one that even thinking about made his duskfire flare out of control.
And Maya was still waiting for his answer.
“We give gifts the same way humans do, I suppose.” His voice was rough; he cleared his throat. “Wrapped in shiny paper and ribbons, on special occasions or as a surprise. Sometimes courting dragon shifters will attempt to sneak gifts past their partner—leave them in their pockets or purse, under their pillow—”
He realized too late what he was saying, as Maya’s face paled.
“Oh,” she said blankly. “Or send them in the post?”
