“The cops said that he was dropped off right outside the precinct doors…” Words trailed off, and Alaric sucked in a breath. “Did you fly to Toronto and back as a dragon, or on a plane?”
“It was faster flying there as a dragon. I arranged for one of my planes for the trip back. I did not want to carry a screaming mortal who might die of fright, or worse, piss himself from terror. Once we landed back in Montreal I did make sure to show him who he was really messing with, and convinced him that turning himself in and confessing would be the safest option. He wisely decided to take my advice.”
“I bet he did.” Alaric snickered with glee. “I never met him, but from what my mom told me, he was a serious piece of work. He was sweet and loving right up until he got the money, and then he said some horrible things to her, and took her future with him when he left. Thank you again for what you did.”
“You’re welcome.” Tarquin gestured with his free hand to Alaric’s plate. “Are you done?”
“I am. It was delicious. Thank you for feeding me.”
“Would you like a tour?”
“I’d love one.”
Chapter 7
Alaric held onto Tarquin’s big hand and refused to let go, not that Tarquin was trying to shake him off. In fact, the closer that Alaric got, the more pleased Tarquin became.
The penthouse was massive. He knew Tarquin told him at one point how many square feet it was, but he was having trouble remembering after he saw the huge library, the massive kitchen, the formal dining room with seating for twenty people, a movie theatre, the private apartment elevator that went from the first penthouse level to the roof, and the numerous guest bedrooms. Tarquin even had an office at the penthouse, just as big as his other office at work, and each room had a marvelous view of Montreal and the surrounding area.
They paused outside a huge set of doors made of dark cherry wood and gleaming brass handles. It was on the second level, almost in the middle of the penthouse, and a small, excited part of him was hoping it was Tarquin’s bedroom.
“I have never shown anyone else this room before. Not even Cariste or Cerwyn have ever stepped beyond the threshold. It holds my most precious treasures.” Tarquin's expression was grave, eyes dark and mysterious. Holding secrets.
Breath catching in his throat, Alaric swallowed hard. “Your hoard?” He struggled to contain his racing pulse. “You don’t need to show me. That has to be a very personal thing, and we just met.”
“I trust you.”
Those three words leveled his anxiety. This dragon of power and majesty, of immeasurable strength, trusted him, insignificant and awkward Alaric Keening. Someone once called him a hot mess, and part of him couldn’t disagree. Tarquin uttering those words did a lot to bolster his rocky self-confidence. He would not let Tarquin down.
Tarquin touched a handle and magic sparked briefly, a sharp blue much the same shade as the lightning Tarquin could call as a dragon. The door latch opened with a soft snick, and Tarquin pushed one of the doors open.
“Come, my treasure.”
Alaric followed Tarquin through the doorway. It was dark, and he stopped and waited a couple steps past the threshold as Tarquin shut the door. A faint whisper of magic shivered and echoed in the darkness, and candles gradually lit around the periphery.
Each cluster of candles and candelabra illuminated a section of the room. It was massive, the ceiling somehow feeling taller than the rest of the rooms in the penthouse, and the room felt wider than it should be with guest bedrooms on either side. The floor was black and shiny, covered in rugs in a variety of styles and a riot of colors and patterns. Small tables covered in artifacts that glittered in the candlelight dotted the space, interspersed with spills of gold coins and jewelry hanging from tiny stands and display cases.
On a nearby table was a diamond bigger than his fist, catching the light and tossing rainbows around the room. A large dagger in a jeweled scabbard lay beside it, covered in rubies that flashed crimson. A large mirror partially covered by a swath of red silk took up one corner of the room, the frame gold and bronze. What appeared to be a medieval throne was laden with small wooden chests and bolts of expensive-looking fabrics, and a cloak with an emerald clasp hung off the back. Swords lay across piles of gold and precious gems, one great broadsword nearly as tall as Alaric leaned against a huge armoire, one door open to reveal clothing from previous centuries.
Candles burst into flame deeper into the room, revealing a heap of silk and satin pillows strewn about with thick blankets and a stack of books beside it, one book open on a pillow with a blue gem the size of a chicken egg holding the pages open.
Nearby was a pile of gemstones sitting atop an old wooden chest, the stones rough-cut and gleaming, one of them a geode as big as a pumpkin split open to reveal dark green crystals. There were a lot of gems throughout the room, and Alaric suspected that Tarquin’s favorite colors might be blue and green, given how many gems of those hues were scattered about his hoard.
He stood in awe, Tarquin patiently letting him take it all in, to absorb the shock and the sights to behold in a real dragon’s hoard.
“Wow.” He breathed out. He took another look, and after another moment, decided that it would take him weeks to see and learn everything the room held. So much history in one space. One thing he did notice was that out of every form of treasure imaginable, it was books that took up the most space. Sure, there was a lot of gold, but on every flat surface, there was a stack of books. And along the walls, safely spaced away from the candles, in the deeper shadows, were tall, dark bookshelves absolutely full to brimming with tomes.
“Books! Look at all the books,” Alaric sighed happily. “I bet you curl up and read in here for hours, don’t you?”
Tarquin chuckled, a deep pleasant sound that made Alaric smile goofily. “I do. In fact, it is one of my favorite things to do.”
“That sounds absolutely lovely.” He was only slightly jealous that Tarquin got to laze about for as long as he wished and could read as much as he wanted. The last few weeks had been full of stress and worry, and what he wouldn’t give for some time to relax.
Well, he could now. Tarquin had given him the chance to start living again.
“I don’t want you to think I’m just here for your money or your treasure,” he blurted out, suddenly worried. He peeked up at Tarquin through his lashes, holding his breath.
“The connection between us tells me the truth, trésor. You need not fear that I believe that of you. I can sense your sincerity.” Tarquin's gaze was tender and warm.
A large thumb brushed over the back of his hand, and he shivered. He glanced down at their hands, his hand paler and smaller, Tarquin’s hand slightly darker, stronger, more powerful, but so very gentle with him. He was mesmerized by the slow sweep of that thumb, the sure grip around his hand, and he swayed into Tarquin, needing to feel his solid, reassuring presence.
A low grumble emanated from a muscular chest when he turned and slipped into Tarquin’s embrace. What was better than being held like he was precious? The quiet hum of their intermingled magics burst into life and then settled back into a pleasant background hum. It felt amazing to be connected to another person in such a way. He felt more alive than ever, even as he felt like he was melting into Tarquin, relaxed and content.