He’d been lucky she’d agreed to his spontaneous proposal in the first place. Luckier even that she took him back after he’d shown up at the door of her posh London flat. They’d been meant to share that flat. They’d chosen it together and there’d been quite a lot of back and forth with Dyana insisting he shouldn’t have to pay her rent on a condominium that her parents were planning to gift her as a graduation present.
But he had insisted, and they’d settled for her paying for his vacation. Only for him to disappear completely before popping back up with a fantastical story about receiving an unexpected invitation to intern with the Greek trillionaire, Damianos Drákon. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to contact her to tell her what had happened. Non-disclosure and all that.
It was true but also a lie.
He still hadn’t told her that his apprenticeship hadn’t been voluntary. More like a sort of hypnosis, which he hadn’t been able to resist even though he had never met Damianos Drákon prior to the night he was called to his Greek island.
He also hadn’t mentioned how serving him had been a weirdly perfect fit. Cooking, organizing, assisting, driving cars, arranging…all of the natural talents and random skillsets Max had acquired over the past two decades had suddenly converged to make him perfect for this particular job. Even his two years as head boy of the gardening club had been called upon. For the Greek trillionaire’s main estate had sat upon grounds comparable to those of a palace of old.
Before their trip to the States, Damianos Drákon had even allowed him to sit in on many meetings. Trillion-dollar deals and he’d been the one taking notes. Max would have given anything for such an opportunity when he was completing his MBA at Oxford.
Back then he hadn’t been able to score an apprenticeship with the firms where you had to have a particular kind of parent who either worked there or knew someone who did. Unlike Dyana’s first job as an analyst for Sotheby’s, his entry-level job had been just that. Little more than grunt work at a low-ranking investment firm. No trillion-dollar deals. He’d have to work his fingers to the bone for at least another decade or two to gain the access he’d been given by Drákon over the past few months.
But he hadn’t told Dyana about that. He also hadn’t told her about the bodies he’d literally buried. His father’s. Then the body of a gatekeeper he’d watched take his own life. True, he had not enjoyed the grisly tasks. But he hadn’t known either man. Not really. He’d dug both graves coldly. Unable to cry or even get upset. It was as if his tear ducts had been turned off along with the part of his brain that allowed him to process emotion.
But save for those two distasteful events, working for Damianos Drákon had felt akin to a biological destiny manifested. Like an inherited way of laughing or a preference for chocolates over jellies. As if he’d been born to it.
He didn’t miss serving Damianos Drákon. He refused to miss serving him. But sometimes there was an emptiness inside of Max. A hole that really should be filled, but not with any of the jobs he’d come across during his daily searches. A feeling hanging over him that he really ought to be doing something. But couldn’t.
And a few times…a few too many times, he’d think about that bio-call from North Dakota he’d received. And he’d wonder why. Why had Drákon called him to him, only to let him go? Why had the woman called him, only to hang up?
No, he hadn’t told Dyana any of that.
She wouldn’t have understood. Just as she wouldn’t have understood if Max tried to explain where he really had been.
The service…the bodies…the master who’d sprouted dragon wings at one point…the black American woman who’d transformed into a wolf…being set free so unexpectedly.
If not for the costly plane ticket and the entry-level job he’d lost due to his failure to show up for his first day of work three months ago, he would have thought it a fever dream.
And even if Dyana did understand, Max was not sure he could have told her.
He was free, but the invisible cuffs were still there.
No, her announcement did not come as a surprise.
Max had known for weeks that Dyana was growing increasingly unhappy with him. He’d been pensive and quiet since his return. And though he tried in the bedroom, he’d become prone to losing erections. He always made sure she came when he couldn’t rise to the occasion. He’d gone down on her for heroic amounts of time, however long it took. But it wasn’t the same as their university days when they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other.
And yes, he’d paid her the rent he promised but he still hadn’t managed to find another job. And though he made sure to sort out dinner, cleaning, and whatnot around the flat, he feared she was tiring of coming home to him every day.
“Perhaps you could call your former trillionaire boss and ask if he could refer you on to a new posting?” she’d suggested a few nights ago over the Japanese ramen he’d spent the entire afternoon preparing from scratch.
Max’s whole body had gone cold at just the thought of biomessaging or having any sort of contact with Damianos Drákon whatsoever. Would Drákon take his call? And if he did, what would happen if he asked Max to come back?
An illicit thrill had zipped down Max’s back at the thought. One that filled him with unease, even as he calmly answered, “It doesn’t work that way, Dy. He’s eccentric, isn’t he? Not the sort to give out references.”
“Well, perhaps you could biomessage him and ask anyway. ‘Make her say no before you give up’—that’s what Daddy always says.'”
“It’s doubtful he was talking about real business when he came up with that Essex gem.” Max hadn’t meant or wanted to snap, but that had been how his reply came out. “Besides Damianos Drákon isn’t the sort you ring up.”
“Then how did he get in contact with you in the first place? You could biomessage that number—”
“No, I can’t. Working for him is supposed to be enough. If I can’t get a job off that, it’s my fault.”
“That’s not true, babe.” Dyana’s eyes had been almost feverish with insistence. “Just contact him, why don’t you? Men like that can simply tell their cronies to hand you a job. It’d be easier than you think. Nearly all my #richkids friends think you should give it a try.”
“Is that what those privileged hashtags who’ve never had to secure a real job think I should do? Thanks for letting me know their opinions about my life.”
Again the fear and anger spoke for Max before he could choose wiser words. And it had been the exact wrong thing to say, given the situation.
He’d apologized profusely almost immediately after he said it, but the damage had been done. The next day, Dyana had gone out for drinks and dinner with the same #richkids friends after work instead of coming home to him.
“Won’t be home for dinner. Grand plans with the other #richkids,” she’d texted. “Know you wouldn’t want to come.”
That was why Max had put a massive effort into tonight’s dinner. No replicator junk. He’d made a proper roast with vegetables all around and sprays of rosemary topping everything like #masterchef. The place smelled mouthwatering by the time she arrived home.
But instead of asking after the delicious smell, Dyana had taken off the ring and placed it on the same counter where he’d been planning to set the roast when it came out of the oven.
She’d dropped her heart shattering bomb then, and though he shouldn’t be surprised, he was frozen into a stupor.
Shaking off his shock he asked, “What’s this all about?” Pretending as if he didn’t already know. Stalling for time as he tried to come up with an apology, a reassurance, or a promise greater than lifelong marriage to make her give him another chance.
Dyana looked down the ring she’d dropped on the counter then back up at him. “Your mother…she called me the other day. Did she tell you that?”
Max shook his head mutely. Of course, she hadn’t. Fiona said so little to him, he wouldn’t have even guessed she had Dyan
a’s number.
“She warned me…she warned me not to marry you. He’s a con artist, just like his father, she told me. She said she’d had your dad investigated after you returned so mysteriously and as it turned out, it wasn’t just your father and your grandfather who had run out on their wives. As far back as the detective could go, all the Kreft men had mysteriously disappeared. Usually, the day after they’d had a boy. She told me that was probably the only reason you’d come back.”
His heart shriveled at the accusation. “She said that at Sunday night dinner too. And you didn’t believe her then.”
“Yes, but her investigator turned up that your father and grandfather had both worked for members of the Drákon family. So you lied to me, didn’t you Max?”
Her voice was level but furious.
“No, I didn’t!” Max opened his mouth to tell her what really happened to him and his father and his father and all their fathers before that, the full story of his paternal line.
But the words refused to give rise in his throat. Trying to fly…shoes hitting pavement.
And at his silence, tears sprung into Dyana’s eyes. “I was so happy when you showed back up at my door. I believed your story. And I want to believe your mother’s mad, that she truly does have it all wrong. But everyone thinks I’m the mad one for allowing you back. No one believes your story except me. And two nights ago when you refused to so much as call the boss you’d abandoned me for in the middle of the night…”
She sniffed and shook her head. “I finally had to admit I’d been blinded by love. I love you so much, Max. But I can’t trust you, so I’m asking you to move out.”
“Don’t,” Max begged, the word coarse and harsh as sandpaper in his throat. “Don’t do this.”
“Give me one reason not to. Call Damianos Drákon. Explain what happened in a way that anyone, not just I could believe.”
Max opened his mouth, but again the words refused to come. They were trapped behind a barrier he couldn’t possibly penetrate. Trying to fly…pavement…pavement…nothing but pavement.
And naturally, Dyana mistook that frustrated silence for concession. “I’m sorry it’s ending this way. Perhaps you could talk to Brandon. He has a second apartment over in Notting Hill. He might let you stay there for a bit until you manage to find another job.
“Was Brandon one of the friends you went out with last night?” Max asked, jealousy rearing inside his chest.
Brandon went to Oxford with them, but he was more Dyana’s friend than Max’s. The #richkid had been starring in his own bio show since secondary. And Max was fairly sure Brandon had only been pretending to like him these past few years, so his followers wouldn’t think he was prejudiced against guys without hashtags—even though he definitely was.
“Yes, Brandon was there,” Dyana answered. “And he’s very sympathetic. He has a cousin who had a similar mental break. The cousin ended up joining a cult, and Brandon’s uncle had to travel all the way to South America to bring him back.”
“So then, me buying my own plane ticket back wasn’t enough for the star of the Brandon show? He advised you to be done with me, and now what? You can try it on with him instead?”
“It wasn’t like that Max. You’re the one who disappeared for a supposed apprenticeship—with a trillionaire who refuses to give you a recommendation. You’re the one who won’t tell me the truth. And even if it is the truth, I know there’s something you’re keeping from me. I can see it in your eyes—”
A sharp knock on the flat’s front door cut her off mid-rant.
“Who’s that then?” Dyana asked with a frown. “No one’s supposed to be able to get up here past the doorman.”
The hairs on the back of Max’s neck gave sudden rise.
With the proliferation of robotic devices, it was considered quite posh to have an actual human accepting packages and whatnot in the lobby of your flat these days.
But when Max had returned to London, he no longer considered that detail of the condo a quality feature. More like a weakness. One Damianos Drákon could easily exploit, should he ever change his mind about letting him go. Max’s experience over those months with Drákon had taught him. Humans with bendable minds weren’t posh. They were only a fallibility where his master was concerned.
“Dy, run to the bedroom and hide,” Max said, running over to the kitchen’s butcher block. “Bio 999. And don’t come out until they get here. Even if I give you the okay.”
“What?” she asked. “What’s going on then?”
“Dy, please. I love you,” Max pulled the knife he had planned to carve the roast with out of the butcher block. “But you must run and hide. Now. If he finds out you’re here, I don’t know what he’ll do. What he’ll make you do.”
“If who finds out I’m here? What is this all about?” Dyana demanded, her eyes glued to the knife in Max’s hand. “Maxie, you’re scaring me.”
Another knock sounded at the door. Louder and more ominous than the first.
“I want to explain. I want to explain everything to you,” he told her, physically turning her body toward the door. “But I can’t. And there’s no time. Please just run.”
“No!” Despite her earlier rejection of him, she grabbed on to the wrist of his knife-free hand, hysterical tears pouring from her eyes. “I’m not leaving you. If you’re in trouble, then we’re in trouble together. And if whoever is outside the door tries to take you from me again, he’s got another thing coming.”
Sweet, sweet girl. Max didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But he did know… “I don’t deserve you. And you were right…” Tears filled Max’s eyes as well. “You were right to break it off with me. So I’m begging you, babe. Run. You’ve got to run before it’s too…”
Short electronic beeps cut off Max’s plea. And they turned their heads toward the sound of someone pushing in the code on the door.
“But how?” Dyana asked again. She was braver and more loyal than Max ever would have imagined. But her voice was weak with fear.
This time he didn’t beg, he yelled. “Run!”
But Dyana didn’t run. She turned with him to face the incoming threat.
And when the door slid opened to reveal their intruder, she said, “Shocked face emoji! Is that Damianos Drákon?”
Those words were the last thing Max heard before charging at his former master with his knife held high.
Chapter Thirty
XENON
“Blue Father, Blue Father, will you honor us with a story?” Wiltonia, one of his twin daughters asked in their drakkon tongue.
“Please? Please, please, please,” Roya, the much more dramatic of the two pleaded in their mother’s language.
Much to his mate’s dismay their twin daughters looked, talked, and pleaded like human five-year-olds, despite having been born only a little over a year ago.
However, no begging was required. Also to his mate’s dismay, several months after their reunion, it remained impossible for his daughters to find questions to which Xenon would ever answer no. Even though he owed them no reverence.
Besides he could tell they were sleepy. Their wings, which they were still in the habit of wearing out—"like fairies” Roya once explained to him—had folded tight into their little backs. A sure sign that they no longer possessed the energy required to keep them extended.
“What shall be our third story?” he asked them.
“The Lost Princess with Long Hair!” they declared together. Like him, they prefer to use assigned titles rather than names.
He picked out the already well-worn book, which lived in a small nightstand bookshelf between their two beds. Then, translating into his drakkon tongue as he went along, he read to them the tale of the human princess called Rapunzel. In the story, she is kidnapped by a witch as a baby, goes on to become impregnated by a prince, who the witch then blinds.
It was a truly horrific story, but the ending was happy. And Golden Daughters greeted the tale’s conclusion w
ith a very human, “Yay!”
Wiltonia gave him a sleepy smile as he tucked her in. But then she told him in their language, “I have been dreaming of walking upon a bridge with a male. And I think he may be a prince. For we walk in a beautiful garden that belongs to him. Do you think this prince will come to rescue me as Wolf Mama rescued you?”
The question chilled Xenon to the bone.
“Are you not happy here on this peaceful island with your family?” he asked.
“Yes, but…” Wiltonia sighed, expelling steam from her nose. “My dream prince seems nice.”
“I want a prince too!” Roya added from her bed. “And long hair! And to meet other children like the ones in our books. And go to a school with a playground.”
Such silly wishes, but guilt crackled inside Xenon’s bright yellow flame. There was a time when he had been the King of Drakkon, all-powerful as far as the inhabitants of this mostly water planet were concerned. But he was now so weak, he could not grant even the silliest of Roya’s requests.
As it turned out, the twins had managed to find a question to which he would have to answer no.
“What took you so long?” his treasured mate asked when he entered their room with a worried head flame. “Did the twins refuse to go down without a fight?” She must have sensed his agitation over his mate bond.
“No fighting was required,” he assured her. “Only yet another book about a princess who must endure much tragedy before she is finally able to marry.”
Treasured Mate laughs. “Yeah, a lot of girls go through that princess phase. Usually when their five or six…”
A familiar agitation joined with his over their mate bond. It was one he’d come to know well in the moons since they were reunited. And it was usually accompanied by a lament about how “my babies are growing up way too fast!”
But tonight, Treasured Mate asked, “Do you think we’ll ever get out of here? I’m afraid my family will miss their entire childhood at this rate.”
Her Dragon King (Her Dragon King Duet Book 2): 50 Loving States, North Dakota Pt. 2 Page 18
