Page 31

Chapter 7

Declan

D eclan was still sitting in the tepid water in the bathtub when he heard a knock outside.

“May I come in?” Augustine called, his voice muffled by the locked bedroom door, and the bathroom door between them.

Declan didn’t bother responding. The dragon would do as the dragon wanted, just as he had when he’d locked Declan in, when he’d picked Declan up from the ocean without even asking his name.

Another knock, and still, Declan said nothing.

Then, the voice was louder. “Declan?”

He’d come in, just as Declan had suspected. He supposed, this once, he couldn’t blame him. There was worry in the dragon’s voice, as if Declan might have been injured. Or worse, escaped.

Declan pushed himself from the tub. Sopping wet, he crossed the tiled bathroom floor and opened the door.

“I’m here.”

Augustine took up an incredible amount of space in the room. His broad shoulders and tall frame were imposing, sure, but it was more than that, like his eyes could flicker and heat radiated off him.

At once, Augustine crossed the room and touched Declan’s chin. “You’re soaking wet.”

He was. Declan’s hair hung in wet locks to his cheeks and the back of his neck. Gently, Augustine pushed it back.

The silk robe hung around him, heavy and wet, dripping on the floor, too close to the hardwood for anyone’s comfort. It clung to every curve and valley of his body, and the air outside the bath was cold enough that he shivered and his skin puckered in tiny bumps.

“I’m fine,” Declan muttered, leaning away from the dragon. “I... needed water.”

“Are you all right?”

He seemed so concerned then, Declan was almost tricked into thinking this creature cared a single jot whether he was fine or not.

“I said I’m fine.” That came out sharper than he intended, and Augustine curled his hand and dropped it.

Declan felt like an ass. How was it that he’d become the villain here?

“I just like water. My mother was a nymph. It—I was overwhelmed. I’m fine now.” He averted his eyes, avoiding looking at the dragon while he went showing off his vulnerabilities.

Truth was, Declan was ravenous. Fear and fighting had taken it out of him, and now the pulsing heat of Augustine’s focused attention crashed across his skin like ecstasy, thrumming through his veins, making his body tingle with need.

Augustine leaned toward him. “It is good, then, that my home is so close to the sea.”

Declan met his eye again. “Does that mean you’ll let me out?”

Augustine’s eyes shuttered, but it only took him a moment to shake it off. “I’ve made dinner for us. I thought you might like to join me.”

He spread his palm and waved toward a pile of clothes on the bed. None of them looked new, but hopefully, Augustine wasn’t the kind of dragon who went around kidnapping people on the regular, to have all the supplies he needed to host his victims.

“Oh, I—” Declan was shocked, but he still very much intended to say no, to dig in and refuse to compromise until Augustine released him.

“I would appreciate your company,” Augustine cut in before he had the chance. “We got off to a poor start, and there is much I would like to explain to you.”

He looked so earnest, so desperate, that Declan couldn’t help it. He broke.

“Okay. Um... sure. I could do dinner.” Never mind that it must’ve been well past midnight, and normal people slept. Declan wasn’t in the mood for that either. “Can you just, uh, give me a few?”

Augustine smiled, and Declan almost preened under the attention. What was that? He knew better than to get swept up in someone else’s pleasure. They could hardly help themselves around him. It wasn’t real .

“Of course,” Augustine said. “Come through when you’re ready.”

He left, and Declan perused the small pile left on the bed. Just as he’d thought, they were all in the same size—too big for Declan. But more importantly, every single article smelled like salt and smoke, like a beach campfire, with undertones of toasted-marshmallow sweetness.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have minded a dragon so much—just once, to try him out—if Augustine hadn’t taken him here against his will.

He found some clothes that fit well enough—sweatpants with a drawstring he could tighten, a sweater that hid the shape of his body in thick corded plaits—and he went to find the dining room.

He got there and stopped, shocked, in the doorway. The spread was beautiful, candlelight bouncing off every gold surface.

“Thank you for joining me.” Already, Augustine was pouring two glasses of wine. “Please, sit.”

Okay, so he was a proper gentleman sort of dragon. Plus or minus being a bit of a pushy asshole.

“Thank you,” Declan said as he took his seat and reached for the wine glass. If he didn’t get too drunk, it’d be fine. He could take the edge off and stop—stop thinking about how gently Augustine had guided his chin up in the bedroom, how handsome he looked now, in a proper jacket.

Augustine served him a plate with some kind of long rice, asparagus, and salmon crusted in herbs.

“It looks wonderful,” Declan said, tamping down any feeling.

“Try it.” Augustine sat and picked up his utensils too.

Declan took the first bite. Citrus burst over his tongue, the salmon rich and fatty beneath, cooked to perfection. Damn it all.

He sighed, swallowed, and set his wrist on the edge of the table.

“It’s good,” he said. “But are you going to tell me what you wanted to talk about? ’Cause from where I’m sitting, I don’t think there’s much to be misunderstood between us.” Augustine had taken him, and Declan wanted to leave. Cut and dry.

Augustine frowned. “You eat, I’ll talk.”

“Deal.” Declan took another bite. It really was good, you know, for a last meal trapped in a dragon’s lair.

“You’re my mate.” He announced it simply, as if there were nothing more certain the whole world over.

Declan bit out a laugh. “Your mate?”

Serious as ever, Augustine nodded. “I sensed it when I saw you. You are the one I’m meant to share my hoard with, my life with.”

“Just... based on what? A look at me?”

Great, so now dragons went around thinking hotties were treasures to collect. Come to think of it, Elrith and this dragon might have a fair amount in common.

Declan grimaced. He stopped eating.

“You don’t like it?” Augustine nodded toward Declan’s plate.

Declan’s fingers twitched around his fork, then tightened. With a forced smile, he lifted a bite to his lips, chewed, swallowed, even hummed his supposed pleasure.

Across the table, Augustine scowled at him. “You don’t have to lie.”

Annoyance prickled up the back of Declan’s neck. He set his fork down. “I’m not lying ,” he said, voice strained as he stared down at his half-eaten plate. It was well cooked, even delicious, if he were in a better mood. “I said it was good.”

Declan had always liked fish. Elrith favored steak, as rare as he could get it. Jasper had a sweet tooth. Sasha loved fruit. Malcolm seemed to subsist entirely on gin. But Declan liked fish.

“It is hard for me to focus on food when I’m... hungry for another kind of sustenance.”

Augustine cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowed. “I could make you something else,” he offered, eager to please already, no matter how cold Declan was toward him.

“I’m an incubus,” Declan blurted out. There was nothing for it—Augustine wouldn’t understand if Declan beat around the bush. “I appreciate good food, and this is... this is good. As much as anything can be while you’re held against your will in a mad dragon’s lair.” The last, he mumbled to Augustine’s growing scowl.

Declan sighed and shook it off. “I appreciate the effort. I do. But food is... secondary. It doesn’t keep me alive. I live off of sex. Sexual energy. That’s the sustenance I’m talking about.”

For a long, quiet moment, Augustine simply stared at him. Declan held his eye, unwilling to be cowed by a dragon, but Augustine still looked serious.

Then seriously interested.

“If that’s what you need?—”

Declan cut him off with a scoff and a hard shake of his head. “Nope. No. No that is not what I’m saying. Me being an incubus? That’s how I know I’m not your mate. You saw me, sure. And maybe you reacted. You wanted to fuck me. You wouldn’t be the first. It’s how we work. How we feed. We tempt people. I’m not your mate, Augustine. I just caught your eye, because I’m wired to do that. And if dragons have mates, well, then you’re wired to get confused by my influence. That’s all.”

In a split second, Augustine went from curious and involved to deeply affronted. “That is not all ,” he spat. “You are my mate. I have never felt this way about another. You are mine .”

Declan flinched. That was the sort of claim Elrith would make when assembling his army of demons, barely past puberty, to lock down his own influence.

When he took a breath, his nose flared. He drew the cool air deep, then stuck up his chin. “How many incubi have you met?”

Augustine only frowned. His chin jutted out just as far as Declan’s.

Sighing, the stiffness went out of Declan’s spine. He slumped over. His forearms hit the table. It was just as he thought—Augustine hadn’t met any.

“You can’t love me, dragon. It’s not how we work. Incubi don’t... we don’t mate. We rarely settle down at all. And I—I never fuck the same person twice, so you should just keep that undoubtedly gorgeous dragon dick tucked away, let me go, and try again later. With someone else.”

He’d find someone nicer. Hell, someone nice. But he’d picked up the wrong guy if he was looking for a mate.

That wasn’t Declan. He was, at best, reclusive.

At worst, he was afraid, and petty, and vengeful. He was Elrith’s stubborn, unwanted son—an incubus who didn’t hunt, and a nymph who didn’t sing.

And yet, they’d reached an impasse.

“No,” Augustine responded, his voice low and quiet, but loud enough that Declan felt it in his heart like a bass drum’s resonance. “I desire no other.”

Declan couldn’t swallow down the bitter laugh when he met Augustine’s eye again. “Yes, indeed. Nothing’s more important than what you desire, dragon. Not one damn thing.”