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Graeme Kynock slept lightly, dreaming he was in dragon form, reclining on a pile of gold. The pile shifted and moved underneath him, and the coins tinkled like music, which slowly melded into the sounds of a voice.
We belong with ye , the voice said from all around, again and again.
Graeme woke with a start, the phrase still echoing wildly.
We belong with ye.
He sat up in bed, wearing only silk boxers with no blanket, one hand on his forehead, eyes still closed, trying to recapture the dream. He pondered for a few minutes, until he was certain he’d captured it all.
Aye, deae , as ye wish , he said in resigned ruhi , directing it to Rhen, keeping his opinions out of it. Rhen wanted her gold brought to Serenity and the task fell to Graeme, the last dragen. He would do what was asked of him.
He dropped his hand and looked around his bedroom, taking note of the sounds of the storm outside. His mate Heather slept beside him, beautifully naked, her blonde hair loose on the pillow, and she’d kicked her blanket off sometime earlier, like usual. A golden armband flashed on her left arm, just above the elbow, matching the one on his right arm—their binding rings. Heather moved in her sleep, then moaned like she was hurting, and curled an arm around her four-months-pregnant belly, bringing her legs up.
Graeme watched her closely, wondering what ailed her, and thinking of ways he could provide comfort. When she moaned seemingly in pain again, he got out of bed and transformed into a dragon the size of a big dog, tucking his boxers into his internal cache, then he settled in on the floor next to the bed. He shot a stream of fire out of his snout straight at Heather’s belly, while dragen magic protected the linens and bed.
Heather settled right away. Her body relaxed and her breathing deepened. Graeme was glad. He stayed where he was, breathing fire onto her in slow waves.
CRACK.
A noise like cannon fire sounded from miles north of their cabin, and then their power went out. Heather grumbled in her sleep but didn’t wake. The battery-operated clock on the nightstand said it was 3:04. The generator rumbled to life.
Graeme decided he would check on the weather later, for now, he would take care of Heather. He returned his attention to his bond mate, caring for her tenderly, with a special gentleness forged from the deep despair that he’d left behind the first time she’d touched him.