Page 167 of Nine-Tenths

"Has anyone died from the mug exploding?" I ask from the other side of the hideous leather sofa. I'm hiding in case of superheated shrapnel.

"There were some deaths," Dav says as he wipes down and replaces the poker in the stand by the hearth. "But no more than usual for a rowdy bar fight."

"Except there werehot pokers."

"True."

He hands me my mug, and I stop hiding so we can curl up together.

The drink is… thick. But good? Ish? I tell myself it's like a boozy milkshake and decide to at least enjoy the warmth of the mug in my hands. Dav looks like he's genuinely relishing his, and yeah, okay, all power to you then, lover. Maybe if I sip slowly enough he'll finish my leftovers.

Eugh.

Later, in bed, I am side-swiped by the beauty of the man tangled in the sheets, awe-struck by the literal embodiment of everything I've finally chosen.

The curtains are open just enough that a sliver of late August moonlight has snuck its way in, slicing across the room and highlighting all the best parts of Dav. He's wearing just the bottoms of his fussy old-fashioned pajamas, and they're incredibly low on his hips. He looks warm, and boneless, and Iwant to kiss the relaxed, sleepy line of his mouth, bite along the dramatic curve of his hip bone, and count his lashes.

I take in the feast that is the planes of his chest and shoulders, the elegant lines of his stomach. His hair is covering his face, drawing attention to his parted lips, to the uncompromising line of his jaw. His ginger-pale skin is pearly, greedily soaking up the silvery glow. Stretched out like this, I'm struck by how vulnerable he seems. Almost fragile. A surge of my own possessive protectiveness fills me.

He's music become flesh—the metronome of breath, the pizzicato of his eyelids flickering as he dreams, the subtle movements of his fingers. I have a sudden, urgent desire to shake Dav awake and demand he play me something schmaltzy on a spinet. I don't even know what the fuck a spinet is, but I bet he does.

And yet, the persistent whisper of muscles beneath his skin and the suppleness of his sleeping body gives off the sense of tightly coiled power. Both threatening, and thrilling. I share a bed with something wonderfully, beautifully dangerous, and it would never hurt me, because it loves me.

Dav is a study in contrasts.

He always has been.

Soldier, but gentle. Master, but willing to be overruled by other's expertise. Possessive, but generous and thoughtful. A man from a dynasty of thieves of land, and culture, and resources, but trying to figure out how to give back, if it would even be welcome. A man benefited by every system in existence, and yet willing to deconstruct them, because it would makeotherpeople's lives better.

And Francis Simcoe wants him dead. He'll probably back off for a while, but he'll never stop coveting Dav's territory… Onatah's territory, too, I bet.

I won't let that happen,I tell myself, laying down to rest my ear against his heartbeat, letting the waltz lull me into sleep.I know his world now, and I love him anyway. Rule Four: Relationships are work. I am staying, and I am protecting him, and that's all there is to it.

Dav wakes up with a plan.

A plan, he claims, that requires a dress rehearsal. As soon as the morning rush is over, Beanevolence is closed to customers, because the group of us—Hadi, Pedra, Min-soo, Mauli and Dikembe, Dav and me—sit in the harsh noon sunlight watching Onatah pace around the café, absolutely losing her shit.

She's currently losing her shit because Dav has just deliberately and utterly betrayed the Great Confidence.

"But what if the planet really can't sustain us?" Dikembe asks.

"What a load of pretentious colonialist horseshit!" Onatah snarls.

"Here here!" Hadi says, and around her, the humans raise our mugs. Min-soo is in the back crafting some sort of breakfast tray for the hungry rebels—her words, not mine—but she can clearly still hear us because she shouts "Huzzah!" as she emerges from the kitchen with nibbles.

"It can sustain us, though! Did you know that if you turned just a third of Canada's grass lawns into food gardens, we could provide free produce to every school in the country?"

Dav chuckles. "I did not know that, Mine Own, but I adore that you do."

"Not to mention the fact that the way Onatah stewards her territory can be replicated," Pedra says, jumping to her feet, energized now. "I can only guess how many dragon societieswork just like that! What about all the traditional practices and knowledge the Europeans wiped out? We could talk to… to the Aztecs! And the Maori! What if—"

"Slow down," Mauli says gently. They rub her shoulder soothingly. "You're getting ahead of yourself."

"Besides, the point is… this isn't news to them. They know," Dike mutters. "And instead of using The Gift to make humanity stronger and better, instead of using the evolutionary power they'vedeveloped specifically to do that helping, they… well, they hoard it."

"Greedy," Onatah sneers. "Selfish, and self-important, and self-righteous, andgreedy."

"Why can't they … come out and be honest?" Mauli asks. "Why not 'fess up?"