Deven and the Dragon - Eliot Grayson Page 0,17

few minutes to gawk. His mission — his heart sank down again. Fuck, he had a job to do. But that didn’t mean he could turn away from this.

“You’re really certain?” Fred nodded. Well, then. “Thank you, yes,” he said, already turning back to the shelf as if drawn by some kind of spell. For all he knew there were books of magic on these shelves. A shiver of delight went down his spine. Why not, anyway? Dragons were made of magic, weren’t they? Why wouldn’t they have magic books?

He didn’t even hear Fred leave, he was so absorbed in the first book that caught his eye. It had a purple binding — purple, of all the extravagant things. The rich cream paper smelled of intrigue and secrets, and the text was in some utterly impenetrable language. Deven stroked it reverently and then slid it back onto the shelf, moving along until he found some titles that he could actually read.

A Chronicle of the Peloponnesian War caught his eye, and he pulled it down and flipped through it. Dozens of maps and woodblock-print drawings of statues and famous landmarks were interspersed throughout hundreds of pages of dense text.

Deven smiled, dropped into the nearest armchair, and lost track of the world around him.

Chapter Five

Half an hour. Half a bloody hour, and Deven hadn’t so much as shifted, except to turn the pages of his book.

Well. Fiora’s book, and seeing it in Deven’s huge but careful hands was making Fiora’s belly flutter in a way he hated to find pleasant. A man who loved books. A tall, handsome, charming man who loved books, even. A tall, handsome, charming man who could use those big hands to carefully handle something else…what a sight, the sort of vision that would fill any book-loving (and handsome-man loving) dragon’s heart with yearning.

And Fiora loved books. Rather more than most people could even imagine, and even more than he loved tall men with rough but careful hands. Gold was useful, and beautiful, of course, but it didn’t thrill him the way a book could do, with its unknown secrets all waiting to be discovered.

Fred should never have shown Deven the library, even if this was only the public part of Fiora’s collection, and not his obsessively beloved stash of precious volumes that no one but he ever touched and no one else save Andrei even knew existed. If Fred had skipped over the library, then Deven couldn’t have run his hands over the books the way he might over a lover’s skin. Deven wouldn’t have chosen one of those books to read so intently, and Fiora would not have had the opportunity to spy on him through a hidden panel in the wall the library shared with a dim and crowded room used for storage of excess books.

Blaming Fred for his own weakness was satisfying but ultimately useless, as the problem of Deven remained. And seemed like it would remain indefinitely, if the comfortable way he’d crossed his ankles and slouched into Fiora’s favorite chair was any indication.

A pointed cough sounded from behind him, and Fiora nearly levitated into the air. He slapped the panel shut and spun on his heel, tucking his hands behind him like a guilty schoolboy as if he could hide what he’d been doing.

“What’s wrong with you, sneaking up on me like that? I like my privacy!”

Andrei shrugged. “So do others, my lord. Such as when they’re reading and believe themselves to be alone.”

“Humph,” Fiora said. And then, because that seemed weak, he added, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Which was, of course, twice as pathetic.

Andrei stared at him down his nose. “I was about to send Fred to conduct your guest to lunch,” he said, not even troubling to mock Fiora’s nonsense. “Are you going to join him?”

“How can I?” Fiora slumped back against the wall in despair. “As a dragon, I’m at least — imposing. Terrifying! I’m terrifying, aren’t I, Andrei?”

Was that a smile Andrei was trying to hide, as he turned his head? The bastard. “Of course you are, my lord,” he said soothingly. “Although if you have to ask…”

“Go ahead, laugh at me,” Fiora muttered. “You’re as tall as he is, at least. As a human I’m not frightening at all, just small and thin and odd. I breathe fire. I could destroy entire cities. Well, given a few days and a couple of decent meals, and not too many men with heavy crossbows, anyway. It’s