Page 50 of Nine-Tenths

Chapter Thirty-Seven

D av's whole arm flushes with scale.

I’m not scared of him , I remind myself. He’d never hurt me. Again.

" Nid eich dewis chi yw gwneud ," Dav replies.

Is it a dragon language?

Simcoe’s pupils slit, his teeth growing larger in a mouth that's stretching to accommodate them. " Nid wyf yn caniatáu hynny !"

This is getting rude. "It's not fair to—"

Dav's ears start pulling back. " Nid oes angen eich caniatad arnaf ."

"You will respect me!" Simcoe thunders, and suddenly his whole face is dappled with forest-coloured scales, hands hardening into claws, and okay, alright.

I'm a little scared.

Dav pushes me behind him. I stumble, and go down hard on my ass. A red tail whips around my shoulders, steadying. My palms sting with carpet-burn. I lean sideways. I can't see. I don't know where the threat is—

"You've done nothing to earn it," Dav's shoulders drop forward, heavy with sudden muscle that tears through his button-down as his wings unfurl. He makes that hiss-click noise that features in the rare nightmares I have about Beanevolence burning.

"No!" I shout, and with nothing else I can do, I tug on his tail.

Hard.

Dav stumbles back and yowls like an affronted cat. I get myself on my feet and between the two dragons. Dav tries to push me aside, and I hold my ground, hands planted flat against his chest.

"Cut it out!" I shout. "You’re not setting him on fire!"

"Colin—!" Dav says, my name squealing through his elongating mouth like the screech from a rusty pulley.

"Move," Simcoe snarls. "It would only burn my clothes."

"Then you can’t spit fire in here because I have no desire to see your junk!"

Both dragons pause. Dav chokes back a surprised chuckle. Simcoe snorts smoke out his nose.

"Go cool off." I shove Dav at the door toward the kitchen.

"I am not leaving you—!"

"I will be on my best behavior," Simcoe says placidly, scale melting back into flesh, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

Biiiiiitch.

Fuck it. Simcoe wants to treat me like I'm the little wifey? Fine, I'll act like it.

God, getting between those two for the rest of my life is going to be like refereeing for the twins.

"Colin—" Dav tries again, even as he's letting me shove him into the hall that separates this formal public space from the privacy of the house.

"Out. Chill." I close the door in his face.

When I turn around, Simcoe is entirely human again, smugly patting his hair into place.

"Well that was certainly a visit, wasn't it? I'll walk you out," I say, diving for my best imitation of Mum. It's a good trick—most people are too polite to tell you that they want to stay and fight more without sounding like a complete twat.

Luckily, it's a trick that works on dragons. Or at least, dragons as obsessed with poshness as Lt. Gov. Fuckface. He only looks mildly shocked to be railroaded to the door so politely.

Simcoe follows me to the modest foyer, and we shuffle awkwardly as he waits for me to open the door for him.

"Well. Thanks for stopping by," I say, when he hesitates on the front step. "See ya."

"Wait," Simcoe says, hand on the door to keep me from shutting this one in his face, too. "I hope that display hasn't put you off a life amongst dragons."

"But you'd be fine if it has?" I ask.

Simcoe blinks, not expecting to be called out. "You said it," he simpers, recovering quickly.

"And you could make it happen?" I shove my hands in my back pockets, unimpressed. "I was told there were no takesie-backsies."

Simcoe gestures after Dav. "He is the one who says it's all just gossip rags and celebrity television. I suppose it would not be too much of a scandal, were I to exert a modicum of, shall we say, influence?"

He's saying he's willing to threaten journalists? No surprise there. He's already had my socials shadowbanned.

"Nah. I'm good."

Irritation crosses Simcoe's face, but leaves quickly. "If that's your choice."

Wasn't aware you thought I was worthy of getting to choose.

"Not just mine," I remind him.

"Then I want us to be friends," Simcoe says, and the way he delivers it sounds and looks genuine. Which gets my hackles up, because I don't know how much friendship I want from a man who thinks corporal punishment is peachy. "You are to be family in a way, son."

"I'm not your son," I blurt.

It's the second time he's called me that.

There won't be a third.

"Ah, yes, of course not," Simcoe says. "I would never presume to replace Jean-Francois Levesque."

I blink hard, because otherwise I might shout how do you know his name ?

I don’t because it’s a stupid question–Dav told him last night.

Besides, the minute I blipped onto his radar, Simcoe was probably handed a file of all my personal information, and like, I dunno, my grades and shoe size and copies of every piece of macaroni art I'd ever done in kindergarten.

"But if I may presume at least a sliver of a paternal relationship, you must forgive me," Simcoe presses. "Alva was sent to us so young, you understand. He was beloved of my father., and I have done my best to serve him after. As his Favorite, you will be as valued in my heart."

So, not at all ?

Simcoe holds out his hand, clearly looking for a friendly parting hand-shake and, sulkily, I take it. He covers my offered hand with his other one, pressing our palms together, sliding the tips of his fingers across my pulse point. It's weird.

"Thank you." When he finally lets go, I resist the urge to wipe my hand on my jeans. He raises his eyebrows expectantly. I force myself to add: "Your Excellency."

He wasn't expecting that, and his eyes widen slightly. "Hmm," he hums to himself, and finally heads to the waiting town car.

Good riddance.

I expect to find Dav in our room, but he's not there. I'm antsy, so I decide to use that nervous energy to screw up my courage and take another flying leap off a different cliff.

I've made it clear to Dav's people that this is happening.

Now to do the same with mine.

Fam vidcall now pls?, I text the group chat, before I can chicken out.

A rhythmic thump catches my attention, and I move to the window.

Dav is in the back, tucked around the side of the house, barely visible.

He's swinging an axe with ferocious anger, plowing through a swiftly-dwindling pile of firewood, the remaining shreds of his shirt hanging off his arms. At least he's getting his frustration out in a productive—and very hot—way.

Much better than burning the reception room.

I throw open the window and stick my head out.

"Hey! Sexy!" I call. Laughter floats up from the patio below me. I look down. Luiz and Sarah wave. When I look back up, Dav has the axe buried in a log and his hands on his hips, watching me. "He's gone."

"Am I allowed in?" Dav shouts back, aggrieved but not angry. "Or will you slam the door in my face again?"

"Come in, drama queen." I duck back inside before the peanut gallery can add their nickel.

My phone chimes, and I have just enough time to sit in one of the chairs by the fireplace before the video call starts.

" Mo leanbh !" Mum says. "Hello!" She's in her back garden, by the look of it. Stu's in his own living room, and Gem is taking the call from somewhere by the water.

"Hi fam."

Gem sets down what looks like an iced coffee and says: "What's the emergency?"

"None, really. I just… um…" I fiddle with the pin on my shirt. "Uh, wanted to tell you that—"

"What’s that?" Gem shrills, pointing over my shoulder. I crane my head around, to find Dav crawling in through the bedroom window like a fucking gargoyle.

"What, the stairs were too much?"

Dav leers at me. "I thought I was a drama queen." He steps down onto the carpet, brushing the tattered button down off his arms, and tucking his wings away. His naked torso is on full display. "Who are you talking to?"

"Uh," I say, pressing my phone to my chest, which only partially muffles the laughing. "You… you may want to grab a shirt, babe. And then, um… come say hi to my family?"

Dav flushes up and dives for the wardrobe.

As first meetings go, this could have gone worse.

Once he’s decent, Dav wiggles his way behind me on the chair, his thighs bracketing mine, so he can hook his chin over my shoulder. He looks so cute , his hair slicked back with sweat, smelling of rough labor, and pressed right up against my ass, and it is so not fair .

This dragon is going to be the death of me.

"Pleased to meet you all," Dav says, charming as fuck and smiling as if his arms weren't cinched around my waist.

I'm guessing he's feeling possessive after that display downstairs. It’s fine that he’s re-grounding himself in my presence. According to Onatah, that's literally what I'm here for. What's less fine is him octopussing in front of my siblings.

"Oh, pleased to meet you, as well, er, your Lordship," Mum says, blushing and giggling, and jeez Mum. I didn't expect her to be the kind of woman who titters about royalty and peerages. Especially when Dav is so far down in the pecking order.

"Dav, please, Mrs. Levesque," my dragon corrects.

"Then it's Helen to you, dear."

"So polite!" Gem says. "See if you can get your manners to rub off on Colin."

"I'm sure there's other things they rub off."

"Stuart!" Mum scolds, while my blush goes nuclear.

Dav grins wider, evidently delighted to be tortured by my brother.

"I'm so glad you called," Mum says. " Despite Stuart. We've been wanting to meet you."

"And I you," Dav says smoothly. Out of frame, Dav slides his hand down my free arm, to brush his fingers along my pulse point. I try not to shiver.

Bastard.

"So, where were you when you vanished?" Gem asks, looking innocent. "Because, like, it wrecked Colin. You know that, right?"

And that's my big sister.

Straight for the kill.

"I am aware," Dav says seriously. His hand tightens around my wrist, warm and reassuring. "And I regret that I cannot say."

"But Colin knows?" Stu asks.

"Hey, I'm right here," I protest. "Also, I can fight my own battles."

"Colin knows," Dav confirms. "And it will not happen again."

"That's why I called you," I break in. "We're, uh... shacking up."

"Shacking up?" Mum repeats, and Dav echoes it in the exact same incredulous tone.

"There's formal dragonish words for it and everything," I rush to say, before Dav can add anything. "But basically it amounts to me and Dav, living together."

"I see," Mum says, clearly not seeing at all.

"What about your apartment?" Stu asks.

"Uhhh…"

"Colin is paid out until the end of the year," Dav says. "At which time his roommate should be back with her fiancé, and they will assume full control of the lease."

I'd be mad at him for arranging that behind my back, except that was sorta the plan with Katiya all along.

"Do you need me to come down with Dad's van?" Stu offers.

"I thank you, no," Dav says. "My people will arrange for Colin's things to be packed. I doubt we'll elect to move, ah, the furniture."

"Yeah, no, it's crap," Stu agrees.

"You're the one who helped me move that sofa into the apartment," I remind him.

"After the previous tenant had already left it on the curb. It was already garbage when we moved it back in ."

"It was free."

"Doesn't make it any less garbage," Gem says.

"We can make a weekend of it!" Mum suggests, and yeah, no , I'm not ready to have that conversation yet. The one where I have to explain the walled compound, and the privacy hedges, and the staff, and Dav being weird about people on his patch.

"Er," Dav says, and thank god, he's on the same page.

"Maybe we'll come to Orillia," I suggest.

"How about Friday?" Mum asks. "Colin doesn't work at the café on the weekends. Dav, is that fine with your work schedule, dear?"

I have so much explaining to do.

And I cannot think with the way Dav's other hand has moved to my thigh.

"Uh, we'll talk about it and I'll text you," I say. "Uh, sorry, there's a thing that… Dav's gotta do now… so, we gotta go."

"Oh," Mum says, disappointed. "Thank you for finally introducing us."

"Yeah, love you lots, bye," I say, reaching for the disconnect button.

I get to it just as Gem is chuckling: "Don't call yourself a thing —"

As soon as it's off, Dav pulls my phone from my hand and drops it onto the table beside the chair. He lifts my wrist to his mouth. His tongue is hot and wet, and damn that feels nice, so I wriggle around until I'm straddling his lap.

"Hello," I say, as he noses up the path of a vein, pressing a ticklish kiss into the bend of my elbow, then nipping all the way up to the corner of my jaw. He worries at the skin under my ear. "What's this?"

"You smell…" I assume he means in a good way because he sucks in another deep lungful, pressing his face against my neck, then my wrist, then my neck again. Then he sticks his tongue in my mouth, so, you know, I'm figuring he's not going to finish that sentence.

A little prick at my collar surprises me, but only because I wasn't expecting it.

Dav's got one sharp talon hooked into the neck of my Henley.

"Don't move," he whispers, and pulls downward slowly.

The shirt stretches, and I hold my breath, forehead pressed against Dav's, the anticipation delicious. I groan and arch my back as the fabric gives way. Five stinging points of warning pressure prickle around my belly button. I freeze. "I said, be still."

"Go faster, then."

"Impatient," Dav growls. " Impertinent ."

One hand goes to my fly, shredding, but they're not my favorite jeans, so I don’t care.

Those sharp claws don't break my skin; knowing that they could, though, that Dav could scrape me to ribbons if he wanted to, gets me horny.

All that power under me, and he's controlling it.

His other hand pulls the tatters of my shirt away before lifting that same wrist to his mouth. Fuck, the things his tongue can do .

"The scent here," he says in a strangled hiss.

When he pulls back, though, his face has changed .

Dav's eyes, which have always looked human except in color, suddenly seem alien.

His pupils have elongated, opening wider like some eldritch orifice, deep and consuming and magnetic.

He leans close, nose twitching, lips redder than kissing would make them, forked tongue flickering.

I flinch when it flutters along the side of my temple, tasting the sweat there.

He's never slipped his skin in bed before.

Something's wrong.