Her Dragon Captor (Her Dragon King Duet 1)

I turn to see Damianos emerging from the kitchen’s other knobbed door. A set of black steel stairs peek out at me before he closes it behind him. And turns the lock.

“What’s down there?” I ask.

“Some things the last Colby left behind,” Damianos answers. “I was hoping I might find the computer he used to make all our arrangements.”

“He didn’t have bioware?” I ask, my eyes lingering on that lock. If he’s no longer down there, why did Damianos lock the door behind him?

“Ah, yes, he did. But, of course, I told him to only access his communication lines when he needed to hail me. For that reason, I simply told him to make use of his father’s laptop to carry out my orders.”

“And now you’re trying to find that laptop because why exactly?” I ask.

“I was hoping to make some changes to our standing grocery order.”

“Oh, I’m totally on board with that,” I answer, voice light as I send lots of “sure I believe that” down our mate bond. “How about I go downstairs to the basement and take a look, too? You didn’t grow up with a twin like I did, but I can’t tell you how many times one of us would be looking for something, mention it, and then the other twin says, look it’s right there. Two eyes are better than one and all that. Especially since mine can actually see in stereoscope.”

I reach for the knob, but he stops me, his hand wrapping around my wrist. “I assure you, Reverence. I searched quite thoroughly.”

I tighten my hand on the knob. Torn between wanting the tender and new feelings from last night to keep on burning and my natural distrust of the dude who kidnapped me.

“I want to trust you, but I need you to swear to me. Like, swear to me on this baby that you didn’t lie about letting Colby go,” I say in the end. “Tell me…tell me you’re not keeping him in that basement right under my nose.”

Instead of answering out loud, he uses his free hand to pull a phone out of the pocket of his trousers and make a call.

“Hello?”

“Hi…is this Colby?” I ask, frowning up at Damianos.

“No, this is Maxwell Kreft. Colby was my father,” the voice on the other side of the line answers. He has a British accent that sounds just as posh as the one I remember. Only a lot more suspicious as he asks, “Who is this? How did you get my number?”

Damianos presses his finger into the red phone symbol before I can answer.

“His name wasn’t Colby,” I point out.

“No, his father named him something else. Sometimes the Colbys do that. I believe they think it will save their sons from their destinies. Humans can be…the kindest phrase I can utilize here is ‘magical thinkers.’”

I stare at him. Glance back at the phone. Then I say, “I believe you. Why do I believe you when I barely trust anybody else outside my family?”

“Because unlike ‘anybody else,’ I want nothing more than to revere you, to be the drakkon you can trust with your life.” He gazes down at me as he says this, his expression open, sincerity radiating over our mate bond.

I breathe in his reassuring words, then sigh out as I let go of the knob.

We locate the computer less than twenty minutes later in the top drawer of a side table in the living room. Like it was just waiting for us to find it.

I haven’t used a computer, since I was, like, in junior high. And from what I can see, Damianos has exclusively employed minions to do all of his dirty and practical work. But between the two of us, we manage to change the order to include things I like instead of a bunch of weird British shit I will never eat, like mushy peas and Marmite (seriously, so gross).

That very same night, I’m chilling in a comfortable maternity dress and a sweater cardigan instead of a nightgown. And eating from a tub of ice cream on the couch.

“I’m not going to say I forgot the collar like you promised,” I tell him. “But this Ben & Jerry’s is bringing me real close. Though I think my body’s not used to dessert anymore. My stomach’s having a weird reaction.”

“I am glad you like your dessert,” Damianos says over our mate bond. “Apparently our son likes it too.”

I follow his gaze down to my belly, and then just about have a heart attack when I see that the heavy bowling ball inside of me is now visibly squirming. Like, Alien style. So all the stomach grumbling wasn’t a reaction to the dessert then.

“Okay, that’s new,” I say, lowering the spoon. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.

“It is a fortunate sign,” Damianos assures me. “Many drakki perish when their babies begin to move about in this manner too early. My own mother died when I broke the egg inside of her with my movements.”