it.
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic about it,” I muttered, making Hiram snort.
“Hold on, babe. I’m thinking. I don’t do this kind of thing. I’m the funny one.” The funny one. Was that how he thought of himself?
“Why?”
“Why what?” he asked, running his hands through his perfectly mussed brown hair.
“Why are you the funny one?”
“I'm the youngest of twelve. My mother always gave me a lot of attention — maybe too much, honestly — but my older brothers had better things to do than hang out with me. When I started being funnier, they started being more interested in me.” Hiram shrugged.
“That makes sense,” I replied, nodding slowly, looking at the outline of the mural opposite rather than in Hiram’s striking gray eyes. “But you don't need to be the funny one here, not all the time at least. You can be sad. You can be angry. You can be honest. You've already proven you can be an asshole.”
Hiram tipped his head back and laughed, a proper rich, delicious sounding laugh that I hadn't realized how much I missed hearing until that moment. There were moments when his easy going persona was a front, but when Hiram laughed, he laughed like he meant it.
“I promise, I'm not usually an asshole. Well, not a malicious asshole, at least. I could work on the other stuff. Find a happy medium between being an asshole and a funny guy.”
I snorted. “That sounds like a good place to start.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes, each absorbing what the other had said. I wouldn't admit it — because I was still feeling sulky about the whole thing — but it was so nice just being near him again. The emptiness in my chest filled more each day, but the distance between Hiram and I had felt like a block that was stopping it from healing.
I would need to make a final decision to either commit to being with them or not soon, because I already felt like I wouldn't be able to walk away this time.
“So… are we good, Shira?” Hiram asked hopefully.
“Not even close. But we're better.”
“I'll take better for now, babe. Could I, uh, maybe have a hug?”
I turned my head to look at him, blinking slowly. “A hug?”
“You know, when we wrap our arms around each other and like, hold on…?”
“Yes, thank you, I understand the concept. I guess I'm not used to being asked for hugs, that's all,” I muttered uncomfortably, scooting closer to Hiram as he lifted his arm to make room for me. I'd never gotten this close to Hiram before. He smelled incredible. Like the most delicious forest pine and something inexplicably masculine.
“You're cold,” Hiram murmured. I nodded — dragon dens were much cooler than fae tree houses or goblin apartments. “Come here.”
I let him scoop his arm under my bent knees and drape my legs over his outstretched ones, confused the entire time about what he was doing. Hiram smirked, tucking my feet under his warm thigh, instantly warming them. It was very... intimate. It didn't feel bad, though. If anything, it was nice. Comforting. I leaned my head against his shoulder, smiling as I felt him smell my hair. Strange dragon.
“Did you just sniff me?”
“Fuck yeah. You smell so good, babe. Like wildflowers. And seduction.”
I felt my blush go all the way from the top of my head to the bottom of my toes. “Seduction doesn't have a scent.”
Hiram hummed, sounding amused. “I beg to differ.”
I tilted my head back to look up at him. All of my mates were attractive — the gods had been generous on that front — but Hiram was remarkably handsome. The angles of his face were sharp and defined, and his golden skin almost glowed, to say nothing of his unique gray eyes. I wanted to paint him, to capture the impossible symmetry of his features, but he was arrogant enough as it was and he didn't need any encouragement.
The corners of his mouth tilted up as I perused his face, and he eventually tipped his head down to meet my gaze after he'd let me have my fill. The movement brought our mouths so close together that our breaths mingled and the fluttering feeling in my stomach started up in earnest.
“Can I kiss you, Shira?” Hiram breathed, his pupils dilated as he stared intently at my lips that suddenly felt far too dry. I licked them and his eyes followed the movement hungrily.
“I'm still mad at you,” I whispered.
“But?”
“I