“Thank you. Be here this evening.” Sile hung up and turned, coming face-to-face with a stoney Teige, eyes hard and full of anger.
“There’s nothing we can do. It’s an official summons.” Gatlin held up his phone, and they turned as one to face a roused Viraj, sitting up in his taut shirt, belly swollen and full. He put so many Dettes to shame in that moment. His build solid and firm, jawline cut. He wasn’t any bit soft in the ways some Dettes were, but he was elegant and with that belly full of life, he was everything to them.
“Why do we need to leave?” Worry glimmered in his sharp features.
“Ashwin arrived in Chicago and is being held at the consulate. We need to leave ASAP.” Gatlin waved his phone at Viraj and flinched when he broke down with a terrified sob.
“Vivi…” Teige sagged pathetically. “I’m sorry.”
He sniffed lightly. “No use crying.” A few breaths later, he stood on shaking legs. “I’ll sleep in the car.”
“Fuck that. I’m bartering a private jet.” Teige turned and shuffled off. “You can sleep in first class.”
***
The private airport on the other side of town had a pilot and plane ready for them within an hour and a half. It wasn’t the fanciest of jets, but dragons had needs. They weren’t the only ones in the area, and it was sheer luck the jet was available so quickly.
Viraj bundled himself in a jacket; the spring heat a little uncomfortable in Louisiana that time of year. But, at least he could somewhat hide his condition. Rumor had spread that his designation had changed, and pups were on the way, but rumor and witness were two separate things, especially when the pilot was employed by the Zmei clan. Fortunately, though, Russians were fairly neutral.
For dragons, at least.
They didn’t make waves. Kept to themselves. Paired for love. Few clutches, but they survived.
Not like the Vritra.
And so, they rode north, taking off with turbulence into a still-rising sun. Viraj held his belly and did his best not to be sick most of the way, skin pale and brow twisted. “Three more hours,” he said.
It became a mantra, three hours,one hundred and eighty minutes. One hundred fifty minutes. One hundred nineteen minutes.
Two rows of seats faced one another near the middle of the plane, the shape of them safe and comfortable with the ability to recline. A folding table hung from a latched hinge near the window, stowed in case they needed it, and Viraj stared at it, anxiously picking at the hinge as a black and crimson tint came and went from his nails, his dragon wanting to push to the surface.
Still, he kept himself small, Teige at his side resting a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Gatlin hated to see him that way, tucked into himself as much as his tummy allowed. Opposite of them, Gatlin sat with his fingers idly drumming, wondering what to use their time to prepare for.
And as he stared at Viraj, imagining his mate with a clutch of their eggs, all red and earthen green swirls, he thought of thepups they’d have, little Vritra Dettes with tawny skin and bright eyes. Little rouge-tinted green scales and Teige’s sharp spines, tilted back at that pretty sawtooth angle, tails whiplike and lithe.
And as he indulged himself in the fantasy, images of little ones careening down the halls, knocking over display pieces, sticking talons into light sockets, chewing up wood, scratching wood floors—all of it overwhelmed him. Piddling on rugs. They had alotto childproof. Pup-proof. He needed to ask someone some questions… Ryan, Leo. Shui…
A dozen years ago, asking any of the Dettes about their childrearing or Drakes about their preparations would have yielded him a strange look, rebuke or worse. He had resources, but none of it was right.
Ninety-nine minutes.The word practically hummed in their bond as Viraj chewed his nails and flinched.
Without prompting, Teige did what he did best and pulled Viraj’s face to his own, kissing him with a gentle slide of tongue and a hum that came off as somewhere between haughty and prideful. The confidence made Gatlin’s heart thump madly.
Viraj relaxed in his seat, letting his legs unfold, feet touching the floor.
Gatlin took the cue to unbuckle his belt and slide to the floor before them. Teige needed no prompting to lean Viraj’s seat back, giving Gatlin full access to his mate’s groin. Despite the large size of his belly, Gatlin took advantage of the space he could, unbuttoning his trousers to alleviate the strained fastening, letting the zipper rip down with gusto.
No rejection came.
Gatlin tugged Viraj’s pants down, prying the fly of his boxers open to access his leaking cock and tight sac.
He leaned his head to the side, hummed, and went in to wrap his lips around the firm tip, tongue circling the taut hood sliding down to reveal the pink, sensitive skin beneath his darkerflesh, a treasure compared to his exposed skin. And there he tasted sweet, tasted desperate.
Viraj had enough length to coat Gatlin’s tongue, to accept the motion of his mouth as the only pleasure he needed. A gentle rocking of his slick tongue against Viraj’s length had him shivering, cock twitching with a warning flush of precum. Sweet and floral, as if nestblossom swam in his veins.
Viraj had kept the tea from Ryan so long ago, using it for himself, but in truth, heneededit. They needed it. Without the herb, Viraj’s needs were hard on him, and as his mates, they were honor bound to aid him. And how Gatlin could have confused it with emotional needs and horniness… He felt stupid.
