Chapter 6

Caspian

I looked up at the ceiling, refusing to leave the bed for much longer than I was proud of.

Bed was my happiest time, especially now that my balls were empty enough that I could relax for a moment and think of something other than sex.

I lay motionless, knowing that my familiar, Miles, was probably listening for the sounds of me rustling around. If he came in, he’d open up the curtains, and I’d have to actually get out of bed.

It was awful that I couldn’t sleep in. I remembered that as a small child, I was able to sleep in until long after the sun was up. As a child, I had eaten, slept, and played, in that order, over and over again. And then the moment I had announced that I was no longer a child, I happened to get sucked into this shitty, inescapable hellscape of a world that I was still imprisoned in.

Every day was the same. Every year was the same. Over and over, I had to worm my way through it all, like Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill, only to have it roll backwards and flatten him. And like Sisyphus, the only thing that kept me going was the hope that I’d figure out how to get home.

It had been a long time, however, since the time when I’d used to wake up and hope that ‘today was the day’ I’d figure it all out.

I was probably just going to have to deal with more bullshit.

I rolled over and pulled a pillow over my head when Miles finally came in to open up my curtains, and I grumbled threateningly, “One of these days I’m just going to eat you and put you out of your misery.” I had made similar threats since around 1917, when I had first employed him. My presence was slowing his aging process dramatically; he looked to be only in his late forties, but his face looked more exhausted by my threats than intimidated.

“Yes, yes,” Miles hummed, checking his watch. “It’s not like you’d feel better if I just let you sleep in all day long. If it did, I’d let you do it occasionally. Did you enjoy your company last night?”

The question was really, ‘Do you want me to book that particular escort again in the near future?’ but I liked how he’d asked it.

“She smelled like bacon,” I rumbled bitterly. All bad people smelled delicious. Good people didn’t. The more evil, the more tasty. I hadn’t eaten anyone in years, but it seemed like more and more people were making my mouth water.

“So have the last twenty,” Miles reminded. “Except one that smelled like…”

“Steak,” I recalled succinctly, finally pulling the pillow off my head and beginning to sit up so that Miles could hand me my coffee. “It makes me worry about this generation,” I told him. “People are better at fucking than they are at being people.”

“They’re escorts. Remember how we talked about sample pools? This isn’t exactly a broad sampling now, is it? Maybe you’ll meet someone that makes you gag, and your faith in humanity will be restored.”

I snorted, but I was always a little surprised at how accepting Miles was of what I was. Sure, I had made him live a long life, but it seemed more than that. I always imagined that as a little boy, Miles had really wanted a dragon for a pet, and then coming to work for me made him feel like he was just living his dream.

“What’s on the schedule for today?” I asked, again feeling like Sisyphus probably had in the morning as he stretched out his body before pushing the boulder up the hill once more.

“Meeting with merger and acquisitions, and then you come home and get ready to go to that art gala. Before you do that, you have an interview with?—”

“Right, right.” I waved my hand through the air, inwardly groaning. “Remind me to dock the pay of whoever keeps me doing any interviews.”

“Your publicist,” Miles sighed, since it was obvious.

“Things were easier once,” I gritted ruefully. “I remember when Edward the Seventh was on the throne.” I closed my eyes, weary already. “Whenever that was. No publicists. No politicians. No nothing. Just rolling around a lot in my gold chamber. Nobody thought it was suspicious, because back then, everyone who was rich did that.”

“Well, times have changed, obviously,” Miles mentioned, not looking particularly forlorn about this fact. “People don’t often starve to death in the winter or get eaten by wolves as much now, either, for example.”

“Good for them.”

“Oh, you’re in one of those moods again,” Miles told me with a roll of his eyes. “Excellent. Can’t wait for the rest of the day. Get in the shower. You don’t smell like bacon to me. You smell like you were fucking a prostitute last night wearing too much designer perfume.”

I smelled my own shoulder, which admittedly did hold the lingering smell of perfume. “Fair enough.”

As I was going about my day, mainly moving art and artifacts to and from millionaires and billionaires, I found myself mostly thinking about myself.

I know, it’s a shocker. But it struck me that I was the same age my fathers had been when I was born, but my fathers were not dragons that seemed to dread every day of their existence, and they didn’t live in a constantly changing world like the one I had been subjected to.

But then again, my fathers had had my mother to share, so there was that. My fathers had children. There was that, too. I couldn’t get a woman pregnant if I tried. And I had. Murtagh and I had tried for centuries with probably a couple of hundred women. Hell, we’d strained ourselves with the effort. We were forced to realize that humans couldn’t get pregnant by dragons, even if those dragons passed as human men.

And did I even want children in this hellscape? It wasn’t home. It wasn’t the world I was raised in. What world was this to raise dragon children in?

No, I still wanted to. I didn’t care—I wanted more than this. I wanted more than to be alone.

Or to be with anyone besides Murtagh, who I was stuck with since there were no other dragon males, and we bonded in threes. He wasn’t exactly the male I would have chosen to share life with. And I wasn’t his most optimal choice, either. Maybe that was why we hadn’t seen each other since the 60’s, when we had our latest spat. He had moved nearby in the last couple of years. I knew because several years ago, he’d sent me his latest address and phone number, since we promised we would send contact information whenever we got a new face or a new place. But I didn’t miss him yet. I felt like I could go a couple more decades before seeing him again. There was no rush—apparently, we weren’t going anywhere.

Thinking had gotten me nice and depressed, once again. It was as if I couldn’t help myself. Every time I had a good morning, by evening I’d worked myself up into a near-suicidal lather. It was as if my own sadness was a sore tooth that I couldn’t keep my tongue from pressing against.

Or maybe it was my work that was bringing on this daily depression. Or playing the part of a wealthy artifact dealer who had to negotiate with other billionaires and mobsters constantly. It was busy, and it made the day go by, but it didn’t exactly fill me with purpose. Case in point, before I even left for the day, my secretary had pushed a whole booklet full of papers at me that I had to sign on the way home.

It was raining. It was always raining here, it seemed. Maybe it was time to move. It was making my dark and dreary mood even darker and drearier. As the hours of the workday ticked by, I tried to remind myself that it didn’t matter what the weather was. I had gold and gems. Lots of gold and gems. It was all at home, it was waiting for me, all piled neatly in a room. I could just go home and stare at it all day if I wanted to. I bathed in it. Literally.

Miles came in and interrupted my work by clearing his throat, and I looked at him, a bit peeved at his sudden presence.

“Remember that you have an interview inside with that business magazine,” Miles reminded me when he met me at the car door with an umbrella.

“Fuck!” I huffed under my breath, hunching my shoulders over with annoyance.

“Don’t pout. It’s not a good look on you,” Miles suggested as he followed me in and opened the door for me.

“Can you just tell them to go away?” I huffed. “I’m just not?—”

I stopped speaking as soon as I walked through the door, my body going rigidly still at the smell in my mansion.

My eyes widened, my pupils dilated, and parts of my mind that I had long forgotten about were turning on. It smelled like home in the house.

Not home like they’d call it in a Hallmark movie, but Home.

I hadn’t even realized that I had mostly forgotten about what home had even been like. It had been so far away that it was like a long-past dream. But the smell was bringing it back: the trees, the way the wind and rain hit my wings while in flight. My family, my brothers. Friends. Others of my kind. The way the sky looked, the way the stars twinkled overhead, so different than the stars here.

Suddenly, I was slapped across the face.

I refocused and was confused to find Miles in front of me, looking at my head like it had turned into a cantaloupe.

“Why’d you do that?” I demanded in a hiss.

“I thought you were having a stroke or something!” he replied with annoyance, unapologetically gesturing at me. “You were just standing there, catatonic!”

“It worries me that you think that’s what to do to someone displaying stroke symptoms,” I snipped, then took another deep breath in. The smell was definitely still here, permeating the air. It wasn’t immediately in this room, but it was unique and real. I quickly followed the scent to where it was stronger, leaving Miles confused and groping for my wet coat.

The smell was coming from the living room.

There were two people sitting there, waiting on a sofa: the journalists. The man was a trendy, self-important sort with designer glasses on and a trench coat. He looked like he was in his mid-thirties. The girl next to him looked like she was fresh out of college. She was wearing a sweater vest over a long business shirt. She looked professional in a college-hip sort of way. It didn’t hide much of her body; I could see her delicious curves, her small waist, the line of her hips and the roundness of her breasts. Her eyes were a stormy grey with long lashes, and she had a cute little nose.

I really hoped that the man wasn’t the source of the smell. I really, really wanted it to be the girl. I didn’t think I’d ever wanted anything so badly.

I put on my best smile, trying not to look like I’d just had my mind blown and was coming out of my millennia-long existential crisis.

The journalists stood up as I approached, the girl much more slowly. She didn’t even seem that excited to be here; well, not excited like journalists normally were. She looked me over the way that she had been looking over the room before I walked in. She was considering, watchful, but not full of any joy or enthusiasm.

The man was displaying the usual amount of excitement to meet me and put out his hand. I took the offered hand and leaned slightly towards him as he greeted, “John Harper, Business Insider. Great to meet you, Mr. Dagon.”

“My pleasure, John,” I told him, and I took a deep breath.

The man smelled like meat. Not overly so, but subtly. Like a tasty sandwich.

So, it was the girl that smelled like an entirely different world. Excellent.

The interesting thing was that it was impossible for me to tell if she was evil or good. She didn’t smell like soap, leather, or like anything delicious. She didn’t smell like a human at all. There was nothing to her apart from the smell of Daconia in the springtime.

I grinned and turned to her, raising my eyebrows. She was looking me over; normally when a woman did this, I imagined it was to size up how hard it was going to be to ride my cock. Yet this time, I was loathe to admit to myself that she so obviously wasn’t thinking about my dick. Instead, it felt like she was staring straight into my soul and finding it wanting and covered with cobwebs.

The look was unsettling.

“This is my shadow for the day, Zarah Harper,” John introduced, which produced a side-glance from the girl as if there was something about the introduction that she didn’t like. But then John waved her away and commenced quickly with the interview, like he was working under a time restraint.

“Zarah.” I put out my hand for her to take, and she put out her own hand. Her hand was cold, so I immediately gushed. “You’re freezing. Let me get you something warm. A hot tea or something?” I offered.

“A coffee would be nice,” she said with a shrug, but her eyes didn’t show any more warmth. Her tone was friendly enough.

I didn’t get a coffee, because I wasn’t going to leave the room while this girl was there. But I shot Miles a ‘Do it now!’ glare that made him hop in the right direction.

The idea I was focused on right now was how near I could sit to her without being too obviously creepy.

I pulled up my chair close to the pair in such a way that I couldn’t look at the man without looking at the girl. That way I could just stare at her more or less without her noticing. Hopefully.

Her hair was shoulder length but soft and curly. Her eyes were grey, round, and were quite animated.

She met my gaze. Might have been easy to do since I was staring right into hers. I was entranced, and it wasn’t because she had an ideal kind of beauty. She was a cute little thing, but she wasn’t made up or anything. As far as I could tell, she wasn’t even wearing much if any makeup, and her hair didn’t seem ‘done up’. She looked casual and comfortable.

But she wasn’t human. I was fucking positive about that.

What she actually was, I couldn’t conclude, but she couldn’t smell like that and be human.

She wasn’t a dragon, either. But there wasn’t anything to her that made it obvious as to what I was looking at.

And while I was looking at her, my cock felt rock hard. It was, in fact, uncomfortably so. My thoughts went right back to mating. Breeding her.

“Mr. Dagon?”

I suddenly snapped back into the present. I had been giving half my attention to the man before, but I’d lost more and more of it until I had to admit to myself that I had no idea what he was even talking about. I couldn’t recall what he’d asked me so far.

“I’m sorry.” I sat back, blinking at him then admitting, “I’ve been a little distracted today. Not feeling myself.”

“I heard you’re in the middle of a lawsuit against Michelin Robel. Is that bringing you down?” Zarah asked very forwardly. She had just morphed in front of me into a type of psychiatrist. One who was leaning in and trying to be empathetic.

The change was off-putting.

She still smelled amazing, so I wasn’t about to tell her off. As far as I was concerned, she was the mother of my future children. I put one leg over the other. “Not at the moment.”

“It’s okay if you are. I’d be down if I was being sued for libel,” she said casually, mirroring my body language.

John turned his head and looked at her scoldingly. She wasn’t paying attention to him, however. She was paying attention to me. “You have some very valuable pieces here. Your own collection?” she asked, nodding towards the chalice she had been looking at. “Is that a huge Royal Demantoid on there?”

I almost forgot about her last question and began to lean forward. “You have an excellent eye.”

“My first employer dealt in rare gems,” she divulged. “And he had a lot of those.”

“Oh really? I should check him out. I’m a fan of rare gems.” I stood up and she did along with me, leaving John—who was looking considerably annoyed—behind. She followed me towards the rest of my collection. “What’s his name?”

“Murtagh Rails.” She said this very casually, but then her body went stiff. Mine went stiff, too. I hadn’t expected her to say that name. “Actually, I wouldn’t bother looking him up. I don’t think he’s in business anymore…” she added, waving her hand dismissively.

My face was breaking out in a grin, although my brain was racing. There was no way in hell that Murtagh would have let her go if he’d worked with her and realized she smelled like that. So, did she only smell that way to me? What was going on? “Murtagh and I go way back, actually.”

Her smile faltered for a moment, but then her expression went unreadable. “Oh, really?”

“Are you a New Orleans local, then?” I asked, curious now. “You don’t have an accent.”

She blinked up at me and shrugged. “I lived here in New Orleans for years, but I live in Baton Rouge now, actually. But yeah, I don’t have an accent. I’m from the East Coast, originally.” Her eyes skittered to another case, where I had a necklace and a few other pieces inside, including three rings and a bracelet. “Can I see those? They look like they’re Byzantine. It’s rare to see one outside of a museum.”

I was happy to. I even opened the case and let her touch things, let her hold the bracelet in her hands.

“Amazing,” she told me, looking at it adoringly, like other girls might look at a puppy. “It’s so heavy!”

“I know. Different when you can touch them, isn’t it?” I asked her, wondering if this was what flirting was like? I rarely did it. And right now, I wasn’t at my best—I was over-eager and distracted. When she passed me back the pieces, I put them in the case and boasted, “You know, I have many pieces a girl with your eye might like. Why don’t you come back here soon? Maybe we’ll have some dinner together beforehand?” I decided that didn’t sound too pathetic.

Her mouth opened as she looked up at me, and for a moment, we had (what I felt was) an intense sexual connection. Her body seemed to respond to mine even without us moving much.

“Um, no,” she finally said, catching me off-guard. “I don’t think so…” She shook her head and looked over at John. “Ready to go?”

My heart did something it did not like—it was like a hop, only a hop that was filled to the brim with desperation. “Wait, wait?—”

John looked pretty pissed, but he was getting up to go. Journalists normally talk until I show them the door, so this was probably not what he wanted.

“Wait, did I say something to offend you?” I asked her, dogging her heels.

“Uh, no,” she told me innocently. “Not at all. I liked looking at your collection, and now I’m done, and it’s time to go.” She looked over at John and crooked her arm, waving him out. “Thanks so much for the interview. Good luck with your lawsuit. Have a great, rainy day.” She gave me a thumbs up and walked out the door right to the journalist’ car.

John sighed and shook my hand. “Sorry, she’s always been super awkward. Bullet dodged on that one,” he apologized to me, and then thanked me for the interview, and left me flummoxed and speechless.

Emasculated, I just watched through the window as the two got into his car. I probably had an expression on my face like a puppy in a pet shop. My face was so close to the windowpane that I could hear John tell Zarah peevishly, “You are so fucking unbelievable. All you had to do was keep your mouth shut until I was done with my interview, but no…”

“It was much harder than I’d thought,” she admitted without much apology. “Sorry. He made me feel… weird.”

“I make you feel weird,” John replied, almost hopefully.

She gave a sudden, singular laugh. “No, you don’t make me feel weird.”

“Tingly in the right places?” he asked as he got into his front seat.

“Not even a little bit,” she replied flatly, getting into her side of the car.

As I watched the car pull out of the driveway, Miles sidled up beside me, watching through the window as well. “What in the living hell was that about?” he demanded.

“I need to be inside her,” I answered in a growl, snapping out of my daze and pointing at the disappearing car. “She’s fucking mine.”

Miles straightened and cocked his head to the side, looking at me and then turning to the window to watch the car pull out onto the street. “The one that’s been eyeing your collection since she walked in? I didn’t think she was your type.” He shrugged. “Her breasts seemed too real.”

“She’s special,” I stated firmly. “How, I don’t fucking know. But there’s something to her. And I’m going to figure out what the fuck that is!” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and hoped like fuck that I still had Murtagh’s number. If he’d even figured out how phones worked yet; he was always a century behind technology.

“You’re… not going to eat her, are you?” Miles drawled carefully, wincing.

I raised an eyebrow and slowly turned towards him, offended. “No.”

Miles looked relieved, but said with a defensive shrug, “I don’t know. Every now and then you do. You’ll go a few years, fall off the wagon, and then suddenly I feel like I’m working in The Little Shop of Horrors.”

“She,” I pointed out the window, “doesn’t smell edible. She smells…” I took one last, deep breath as her scent lingered around the room. “She smells like fucking perfection. Find her and bring her to me.”

“We’ve gone over this,” Miles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s the twenty-first century, sir. You just can’t snap your fingers and point and then have a bunch of thugs grab her and tie her to the bed for you.”

“I can tie her to the bed for myself, thank you very much,” I assured firmly. I pursed my lips, then turned away from the window as I called Murtagh. Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. There was an answering machine, where I snapped, “Call me as soon as you get this, asshole!”

I then turned back to Miles, trying to straighten myself out, suit first, then mind. Rubbing my hand down my suit jacket, I said, “So what do you do in this century? I stopped paying attention. Do I pay a dowry to her father, or how does it go for millionaires nowadays?”

Miles put out his hand haltingly, confused. “Wait—you want to marry her? You can’t marry anyone,” he reminded me, gesturing at my entire body. “You’re a dragon. Besides, you don’t know her, and she said ‘no’ to a date, so I don’t think she fancies you.”

“I can put a child in that one,” I said, pointing outside, narrowing my eyes with resolve. “I feel it in my marrow. Find who I should pay that dowry to.”

“Again, twenty-first century,” sighed Miles. “No dowries.”

I didn’t want to get caught up in the terminology and waved my hand dismissively. “Spare no expense!” I added flippantly, ignoring Miles’ words.

“Caspian.” He had to put his hand on my shoulder to get my true attention. “You can’t buy women anymore.”

“I bought one last night!” I argued, incredulous.

“Well, you can’t buy that one,” Miles assured, gesturing in the non-descript direction that she was. But then he put his hand to his chin and stroked his stubble there. “I don’t think, anyway…”

“Find her. I want a phone number and an address by the time I get home from whatever fuckery you signed me up for this evening,” I demanded, spinning my body to leave the room.

“Again, I don’t sign you up for fuckery. Your publicist signs you up for all the fuckery,” Miles groaned. “And I don’t know if giving you all the information you need to go and stalk a girl at her house is a good idea!” He stopped talking then, because I turned back to round on him intimidatingly, schooling my expression to assure my butler that I was happy to change into my true form at any moment, so I’d have no trouble eating him.

He slouched slightly. “And I will get you everything you need, boss,” he capitulated promptly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

I was about to stalk out of the room, but something caught my eye. Something different.

In the box that had displayed my necklace that I’d shown Zarah were three rings.

One of them was now gone.

I couldn’t believe it. Would… would she steal from me?

FROM ME?

“MILES!” I barked. “GET HER INFORMATION, NOW.”

He scrambled out of the room, and I put my cellphone back to my ear. I was just going to call Murtagh until he answered. And then I was going to show my new mate who her new master was and why stealing from me was unwise.

Very, very unwise.