by Piper Scott
“I’m afraid I do not.”
“Fibbing will only make things worse!”
“Excellent. Then we shouldn’t have an issue.” The dragon removed his hands from his pockets. Hugh braced himself to see scales and claws, but there were none. For now, the aggressor remained human. “I have no quarrel with you or with your dragonet. I’m simply seeking the truth. Senile old Atticus claims this young man is my get, which I find bizarre, considering I was never informed that my attempt at a clutch produced any kind of life at all.”
“Bollocks!” Finch seethed.
In an attempt to soothe him, Hugh wrapped Finch up a little tighter in his arms.
“I’m telling the truth, little bird,” the dragon said sadly. “You’ll find I’m not much of a liar. I have no talent for it. You would be able to read my fib as plainly as words off the pages of a book. I am, however, wondering how your existence was never brought to my attention, seeing as how Atticus here was in the know.” He looked at the elderly dragon—Atticus—who was fending off a starry-eyed Harrison with his cane. “Do you care to explain yourself, old man?”
“What?” Atticus poked Harrison in the chest a few times. “You think this is my doing? I was only made aware when Willoughby brought it to my attention prior to the boy’s employment. Willoughby researches every Attendant brought into the fold to ensure they’re from good stock, you know. If you’d have come to visit earlier, I would have told you then, but no one comes to visit the old coot, do they? Hmm, Calvin?”
“I’d be glad to visit you,” Harrison said brightly. “You could tell me all about ancient dragons. Oh, and maybe your clutch! Clutches? I hope there’s more than one. I mean, you could basically tell me anything and I’d love to hear it. I’m a good listener, I swear.”
The offer was met by another poke from Atticus’s cane. “You, boy, have all of the enthusiasm of a whelp and none of its sense of self-preservation. Now, Calvin, stop dawdling. Make whatever introductions or apologies are necessary, then go wait for me in my study. There are far too many people here. Willoughby, Calvin and I will partake in tea in my study thirty minutes from now. See to it Marie prepares some of those excellent cucumber sandwiches she’s so fond of making. Add extra pepper to Calvin’s, and make sure his sandwiches are marked with decorative toothpicks so we can tell the difference. Now, you”—Atticus turned his wizened stare on Everard as Willoughby exited the room—“you may be a doctor, but you’re also trouble. Out with you. You can come back in after Calvin has finished speaking with Finch. And you”—he poked Harrison in the chest, prompting the omega-beta to smile—“I’m putting you in charge of making sure that oaf of a doctor does what I’ve told him.”
“Okay. I can do that.” Harrison turned to face Everard. “Come on, Ev. We should wait in the hall until Calvin and Finch are done talking. It’s only polite.”
Everard, who was still on the floor, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He glared at Atticus, who glared back, then stiffly rose to his feet, dusted off the back of his pants, and allowed himself to be herded from the room by his mate.
“What about me?” Geoffrey asked.
“Oh. You.” Atticus narrowed his eyes at him. “You seem crotchety. I like you. You can stay.”
Geoffrey’s expression fell flat. He arched a brow, folded his arms, and leaned against the wall by the door.
“Which brings me to you.” Atticus directed his cane at Hugh. “I don’t suppose you’ll relinquish your grip on my secretary, so until Willoughby procures an omega-sized amount of grease to coat him in so we can work him out of your grasp, I suppose I’ll have to put up with you.”
“He is not your secretary,” Hugh fumed. “He is my secretary! You pilfered him from me.”
“I have done no such thing.” Atticus tramped the floor between them with his cane rather like a judge would a gavel. “Quiet down, now. This isn’t about you. This is about Finch. It can be about you later, once we’ve neatened all this chaos. Until then, I don’t want to hear a peep out of you. Calvin, say your piece.”
It was ridiculous that such an old and feeble dragon could command a room in the way Atticus did, but Hugh, as outraged as he was, felt compelled to stay silent. If Finch really did have unresolved business with these vile kidnappers, it was important he have closure. Hugh could restrain himself long enough for that.
“I truly had no idea,” Calvin, the younger dragon, said. “I attempted a clutch five times with five separate candidates to no avail during my sanctioned period. The Pedigree omegas I bedded remained in their cloisters, and that was the end of that. No one thought to tell me that I had conceived a Disgrace.” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Or, should I say, a dragonet. If I had known…”
“What?” Finch prickled. “What would knowing have changed? You still wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with me, and I would have been brought up in the cloister regardless.”
“If I had known, I would have made an effort to meet you,” Calvin said softly. He looked genuinely crestfallen. “Perhaps it’s not much, but it would have been something. If I could change the past, I would, but I can’t. All I can do is tell you the truth—that if I had known you existed, things would have been different. I never meant to make you feel unloved.”
Finch went stiff.
“Excellent work, Calvin.” Atticus slapped him on the shoulder. “A heartfelt confession for the history books, I’m sure. Now that that’s out of the way, to the study with you.” He raised his voice to call into the hallway, “Next!”
“I’m not done, you dusty codger.” Calvin rolled Atticus’s hand off his shoulder and took a step toward Finch—and by extension, Hugh. Hugh held on to his beloved Finch protectively, but Finch was in no mood to be coddled. He ducked under Hugh’s arms and took a bold step forward to face the approaching dragon.
There was a tense moment of silence. Hugh wanted nothing more than to pull Finch back to him, but he knew better than to steal his freedom. Perhaps there was more to the kidnapping plot than he’d originally believed. He’d have to have a think about it later. For now, he needed to keep an eye on this Calvin. Yes, he was an Amethyst, but heaven knew they could be a wily bunch. There was no telling what he might be up to.
Calvin extended a hand toward Finch, which Finch made no move to take. When it became obvious that Finch wouldn’t reconsider, Calvin dropped it to his side.
“A part of me may be cold-blooded, little bird,” he said, “but I am not a monster. I’m a dragon who wasn’t given a chance to show how much of a man he can be. If you have no room in your life for me, I understand, but if you are my son—”
“He is,” Atticus posited.
“—then I want to make things right.”
Finch crossed his arms tightly over his chest and stood a little taller. A prolonged beat of silence passed. Just when Hugh thought he’d stay silent, Finch cleared his throat. “I suppose that can be arranged.”
“There. And we’re done. Very good.” Atticus smacked Calvin’s ass with his cane. “Out, whelp. There are twenty-five minutes left before the cucumber sandwiches arrive, and there are still so many blasted Drakes to tend to.”
“Will you be staying here with Atticus?” Calvin asked Finch, deftly stepping aside to avoid another smack from Atticus. “I visit often. I’ll be able to see you, and I can arrange to be here for when the dragonet is born.”
Hugh blinked.
The… dragonet?
Static fizzled behind his eyes. All of a sudden he remembered why he’d woken up lips to the floor.
Finch was pregnant.
He was going to be a father.
The strength left his legs and he crumpled to the floor in a heap. The last thing he heard was Atticus, who tapped his cane gleefully on the floor. “Excellent. Another Drake dealt with. I suppose in light of the situation, we should invite the doctor in next.”
32
Finch
Finch looked down at the dragon collapsed at his fe
et and sighed. It was very much like Hugh to faint. Twice. For little reason. At least time hadn’t changed him. It was a small consolation during an otherwise trying time.
“Is it common,” Finch asked the room in general as he sank to Hugh’s side, “for dragons to faint this often? It seems the sort of thing I’d have heard about if it were.”
Hugh might have fainted, but he was conscious enough to bury his face against Finch’s stomach once Finch had pulled him into his lap. Finch’s heart skipped a beat, and he took to stroking Hugh’s hair very gently, emotionally exhausted, but enamored all the same.
Everard, who’d entered the room upon hearing the commotion, smirked. “Ah, no. Things have been unusual since your untimely departure, notebook. Hugh went a little…”
“Mad,” Geoffrey concluded with finality. “He went bloody mad and stormed about, breaking treaties and trying to sneak into other dragons’ hoards. Wouldn’t listen to a lick of reason. He still insists you were kidnapped, despite my assurance hundreds of times to the contrary.”
“Running from your problems, boy?” Atticus whistled low. “I should have known. You can’t run from your mate, you know. Most don’t try—why would they? But the one or two who’ve tried over the centuries were found soon enough by their dragons and brought home. You do realize you’re part of his hoard, don’t you?”
Finch looked at Hugh, who was either still out cold or a truly spectacular actor. “I’m not his mate.”
Atticus snorted. “What rot. Youngsters these days, I do declare. What can they be thinking?”
Finch lowered his gaze and watched his fingers glide through Hugh’s hair. Yes, he loved Hugh more than heaven and earth and all things in between, but there was no mate bond connecting them. Finch hadn’t seen the mark or felt Hugh in his soul. The relief that had flooded him when Hugh had stepped into the room was due to his lovesick heart and nothing more. It didn’t mean they were mated.
Although he had to admit, his headache had receded since Hugh had fallen unconscious.
Finch took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to collect himself and his thoughts. “I wasn’t able to conceive his clutch—the clutch he’s wanted nearly his entire life. That’s why I can’t possibly be his mate. Mates birth clutches. That’s why Disgraces are named as we are.”
“Dragonet,” said Harrison, who was trying—and failing—to push Everard back into the hall. “Using the proper nomenclature is important. Not only is it respectful to do, but it helps prevent the spread of disinformation. It’s our duty as members of draconian society to be accurate about such things.”
“God, I love you, pumpkin seed,” Everard murmured, and kissed Harrison sweetly on the top of his head.
“Dragonet, then.” Finch’s shoulders tightened, and despite his best attempts to stay calm, frustration throbbed in his temples. “Disgraces or dragonets, it doesn’t matter. We’re all still failures! We’re disappointments. We’re a source of shame, and not meant to be mates. It’s been that way since forever, and that is the way it will always be.”
Harrison stopped his fruitless attempt at pushing Everard out the door and dropped down to sit at Finch’s side. He kept his hands to himself, but sat close enough to make it personal. “You know, it can be hard to accept when the things we thought were true aren’t so true anymore.” Harrison offered him a smile. “It can be really easy, too. Like the time I found out dragons were real, or when I discovered Ev didn’t want to eat me. But I guess this isn’t one of those easy times, is it?”
Finch said nothing, but his silence spoke for him, because Harrison continued.
“It’s okay to be upset, you know. We’re creatures of habit, and disruptions to our routine can mean threats to our safety. At least, from an evolutionary standpoint. But we shouldn’t let fear of change hold us back. I know it’s not an easy thing to do, but in science, realizing you’ve made a mistake means you’re one step closer to knowing the truth, and that’s something to be celebrated. So do you think we could celebrate this mistake together?”
Tears blurred Finch’s vision. “Celebrate what?” he asked.
“That you’re a dragon, Finch,” Harrison said with great kindness. “That you’re not a failure or a source of shame.”
Nothing Finch could do could keep his tears at bay. They fell down his cheeks and plummeted onto his thighs. One of them landed on Hugh’s forehead, which Finch promptly swept away. How embarrassing it was to cry in front of a room full of dragons. How shameful. He’d been raised to be the perfect servant, because he’d always been told that he would never be anyone’s perfect lover.
Only Hugh had come around and mucked it all up.
Calvin reached out a tentative hand to touch Finch’s cheek and to his utter shame, Finch looked into his face, which was so much like his own, and started sobbing. It was hormones. It had to be hormones. He’d been trained to be so much better than this.
“You are no source of shame, Finch.” Calvin squeezed Finch’s shoulder, causing Finch to sob harder than before. “I am so grateful, more than you’ll ever know, that you came to stay with Atticus. I hope to be a part of your life, if you’ll have me. And of my grandchild’s life as well. I can’t make up for past mistakes, but I can celebrate the future. Our future. One where we’re a family despite the distance between us. If you’re willing, I am, too, and I would like that very much.”
Finch ran an arm across his eyes and wished he had a tissue for his leaky nose. As if by magic, Hugh stirred and murmured something incomprehensible, then presented Finch with a handkerchief he produced from his back pocket. It was alarming enough that Finch began to settle down. Hugh had been out cold—how had he known what Finch was feeling?
“There. You see?” Atticus tapped his cane on the floor several times in rapid succession. “Do you believe in the bond now, Finch? Your dragon is responding to your emotional state even when incapacitated. You are his, and he is yours.”
“I…” Finch’s voice faltered under the onslaught of emotion. “I’m not sure—”
“Mine,” groaned a broken voice. It came out of Hugh’s throat, but didn’t sound like him at all. “Mine. My omega, my child, my love, my treasure, mine.”
Then, much to Finch’s surprise, Hugh began to change.
He grew at a slow but steady pace. The baggy, travel-worn suit he wore filled out, then became overly tight. Its stitching snapped and its fabric tore, revealing purple scales where there should have been skin. The others in the room wisely evacuated to its perimeter or slipped out into the hall, but Finch remained right where he was. He watched Hugh gain wings and a tail, saw his claws sprout and his spines grow. The room was large, but Hugh was larger, and when his wings gained their full size and expanded, the walls groaned and cracked in protest.
“He will, I assure you, pay for the damages,” came Geoffrey’s voice from out in the hall.
Atticus harrumphed, but had little else to say.
When the transformation was complete, Hugh lifted his massive head and looked Finch in the eyes. As he did, a feeling of love pooled in the center of Finch’s chest. It radiated through him and calmed all the horrible, irrational thoughts battling for supremacy in his mind. Very gently, he placed a hand on the side of Hugh’s snoot and closed his eyes, and Hugh, sweet as ever, pushed delicately into his hand and nuzzled Finch’s palm. Silent tears streaked down Finch’s cheeks, which his dragon hastened to lick away.
“It’s you,” Finch whispered, sounding hoarse. “It’s always been you, hasn’t it? My love. My mate. I can feel the way you love me. I never thought it could be possible, but here you are.” Finch tapped his chest right above his heart. “And here.” He touched his brow. “No wonder I felt so wretched when I left you. It was bloody stupid of me to run. I see that now.”
The truth thundered through Finch like a heartbeat. It was inexorable. Finch was a dragon’s mate. He was a dragon himself, if Hugh’s family were to be believed. Everything he’d been taught was wrong. He
was far from being a Disgrace.
Like the last pieces of a great cosmic jigsaw snapping into place, Finch felt for the first time like he truly belonged.
Over Hugh’s head, Finch could just make out Calvin, who smiled, but also looked a little sad. “It seems you’ve come to your senses. I take it you’ll be leaving England, then? Your place is in America with your mate, not here in this dingy old castle under the watchful eye of a dragon so old, he breathes dust instead of fire.”
Atticus cursed at Calvin, and Finch couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t a happy sound, but it came from a happy place. Yes, he’d lost his way, but he’d found it again. Hugh had come for him. And were he ever to be lost again, he knew that Hugh and the rest of the Drakes would be there to guide him. “I think I will be, yes. My apologies, Atticus. I will be tendering my resignation effective immediately.”
“A bloody shame, but understandable,” Atticus replied. “At the very least it will get all of these blasted Drakes out of my lair.”
There was a sort of squelching pop, and in the place of the enormous dragon lay a very naked Hugh. He sat up at once and knelt in front of Finch. “Finch!”
“Hello, sir,” Finch said with a wobbly smile. “I’m so glad to see you again.”
Hugh tugged Finch into his arms and held him so tightly, Finch thought he might break. “Hugh,” Hugh insisted. “You must call me Hugh. It won’t do for my mate to go around calling me ‘sir.’ Well, except sometimes you may. If you wish. When we’re naked.” He looked around and saw that while he was naked, Finch and his assorted relatives were not, and all had their eyes upon him. “And alone. Decidedly alone.” He touched Finch’s stomach. “My child,” he said, his entire being full of wonder. “This is my child.”
“Our child,” Finch tried, and found that it wasn’t all that horrible to say.
“Yes, of course, ours. Finch?”
Hugh sounded so plaintive that Finch looked up and into his eyes. “Yes?”
