Chapter 7

S alem trudged home after a long day of surgeries and opened the door to his unlocked apartment. Apparently, he still had Gregori as a houseguest.

Why, why didn't he understand Salem was a horrible choice for a partner? Salem had been nothing but an asshole since their meeting. Wasn't that enough to tell the man this wasn't a good idea?

With an internal groan, he stepped inside. Whatever was cooking right now smelled divine. Like comfort in a bowl. Did he smell stew?

Gregori stood at the kitchen counter, getting bowls out, and he leaned backward to see Salem past the open cabinet door. "Hey there. You're in late."

"Surgeries," Salem explained shortly. "Why are you still here?"

Gregori grinned at him and notably didn't respond.

Dammit. Why was this dragon more stubborn than the many ex-boyfriends Salem had? Just that question alone would have made him single again in five seconds. Apparently, seven-hundred-year-old dragons were made of sterner stuff.

Salem toed off his shoes, shucked his jacket and briefcase, and went to the sink to wash his hands, which was a compulsory habit by now. He did it automatically, all while side-eyeing Gregori as he put stew into bowls and utensils and such on the table.

"Winter stew," Gregori explained, like Salem had asked the question aloud. "A recipe from home. I felt it a good choice since it was such a brisk, chilly day. Come, sit."

Salem sat. Mostly because lunch was a very distant memory, and it seemed a waste to not even try the stew. It smelled delicious. He took a bite and then groaned. Dammit, of course Gregori was a good cook on top of being charming and handsome. Universe, must you stack all favor in one man's direction?

"Hard day at work?" Gregori asked him with concern. "You look so tired."

"A bit challenging, but today was also par for the course." Might as well be blunt with this. Maybe Gregori needed to hear it. "I'm always tired from work, okay? I'm always burned-out and bad company."

"Sounds like you work too much."

"You're not the first to say so. I doubt you'll be the last."

Gregori's head canted to the side. "Shouldn't you be trying to keep me with you? To help support you."

While it sounded amazing on paper, Salem knew it wasn't how things would pan out. "No. You'll just get burned-out trying to take care of me, then resentful, and the whole attempt will explode. Messily."

"You sound very sure of it." Gregori's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Annnnd that was as much information as Salem felt comfortable giving. He didn't like discussing his dating history. Mostly because it brought up painful memories. No, thank you on rehashing it all.

Pointing a spoon at him, Salem argued, "This is a bad idea, what you're trying to attempt. Don't make me call up the ice dragons to come fetch you home again."

"Oh, they know where I am," Gregori assured him, locking eyes in challenge. "I am also far too old for such threats."

Yeah, okay, fair. It had been worth a shot, though. "I thought dragons always lived with their clans."

"For the most part. We do have a history of following our mates into other clans, though. It just didn't happen very often."

Huh. Well, that was news to Salem.

He didn't have the energy to argue anymore, so he focused on the stew. He scraped the bowl clean, then got up to rinse it and put it into the dishwasher. Only to find the dishwasher running. Gregori must have cleaned up after himself. Salem put the bowl back into the sink with a mental shrug.

"It's late, what are you going to do next?" Gregori asked.

"Bed."

"Ah. Good night, then."

Seriously? No argument still? Did the man have the patience of a saint?

Shaking his head, Salem set the thought aside and went about the routine of getting ready for bed. Because it was a cold night, he ended up in a long-sleeve shirt as well as sleep pants. Then he snuggled into bed, sighing with pleasure as he settled. Ah, his bed was such a good friend.

He could feel sleep already tugging at his mind, trying to seduce him under. But he could also hear Alexis's voice in his mind calling him an idiot. Just wait until she learned Gregori could cook and clean up after himself—then Salem would really have his sanity called into question.

The thought amused him, in a dark way, as sleep sucked him under.

Salem woke up the next morning to his alarm blaring. Gregori wasn't in the bed with him, but when he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, he saw messy sheets on the other side of the bed. So Gregori had slept next to him, and he'd been too deeply asleep to notice.

All right, this? This limbo thing had to stop. He emotionally couldn't take it. If Gregori wouldn't take a no, then at the very least Salem had to lay down some ground rules. He had to define and cage this before Gregori started getting ideas. Past experience told Salem so.

He dragged himself out of the bed, took a shower mostly to help wake up, brushed his teeth, and then felt human enough to have a conversation. Well, maybe. A cup of coffee would aid him in this endeavor.

Salem headed for the coffee maker only to find a pot already made up and Gregori making breakfast. Dammit, the adage about winning a man's heart through his stomach was true. Gregori played dirty—he knew precisely what he was about.

Salem stared at the man suspiciously as he poured himself coffee and doctored it as he preferred. Gregori cocked a brow at him, amused, even as he flipped over bacon.

"You," Salem informed him, "are a hard nut to crack."

"That's my line," Gregori returned mildly. "What is it going to take for me to convince you I'm not leaving?"

Salem believed nothing at this point. He'd heard too many broken promises. Human hearts were too fickle, and he wasn't sure if a dragon's heart was made of sterner stuff, honestly.

He sipped his coffee, turning to put a hip against the counter. Okay, time to face this head-on. Trying to avoid Gregori did fuck all.

"All right. You want to stay."

Gregori removed the pan from the burner and turned toward him. "Are we talking about this?"

"Yes. Because otherwise, I'll end up strangling you."

"That's fair. Yes, I want to stay with you."

"I really, really do not get why. Unless you're a glutton for punishment."

Gregori grinned. The surprisingly boyish grin made him look almost mischievous. The messy fall of his hair around his shoulders—he'd obviously not done anything with it yet this morning—only reinforced the impression. "I've been accused of that from time to time."

"Ha. Why doesn't this surprise me? But fine, if you want to stay, I won't argue, but I insist upon some ground rules."

Gregori waved him on, all smiles still. "Hit me."

He looked far too cheery for this conversation. It conversely worried Salem. Like he was missing something big, something Gregori knew, and it was going to bite him in the ass later.

He shook the thought off. "All right. You can stay, but only if you don't expect something from me. I want to be clear: We're not mates. We're not in a relationship. Do not expect me to act like a boyfriend, or someone you're dating, because I won't."

Gregori's eyes narrowed, smile dimming. A second drew out into several seconds before he finally dipped his head.

"I can work with that for now. Sex?"

"I'm not turning down sex." Because he wasn't a moron. "If we can act like roommates with benefits, sure."

"Roommates with benefits, huh." Gregori's head canted to the side. "Interesting. Agreed."

Why did Salem feel like there was a high-speed armchair analysis going on over there? The way Gregori stared unnerved him. Like he could see right through to the back of Salem's head and hear things Salem didn't say.

Fuck. He wasn't playing along with that.

Turning back toward the counter, he set his coffee down. "Okay, if we're agreed, then no more arguments about this. I hate arguing more than anything. Is breakfast almost ready?"

"It is. Just waiting for biscuits to be done, which should be another two minutes. Pour me a cup of coffee?"

Surprised by the question, Salem took a second longer than necessary to respond. "Uh, sure."

He'd just laid down the law with Gregori, but the man had rolled with it surprisingly well. Almost too well.

Why did Salem get the instinctual feeling he'd won the skirmish but he hadn't won the war?