A long silence. Then he says, “No, my queen, I do not expect you to suddenly decide to forgive me for my many wrongs. But it is my fervent hope that by the time our hatchling is born your flame turns yellow for me and that it will lead you to forgive me for what I have done.”
“What do you mean about my flame turning yellow?” I ask, so, so confused.
“The Betrayer King’s flame burns a pure yellow when he talks of his mate. He told me her flame began to burn this color for him too before they parted after years together in the Ice Age. I believe the emotion is referred to as ‘love’ in your human language.”
Love…I choke on the notion. “Wait, you want me to fall in love with you before the baby is born and tell my sister no harm, no foul about you kidnapping me the next time I see her?”
“Yet another clever summation of my dialogue,” he answers, his admiration evident as he smiles. “But enough talk of the future, your flame tells me you are hungry. I will wait for you in your room so as not to offend you with my admiring gaze when you rise from the bath.”
With that, he stands up and leaves the room.
Leaving me behind, stunned and flabbergasted.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Stunned and flabbergasted. That’s pretty much the way I stay in the hours that follow.
Damianos Drákon is ruthless, arrogant, the kind of asshole who would have the guy he hypnotized into becoming your boyfriend collar you and then threaten to kill himself.
But he’s waiting like a lap dog when I come out of the bathroom, this time wrapped in a big fluffy towel he left behind.
I don’t know whether to say, “Hello again” or “What the hell?”
I settle for eyeing him mistrustfully as I edge past him to the closet.
But I can feel his gaze on me as I slip a new nightgown over my head. Glowing and hot.
“What do you wish to do today, Reverence?” he asks behind me.
“Go home and sleep in my own bed,” I shoot back, shutting the closet door. “Resume my duties as the queen of North Dakota, like I was supposed to before you kidnapped me.
In an instant, he closes the space between us. “We are each other’s homes now.” His voice is calm and gentle inside my head like he’s explaining simple facts to a six-year-old. “You are my queen, and my bed is yours should ever you have wish to share it.”
God, it’s hard to think straight with his voice inside my head, dark and rich as chocolate syrup. Total temptation.
For a moment, I can’t help but imagine the picture he’s trying to paint. Us…not prisoner and captor, but the kind of couple that would let a bath turn into other things….
Exasperated face emoji…what am I doing? Why would I even let my mind stray down that road?
This is a trick. It has to be, I remind myself before answering out loud, “Okay, fine. I guess we could binge something. Does this place have a TV?”
It does. After a lunch, consisting of a simple turkey sandwich for me, and a pile of lunchmeat for him, Damianos takes me into the living room and asks the house to watch TV. A pre-biochip era flat screen emerges from the wall in front of the couch, one so old, it doesn’t even project holos.
But I grew up with this kind of set, so after a few minutes or so of watching a superhero movie from the 2010s, I get used to the flat way entertainments used to look…if not the dragon shifter sitting at the opposite end of the couch.
What the hell is he up to? I wonder, frowning. But Escape is still Plan A, B, and C. Maybe if I act like I’m buying his nice dragon act, I can make an opportunity to get the hell out of here.
Uncle Kyle had wielded friendliness like a weapon, while Uncle Clyde had done the necessary, dirty work behind the scenes. They’d both warned me that I would have to figure out how to fulfill both roles since I’d opted not to take on a beta. Real Talk 100, I’d been more worried about the friendly part than the behind-the-scenes ass-kicking. But now, here was my chance to see if I could be half the diplomat Uncle Kyle was.
“So what do you usually watch back in Greece?” I make myself ask Damianos during the obligatory breather scene when the superhero and her love interest talk and actually get to know each other while on their way to another fight.
“I do not watch such entertainments,” he answers, immediately shifting his eyes to me as if I were way more interesting than anything happening on screen. “After spending my early millennia here in the part of Zone 4 that would eventually come to be known as Greece, I much prefer live entertainments. But I even stopped attending those after a certain point. Most of the music produced after the baroque period is complete and utter trash. European music especially was perfect before Mozart came along with his juvenile, overly flamboyant compositions.”