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“Because dragons are too large for us, and she feared my first time with you might have left me sore. But I endured it and found you quite skillful.” Jeron blinked at Rath, eyes fluttering with pure adoration.

Even when Rath hurt him, he still cared for him, a creature of sharp tooth and vicious fang. A creature of fire and death.

“I did not know this, but that’s why we have bedservants, to tame our urges and give us the experience we need to pleasure our mates. I am fortunate you found me adequate.”

Jeron reached up and unfastened the chain from his horns, reverently placing it in his bedside jewelry bowl.

The bands stayed on, a permanent fixture since he was a youngling, his crown of sorts.

He let his fingers caress them, trailing down the wickedly ridged surface of them, his finger flicking over every rim.

“And I would have gently guided you if it were not pleasurable, so you know I’m not telling an untruth. ”

Rath tilted his head, his expression lost and unsure. He genuinely worried, but the sensation of his mate flickering in and out of his mind had left him so very tired. And it was a bedservant’s prime directive and utmost skill to lull a dragon into peaceful complacency.

“You have the most beautiful horns. Have I told you?” Jeron smiled.

“You have, quite often.” Rath settled back, lost in thought.

“But I appreciate the compliment. And I think I will take that poppy milk. Perhaps it’ll help.

Perhaps not. In either case, I’ll sleep.

” He’d had precious little of it in the past few days.

Waking from cold sweats and lashings made his stomach twist.

Jeron left, headed toward his nearby quarters.

It’d never occurred to Rath that his size hurt the poor boy.

He never considered his pain, only their combined pleasure.

And while the appetite of a dragon was prodigious, it was uncouth to spread their seed about, which is why the bedservants were necessary.

And Jeron had been, up until his mate’s wakening, a good one.

The bitter milk of the poppy crossed his lips, and his mind curled about his magic.

It was akin to the past few days, the shape of his mate’s soul, amorphous and unformed, unaware of what he was.

Were he only the slightest bit aware, he’d be calling out for Rath.

To not tell an Ashen was a crime. The dragons would surely strike out, burn village and city alike down for keeping an Ashen one from their mate, especially Mezerath, the youngest king of the dragons.

He hadn’t even lived a full century, yet.

But the younger a dragon mated—the stronger their bond.

He pulled the thread of his mate’s mind, drawing him ever closer in.

Come to me, young one. Open your eyes so that I might see.

Rath waited for the whisper of his mind to meet his mate. The veil lifted and darkness still surrounded, not even moonlight from a window.

“Lyss?” His voice trembled and the stench of mildew surrounded him, laced with blood, Ashen blood. His sleepy words were thick with pain.

Someone had harmed his mate, and Rath was incensed.

You know me not, sweet boy. Tell me what has been done to you?

“I took my lashings,” the boy said, softly and sweetly, a mumble over tired lips.

And why were you lashed?

“Earl Tippin doesn’t like people saying I’m his son. I’m his bastard.” The admission turned reedy and thin, a voice that needed strong arms and wanted for a warm nest, one that had never known pleasure from the flat things of humans. How he wished he knew what the boy looked like.

Earl Tippin? Of Monsmount? The valley earldom? Rath had known the land as a young dragon, still glued to his father’s side. They produced fine stone there. Whitestone fit for kings, thrones, tombs and statues.

“Mm-hmm.” The voice trailed off, breathy and sweet.

Tell me of yourself, young one.

“I’m a footman and a groundskeeper. I dig the graves and see to it that Earl Tippin’s carriages are cared for. I also manage the estate.”

That is your job. But tell me, what is it that you love? What is it that you hate?

“I love… It is of no consequence what I love, for it is forbidden, for it’s the vile nature of a dragon.” The words ended bitterly, and Rath hesitated.

You love men?

“I prefer to say that I love no women.” The sleepy grumbles of his voice petered off. “Dunno what to do with ’em.”

You and I both, my friend. Men are far simpler.

Rath bathed in the revelation that he already held the proclivities, but his mind was poisoned when it came to dragonkind, his own kind.

An Ashen was one mating away from learning his dragon, taking his wings, and being forever changed.

Without it, he would wither away as human.

“You speak truths.” He chuckled, and Rath bathed in the soft sound until he groaned and winced.

Are you in pain? A redundant question. Of course he was. He’d been lashed.

“Yeah. He struck so hard he broke the beads off his scourge again. I’ll get over it. It’ll heal. My back is too scarred to tell anymore.”

Scarred? An Ashen one’s skin didn’t scar unless it was done on purpose. Silver even then, unless his mark… He needed to see. Where are you and why is it so dark?

“Dungeon. He’ll let me out when there’s more work to do. ’M tired and thirsty. Can I sleep please?”

Rath’s blood boiled, and he brushed his mental fingers over the shape of this boy in his mind.

What is thy name, precious one?

“Asha.”

They’d known what the boy was from birth, in his name even, marking him as mate, as property of dragons, the unburnable, the Ashen ones. One might as well have named a dragon Drago .

Asha… Saying it aloud made the word melt on his tongue, in his mind, in his heart and soul, where the mating magic flowed. This was his mate, and his word was written on his heart. Heal well. I’ll come for you.