13. Sebastian

"It's a long shot." Aldous swirls his scotch around in its crystal tumbler as he eyes me over the rim. "You know how they feel about humans."

"Understatement of the century," Maxwell chimes in from his overstuffed leather armchair. "They"ve managed to avoid the human race for eons. And you want to, what? Stroll right up to their compound and ask for a handout?"

I lean back. The soft cushion molds to my shoulders as I stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows on the top floor of the high-rise building that houses Elite Enclave, the private club that caters to the filthy rich. The city lights of LA twinkle in the night. I swallow a sip of my own drink, the amber liquid burning a smooth path down my throat.

"It"s worth a shot," Ritter pipes up with a shrug. I raise my glass to him in a silent toast. Glad someone"s on Team Seb.

"More than a shot," I mutter into my tumbler before taking another healthy swig. I"ll do anything for my girls. Anything. I"d lay down my life for Gemma and Jewel in a heartbeat.

I set my tumbler down on the gleaming side table with a decisive clink. "The fact is, gentlemen, I"ve already made contact."

Utter silence descends. My fellow dragons stare at me with slack jaws and bugged eyes waiting for the punchline.

"In fact, I've just returned." And just like that I tell them all about my quick visit to Kentucky, to the little dive bar called The Wateringhole thick with the stench of stale beer and desperation...

"They might be willin" to give you what ya need," the grizzled old-timer rasps around the half-chomped toothpick dangling from his cracked, thin lips. For a price, "course."

I quirk a dubious brow. The man's face is so lined and weathered it looks like a jigsaw puzzle and his beard is more nicotine yellow than snowy white.

A flash of annoyance crackles through me, but I shove it down, well aware I"m in beggars and choosers territory.

"Anything." I meet his gaze dead on, injecting every ounce of sincerity I can muster into the singular word. And I can muster a lot. "Tell them I"m prepared to give them anything they want."

Hillbilly Gandalf bobs his head sagely. "Was hopin' you'd say that. Seems they done heard tell of some fancy gizmo y"all use to find yourselves mates or some such."

My eyebrows shoot toward my hairline. "The algorithm?"

At his nod, I squint, trying to wrap my head around this little turn of events. "It matches shifters with human women."

"Yep. That there's the one."

"HUMAN women," I repeat slowly, as if talking to a particularly dense toddler.

He flaps a gnarled hand. "They know that, son. S"what they want."

"Wait. Hold up. They want...HUMAN mates?" That's heard to believe. No, it's nearly impossible to believe.

But the old man nods. "As it stands, them fellers only got one female for every twenty-two males. Each of em wants his own mate, or leastwise not to have to share all the time."

I feel my right eye start to twitch. Oh, hell no.

Now, I realize I"m probably the last dragon who should throw stones about human-monster relations, given my previous feelings about humans. I used to outright sneer at the very idea of ever falling for a human woman. But that was before a sassy spitfire and a pint-sized Wonder Woman crashed into my life and flipped the script on me. Now, I'll be damned if I"ll offer up innocent women as some kind of inter-species mail order bride scheme.

Old Rip Van Winkle must see the horror on my face because he rushes to assure me.

"Now don't you go worryin' bout nothin'. Them gals won"t come to no harm, Mister Fancy Britches. The big apes treat their womenfolk like queens. Worship the dang ground they walk on."

Big apes? That kinda sounds like a species slur to me, but what do I know about monster political correctness?

I mull it over, drumming my fingers on the pitted tabletop, the thunk of my wedding band oddly comforting. I think of Gemma, of the way her eyes fill with quiet wonder every time I do something halfway decent, like she"s still not used to men treating her right. It breaks my heart even as it fills me with the overwhelming urge to slay anyone who"s ever made her feel less than the goddess she is.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. While my protective instincts rail against putting any woman in a potentially unsavory position, I have to look at this pragmatically. It"s not like the women will be forced. And if these "apes" are on the up and up, treating their ladies like the treasures they are... Well, who am I to deny consenting adults their shot at happily ever after?

Add in the fact that they hold the key to saving Jewel"s life and I simply can"t afford to decline. Drastic times. Drastic measures. Simple as that.

"Fine," I bite out. "I'll pull whatever strings I can and get back to you ASAP."

"Ah-ha," Greyson drawls, cutting through the charged silence blanketing the room and bringing me back to the present. "So that"s why I was invited to this hoity-toity establishment to have a very expensive, and I must say quite exquisite, glass of scotch with you fine gentlemen. Here I thought it was to thank me for playing Cupid and finding you each such a perfect match." Bemused, he takes a dainty sip of his scotch, pinky up and everything.

That sets off a round of earnest praise and gratitude, my fellow dragons tripping over themselves to extol the virtues of their precious mates and Councilman Greyson"s masterful matchmaking.

I open my mouth to start the negotiation process with the man—okay, the down-on-my-knees begging if need be. Let's be honest, I'm ready to promise him the world on a string.

Before I can get a word out, Greyson flicks his hand like he"s shooing a fly. "Sebastian, you needn"t bother with the bribery." A twinkle enters his eye. "I know what this means to you. It's a small price to pay for the miracle serum. I"ll contact the monster council and they can upload the program to their servers immediately."

I blink at him. "Just like that?" I can scarcely believe it.

"Of course. You just go get that private jet of yours ready for another redeye roundtrip to the Appalachian backwoods."

He grins and, as we clink our glasses together, I wonder how I could ever repay the man.

Seven hours and one round trip later, I'm back in LA, my plane touching down on the runway and a car standing by to whisk me to California General.

I pulled it off.

The vial clutched in my hand contains the rarest medicinal compound on Earth, and the most effective. It is essentially a cure-all to the human race—sasquatch blood.