Nash’s eyes shifted to his dragon, and his fangs dropped. “Nash Drake. Jonik sent me about a job.”
“Right. Okay.” His voice sounded strained. He doubled over, bending at the waist with his hands on his knees. “Fuck.”
He took his glasses off and held them in his hand against his knee. When Nash drew closer, he was careful not to touch him, but Nash wanted to. The poor guy was clearly in some discomfort.
He kept his eyes closed, but he must have sensed Nash drawing near because he held up his hand and growled.
When their gazes met, Nash saw the problem. The guy’s eyes swam, changing from human, canine, reptilian, and something else Nash hadn’t ever seen before. It happened fast and was repetitive enough to cause massive dizziness.
The guy tried to straighten, but he swayed on his feet as if he were on a boat in the middle of the ocean during a storm. “Dizzy.”
Nash moved without thinking, lifting him into his arms. “I’ve got you, mate.”
“Fuck off.” Despite the guy’s words, he leaned against Nash and put his arms around his neck. He shut his eyes. “I got drunk last night. That’s all this is.”
Nash had serious doubts that the effects of alcohol had anything to do with it, but he didn’t contradict him. Nash wouldn’t rock the boat any more than it already was. “What’s your name?”
“Not mate.” Little smartass.
So the guy wanted to deny what his body was telling him. “Understood.”
“You don’t understand anything,” he growled.
“Why don’t you explain it to me?”
The guy sighed. “I don’t know you.”
“That’s true. How about we get to know each other? Let’s start with your name.” Nash fought the urge to roll his eyes. The guy just had to complicate something as simple as exchanging names.
“Abner. Everyone calls me Abi.” Pretty name for a pretty boy. “Now you tell me your name.”
He smiled at Abi’s sassiness. “It’s Nash.”
“You’re a dragon. Shifter. Is that all you are?”
Was that a loaded question? “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Are you a misfit like the family?” Is that what they considered themselves? Misfits, instead of the mob.
“Is that what you consider yourself?” Nash already knew how his little snarling bundle of growly mate would answer.
Abi wiggled around, but he didn’t let go of his hold around Nash’s neck. Nash wasn’t sure how it happened, but Abi wrapped his legs around Nash.
Nash held on to him around his waist, afraid his dizziness would get the better of him and he would fall, landing on the hard marble flooring.
Abi met Nash’s gaze and held it, not speaking for several minutes. Whatever went through his pretty head wouldn’t bode well for Nash, if the disgruntled expression was any indication. His eyes did that changing-of-the-species thing on a near-constant basis. Despite that, or maybe because of it, they were mesmerizing. And his body felt good in Nash’s arms. The moment felt right in that way, but it was also ripe with danger. Nash recognized a predator when he saw one.
“Everyone thinks I’m their mate. It’s my scent.” Abi raised his eyebrows as if he expected Nash to challenge the statement.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m defective—a misfit. I’ve had over twenty mates. I need a scent suppressant everywhere I go, including while I’m home, apparently.”
“How is that possible?” As soon as the question left his mouth, he knew it was the wrong one to ask.
Abi growled. “I’m trying to tell you we’re not really mates.”
Nash raised his eyebrows, but inside his heart sank. It was the beginning of the end. All Nash would get from Abi was rejection. “I’m not the only one reacting here, sweetheart.”
