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Chapter 3

Declan

D eclan knew better than to screech, even as a monster snatched him out of the water and held him in its great arms, muscles bunching to clutch Declan tightly to its chest. The worst thing to do at a time like this was draw human attention.

They were blind to the creatures that moved around them. And more? They were useless here. What could a human do against a creature like this, when Declan himself was powerless?

Dragons, it became quickly apparent, were not extinct. All Declan could think about as the enormous silver beast lifted him into the air was that his father was, once again, full of shit.

He was shocked . Simply shocked.

Elrith had claimed, for years, that there were no more dragons left in Lyric. Anywhere, really. Humans had hunted them down, slaughtered them for their hoards of wealth, centuries ago. It was one of the reasons he leveraged his influence to convince other supernaturals to stay hidden, which he assured everyone had nothing to do with how moving in shadows benefitted him personally. It was simply too dangerous to come out in mainstream society.

In the creature’s grip, Declan hissed and squirmed, but the dragon paid him no mind. All he felt was the warm vibration under the creature’s scales. They were shining and silver and hard —too hard for Declan’s small claws to pierce, no matter how he tried.

Because if the dragon would just drop him over the water, Declan could escape. Who could out swim him? Certainly not a dragon. Not if it didn’t catch him unprepared.

Only, the creature didn’t drop him, and their flight was not long enough to plot a real escape. The beast didn’t even speed toward the city, but swept over the water, around the water’s edge to a—to a cave opening in a sheer cliff face. The rocks below were sharp enough that Declan swallowed hard, and he stopped fighting.

With a whoosh of air, the dragon beat its wings down, and it landed on the smooth stone entrance. It walked deeper into the cave, and where Declan had expected to be shrouded in darkness, instead, the cave opened up to a bright, golden room, somehow hidden from sight outside by trickery or magic.

Well, the room itself wasn’t golden, precisely, but the light was warm. There was a fire beneath an enormous marble mantle, and light reflected off a thousand gilded surfaces, everywhere he looked. So it looked golden, almost magical.

As Declan squirmed, the dragon came to a stop, and when it deposited him on a plush rug on his own two feet, it was almost gentle.

Declan curled his toes against the brushed wool, but he was an incubus, damn it all, and he was not going to shrink before anyone. He tilted his chin up, sea-green eyes blazing.

Fear had sent adrenaline rushing through his system, and as he stood there, watching the dragon’s form shiver and shrink, Declan felt his teeth sharpening. Tiny horns curled out from the top of his head, and his tail whipped behind him. Incubi weren’t fighters, typically, but he was still a demon, and not entirely defenseless once the dragon had shifted back to two legs.

Of course, then Declan had to contend with the sight of him, and for a moment, he was stunned.

The great silver dragon had turned into an enormous silver man. He wasn’t more than a hand’s breadth taller than Declan, but he was twice as wide. The ridges and lines of his body were sharp, like all that muscle that carried the dragon aloft and allowed him to topple cities was packaged in a six-and-a-half-foot tall frame. His skin was pale, like he didn’t go out often, and in the light seemed to carry a strange shimmer, as if Declan could simply squint to see the creature’s scales.

And there was a scar, running from the very top of his shoulder across the left side of his chest. It was the only part of him, from the top of his silver head to his perfectly trimmed toenails that was anything but beautiful, so how the hell did it make him more alluring?

He did not allow himself to notice any other parts of the creature that were tempting, particularly the thick, flushed cock hanging between his legs, the muscles of his torso sculpted to draw Declan’s eye straight there.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he met the gleaming silver eyes of his captor.

“I am Augustine,” the dragon said, his voice a low rumble that went straight to Declan’s core. “What may I call you?”

He sounded perfectly polite, if archaic, despite the fact that he was a godsdamned kidnapper. Any second, the dragon was going to offer him refreshment. Maybe a spot of tea.

When Declan parted his lips, all that escaped him was a hiss. And he felt damn well justified in that.

Augustine chuckled. The muscles of his thighs flexed, and he stepped closer, his hand extended like he was approaching a dangerous beast and Declan might want to sniff his fingers to get the measure of him.

Lightly, his fingertips brushed against Declan’s cheek, his thumb nudging just inside his upper lip to brush across Declan’s canine. “I like your little fangs, siren.”

Growling, Declan bit him. The dragon hissed and snatched his hand back. With furrowed brow, he inspected the pearl of blood beading on his fingertip. He frowned, as if he’d expected Declan to do something but bite him when he went sticking his fingers where they didn’t belong.

“I’m not a siren,” Declan snapped.

Augustine was still near enough to touch, and Declan pushed out. His palms hit the solid face of Augustine’s chest, but his claws sank in, and he shoved.

The dragon didn’t move. No, his hands closed on the tops of Declan’s, and he squeezed them against himself. “No? Then what are you?”

“What I am is none of your business.”

Augustine shook his head, a winning smile on his face. He’d caught his prize, and Declan’s resistance meant little to him.

“You are mine,” the dragon corrected. “Can’t you feel it?”

Declan jerked his hands back. The dragon let him, but for every step he stumbled deeper into the cave, Augustine followed.

“And if you are not a siren,” Augustine said, “you are still every bit as tempting.”

He stalked forward, and Declan moved back. But there was too much here, antique furniture arranged cozily, every side table covered in trinkets.

His ankle hit a small chest. Pain shot up his leg like lightning, and Augustine sprang for him.

Strong arms came around Declan’s waist, but there was nothing for it when Declan jerked his leg up. They both stumbled and fell. Augustine’s broad side hit into a low coffee table nearby, and he grunted out a curse, his body shielding Declan from the worst of the bruising.

Declan’s eyelids fluttered. The world had suddenly gone sideways, and the dragon was pressed against him, every inch of that shimmering skin pressed against him.

For a moment, Augustine simply held Declan, who was half draped over the dragon’s chest, their legs tangled up together. His other side pressed into the carpet, and he could feel the rumble of the dragon’s groan, the heat of his breath, and the firmness of his thigh between Declan’s legs.

It’d been a week since he fed. Not too long, the ease of his hunger faint enough that his desire to swim overcame it and had occupied his thoughts for days. But now, he felt a man between his legs, smelled the brimstone heat of his body, almost like a campfire, and a ripple of need worked through Declan’s body.

With a whine, he arched against his captor.

And the very second he realized what he’d done, he scrambled back, putting as much distance between himself and the dragon as he could before he threw himself to his feet and ran for the ledge.

The rocks were sharp below, but he wouldn’t be held against his will.

If he could just get enough momentum?—

“Wait!” Augustine called.

Declan didn’t stop, until panels whizzed up from the floor and down from the ceiling, shutting him out from the salt air and the water down below.

He skidded to a halt right inside the door, and shivered. That easy, and he was trapped. There was no tearing through metal so thick, no digging his way to freedom.

When he hung his head, his hair fell, limp and wet against his neck.

Declan squeezed his eyes shut tight. This—This was why his siblings lived together, why he’d never been able to leave that penthouse across the hall from his younger brothers and sister.

If you caught an incubus, if you trapped them, it was only a matter of time before they broke down, before they needed to feed. It didn’t matter what he wanted or what he said. It was an impulse, and one he couldn’t fight forever.

He shivered. This dragon would break him.

Facing the sealed metal door, Declan dropped his head forward. The steel was cool against his skin. He kept his eyes shut, but he could hear every step of the dragon stalking behind him. Each breath of his was like a gale against Declan’s skin.

When the dragon was close enough that the heat from his chest warmed Declan’s back, he flinched. His shoulders, stone hard, crawled up toward his ears, and he expected the worst. Braced for it.

Hands and teeth and demands. A dragon took what it wanted. It’s how they amassed hoards so large, why humans had killed so many of them.

Only, a moment later, the smooth, cool slither of silk folded around his shoulders. He felt the heat of Augustine’s broad hands arranging a robe around him, but within a breath, maybe two, the dragon removed them and stepped away.

Declan spun to face the creature, gripping the cloth tightly, and for the first time, the dragon looked bothered. A line wrinkled between his salt-and-pepper brows, and his full, firm lips turned into a frown.

“May we talk?” Augustine asked softly. He had put on a robe of his own before coming over, but that was hardly enough material to make Declan feel at ease.

“No.”

“Please,” the dragon implored, leaning in as if nothing in the world meant more to him than this. Than Declan’s attention. “Just give me a moment. Your name?”

Declan’s jaw ached from clenching it. “Declan,” he ground out.

In the end, there was nothing to talk about. The dragon had taken him without consent or permission, and Declan did not want to hear his side of things.

Only . . .

“Why me?” Declan rasped, his chest heaving. He tugged the silk robe tight around himself.

Augustine blinked, as if the question was too absurd to comprehend.

Truth was, Declan didn’t need to ask it. He knew precisely why Augustine had picked him, why he’d taken him, even why he’d felt entitled to do so without asking.

After all, Declan was an incubus. Why ever would he dissent to be claimed by a handsome dragon, whose lair was filled with shiny baubles, whose body was carved of marble and whose mouth whispered heated words as easily as he breathed fire?

“Because you’re beautiful,” Augustine said, his voice heavy like a prayer.

Ice speared through Declan’s heart. It rushed down his limbs, so when he clenched his fists in the robe’s lapels, his fingers ached. As the shadow passed through him, he dropped his gaze to where the fine silk robe spread across Augustine’s chest, soft silver chest hair peeking up that vee prettily. Better than meeting his befuddled gaze.

Releasing his clenched fists, he sighed, despair dragging every cell of his body down. “I know.”