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Bertram did not like the look of it.
It wasn’t like his father to smoke.
“Good evening, Father,” Bertram said as he entered the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. “I came as soon as I could. I take it you’ve heard the news?”
Grimbold did not outwardly acknowledge him, but his fingers dug into the armrests of his chair. Bertram watched uneasily as those fingers became clawed and deadly, their tips shredding through the upholstery. There would be no patching damage like that—the chair would need to be reupholstered.
Bertram could only imagine what those claws would do to him.
Grimbold let the question sit unanswered for several heavy seconds until there came a series of clicks. His claws had sunk all the way to the armchair’s frame and were tapping against the wood.
“Sebastian called to tell me Peregrine safely delivered their first Disgrace,” he said at last, taking his claws slowly out of the armrest and positioning them atop it carefully, obsidian daggers at the ready, glimmering in the firelight. “No,” he said after a moment. “Not a Disgrace—a dragonet. She seems healthy and as happy as a newborn babe could be, and both of her fathers are doing well. Supposedly Peregrine is so distracted by his love for her that he does not seem bothered by the trauma he endured this evening.”
The speech was followed by an oppressive silence that Bertram dared not break. He stood just short of the door, waiting, eyes on his father’s claws until at last Grimbold asked, “Where is he?”
Bertram had known to expect the question. He’d rehearsed his answer on the drive over, knowing what he did or did not say would impact the rest of his life. But standing there, having to answer to his father’s quiet fury, he did not feel prepared. It was like he was a whelp again, fumbling to slip into the role of the competent and charismatic agent they’d told him he needed to be.
You’ll regret it if you don’t learn to detach yourself from the work you do, he heard Osbert say, an echo from his childhood, when Frederich had first been taking shape inside of him. There will be times when you’ll be asked to do things you don’t agree with. To take lives. To break hearts. To put yourself in harm’s way. You will never survive unless you protect yourself, boy. What good is an agent enslaved by his own moral code? No good, if you ask me. No good at all.
Osbert had been right, of course. Bertram had known it all those years ago, when his heart had begun to thaw after adopting his eggs, but he had never felt it more than he did now that Frederich was hundreds of years dead.
He was not the agent he had been.
He would never be that man again.
And standing there, staring down at his father’s claws and knowing that the well-being of the man he loved depended on his ability to lie, he was terrified.
The mask he’d worn for so long was gone, and there was no getting it back.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, heart racing, hoping he sounded casual enough about it, but fearing that was not the case. “I had him in my custody briefly, but he escaped.”
Another long, heavy silence took hold during which neither man moved. Bertram thought Grimbold might fly out of his chair in a rage, or set fire to something, or tear the damaged upholstery to shreds, but somehow, what actually happened was worse than all of that—Grimbold did nothing, but scales peeked out from beneath the cuffs of his suit sleeves and spread across the backs of his hands.
“How is that possible?” Grimbold asked, and his voice was like steel. “Sebastian told me he felled the creature.”
“He did.”
“Then how,” Grimbold snarled, rising fluidly out of his seat and pivoting to fix the ire of his gaze on Bertram, “did he get away?”
“I had Everard heal him,” Bertram revealed, knowing the best lies were the ones built off the truth. “I wanted him brought before the council alive so he could be appropriately tried, but Everard’s magic is much more effective than it used to be, and it healed the omega so thoroughly that as I was transporting him, he woke up, sprang out of my car while it was in motion, and got away.”
“He is but one omega,” Grimbold hissed, and as he spoke, Bertram saw his teeth had given way to fangs. “You are a dragon, Bertram. A seasoned agent of the council. His detention has been your sole objective for years, yet still he walks free. Why?” The blacks of Grimbold’s eyes turned slitted and reptilian, and a wisp of smoke curled in the air as it escaped his nose. “I demand an answer, boy, and I will not take anything less than the truth.”
“What more do you wish me to say?” Bertram asked, gritting his teeth and taking a bold step forward. “We are no longer in the old days, Father. Continuing a chase on foot is no longer as simple as dismounting a horse and starting to run. By the time I was able to merge out of traffic and park, he was long gone, and I wasn’t about to shift in the middle of the city to pursue him from on high.”
“And what of the other times?” Grimbold’s fingers twitched like they longed to form into fists. “The night of the eggnapping, and Hugh’s godforsaken disaster of a ball? The omega was there, too, and each time he managed to slip through your fingers. Three separate occasions, each with the same result. Why?”
“Do you think if I knew the answer, I would be coming to you empty-handed? This is no common omega. He has defied all expectations and done things none have previously managed to do.”
“Are you saying you are incapable?”
“I am saying,” Bertram said through gritted teeth, “that I am trying my best, but it is not as simple as you make it out to be.”
Grimbold’s eyes flashed, but before he could say anything, there came a quiet noise from behind Bertram. The sound of a doorknob turning. Bertram turned his head to look and saw the door had opened just enough for a small and frail-looking omega with a shock of sandy hair to glance inside.
“Oh, I’m, um… I’m sorry,” the omega mumbled. “Joy is finally asleep and I wanted to know if you were coming to bed, but… I didn’t know you had company. I’ll, um, I’ll go wait in the bedroom.” He looked Bertram over nervously. “Goodnight.”
“Walter, wait.”
