by Piper Scott
“Half a pound,” Finch muttered in disbelief. “Lord, help me.”
“Next time I’ll get you an entire pound.” Hugh sat a little straighter and worried his thumb over his opposite hand, gutted that he’d upset Finch with such a lackluster gift. “Or, better yet, two pounds. No, three.” Finch looked horrified, so Hugh upped the ante. “An even five?”
“There is nothing even about five, sir.”
“Then we’ll make it ten. And would you like them bigger? You seemed upset they weren’t bigger. The, um, smudge sticks, I mean, since a pound is a pound no matter what. I’ll instruct Gabriel to bring back the biggest, lushest smudge sticks he can find.”
Finch hid his face behind his hands, which was the opposite of what Hugh wanted.
“I’m very sorry, Finch,” he said in a small, disappointed voice. “I thought I was being kind, but I suppose the kinder thing to do would have been to invite you to examine the product with me. I did test it, you know, to see if it was adequate, and while I’m not quite sure what to look for, it seemed aboveboard. I didn’t think I’d be sold such inferior stock.”
“No, that’s not it.” Finch lowered his hands, and Hugh was relieved to see he was smiling. “Sir, owning that much marijuana is very, very illegal.”
“I mean, that’s the point, isn’t it?”
“No.”
But Finch was still smiling, so Hugh laughed. “Finch, I don’t think I’ll ever understand you.”
“It’s probably for the best, sir.” He cleared his throat and looked at the remaining gift, which had tumbled off his lap and landed beside his thigh during the commotion. “Before I open this, should I brace myself to find something unlawful inside?”
“Not at all.” Hugh smiled. “Go ahead.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Finch scooped up the gift and opened it. When he removed the lid, he gasped. “Sir…”
“I thought you might wear it for the party today,” Hugh explained, lifting the gemstone brooch from its velvet padding. It was a small but masterfully crafted piece done in white gold, gray diamond, onyx, and ruby and resembled a wild finch perched on a branch. “I had it made just for you. May I pin it to your lapel?”
Finch nodded, and so Hugh did. Not only did the pop of color from the brooch draw the eye to Finch’s typically understated but stylish suit, but its gemstones glimmered in the sunlight.
Hugh was enthralled.
“It looks just as amazing as I thought it would.” Hugh smoothed Finch’s lapel, then met Finch’s eyes. They were every bit as exquisite as the jewels on his chest. “Thank you again for agreeing to come out with me today. When you’re around, I never feel like I have to shoulder the world on my own.”
“And you will never have to,” Finch promised.
Mine, Hugh’s dragon insisted, but Hugh paid it no heed. It would be rude to take the brooch back now, no matter how beautiful it was. Besides, the jewels looked better on Finch than they would in his hoard.
The rest of the trip to Sebastian’s estate was uneventful, but with Finch there to share it with him, Hugh still enjoyed it more than words could say.
13
Finch
Even if Finch hadn’t known he was at the home of a dragon, it wouldn’t have been hard to guess. Sebastian Drake’s lair wasn’t a mansion—it was an obscenely large manor tucked into a gated community within one of Aurora’s richest suburbs. The outside stone facade was formal and imposing, and reminded Finch a bit of the British Museum with its massive Grecian columns. The similarities ended there, however. The estate’s sprawling gardens and lush greenery turned the space into its own oasis, and its pool-sized ornamental koi pond was much more alluring than the urban jungle leading to the museum’s front steps. Finch marveled at the magnificence of it all as he stepped out of the car and stooped to gather the children’s gifts.
Hugh was by his side in an instant and placed a firm hand on his arm. “No, Finch. Leave that to the Attendants.”
“I am an Attendant, sir,” Finch reminded him.
Hugh colored, then firmed his lips and squared his jaw. “Nonsense. You’re my right hand. I’d never manage without you. Now come, or there won’t be any cake left. Or snacks.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, Finch?” They arrived at the front door, where Hugh pressed the door chime.
“When you said that you ‘tested’ my, er, present… what exactly did you mean by that?”
“That I sampled it, of course.”
Finch’s eye twitched. “And when was that?”
“Oh, not all that long before we took to the road. I had to ensure it was at peak freshness when you received it.”
Finch wondered what the effects of marijuana were on dragons. If anyone would know, it would likely be Everard, but Finch couldn’t imagine asking the dragon even if he had a million years to screw up his courage to do so. If they were lucky, Hugh would experience nothing more than an increased appetite. Finch decided to hope for the best. “Thank you for your consideration, sir.”
“Hmm. Well, yes. Of course. Can you imagine if it were spoiled and I gave it to you anyway? I couldn’t have you falling ill. You’re a human and so fragile, and I couldn’t—”
Hugh was interrupted by the arrival of a Range Rover. It slowed, then stopped, and out jumped three dark-haired boys. They were followed by a pretty, if frazzled, young man and one of the Mr. Drakes. Alistair, by the looks of him, which made the young man trying to herd their three hellions his mate, Ignatius. What were the boys’ names again? Something literary. Finch pondered a bit then came up with Chaucer, Abelard, and Malory.
Alistair soon proved him correct.
“Malory, please leave the book in the car. You know your papa gets upset when you forget his books at other people’s houses. Do you want to lose your book privileges? No, I didn’t think so.” One boy ran back to the Range Rover and handed the book he carried to the female driver standing beside the vehicle. “Abelard, you get one piece of cake. One! Do you understand?” The boy walking beside Alistair pouted, but he nodded. “Good. I’d hate for a repeat of what happened at your grandsire’s house last Christmas.” The dragon looked around. “Where’s Chaucer?”
Ignatius looked startled and a little panicky as he took a large parcel out of the back of the vehicle. It was the size of a hatbox, only more rectangular in shape, and tied with twine to keep it safely shut. Was it a present, perhaps? “He was just here, Alistair! Like, a minute ago, at least. I barely took my eyes off him.”
“Chaucer, no!”
There was a resounding splash, then a small boy stood up in the ornamental koi pond, the water coming up to his chest. He had a lily pad on his head. “I’m okay!” he shouted. He hopped about, splashing and likely giving the koi nervous breakdowns. “I’m a frog, Daddy! I’m a frog!”
Ignatius sighed and seemed to say to himself, “One day he’ll get the right lizard.”
“Good lord,” Hugh murmured.
“Sir?” Finch turned to him. Hugh’s eyes were wide, and he stood absolutely still. Perhaps he hadn’t realized how chaotic children could be. Even dragon children. Especially dragon children. “Children can sometimes be a bit noisy, and clumsy—”
“I want a dozen just like him,” Hugh said with a sigh.
Finch shifted gears. “Just like Chaucer?” The child, having been scooped out of the pond by Alistair, wriggled free and took off running, his father right behind him.
“Be careful what you wish for,” came Ignatius’s voice from much closer than Finch was prepared for. Startled, he jumped and spun around to discover Alistair’s mate had come to join them near the door. Ignatius quirked a brow at him, then shrugged. “You might just get it.”
“Ignatius!” Hugh exclaimed. The marijuana had to be improving his mood, for he didn’t sound crestfallen in the least. “Have you met Finch? He’s my secretary. Couldn’t do a thing without him.”
“Hey.” Ignatius tucked the enormous box under one arm then stuc
k out his other hand, which Finch shook. “I’m Nate—Alistair’s mate and father to two fairly good boys and one frog, apparently.”
Finch nodded. “Finch, at your service.”
“Did you ring the doorbell?” Ignatius asked. “I feel like we’ve been standing here for a long-ass time.”
“We have,” Finch replied.
“Huh. Weird. I guess everyone else must already be inside. It gets kind of crazy when we all get together. It’s not surprising they didn’t hear the bell the first time. Let me ring it again.” He pressed the doorbell several times in rapid succession. “It shouldn’t be much longer.”
Finch nodded, but chose not to otherwise engage. He’d heard it said that Ignatius was a Disgrace, and while he was handsome, his behavior was not congruent with the teachings of the Pedigree. Perhaps it was all a rumor. That would explain how Alistair had sired a clutch with him. Slowly but surely, all the pieces were falling into place.
“Come here, boys!” Hugh called to his nephews.
The two children who had not fallen into a pond bounced up to their uncle and waited expectantly.
Hugh reached into his pocket and pulled out red licorice for Abelard and a candy bar for Malory.
“Oh, Hugh. They’re already going to get enough sugar today as it is,” Ignatius sighed. “Boys, what do we say?”
“Thank you,” the boys chorused with mouths full of candy.
“You’re welcome. Malory, boy, come here. We keep pushing the bell and no one’s come to let us in. Why don’t you help us out?”
Malory grinned at his uncle and darted forward, pressing his finger to the button.
“Just one push, sweetheart,” Ignatius admonished, seemingly unaware that he’d jammed it quite a few times himself.
The little imp grinned and kept on pushing.
The front door was wrenched open just as a very damp Alistair jogged up with an even wetter Chaucer in his arms. “Stop that racket right now!”
Finch had expected an Attendant to let them into the house, but it was Mr. Geoffrey Drake who stood there. He had something white and fluffy, like whipped cream, stuck to his ear.
Alistair tucked his squirming child under one arm. “Geoffrey? What on earth? Where is—”
Geoffrey looked harried. “There was an accident. With pie. Everard and Harrison are seeing to the injuries. Most are superficial, but the butler might be concussed.”
Ignatius’s lips twisted with humor. “So a normal Drake gathering, then.”
“Indeed,” Geoffrey intoned, as solemn as any good butler, and ushered them into the house.
14
Finch
Finch had thought to keep himself at Hugh’s side so as to be as unobtrusive as possible, but found himself instead seated at a table crowded with the Drakes’ omega mates. There were quite a few of them now, but thanks to his good memory, he knew them all by name. There was Ignatius, of course, whose brown hair and blue eyes hinted not at his clan of origin. Next to him was Harrison, Everard’s reptile-loving bespectacled mate, and beside him, Walter, who had never looked more nervous. He kept glancing at the conservatory door, no doubt in search of Grimbold. Peregrine, Sebastian’s mate, had taken to mothering him. While he was the oldest at the table by hundreds of years, he was blessed with eternal youth that tricked the eye into believing he was a teenager. The illusion was made complete by his mess of blond curls and his bright blue eyes, which lent him an angelic innocence that very few adults possessed. Misha, the closest to Peregrine in terms of appearance, was devilish in comparison. When his nose wasn’t buried in his cell phone, he kept fixing Finch with a look that suggested he was up to something. Whatever it was, Finch hoped he would never find out.
The very last omega at the table was Matthieu, the redheaded Ruby Disgrace who’d managed to find himself mated to both a Drake and a Brand. It was rather scandalous. All was well now, but half a decade ago news of the coupling had ripped through the Attendant and Pedigree communities alike, stirring gossip in its wake. Since then, several more unconventional couplings had come to light and the odd pairing had become somewhat normalized. Finch was glad. He’d always been a fan of happy endings.
What he was not glad about was the large lizard at the center of the table wearing a party hat. It was eating a strawberry off a miniature plate. None of the omegas at the table seemed bothered by its presence or tried to stop it when it finished the strawberry, waddled across the table, and climbed down the table leg onto the floor. It disappeared into a crowd of children and didn’t return.
Finch hoped it wasn’t destined for the dessert table, which was laden with food and sweets, including a large cake.
“Well.” Ignatius flattened both of his hands on the table like he was about to do business. “Now that the ceremonial strawberry has been eaten, it’s time for our club meeting to begin.”
“Is that what we’re doing now?” Misha asked distractedly. “It’s been so long, I thought we weren’t doing them anymore. And what about him?” He jabbed his thumb in Finch’s direction. “He’s new.”
“Which is exactly why today’s meeting is important.”
“Club?” Finch asked. He was so far out of his depth that he was afraid he’d never find his way to the surface.
“Wytad Club,” Ignatius explained. “It’s not actually a club in the traditional sense of the word, but it’s what we call ourselves when we get together. Although I guess it’s in need of a name change. We need to be more inclusive. Not everyone mated to a dragon lays eggs.”
Walter shrank into his seat and looked uncomfortable, but said nothing. No sooner had he than Peregrine patted him on the arm and inched his chair closer. “You’re right, darling. The language is outdated at best. The birth of a dragonet should be every bit as cherished as the laying of a clutch. Besides, Finch has yet to conceive at all, unless I’ve missed something.”
Finch almost fell out of his chair. “What?”
“Have you copulated?” Harrison asked. He adjusted his glasses and gave Finch a good look. “With Hugh, I mean. Previous instances of copulation don’t count. Although it would be fascinating to study the mating habits of a dragonet prior to the formation of a bond with his or her dragon. Ohh, I have so much research to do.” Harrison chewed on his bottom lip.
“Harry, you lived with me all through college,” Ignatius said flatly. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got all the data you need.”
Good lord, who were these people? Finch was starting to understand why Walter seemed in perpetual need of a stiff drink. Thank god the conversation swung off on a wild tangent pursuant to Ignatius’s comment about his wild college days, or Finch might have died of embarrassment.
Unfortunately, there was one individual seated at the table who seemed to have no interest in the time during Ignatius’s freshman year when he’d inadvertently hooked up with his TA. Misha set his phone down, leaned forward on his elbows, and peered straight into Finch’s very soul. “You. New omega,” he said. “You never answered the question.”
Silence fell. All eyes turned on Finch. Finch sat with improved posture, but his good manners did nothing to alleviate the force of their stare. When it became obvious none of them would let him escape, he cleared his throat and said, “I hardly know what you’re talking about.”
Misha snorted and leaned back in his chair, returning to whatever he’d been up to on his phone. “I’ll take that as a no. With that in mind, may I suggest ‘Dragonet Club’?”
Ignatius nodded. “Sure. That works. Dragonet Club it is.”
Finch hadn’t quite died of embarrassment yet, but it was a near thing. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work, as I’m not a dragonet.”
Despite the hordes of shrieking children running amok, the silence was deafening. It was broken after a time by Walter, of all people, who told Finch quite nervously, “It’s okay to admit it. I don’t know what your Superintendents taught you, but you don’t have to be afraid. The Amethyst clan isn’t full of bloodthirsty mons
ters. They won’t hurt you, not even when you deserve punishment.”
“I’m not—”
“But you are,” Misha said with a tired sigh. He turned his phone so its screen was facing Finch. On it was all of Finch’s personal information—information supposed to have been kept confidential within the Attendant network’s private databank. “Why do you lie? I have no patience for it. It says here you’re a dragonet.”
The actual word displayed on the screen was “DISGRACE,” which was true. It was the implication that he was a dragon that Finch took issue with. Semantics, however, would have to be debated another day. Finch leapt up from the table and, in his panic, tried to snatch the phone from Misha, who snarled something at him in Russian and kicked him in the spleen. Finch stumbled back, winded, and resorted to begging Misha with his eyes. “Please,” he said. “Exit that screen at once. The information on it isn’t supposed to have been made public, and if Hugh were to find out—”
“If Hugh were to find out what?” asked Hugh as he entered the room flanked by a good twenty or so of his nephews. “It seems I’ve missed something. Finch, are you well? You’re unusually pale.”
The whole table sprang to their feet. Even Misha, who’d been glaring daggers at Finch. He tucked his hands behind his back and stepped in front of Finch. In his hand was his cell phone, its screen pointed in Finch’s direction. While he spoke, he used his thumb to close the page with Finch’s information on it. Finch had no clue how he was able to navigate the screen like that without looking, but that would be a mystery for another day.
“It’s the lighting in here, drakon,” Misha said. “All of us look pale in this dingy room.”
“We were just discussing alternate lighting arrangements,” Peregrine added. He stepped around Finch to stand at Misha’s side, effectively blocking Finch from Hugh. “Finch will have to excuse me for revealing his secrets, but the conversation came about when Harrison commented on his freckles. You might not think much of it, but Pedigree omegas are taught that any and all imperfections are to be minimized or made invisible, freckles included. It seems the light here emphasizes them, and Finch was distressed by the thought you might notice.”
