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stood there. He had something white and fluffy, like whipped cream, stuck to his ear.
Alistair tucked his squirming child under one arm. “Geoffrey? What on earth? Where is—”
Geoffrey looked harried. “There was an accident. With pie. Everard and Harrison are seeing
to the injuries. Most are superficial, but the butler might be concussed.”
Ignatius’s lips twisted with humor. “So a normal Drake gathering, then.”
“Indeed,” Geoffrey intoned, as solemn as any good butler, and ushered them into the house.
Finch
Finch had thought to keep himself at Hugh’s side so as to be as unobtrusive as possible, but
found himself instead seated at a table crowded with the Drakes’ omega mates. There were
quite a few of them now, but thanks to his good memory, he knew them all by name. There
was Ignatius, of course, whose brown hair and blue eyes hinted not at his clan of origin. Next
to him was Harrison, Everard’s reptile-loving bespectacled mate, and beside him, Walter, who
had never looked more nervous. He kept glancing at the conservatory door, no doubt in search
of Grimbold. Peregrine, Sebastian’s mate, had taken to mothering him. While he was the oldest
at the table by hundreds of years, he was blessed with eternal youth that tricked the eye into
believing he was a teenager. The illusion was made complete by his mess of blond curls and
his bright blue eyes, which lent him an angelic innocence that very few adults possessed.
Misha, the closest to Peregrine in terms of appearance, was devilish in comparison. When his
nose wasn’t buried in his cell phone, he kept fixing Finch with a look that suggested he was up
to something. Whatever it was, Finch hoped he would never find out.
The very last omega at the table was Matthieu, the redheaded Ruby Disgrace who’d managed
to find himself mated to both a Drake and a Brand. It was rather scandalous. All was well now,
but half a decade ago news of the coupling had ripped through the Attendant and Pedigree
communities alike, stirring gossip in its wake. Since then, several more unconventional
couplings had come to light and the odd pairing had become somewhat normalized. Finch was
glad. He’d always been a fan of happy endings.
What he was not glad about was the large lizard at the center of the table wearing a party hat.
It was eating a strawberry off a miniature plate. None of the omegas at the table seemed
bothered by its presence or tried to stop it when it finished the strawberry, waddled across the
table, and climbed down the table leg onto the floor. It disappeared into a crowd of children
