“Your treasure?” Alaric whispered softly.
“A mortal who can bond with a dragon, to their mutual benefit. The mortal gains power, resiliency, and adoration. The dragon fulfills the driving need to hoard, and gains someone to love, cherish, and protect for the rest of their days.”
“We met on Monday. Are you sure?” Alaric didn’t sound doubtful, more afraid Tarquin would change his mind.
“Absolutely certain,” Tarquin vowed. “You are mine, as surely as I am yours.” He paused. “If you want to be my treasure. I will not pressure you into saying yes.”
“I want to be your treasure.” Alaric replied quickly, adamantly. Alaric chuckled after a long, peaceful moment. “I made a wish a short while back…”
Tarquin smiled, and finished his sentence. “To a podcast, perhaps?”
“You listen to that podcast too?” Alaric asked, disbelieving.
“I do, it’s my favorite. I pieced together that Rick the Caller was Alaric Keening after I took you home.” He hoped Alaric wasn’t upset, but the exuberant embrace he got from his treasure stilled his fears.
Alaric hugged him tightly, burrowing his nose in Tarquin’s jacket. They stayed like that until Cariste knocked on the door and opened it a few inches. The twinkle in their orange eyes told Tarquin Cariste approved, though their tone was nothing but professional. “Sir, your meeting will begin in five minutes.”
“Thank you, Cariste,” Tarquin replied, and Cariste withdrew. He could see several people milling about out in the lobby, heading to the conference room the next door down.
“I should probably get to work or something,” Alaric said with a smile in his voice. “Before my boss gets mad at me.”
Tarquin gently disengaged from the embrace, smiling down at Alaric. “Your boss adores you. Cariste has a stack of documents that need to be authenticated. They’ve been checked for curses, so don’t worry about that happening again.”
“Did you find out who tried to kill you? Who cursed the deeds?” Alaric asked, and Tarquin guided him to the door as they talked.
“That’s what this meeting is about, actually. All parties involved in the purchase of those properties are here, and hopefully by the end of this meeting I’ll have it sorted.” Tarquin gestured to Cariste. “My eminently capable assistant has made sure the involved parties are all present. The villain will be revealed in short order.”
“Will you be safe?” Alaric asked when they reached the lobby outside Tarquin’s office, turning left down the hall toward the conference room. Cariste followed at their heels.
“Yes,” Tarquin promised. “Mortal magic poses little threat to me.”
People walked around them, many of them nodding respectfully to Tarquin as they entered the conference room. It was huge, the table able to seat at least thirty people, the room easily dwarfing the rest of the executive floor in sheer floor space. Half the people arriving for the meeting were still clustered in the lobby, slowly making their way into the conference room.
“I’ll come find you after the meeting,” Tarquin said, and Alaric blushed hot. “Cariste left the folders in your office. See you in a little while.”
Alaric nodded, his eyes bright with longing, and Tarquin resisted kissing his treasure in front of everyone. They reluctantly let go of each other, and Tarquin entered the conference room, eager to get things started so they could end all the faster. He had vengeance to mete out and a treasure to court.
Chapter 5
Alaric sighed, watching Tarquin’s broad shoulders disappear into the crowd. His mind was a jumble of wonder, disbelief, and a tsunami of joy that swept aside any reservations he might have had.
He never expected to fall in love, and he never thought it would come as fast as a lightning strike. He smiled to himself as he turned from the door, heading back to his office, dodging people as they all headed toward the conference room. Cariste smiled at him as they swept past, and he blushed. There was no way Tarquin’s executive assistant didn’t know what they had been doing in Tarquin’s office.
He accidentally bumped shoulders with an older man in a dark gray suit, bouncing off his larger frame and hitting the wall. “Watch where you’re going, young man,” the businessman blustered, dismissing Alaric as he wiped at his jacket. He didn’t even apologize for nearly knocking Alaric over.
Alaric’s shields were still down from when he shared magic with Tarquin, and the brief touch was enough to make him ill, the invasion of the stranger’s aura leaving a foul taste in the back of his mouth. He glared at the oblivious man who resumed walking toward the conference room, radiating anger, frustration, and a strange glimmer of fear.
The man was a mage. His magical signature was distinctive, and it took a second for Alaric to figure out how he knew it. This was the man who’d cursed the deeds, and Alaric could tell even though the other man was shielded—Tarquin’s magic hummed inside his aura, and the single touch from the collision in the hall was enough for his clairvoyance to get through the mage’s protections. Alaric lost sight of the mage as he entered the conference room, and his heart seized. He raced back down the hall, and pushed through the crowd, ignoring the angry shouts behind him as he ran into the room. The mage was walking to Tarquin, hand out in greeting, and Tarquin turned to shake his hand. Alaric stopped, breathing hard.
“Tarquin!” His dragon looked over the mage’s shoulder and they locked eyes—he pointed at the man, who had spun when Alaric called Tarquin’s name. “It’s him! He cursed the deeds!”
Magic exploded in the room as the mage snarled, realizing he was exposed. Rage bursting across his face, he threw a curse at Alaric, who threw himself to the side, people screaming. The mage readied another curse, and suddenly a large mass obscured Alaric’s view of his impending death.
With a roar that shook the whole room, Tarquin in his true form stood between Alaric and the mage, wings spread, tail thrashing across the floor. The spell unleashed and bounced harmlessly off dark gray and blue scales, vibrant cobalt sparks crawling over the floor as Tarquin’s talons gouged the carpet. The mage screamed as he tried to escape, and the pressure in the room changed, the hair along Alaric’s arms rising in response.
Lightning lanced through the air, spearing the mage as he tried to scramble to safety, throwing him off his feet and into the wall of windows. Glass cracked but didn’t shatter, and the mage slid slowly to the floor, collapsing in a puddle of limbs.
Security guards flowed into the room, surrounding the fallen mage. Tarquin growled, and carefully maneuvered his large bulk in the room, ducking his great head, long neck turning, eyes the color of thunderclouds finding Alaric where he lay sprawled on the floor from his dive.
Tarquin was marvelous. Storm gray and blue scales with deep blue wings, bright white spikes and talons, and fangs longer than his hand, with sparks of blue electric discharges dancing over his hide, Tarquin was a myth brought to life. Alaric breathed in the scent of rain and ozone, and Tarquin leaned down over him, sniffing at him gently.
“My treasure?” Tarquin spoke, even in this form, his voice grumbly and deep, a hint of a growl underneath. “Are you hurt?”