by Anya Nowlan
He lifted a few silver tray lids off of the food, revealing every manner of delicious treats from seafood to wild game and from desserts to soups and salads.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I had the cooks prepare a bit of everything,” he said simply, taking a sip from his drink as he rested his gaze on her. It made her skin tingle.
“Thank you,” she said, feeling a bit awkward for thanking a man, who had just forcefully made her his bride-to-be.
You can deal with that after you’ve eaten, she told herself, giving in to the gaping emptiness in her stomach as she piled some lobster rolls and rice along with fresh green salad onto her plate. She dug into it gleefully, and was several bites in before she noticed Devon watching her, a smirk on his lips.
“What?” she asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance in her tone.
“I just like a woman with an appetite. I was half-expecting you to leave me alone with all of this food,” he said, a genuine smile piercing that stony expression of his. Gemma arched her brows at the man. When he wasn’t trying to be a complete jerkwad, he could be surprisingly… tolerable. Who knew? She certainly hadn’t been prepared for it.
“Well, I probably should have. I don’t know what kind of books you’ve been reading, but the way to a woman’s heart is not through calling dibs and excusing it with ancient rights.” Gemma gave him a look that she thought rather piercing, but Devon just chuckled, putting some slices of wild boar and elk along with a healthy helping of mashed potatoes and cream on his plate.
“You must not date a lot of dragons then,” he said, looking entirely serious.
“I imagine you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that I don’t.”
“Not really, no.” There was that smile again. Just a hint of a warm, if not blazing heart underneath that wild, jagged exterior. Gemma bit her lip, shaking herself from the reverie. No getting all goo-goo eyed over the enemy. Focus! For a while, they ate in silence, and Gemma used the drink to bolster her courage a bit. It was surprising to find that she felt perfectly comfortable dining with him in silence, that there wasn’t any need to fill the quiet with chatter about this or that.
It was a rare quality in a man – the ability to make others feel comfortable around him – and one that she couldn’t help but appreciate, though found surprising in a personality as undoubtedly loud as Devon’s.
“So, why are you doing this?” she finally asked, her curiosity getting the best of her deathly terror of being cooked alive by him.
“Can’t I have a nice dinner with my fiancée?” he asked, laying down his fork and knife.
“Not when the fiancée has been recently imported from a nearby town, citing unpaid debts and obligations written in stone somewhere.”
“We’re going to have to agree to disagree on that, Gem.” His mood seemed to sour, but Gemma couldn’t stop herself from pushing. It was her future that hung in the balance, after all.
“No, I think you owe me an explanation, at the very least. I think I deserve that much, if I am to become your wife,” she said, almost spitting out the last word because it sounded so ridiculous.
His blue eyes turned to her, and for a split-second, she could see that blaze of fire in them again that turned them from blue to gold and then blue again. Instead of freezing like last time, it just made her more curious now. Why the hell was he doing this? Devon Bluewing could have any woman he wanted, so why her? And why this way?
“You came to remind me that I can’t pick, which traditions to follow and which to ignore. You’re right about that. It seems that everyone’s been on their game lately as far as showing me what I’m supposed to do is concerned. So, if it makes you feel any better, you were the right woman at the right place at the right time. That’s the best I can offer you,” he said, his tone terse as if he were talking to a petulant child.
In his defense, Gemma was considering throwing herself on the floor and having a massive tantrum until he’d back out of his decision due to sheer annoyance.
“So do I have any say in this?” she queried, her appetite forgotten.
“No,” he said simply, finishing off his glass of whiskey.
“Great.”
“I think so.”
Gemma felt deflated. Her hope of reasoning with him seemed less than promising now, and as far as she could tell, the dragon was set on his decision. Frustration and a mild note of hysteria took hold of her. At least the view is nice, she thought glumly, eyeing the sunset as it dropped behind the mountains. Devon moved to stand up, but paused, both hands on the table. She could see him cursing under his breath as he reached a hand into his pocket, pulling out a blue suede box.
“Oh no, I’m not accepting any ring from you,” she said, putting her hands up defensively. It was enough that she had to live with all of her hopes for a reasonable conversation about their hopefully unshared future squashed – she wasn’t going to deal with no family heirlooms on top of that.
“It’s not a ring,” Devon said quickly, his expression unreadable. He slid the box to her across the table and motioned for her to open it. When she popped open the lid, she was faced with a black sphere, barely larger than a thimble, hanging onto a thin gold chain. It didn’t look like a necklace, and considering the breathtaking number he’d left for her in the bedroom, she had to admit that at first glance, it was a little underwhelming at best.
Gemma lifted it out of the box, letting the obsidian orb spin on the chain a bit. It seemed as if light grew dimmer around it, eaten up by the faintly glowing sphere, both illuminating and darkening at the same time. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Gemma frowned, looking at Devon.
“What is it?”
“It’s a dragon stone. It is custom for a dragon to give it to their… princess.” His expression grew wryer as Gemma couldn’t suppress the giggle building in her chest, breaking out in a fit of laughter.
“A princess? Am I the princess in this tale?”
He looked at her, pausing a moment too long.
“You certainly look like one.”
Well, that killed her giggles immediately. A slim smile spread on his lips, and her breath caught as he gave her that look. Oh no.
Don’t you dare like him! Goddammit, Gemma!
“Yes, as far as traditions go, you are now a princess. And this stone is meant to protect you. When you need me, you can put this stone in your palm and think of me. I will have to come to you. I can’t stay away. Take it as a peace offering, if you will. To signify that as much as you are in this with me, I am in this with you as well.”
“That’s very romantic of you,” she said, finding her voice again, if a bit shaky.
From a man, who had been anything but romantic so far, it was a bit of a shock. Still, she slipped the stone back into the box and palmed it. Rationally, she wanted to push it back to him, but somehow, it felt like it was the worst thing she could possibly do. Gemma watched his stony expression soften a bit as she kept the box near her, and with a bit of triumph, felt that she had perhaps done something right after all.
Not that she cared about how he felt. Nope. Not one bit. She hadn’t even noticed that her heart was beating wildly in her chest and her core was throbbing with unexpected excitement. Just more side-effects of not caring. At least that’s what she tried to tell herself.
“You’ll find that we dragons can be a surprisingly loving bunch, given the chance.”
He stood up and winked at her, giving her a glimpse of that bad boy charm she’d heard so much about. She had to say, she preferred the sweet smile more than the cocky smirk or the half-assed wink. “I’ll be seeing you, my Gem. And next time, please wear what I pick out for you. You wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings, now would you?”
And with that, the fuzzy warm feeling she’d been getting in the pit of her stomach disappeared in a puff of smoke right as the door slammed shut behind him.
Arrogant ass. If he thinks he can just tell me what to do, he’s sorely mistaken.
Devon
“Anything else, sir?” Jolly queried, hovering at the door that led back into the mansion. Devon pondered the question for a moment before shaking his head lightly.
“No, thank you. Just keep me posted on what she does. I’d rather not be caught unprepared because my soon to be wife got any ideas of what stunts to pull,” Devon said, excusing the servant. The dull-looking man nodded, skittering off as he was expected to. His family had served the Bluewings faithfully for many generations, and it was almost lost in the annals of time that Jolly and his kin had once served the Redblades – a history long gone and passed.
Devon sighed to himself as the door clicked shut, leaving him alone on the roof of the mansion. The stone-paved roof had been worn smooth by countless dragon feet over the centuries, acting both as a landing pad for the Bluewings as well as a meeting place for the council of Treasure Lane. Devon tucked his hands into his pockets, considering the flat stones under his feet and thinking of the countless meetings and harrowing decisions made on that very spot. He felt woefully unprepared for all of it.
Bluewings had been Head of Council for as long as anyone could remember, and of one thing Devon was sure – that line would not end with him. Redblades were waiting patiently for their turn, and though eons might seem a long time to wait for humans, it barely registered as a blip for dragons. Though they might die and their bones turn to ash, another dragon would be there to take their place, and ultimately, what mattered was the power and opportunities of the line, not the individual. He wished it wasn’t like that, but even he couldn’t ignore the call when it came.
He had to think of the Bluewing name and his kin, even if he didn’t want to. Oh, what he wouldn’t have given to not be the one tasked with this – for lack of a better word – burden. He’d known the day would come when his father would pass and it would be his turn to carry on the legacy, but a part of him had hoped that he’d be old, grey and too damn demented to miss having fun by then.
Still, it wasn’t all bad. There was Gemma, after all. His Gem. Thinking about her made his inner fire burn with a roar and his dragon stretch in that heat, anxious to know more of her. When she’d come to him, all sass and spite, his first reaction had been to punt her back out on her ample ass and have her send her little grievances to him in writing, so he may ignore them for an eternity or two. But, the moment he laid eyes on her, everything changed.
Immediately, his dragon knew. There was no doubt, it was her that he had been seeking. It’s just that, Devon hadn’t even known that he had been looking for anyone, let alone a honey-haired curvy beauty with an attitude that would make many a dragon cringe and back out of a fight.
He smiled at that visual, his little princess making a dragon cower with just the might of her anger. She was a treat, and he wasn’t entirely sure he knew what to do with her yet, but he was certain that he couldn’t let her go. Not before he figured out what he was going to do with the things troubling him – the need to marry, the fact that he had a town and a dragon council to run, the most pressing matter of making sure his hoard was safe, and so on, ad nauseam.
Surprisingly enough, the most important thing on his mind wasn’t on that list at all. He suddenly found himself in need of a mate, and that was something he had not been prepared for, especially when said mate was so adamant about not playing along with him.
A quiet voice inside of him assured him that things could be better – would be better. Even if he couldn’t see it just yet. Devon thumbed the slim chains of gold around his neck. It bothered him immensely that Gemma hadn’t accepted his offer, his gifts. Was the necklace he had left for her too simple? Did it not properly convey his newfound affection? Seeing her without a piece of his hoard on her made him ache with frustration.
How could he call her his when she wouldn’t accept that which meant the most to him, to any dragon? His lips thinned into a line. She was a difficult one. Any other woman would have been swooning in his arms, breathless with excitement at the possibility of being Devon Bluewing’s bride. Sure, perhaps a bit of surprise and initial shock was in order, but dragons above, the woman had already had a day to get used to it. He really couldn’t wait much longer. His dragon grumbled its approval.
What he had hoped to be just a fluke and a flurry of emotions clouding his judgment, had turned out to be so much more. He knew she was his, now more than ever. Seeing her at dinner, talking to her, being so close to her – it all confirmed what he should have already known. She was his mate. In a snap, all of his earlier forlorn sadness over good times lost was gone, replaced by a budding feeling he could only describe as anticipation, a curiosity for things to come.
Most of all, he wanted to know what she tasted like, what she felt like when she writhed in his arms, screaming out his name as he made her tumble over her peak of ecstasy time and time again. Every muscle in his body tensed at that visual. Yes, she would be his, and he would know how her silky smooth skin felt against his as he thrust into her, claiming her until neither of them could see or think straight. Frankly, he couldn’t wait. Gold Valley didn’t seem that bad of a place after all.
Devon looked up at the red-tipped mountains, making him think of Remington and his Cheshire grin. His mood soured as usual, and it took considerable effort to keep the rain clouds from forming above Gold Valley. It had been pouring rain for days, and he had to assume that the locals were somewhat annoyed with that. Devon’s blue eyes reflected the red sunset, and he let the clouds come, rolling across the sky in an endless, frantic flurry until the dim red glow was just an afterthought in a carnal scene of darkness.
It was a perfect replica of the feelings bustling up against one another inside of him. There was danger in the air, he could sense it. And for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to care. Not with something more pressing taking up all of his attention – not with Gemma there. He couldn’t rest before she was his, and he couldn’t focus before he was sure that she shared his need. And even he could see through the haze of desire forming in his mind that that could only spell trouble.
I wonder what Remington is plotting, he thought to himself absentmindedly, not giving it anywhere near the attention he should have, though he knew the other dragon would not simply wait until things were no longer his to manipulate. Much more pleasant thoughts took precedence, like what Gemma’s screams would sound like when he made her cum while her body was sprawled out on one of his piles of gold, hidden deep below the mansion.
He watched quietly as the rain started falling, the valley that had just been bathed in warm red hues now the sight of a torrential rainstorm, complete with rumbling thunder and flashes of lightning. Devon smiled, feeling the raindrops fall on him and drench him to the bone in a matter of seconds. Unlike most dragons, he didn’t mind the rain. It soothed him, if anything. People quipped that wherever he went, foul weather followed, but that was no coincidence.
While his father had been a patient, tolerant man, no doubt his edges smoothed out by the decades Gabriella had spent working hard on making him into the better man she knew he could be, Devon’s jagged edges and razor sharp fangs were still intact. He knew exactly what he was and did not yet plan to be changed by anything, not even a woman. But, as with all things in life, a dragon knew that change was inevitable.
And, if that change was brought on by his Gem, perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad. He could make her see that his instincts were right, and if she didn’t want to understand at first, well, he’d make her. It was only proper. She was his, after all – he’d decided so.
Devon stood, enjoying the cold droplets that etched tracks along his skin, until something caught his attention at the very edge of his vision. Movement in the darkness stirred him from his reverie, and Devon whipped his head to the side, his brows furrowing. When he recognized the shape, scurrying down the mountain hastily, his lips curled in a vicious snarl.
No, he thought simply with such certainty that his dragon echoed it im
mediately. Without thinking about it, his body twisted and contorted, elongating and bulging as his shift took him. Dark, blue-tipped slim scales started appearing on his cheeks and chin, rapidly moving down his neck and appearing on his arms. His jaw and nose fused into a frightful maw, teeth as thick as blades jutting out as his neck lengthened and his chest ripped wider.
Devon grew on the spot, wings sprouting from his back where his shoulder blades would have been, the leathery skin both tough and pliable. When his feet touched down, his change was complete, the dragon given full reign where normally the man ruled.
Immediately, he spread his wings and let out a roar that made the mansion tremble underneath his thick legs. Nails scraped at the stones as he lifted up and his golden eyes locked on Gemma, rushing down the mountain. Frustration and aggravation brimmed in him, making him burst downward and over her. He maneuvered carefully, knowing that one misplaced motion of his wings would send her falling into the ravine.
She might have been insolent to think that she was allowed to run from him, but he already knew that if she were to die, he would die right after her.
He skidded to the ground ahead of her, blocking the path down with his massive body. Steam rose from his nostrils, and his eyes blazed. If any of his enemies had seen him now, they would have fled immediately. But none of his enemies had Gemma’s courage.
“Get the fuck out of my way, you overgrown cockroach!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gemma
Gemma could barely see ahead of herself as she ran down the path, rain beating the dirt around her. She’d only brought a little pack with her essentials, and nothing more. Even the little blue suede box with the dragon stone still rested on her bedside table, though the sentiment to take it along had been almost overwhelming. Her heart ached as she crept through the mansion, careful not to draw any unwanted attention and making sure that Devon wasn’t anywhere in earshot.
