Chapter Four

WARWICK dropped Clarence off at his home with a quick reminder that the new contract could be drawn up tomorrow. He knew his friend well, though, and wouldn’t be surprised to see Clarence with the newly amended contract in hand first thing tomorrow morning.

Taking the long way back, Warwick let his mind wander. Showing up at Alpha Montgomery’s pack house had been a calculated risk, one he knew would cause an uproar. He was fine with that. This could have been handled privately, but Alpha Montgomery had forced his hand by refusing to answer phone calls and emails. Like that would make the problem go away.

Besides, he was a dragon. Subtle was not his preferred method.

What he hadn’t expected was finding a mate there. Warwick shook his head. A werewolf and an Omega. He pressed harder on the gas pedal of his Koenigsegg CCXR Trevita. He truly loved the car, especially since only two had been produced. His attempts to buy the other one hadn’t been successful, so far—not that he would give up. Come to think of it, it would be the perfect mating gift.

He’d have to do some shuffling in his garage to make room for a car for his mate, but that was no problem. His mate. The words still amazed him. Fortunately he’d procreated with female dragons through the years and had already contributed to the continuation of the species, so taking a mate who couldn’t reproduce would be no problem. It might appear cold, but it worked for their kind.

Werewolves, on the other hand, mated for life. Unease snaked through him. He had never been interested in being with one person forever until now. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He might not understand it, but there was no denying he wanted Avery more fiercely than any bauble or jewel.

He started at the long, winding road, his headlights illuminating the forest around him until finally he came upon the driveway that led to his home. He built it based on one he’d owned in France hundreds of years ago, but this one was modernized. Running water and electricity were luxuries he’d grown accustomed to.

As he passed through the gates, he waved at the men on duty. After he parked in his climate-controlled, multicar garage, he took the elevator up to the main living area. Warwick was quite proud of his home. It consisted of towers, turrets, and stone steps. The grand entrance had massive oak doors that reached fifteen feet high. They were truly awe-inspiring.

Right inside the entrance were two suits of armor, standing guard. A coat of arms and crossed swords decorated the surrounding wall directly opposite the entrance. In other areas there were rich tapestries. The finishing touches on his perfect castle were a great hall for feasting, with a long oak table, and then a spiral staircase that led to the upper floors.

Of course, his home was much smaller than the actual castle it was based on—only six thousand square feet. It seemed like a lot of space, but he was a dragon and space was imperative. But lately an irritating sense of loneliness had begun creeping up on him. There were servants who lived there, but that wasn’t the same.

That unease from earlier returned, and this time he didn’t push it away. After greeting his staff, he retreated to his bedroom. A fire burned brightly, and silently he thanked whoever had the foresight to start it.

He tried to see his space as an outsider would. The walls were dark-colored stone held together with light-colored mortar, which kept the room from being gloomy. Dark hardwoods covered the floors, along with Persian rugs, and sconces graced either side of the doorway inside the room. A stone fireplace soared toward the ceiling. In front of it was a coffee table with three overstuffed brown leather chairs around it. Dark-stained mahogany wood beams ran the length of the ceiling, framing an enormous wrought-iron chandelier with candle-style bulbs.

But the showpiece was the king-sized platform bed featuring a canopy draped with luxurious deep purple curtains tied back to expose the multitude of pillows in every shade of purple atop a comforter that was such a deep color, it was almost black in appearance in certain light.

There was a dresser and a desk on the opposite wall, along with a six-foot-tall freestanding mirror across from the bed. From where he stood, a door led to a master bath and large walk-in closets.

His bedroom was his main sanctuary, and no one but him had ever slept in that bed. Soon there would be another being sleeping with him. What would Avery think about his home? Could Avery be comfortable here? Warwick sat on the bed and ran his hand across the insanely soft comforter, enjoying the textures. Would Avery like the color?

Why did he care?

Warwick glanced around. He hadn’t noticed until now how much purple there was. He was partial to the color, but that was not surprising, since in dragon form his scales were purple and in human form so were his eyes. His gaze was caught by the mirror across from him. Not all dragons had the same eye color, but the swirling shades were definitely the hallmark of a dragon.

Color wasn’t the only difference. Some had control of fire, while others could spit ice shards. Warwick’s power was the ability to command the skies and give birth to storms of thunder and lightning. Dragons of his hue were revered as representative of the primal forces of nature. Following the symbolism associated with the darker shades of blue, indigo conveyed trust, truthfulness, and stability. Those were the positive traits.

Depending on who was asked, his less positive traits were that he was also a quiet, dangerous dragon who stalked the skies for prey under cover of clouds and that he was a fierce fighter who not only used with fang and claw, but electricity. His dragon’s nature was unrestrained.

Many debated exactly what dragons were, which was a useless endeavor. Some said they were magical creatures, while others claimed they were shifters. Regardless of what they were called, they were definitely something… more. In his shifted form, he was truly beastly and terrifying, while his human form was quite appealing, or so he had been told.

Warwick shoved all this foolishness from his mind. This self-doubt wasn’t like him.

Disgruntled, he called down to the kitchen to see what there was to eat, since he hadn’t had dinner earlier. After making arrangements to have a meal brought up to his room, Warwick undressed, showered, and readied himself for bed. Dressed only in black silk night pants, he sat at his desk and booted up his laptop. Being distracted by his cute little wolf was no excuse for ignoring his businesses.

Just as his stomach growled, there came a knock at his bedroom door. “Enter,” Warwick called. Standing, he slipped on his black silken robe.

The door opened and his butler, LeMoyne, entered, pushing a small cart in front of him. “Good evening, Master Warwick.”

“Evening, LeMoyne.” Warwick stood to the side as LeMoyne maneuvered farther into the room. Discreetly he rolled his eyes.

He’d run across LeMoyne Vanderfield in the late 1800s in London and, after befriending him, offered him a job. Not long after, Warwick shared his blood with LeMoyne, extending his life like he had with Clarence. And like with Clarence, there was nothing sexual about the sharing of blood. Normally he opened a small cut on the inside of his wrist and bled into a tumbler. A couple of tablespoons was all that was needed. He only extended this gift to the ones he trusted fully, as loyalty was a trait he prized highly.

After LeMoyne stopped in front of the fireplace, he turned to Warwick. “I hope you find the meal satisfactory.”

“I’m sure I will. Louise is an excellent cook.” She was another he’d shared his blood with and tied to him. Louise Canfield was a goddess in the kitchen.

Warwick walked to where LeMoyne had set up his dinner and uncovered one of the trays. He sniffed, enjoying the delicious scent of perfectly cooked meat. His dragon might prefer it raw, but he didn’t. A massive T-bone steak and garlic mashed potatoes awaited him. LeMoyne uncovered another tray, which held a salad. A tall, lead crystal wineglass full of his favorite red wine, along with a glass of water, finished out the meal.

Warwick seated himself, cut the steak, and bit into it. An explosion of spices spread across his tongue, and he closed his eyes, savoring it. When he opened them, he looked up and found LeMoyne grinning at him.

“Good?”

“Most definitely. Please tell Louise she did a wonderful job, as usual.”

“I shall.” LeMoyne moved around the room, picking up a few stray items and turning down the bed. “Might I inquire how your business meeting with Alpha Montgomery went?”

The request wasn’t odd. LeMoyne’s role in his household might be that of a butler, but they were still good friends also. “An unexpected development cropped up.” Warwick waved his steak knife at the vacant chair across from him. “Join me? By the way, have you already eaten?”

LeMoyne sat in the overstuffed leather chair. Leaning back, he crossed his legs, hands folded in his lap. “I ate earlier with Mrs. Canfield, but thank you for asking. So? An unexpected development?”

“Very much so. The short version is, Alpha Montgomery was unable to pay the loan.”

LeMoyne tsked. “How unfortunate.”

Warwick snorted. “I’m sure he’d agree with you.”

“When do you foreclose on his properties?”

Warwick took another bite, then picked up his wine and took a sip. “I’m not going to.”

LeMoyne raised an eyebrow, a look of shock crossing his face. Warwick chuckled in amusement. It wasn’t often he managed to catch LeMoyne off guard—he was unflappable.

“Interesting. I wonder, what could possibly have happened to make you forgo claiming such a lucrative investment?”

“Oh, trust me, he didn’t get off scot-free. But in regard to your question, did you know the werewolf has a son? An Omega? His name is Avery Montgomery.”

“No, sir, I did not. I take it he was the ‘unexpected’ development?”

Warwick nodded. “I would say so. My dragon took one look at him and… I don’t know how to explain it. He went nuts. You would’ve thought he’d found the shiniest, most expensive treasure in the whole world.” He scowled at his glass of wine, remembering how his dragon had carried on. “He wants Avery with a passion I can’t quite understand.”

“Oh.” A look of confusion crossed LeMoyne’s face. “Do I take that to mean you don’t feel the same?”

Warwick put his fork down. Heat climbed up his face. Surely he wasn’t blushing. Dragons simply didn’t do such things. But how could he adequately put into words what it was he felt when he wasn’t sure himself?

“Ahhh, I see,” LeMoyne continued, not giving Warwick a chance to interrupt. “You want Avery too. Badly, if I’m not mistaken.”

Warwick scowled. “Damn dragon took one look at that cute little Omega and promptly lost control. He was hopping around inside my mind like an overgrown puppy, his tongue practically hanging out and tail wagging.”

LeMoyne chuckled. “Now that’s something I would’ve paid good money to see.”

Warwick scooped up some of the garlic mashed potatoes. They, like the rest of the meal, were seasoned to perfection. “Trust me, no one needs to see that.”

LeMoyne smiled serenely. “Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s wonderful that your dragon has found a playful side.”

“‘Playful’ and ‘dragon’ do not belong in the same sentence, I’ll have you know.” Warwick shot LeMoyne an aggravated glance when LeMoyne snickered. “Shut up, old man.”

Most dragons stopped aging somewhere in their midthirties. LeMoyne might have been fifty when he took the first sip of Warwick’s blood, but he was a well-preserved fifty. Dragon blood basically froze a person’s aging process. It also made them invincible to human illnesses. But that wasn’t to say a human who had consumed dragon blood couldn’t be killed. It did not make them immortal.

Warwick himself was not invincible either. Cutting off a dragon’s head would do it, as it would with most paranormals, and so would taking their heart. A bullet to the brain or heart would do the job too. Otherwise, they could pretty much recover from any type of wound. Poison didn’t touch them since their metabolism was like that of a five-year-old hopped up on sugar. It took a hell of a lot to kill a dragon.

“This from someone centuries older than me.” LeMoyne laughed loudly, slapping his knee. “But you do look good for your age.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Warwick ate another bite of his steak.

After several minutes, LeMoyne spoke again. “So, we’re soon to have someone new at the castle.”

Warwick continued to eat, barely nodding. “Yes.”

“Is there anything you need me to do?”

That made Warwick pause. He looked at LeMoyne. “In regard to what?”

LeMoyne frowned. “I see bluntness is in order. Is he moving into your room?”

Warwick blinked. What kind of silly question was that? “Of course. Where else would he sleep?”

“I wouldn’t claim to know, which is why I was asking. I’ll start moving your extra clothes out of the other walk-in closet. Also, what is he bringing with him?”

Warwick scowled. Moving his clothes? And what exactly did LeMoyne think Avery would be bringing with him? But then, he hadn’t thought about anything past getting his hands on Avery. “What do you mean?”

LeMoyne sighed. “The pup is bringing more than himself—surely you realize this, sir. I assume you plan to claim him as your mate. That means he’s going to be living here. Which means he’s going to bring his things with him.”

“What do you mean, I plan to claim him as my mate? There is no planning to it. I’m going to.”

LeMoyne cleared his throat. “Sir, do you not know anything about werewolves?”

“They’re werewolves. They can shift into a wolf. What more did I need to know to do business? I haven’t really paid much attention to them until recently, so would you stop beating around the bush and tell me what it is you think I need to know!”

LeMoyne released another long-suffering sigh. “There is a ritual, a physical ritual they go through.”

Warwick scowled. “English. Explain this in plain English, if you please.”

“Then stop and think about this, if you please, sir. When wolves claim each other, they exchange bites. And yes, I mean bites—as in, breaking the skin and drinking each other’s blood. From my understanding, a mating bite leaves a scar, something that’s practically unheard of with their incredible healing abilities. That scar is a warning to other werewolves. It shows that person is claimed.”

“Dragons don’t do anything like that,” Warwick added. “We fly to great heights and synchronize an aerial display, then spiral downward, performing loops and twists.”

“Which isn’t possible with a werewolf, obviously. Which is why I’m telling you how they do it. I also understand that this happens while making love. So you need to be prepared. If you truly plan to take him as your mate by their rituals, you’re going to have to bite him. Usually the mating bite is placed where the neck and shoulder meet.”

“Fine. I can do that. Do you think it will work, though, since I’m not a werewolf?”

LeMoyne opened his mouth and closed it. He pursed his lips. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

“Indeed.” Warwick was quite looking forward to it, in fact. Especially the making love part. His dragon stretched in his mind, uttering a low rumble of agreement. It appeared he wasn’t the only one. “Is he expecting to bite me too?”

“From my understanding of the ritual, yes. But Avery is an Omega, so I’m not really sure if they have the… the ability to bite someone who’s more powerful than them.”

Okay, that was confusing. Didn’t LeMoyne tell him that’s what werewolves did? “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Again, I’m going by what I have heard about werewolves, but Omegas are the least dominant members in a pack hierarchy. They’re usually not aggressive, tend to be somewhat shy, and are often spoiled rotten because of the special abilities they have. And before you ask, each Omega is gifted with some sort of special talent. You might want to ask Avery what his is. I would highly suggest you do some reading on the subject.”

Warwick ran a hand through his hair. “I had no idea this would be so involved. This is why dragons are such uncomplicated creatures.”

“Yes, sir. Uncomplicated,” LeMoyne said, a completely deadpan expression on his face.

Warwick scowled. “Are you saying we’re not?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You’re some of the most complicated, demanding, hardheaded, know-it-alls—”

“We are not.”

“Right, sir. You keep telling yourself that. Anyway, as I was saying, research werewolves’ mating rituals, and, specifically, of Omegas.” Now that he’d properly reprimanded Warwick, LeMoyne stood. “On that happy note, I’m going to retire to my quarters and enjoy a well-deserved brandy. Good night, Master Warwick.”

“Have a good night, LeMoyne.” Warwick continued to eat, but he no longer tasted the food. Instead, his thoughts turned inward to the dragon who had taken a keen interest in all this talk about biting and drinking blood. His dragon was fascinated. Very fascinated.

Warwick found he wasn’t exactly uninterested either.