Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
It had been right there. He’d held it in his fucking hands.
And then it had all fallen apart as if it had been made of ash.
Damn hope. Dammit it to hell and back. All it ever did was hurt him, in the end.
Samuel could wrangle his disappointment back into line. He was an old hand at that. It was facing Dimitri that he couldn’t seem to stomach. How could he look into that beautiful man’s eyes and explain any of this shit?
Two strong arms caught him around the shoulders and hauled him to a stop. Samuel didn’t fight it, for once, just let himself fall into the embrace. Why fight it? It was inevitable anyway, and he couldn’t keep putting off the explanation. Not when Dimitri was actively treating him like a mage.
He had to set this man straight.
Although, god above, he’d rather swallow poison. The words felt that bitter and toxic in his mouth.
Dimitri folded over his back so he could speak right against Samuel’s temple. “Talk to me, Sammy. I need you to tell me everything.”
“This is why I keep telling you I’m not a mage.” Samuel closed his eyes, mostly in an effort to keep the frustrated tears at bay. Do not cry. Do not cry, dammit. “I can’t work magic. I’ve tried my entire life. I know the spells, I know the concepts, I have a firm grasp on how it all works. It’s that my magical core is broken. It’s inert. It can’t absorb or transmute magic on any level. Even with your dragon’s breath as a booster, it can’t.”
“This doesn’t make sense to me,” Dimitri murmured, and he did sound honestly confused.
“I know you guys keep saying I smell like a mage, but I’m telling you, it’s just my latent mage genes you’re smelling—”
“No, we don’t smell things like that,” Dimitri corrected, almost absently, as if he were thinking hard along a different line entirely. “Your mage core has to be present and active in order for us to smell you. It’s not you, precisely, that we smell. It’s the magic coming off you.”
Oh. Was that why they were so adamant, then?
Wait a damn minute! Now Samuel was confused.
“How can you possibly smell magic off me when my core is like this?”
“It’s a very good question. I think your core is there and trying to work, it’s just not cooperative. Either way, it’s there.”
Samuel shook his head in denial even before Dimitri finished his sentence. “No. Trust me, my family tested me in every way possible. They exhausted all possibilities. My core is a fragment of what it should be. I’m not a mage—”
“You have to be a mage, because you’re my mate.”
Over the years, Samuel had seen his computer freeze up for a long second before seeing the blue screen of death. His brain felt a lot like that in this moment. He was…what? He hadn’t heard that right. Never mind that Dimitri had spoken in English and was perfectly understandable, he’d heard it wrong. Must have.
The words reverberated and crashed through again. You’re my mate.
Samuel pulled sharply out of his arms, spinning around so he could see Dimitri’s face. He had to. Had to look into the man’s eyes to make sure he wasn’t teasing or joking or some such thing. It would be a sick joke, but it would make more sense than Dimitri being serious.
Dimitri was dead serious. His lips were pressed into a hard line while his brows were bunched together over his nose. Pale blue eyes met Samuel’s evenly, and there was a firmness there. A rock-solid confidence.
Misplaced confidence. Had to be. Because Samuel was not a mage. “Dimitri, you’re mistaken—”
“I’m not. Sorry to spring this on you, truly, but I’m not wrong.”
“No, you must be,” Samuel insisted, something like panic crawling up his throat. “I can’t be that, I’m not a mage!”
“You are. I promise you are. My dragon wouldn’t be reacting to you like this if you weren’t.”
“So that means your dragon is wrong—”
“It’s never wrong. Annoying, smug, but never wrong.”
It was true that in the stories, the dragons had always known who their mate was. They’d never been wrong. It was what had started the Dragon Wars with Kaiser Jaeggi, insane with jealousy because his dragon lover very firmly told him they weren’t mates.
Samuel shook the thought off. No, in this case, Dimitri was wrong. There was a mistake somewhere. “It’s only because I smell like a mage, your dragon thinks I’m an option, and—”
Dimitri cradled Sam’s face with both hands, his words soft and gentle, like he was coaxing some wounded animal. “My love, that’s not how this works. For a dragon, there’s only one mage. Ever. I can’t be mistaken about this. It’s not a possibility. If you were in my head, you’d see how sure I am of this. My dragon is insufferable right now, it’s so happy. Damn lizard is doing pirouettes because we finally found you. The earth is round, the sun rises in the east, and you are my mate. They’re all sure things.”