Anger seethed in Samael, a formless, shapeless thing that pulsed as he paced his cell, the links of his chain rattling.

I should have done something.

It bothered him that he hadn’t. The cowardly voice inside, the one that was now silent, had made it seem like the only choice.

But it was the wrong choice.

I should have done something to save her.

But you’re weak. And stupid. And a coward.

Arrrrgh! He beat at his chest, a dark, roiling push of emotion bursting out of him, splitting skin and bone, reshaping him, the collar at his neck almost snapping as his serpentine one filled it.

He hated wearing his dragon in here. It seemed a travesty to make his greater self suffer. Yet the need in him was too great.

Arrrrrrruuu. The warbling trumpet of his discontent echoed in the cavernous room. The cell might prove more than sizeable for his human shape, but now he was large and light. All his flesh, an atomic latticework of bio matter, stretched thin, yet solid enough to provide decent armor against most attacks.

Why am I so weak?

He never used to be weak.

She’s taken almost all my soul.

That doesn’t explain all your actions.

When did he become craven?

Had he truly fallen that low? Even he should have some standards.

I should have saved her.

The thought reverberated inside, filling him with anxiety, making him pace; however, the sizeable chamber was not large enough for his fury. He kept pivoting too quickly. He rumbled toward one wall.

How dare it stand in my way?

Slam.

He barreled into it, the force causing a tremor. Stray drops of water from the shower earlier fell from the ceiling.

No escape.

He whirled and charged back in the other direction, running as fast as his dragon legs could go.

Wham.

Another brute force attack against the offending wall.

A dragon should not be caged.

He wailed at the injustice of it, a sharp, bright sound, before chugging back in the other direction, his chain rattling loosely behind, torn from the wall in his fury.

Over and over he charged. Hit. Failed to smash the turmoil amassing within.

By now she’s probably got her arms pulled tautly, exposing that luscious body of hers.

My body!

Slam.

Is she being hurt? The pain meted out by the suzerain, not that of a whipping or beating. Physical pain could be handled, but the pain of someone shredding through your mind, tearing open every vulnerability, every secret… It hurt. Hurt so much. And then even worse was when the hurting stopped and pieces of you just disappeared.

I should have helped her.

He should have had some fucking balls. Should have acted. Then he wouldn’t be stuck in a cell, collared like a beast, racing back and forth, slamming into walls, making the entire structure shake.

“Hey, stud muffin, miss me?”

The sudden bright appearance of her voice stalled him in his tracks. His large head swiveled, and he glanced through the bars to see Deka marching ahead of the jailor, her skin unmarred, her dress somehow different than before.

His gaze narrowed. She appeared too brave. She must be hiding the pain.

A swirl of darkness filled the corridor. The bloody suzerain, the one behind all his problems, stalked toward the cells, probably called upon because of Samael’s behavior.

Good.

It’d worked.

If the suzerain were here, then she wasn’t torturing Deka.

A low growl, one not heard in a while, rolled from him. His dragon shape shrank rapidly with a snap as Samael snarled, “Did that bitch hurt you?”

“As if, Sammy.” Deka stopped in front of his cell and twirled. “Right as rain.” She stopped, facing him. “Did you miss me?”

“Sammy?” The deep voice had a familiar hint, and yet…

Samael’s head snapped as he turned to look at the suzerain, only he noted the shape was different. Taller, broader, and the hands…

He grabbed the bars and pressed his face against them before asking, “Who are you?”

“Don’t you recognize me,” mocked the voice. It came from a man, one with dark hair raised in a crow’s wing, but those eyes… Those red-iris eyes.

“It’s you. It can’t be.” His forehead wrinkled.

“You didn’t know about Hermie?” Deka said with a hint of surprise. “Half man, half woman. And, apparently, hasn’t seen the possibilities in exploiting that for the masses.”

“Your new cellmate is mouthy, Sammy.” No mistaking the mockery. “I look forward to punishing it out of her.”

His grip on the bars tightened. Metal groaned.

Deka looked suitably impressed. About time he did something along those lines. She drew close and reached out a finger to trace over the ones gripping the bars.

A jolt of something went through him. A sense of awareness that he knew she felt.

“How are you holding the bars?” she asked, a simple query that took him a moment to figure out because, in his mind, she’d said something more along the lines of: Let me suck your dick.

Oral was always the first thing on a guy’s mind followed by, Damn, her hand would look nice wrapped around my dick. And finally, She’s pretty nice. I wonder if she wants a spin on my dick.

“Are your bars defective?” She slid her hand away from him onto the metal. Sucked in a breath.

He knocked her hand away. “Don’t do that.”

Her head cocked. “How come you’re not screaming?”

“Enough chatter. Put the Silver back in her cage.”

The jailor moved in her direction, but Deka didn’t wait for him. She walked into her cage, turned, and waved her hand at the suzerain. “Go. I’m done talking to you. If you stay, I shall ignore you. You are the worst host ever.”

The trap she’d laid was lovely. Samael admired it to the point he had to drop his hands.

The suzerain was royally fucked. If he left, it seemed as if he obeyed her. If he stayed, which everyone knew he didn’t mean to do, he also lost face.

The elegance was beautiful.

And the suzerain knew it. “You might think you’ve won for now, but you seem to forget, if you prove too difficult, I will get my hands on another.”

If Deka kept irritating, the suzerain would leave Deka alone.

The next words ruined that hope.

“I don’t need you, and it’s been a while since we’ve roasted a dragon.”

“Aunt Waida says we’re best eaten slow-basted over a coal fire. You should get a rub, too, to match the color of the scales. For a Silver, you want to do a sea salt and pepper rub. The spices are rubbed under the scales. Some folks make the mistake of skinning first, yet they shouldn’t because the skin acts as a foil baking the insides.”

Samael wasn’t the only one who took time to digest the fact that Deka seemed rather well acquainted with cooking dragons.

The jailor slammed the door shut, and the locks clicked.

Samael seethed at the bars, still gripping them, yet not burning. This wasn’t the first time he’d managed it. Probably building immunity.

I’m just special.

“We’ll see if you’re still laughing when we skewer and roast you.” The suzerain whipped around, his cloud cloak swirling with him, covering his retreat.

“About time you left. I swear some people just can’t take a hint when they’ve overstayed their welcome,” she remarked, loud enough for all to hear.

Jabba smirked as he scurried after the suzerain, leaving them alone.

How awkward.

I would have said romantic. The distinctly womanish voice came inside his head, but wasn’t one he’d heard before.

Have I finally cracked and found my feminine side?

The laughter didn’t help.

“Sammy,” Deka called him. “Look at me, stud muffin.”

He rotated his gaze to find hers. Her green gaze held fire in it, and he felt his own eyes glow in reply. Staring through the bars, a spark of something ignited in him. It burned the edges of the darkness inside.

It brought forth words he’d thought himself incapable of saying. “We are getting out of here.”

She clasped her hands. “Are you getting impatient, too, stud muffin? I, for one, can’t wait for your hands to worship my body.”

Okay, he couldn’t wait for that either, but that wasn’t his primary reason for getting out of here.

Wait, why isn’t it?

As his anger cooled, the metal he gripped heated.

“Fuck.” He stepped away from the bars, and Deka uttered a, “Hmmm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“Just finding your reaction to the bars interesting. I was always taught no dragon could touch dracinore metal without suffering, and yet you did it for a while there.”

“Delayed reaction.”

“Could be, or it doesn’t affect you like a pureblood.”

He bristled and puffed his chest. “Are you implying I’m not a drake?” An alpha male dragon capable of ruling.

“You’ve got plenty of balls, stud. But I also know from my mommy’s tests that you’re not a pure Gold.”

“Are you going to mock me for being a half-breed? That seems ironic given you’re not pure Silver.”

“I’m like three-quarters,” she stated. “And no one’s mocking anyone.”

“Yet.” The moment was still young. The possibilities endless.

“What I’m saying is, you’re half something, but my mom couldn’t figure out what. What if that half isn’t affected by dracinore?”

“If that were true, why doesn’t it work all the time?”

“A hybrid trait. It probably has to be triggered. What did the times you were immune have in common?”

“I was angry.”

“Why were you angry this time, Sammy?” She stepped closer to the bars and trailed a finger down her cleavage to a knot.

“I don’t like games.”

“Only losers hate playing. And neither of us is a loser, stud. I know you were jealous.”

“Was not.”

“You totally should be. Suzie is totally after my body.”

“He touched you?” He couldn’t help the shouted words.

“He wanted to. Alas, he was interrupted by my super jealous boyfriend.”

“I am not your boyfriend.” He was more than that.

I’m her mate.

The concept made him faint.