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If that was the case, it was up to Sebastian to ease his mate’s worry. He pulled away from Perry and began to unbutton his shirt.
“Sebastian Drake.” Perry arched an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
“The opposite of hiding something from you.” Sebastian shrugged off the shirt and unbuckled his belt.
“Darling, if this is your way of distracting me away from your deception, you’re…”
Sebastian pushed his trousers down. Underneath he wore tight pink boxer briefs with hearts on them. A present from Perry.
“…possibly right.”
“And just to show I’ve got nothing at all to hide—” Sebastian pulled his underwear down.
“Sebastian… are you trying to distract me with your manhood?” Perry eyed Sebastian’s body appreciatively. “I will remember this later, I’ll have you know.”
Later could take care of itself. Right now Sebastian wanted a distraction and Perry needed one, so he took his cock in hand and stroked it, watching the avid expression on his mate’s face and his corresponding arousal.
“You, sir,” Perry chided, “are very naughty.”
Sebastian put his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to punish me for it, love?”
Perry let out a trilling laugh that Sebastian treasured hearing. “Maybe later. For now, I think I’ll have to reward you for your… transparency. Come closer, darling, and prove to me just how sure you are that all will be well.”
* * *
Bertram’s home was close to their father’s and nearly identical on the outside. It was meticulously, if impersonally, landscaped and looked utterly unlived in. Even at his sire’s imposing mansion there were signs of occupation. A holiday wreath on the door. Smoke rising from the many chimneys. Lights shining through windows. Paw prints marring a smooth blanket of snow. Here, nothing spoiled the appearance of perfection, but it was also sterile and unwelcoming.
Just as Bertram liked it.
Sebastian’s driver pulled up to the front entrance and hurried to open the door of the Bentley for Sebastian. Once he had, Sebastian got out and stared up at the imposing edifice. It seemed calculated to repel visitors, but he had business with the master of the house, who had better be home if he knew what was good for him.
The door was answered with alacrity by Drummond, Bertram’s butler. “Sir?” he intoned.
Sebastian nodded at him. “Show me to my brother.”
“Just a wee moment, sir,” Drummond said, then shut the large front door in Sebastian’s face.
For a moment, Sebastian stood and stared the door down with such irritation, it nearly ignited. How long would it take for him to burn it down, he wondered. It was wood, and it would certainly catch, but it was also quite thick and would require a fair amount of magic to entirely incinerate. The math told Sebastian it would take at least half of his magic, perhaps more, and he decided barging in through one of the windows would be much more efficient. The windows were alarmed, of course, but Sebastian only wanted in. He had no need to be stealthy about it.
Sebastian started to disrobe in preparation for shifting into dragon form. He’d be damned if he’d ruin his charcoal Vanquish suit over silliness from his sibling. Before he could remove his jacket, however, Drummond opened up the door anew.
“If sir will follow me,” he said as though he hadn’t done Sebastian the ultimate discourtesy by having him wait outside.
Sebastian was no stickler for etiquette, but really, this was too much.
Rather than follow Drummond, Sebastian passed the butler and followed his nose to Bertram’s office. He opened the door without ceremony, then closed it behind him.
“Brother,” he growled.
Bertram looked up from his computer monitor. “Where’s Drummond?”
“Patrolling your corridors, no doubt.”
Sebastian surveyed the room. It was paneled in cherry, the walls hung with wine-colored silk, and was furnished with elegant yet sturdy furniture. For all the room’s richness, however, it, like the exterior of the house, was entirely sterile. The only notes of discord in the preternatural harmony were his brother’s disheveled hair and something adhered to the case of his laptop.
“I do wish you wouldn’t abuse my staff,” Bertram said mildly, but there was steel under his pleasant tone.
“He shouldn’t have left me cooling my heels, quite literally, on your front stoop. And I didn’t abuse him. I didn’t lay a finger on him.”
