by Piper Scott
“Finch,” Hugh repeated. “Have you seen Finch? He’s not in his office.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Do you have any idea where he might be?”
“Why?”
“I’ve got an important question to ask him about the ba…” Hugh trailed off and stood perfectly still, like one might when beset by a T-Rex. Alas, judging by the sharp click of approaching footsteps, a different and far more terrible lizard had entered his lair. Hugh spun on his heel and came face to face with his brother Everard.
Like all Drakes, Everard was dark-haired and purple-eyed, but unlike his brothers, he wore a perpetual smirk that was as mischievous as it was cutting. It was the kind of look a cat might give a mouse it had cornered, but not yet caught. Hugh’s cheeks burned. If their father found out about his plans to host a ball, he’d undoubtedly put a stop to it, and if Everard knew, he would find out. As much as his dear brother insisted otherwise, he was quite the tattler.
“About the bah?” Everard asked, one eyebrow sardonically raised. “Don’t tell me your desperation has led you to consort with livestock, brother.”
“Of course not!”
Everard shrugged. “You can’t blame a dragon for inquiring.”
Hugh sighed. “Why are you here?”
“My, aren’t we testy today? What’s got you in such a mood?” Everard tucked his hands into his back pockets. “I’m here to relay some news about Father.”
The heat in Hugh’s cheeks burned into nothing, leaving him chilled over instead. Their father was an old dragon, but hardly that old. He had many hundreds of happy years ahead of him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. In fact, everything is very right.” There was a hint of hesitation in Everard’s voice that suggested it wasn’t the entire truth. “In a twist of fate, Father has fallen in love and mated with a young Topaz dragonet. They’re expecting their first child in seven months—our future brother or sister.”
Hugh’s soul crumpled, and while he tried his best to hide it, he was sure his despair showed on his face. “He… he what?”
Everard clapped Hugh on the shoulder and steered him across the floor, putting distance between them and Francis, who’d fallen back to sleep. Once they were all the way across the room, Everard half-guided, half-pushed Hugh onto a couch while he remained standing. It hadn’t taken much effort on his part at all to get Hugh to sit—his knees had turned to jelly. If he’d remained on his feet, he very well might have collapsed.
“This is good news, Hugh,” Everard assured him, but Hugh wasn’t so sure that was the truth, either. He lowered his gaze and watched his hands, which were on his thighs. They’d tightened into fists. To distract himself from his utter desolation, he focused on the sensation of his fingernails as they dug into his palms.
“Father really doesn’t believe I’m capable of raising a clutch, does he?” Hugh asked in a small voice. “First he chooses Rey for the experiment, and now he settles down as well? I’m the only one left without children, Everard, and I’m the only one who wanted them!”
“Hugh…” Everard sat beside him and patted his knee. “Father’s mate is a… special case. I doubt he was looking for love when he took the boy in. This wasn’t meant to be an attack on you.”
Francis snored loudly from his armchair as if to agree.
“I know,” Hugh admitted in a sad, small voice. He dabbed his eye with the back of his wrist. “I don’t mean to be selfish. I am happy for Father. Truly, I am. I just… I’ve wanted this for so long.”
“And if you stay positive, your wish will come true.”
Hugh smiled, but his lips wobbled. “What a lovely fairy tale. Pray tell, where did you hear it? I read half the story, but misplaced the book somewhere along the way and never learned how it ends.”
“Then I suppose it’s—once again—up to me to save the day.” While Hugh didn’t see it, he imagined his brother proudly lifting his chin. “You’ll find your mate, brother. You’ll have your clutch. The conception of our new sibling cinches with near certainty what my little broccoli floret thought to be true—not only are Disgraces dragonets, but the color theory is accurate. If you mate with a complementary Disgrace, you’ll have your clutch eventually. There’s hope for you yet.”
On a surface level, Hugh acknowledged that what Everard was saying was correct. That shallow understanding, however, didn’t quell the torrential currents of hurt and confusion whipping his soul into a frenzy. After four unsuccessful attempts at fathering a clutch and the disaster that’d been his trip to Frisia, Hugh was still childless, and no one seemed to care. It’d stung when his father had chosen Reynard for the experiment over him, and it stung again now knowing his father had found his forever love.
“Now, will you promise to go visit Father and his new mate?” asked Everard. “You really should. Wally is a timid but sweet boy, and as he continues to warm to life as an Amethyst, I’m sure he’ll come around. And even if you want nothing to do with him, there’s no getting around the fact that he’ll be giving birth to our future sibling.”
Hugh took a deep, stabilizing breath and forced the muscles in his back and shoulders to relax. Yes, the news was distressing, but one day soon it would be his turn to find love and start a family. What was a few more months in the grand scheme of things when he’d already been waiting for centuries? All would be well.
Francis let loose with a rattling snore that ended in a wet snort.
“I’ll go visit Father and his mate soon,” Hugh said in the silence that followed. “You have my word.”
“Wonderful. Then my job here is done.” Everard stood and stretched, then turned to face Hugh. A peculiarly kind smile had replaced his typical smirk. “Brighter days are coming, brother. You never know what’s waiting around the corner. Stay positive. When the time is right, the love of your life will walk into your life, and everything will be just like you dreamed.”
Hugh nodded, but didn’t comment. He showed his brother to the door, and once it was closed and locked, rested his head against the wood and let out a slow breath through his teeth.
“Sir?” came a familiar and reassuring voice from not all that far behind him. “Is everything well?”
Hugh closed his eyes and smiled. There was no mistaking who it was. “Everything is fine, Finch. Or, rather, it will be. Where have you been? I was looking for you.” Hugh lifted his head and turned, finding Finch a few feet back. Sunlight from the room’s large windows lent radiance to his skin and shimmered in his hair. If only he were a Disgrace who’d aged out of the Pedigree and not simply the omega son of an Attendant. With Finch as his mate, Hugh would never have to worry about a single thing for as long as he should live. “I wanted to know if there was news from the event planner. I thought you’d told me that she would be getting in touch with some options.”
“Yes, sir. That’s why I came to find you. Melanie has sent you an email with several options intended to help you narrow down your event’s theme. Would you like to sit down so we can go over it together?”
Hugh nodded. “I’d like that very much.”
The smallest hint of a smile lifted Finch’s lips. He really was quite charming. It was a shame, Hugh thought as he followed the manservant from the room, that he wouldn’t be able to dance with Finch at the ball.
Well, maybe he would, even if only for fun. Finch deserved the chance to let loose. Without his assistance, the ball would never happen, and Hugh would be forever alone.
They spent that afternoon discussing color themes and catering, and that night, filled with hope but still raw from the news of his father’s coupling, Hugh gathered a handful of gold coins from his hoard and slipped them under Finch’s door. With some luck, Finch would sell them and use the funds to treat himself to something nice. He deserved to live in luxury. Imagining him sipping exquisite wine while soaking in the finest bubble bath money could buy was a bright spot in what had otherwise been a trying day.
9
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br /> Finch
Finch had facilitated the purchase of Hugh’s Phantom two years ago. He’d hunted down the desired color—belladonna purple—and then negotiated the price. Hugh would’ve paid whatever sum Finch told him it would cost, but it was the job of a Pedigree omega to make sure his mate wasn’t cheated.
Not that Hugh was his mate, but as Finch’s employer, the principle remained. The lack of mark and sexual relationship changed nothing. Finch couldn’t unlearn his training.
In any case, Finch watched through the sidelights as George pulled the decidedly purple vehicle up to the front door. “Sir,” he told a seated but fidgety Hugh, “the car is here. Are you ready to go?”
Hugh, who’d hunkered down on the steps of the grand staircase while the vehicle was retrieved, turned his imploring eyes on Finch. “No. But yes.” He stood, almost lost his footing, and grabbed onto the railing to steady himself. Even then, he trembled slightly.
“And you still wish me to accompany you?”
“Of course I do.” Indignation put a bit of starch in Hugh’s tone. “My father is…” he swallowed hard, “mated and his omega is expecting. I need to pay my respects.” He swallowed again. “It’s only proper I congratulate them.”
“Very well, sir.”
Finch opened the house’s heavy wooden door and ushered his employer through it. George, in turn, saw Hugh into the Phantom and closed the door. Finch made to sit in the front passenger seat, but was stopped when Hugh opened the back door. “What on earth do you think you’re doing, Finch?” Hugh demanded.
Finch froze. Hugh was unpredictable at the best of times, but his current behavior was markedly strange. “Have you changed your mind, sir? Do you wish to go alone?”
“No, and I can’t think of a single thing I’d wish to do less. Come here, Finch. Be with me. Sit beside me, where you belong.”
Finch and George exchanged a look. George raised his eyebrows, expression both curious and sympathetic. Finch gave a microscopic shrug, then said, “Yes, sir. I’ll be there at once.”
It took no time at all to situate himself in the back seat next to Hugh, and no sooner had he closed the door than Hugh turned toward him. “Buckle up, Finch,” he ordered, giving Finch a stern look. “Even the safest cars can be deadly. It is my duty to see to it that no harm befalls you, and a trip through the windshield would be very harmful indeed.”
Finch stared at Hugh for a few seconds, then buckled his seat belt. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Hugh said, then patted Finch’s knee with his surprisingly firm hand. “All right, George, we’re ready to go.”
“Yes, sir,” George replied. He then put up the privacy glass separating the front and back of the car.
Once privacy had been established, Hugh bent down and opened the car’s small bar. He took out a tiny bottle of gin from the cabinet. “Would you care for a drink, Finch?”
Finch wasn’t much of a drinker at any time, but especially not now, when he was on duty. He shook his head. “No, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” Hugh tipped the contents of the bottle down his throat and grabbed another.
It was very difficult for dragons to become drunk, but Hugh looked like he was game to try.
“Are you nervous, sir?”
Hugh downed his second tiny gin bottle. “No, of course not,” he said, reaching down to grab a third bottle. That left three remaining. Finch knew because he’d stocked the car himself.
Finch wavered between what he should say and what he wanted to say. Want won. “That’s enough, sir.”
Hugh blinked at Finch owlishly, holding the third gin bottle in midair. “Excuse me?”
“It wouldn’t do to go to your father’s house to meet his expecting omega smelling like Edina and Patsy on a bank holiday.”
“Excuse me?” Hugh repeated. He didn’t look any less confused.
Finch sighed. “Please stop drinking.”
Hugh frowned, then put the bottle back in the cabinet. “Yes, of course you’re right. Who are Edina and Patsy? Are they staff?”
“Never mind, sir. You can do this. I know you can.” Finch gave Hugh a comforting, and hopefully impersonal, pat.
Hugh grabbed Finch’s hand and hung on like his life depended on it. “You can’t ever leave me,” he said. “I need you far too much.”
His words were a blade that slashed through Finch, making him flinch. Hugh’s grip tightened on his hand. After a stunned moment spent composing himself, Finch found himself able to reply. “Thank you, sir, but you survived many centuries before I was born and will carry on for just as many after I die. I have faith you’ll be fine.”
Hugh grunted, looked at Finch skeptically, and said no more for the rest of the trip.
He didn’t, however, let go of Finch’s hand.
It had been several years since Hugh had last taken Finch to his father’s home, but it was every bit as impressive as Finch remembered. The exterior was stately and imposing, as was to be expected of the head of the Amethyst clan, and beautiful in a stoic and orderly way. It was the kind of estate where messes were never tolerated, and as such, it appealed to Finch at a fundamental level.
The interior was just as lovely.
From its impressive architecture to the tasteful furniture and displays of wealth kept within its walls, the place was a showcase for the wealthiest of all the Jeweled dragons. In particular, Finch found himself attracted to a dragon sculpted out of purple jade that sat on a plinth not all that far from the main entrance. Hugh was not the only Drake fond of purple, it seemed. The whole family appeared to have an affinity for it.
While Hugh exchanged strained pleasantries with his father’s manservant, Carsons, Finch occupied himself by spotting other instances of the color around the room. There were the paintings on the walls—Renaissance, if he had to guess—in which bursts of purple sneaked in unexpectedly in small, mostly unnoticeable ways; and the blooms of flowering plants basking in the natural light pouring into the room. As they were led deeper into the residence, Finch spotted other subtle occurrences of the shade, from crystals sparkling in the depths of a chandelier to pocket squares worn by Grimbold’s staff. It was quite lovely to behold. So lovely, in fact, that he was almost taken by surprise when Carsons stopped them in front of an ornate door and knocked crisply three times.
“Mr. Hugh Drake, sir,” Carsons declared. “And his secretary, one Mr. Finch.”
There came shuffling from inside, as of someone stiffly rising from an armchair by the door. It opened a moment later, revealing the distinguished Mr. Grimbold Drake.
Finch did not often have the chance to see his employer’s father face to face. Every now and then, when Hugh was otherwise occupied, Finch engaged in correspondence with the man, but the written word in no way prepared a soul for the gravitas embodied by the most senior of the Drakes.
Grimbold was, very much, a dignified personage. He was large of build and solemn in manner, and he carried himself with all the importance of a dragon who knew he was the best of his kind. Even Finch, with all his good breeding, found the man intimidating, and when Grimbold looked his way with his impressively dark purple eyes, Finch bowed his head. It was only when the weight of Grimbold’s gaze moved on that Finch looked up and saw that, to his surprise, Grimbold was smiling.
Hugh not so much.
The younger dragon’s posture had gone rigid, his spine a little too straight and his shoulders pinched. Despite his best efforts to keep emotion from his face, obvious emotional distress tightened his lips. Finch yearned to rest a reassuring hand on the small of Hugh’s back, but knew better. He was not Hugh’s mate—not even his partner—so the best he could do was stand by as a silent source of support.
“I’ve come to offer my congratulations, Father,” Hugh said as bravely as he could after a tense moment had passed. It was a commendable effort. Finch would have smiled had he not been on duty. “I’ve heard from Everard that you’ve found a mate, and that you’re expecting your firs
t child together. I look forward to… to meeting my new brother or sister.”
“Thank you, child.” Grimbold squeezed his shoulder. “Much has changed in such a short time, hasn’t it?”
Hugh’s bottom lip trembled, but only slightly. “Yes, it has.”
“Come,” Grimbold bade him. “Walter and I have been resting. We were in the middle of a story, but it can be finished later. You’re here now, and that’s what’s important. I would very much like for you to meet him.”
Finch checked on Hugh’s expression from the corner of his eye. His employer was putting on a brave face, but Finch could see it was an act. Hugh was stricken. Finch understood his pain. It hurt to see the ones you loved achieve what you wanted more than anything else in life, but in some cases, it was unavoidable. One day, Hugh would understand.
Grimbold led them into the room, which appeared to be a library. Shelves of books with ancient spines lined the walls and formed great freestanding columns from the tops of which tumbled vines of pothos, their vibrantly green leaves in contrast to the sun-bleached buckram bindings beneath them. Close to the library door was positioned a lamp—currently switched on—and an oversized armchair in which was curled a young man with sandy hair and porcelain skin. A book was beside him, no doubt plucked from one of the nearby shelves. Finch wasn’t one to stare, but in this case, he couldn’t help it. The boy was beautiful—a jewel of the Pedigree if Finch had ever seen one.
Strangely, the boy stared at Finch as if he were thinking the same.
“Walter,” Grimbold said gently as he approached the armchair. The boy blinked and turned his attention from Finch to the senior Mr. Drake. “This is my son, Hugh.”
Walter made no move to get up from the armchair. If what Finch saw was to be believed, he curled up on himself all the more. Perhaps it was premature to assume he was of the Pedigree—no omega, Disgrace or otherwise, would ever show a dragon such disrespect.
Grimbold, however, was seemingly unfazed by the egregious display. He swept over to Walter’s side and sat on the armchair with him, tucking the boy protectively into his arms, where he brushed his sandy hair back from his forehead. “He’s safe, sweet. He won’t harm you. None of my whelps ever will.”
