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“My lord, I—”
“Don’t speak.” Sebastian climbed into bed as nimbly as a man of his stature could and collected Peregrine in his arms, pressing kiss after kiss to the top of his head. While he did, Peregrine carefully collected Pake in his hand and set him aside, where he would be safe. “I will care for and protect you forever,” Sebastian said. “I swear it.”
There was no sense in arguing with a dragon, and even less in arguing with one as mighty and headstrong as Sebastian, who made his wants and needs perfectly clear. So rather than defy his lord and ask for food and drink, Peregrine nuzzled against Sebastian’s chest and breathed him in.
He smelled not of the cloister, but he did smell of home.
“You are not allowed to die,” Sebastian told him in a whisper after planting one last kiss on Peregrine’s head. “I will not have it. Not now. Not ever. Do you understand?”
Peregrine nodded.
“You will not leave me again.”
Sebastian held him closer and for a while, they sat with each other in silence, Peregrine on Sebastian’s lap and Sebastian’s nose in Peregrine’s hair. The dragon truly was immense, and Peregrine was so small that he fit perfectly. It seemed to him that he could sit there forever and never once feel uncomfortable, like Sebastian had been made to hold him, and Peregrine to fit in his arms.
“We will rest here for quite some time,” Sebastian said after the silence had stretched on long enough. “You are not yet well enough to travel. My brother Everard, the doctor who saw to your wounds, says you’ve sustained injuries that not even his magic can fix, but he’s cured the worst of it. You are well now and you will not die. I will not let you, for you are mine.”
Peregrine did not speak, for it would mean disobeying his lord, so he kissed Sebastian’s collarbone to show his willingness to be claimed.
“You will have scars,” Sebastian told him, and tenderly touched Peregrine’s chest. “Everard says they will fade in time, but they will never disappear. They will decorate you like jewelry, each a badge of honor. Not many can say they’ve survived a fight with a dragon, but you will wear the proof on your skin and by doing so, prove without speaking that you are fierce and resilient—the perfect mate for me.”
Sebastian had ordered silence, but upon hearing what he had to say, Peregrine could not keep quiet. “I am the son of a Disgrace, my lord. Young men like me do not make mates for dragons.”
“No. You are my mate. Your lack of a mark will not make me question what my heart knows is the truth.” Sebastian kissed Peregrine’s curls and said into his hair, “Mine. Mine forever. My mate. Mine.”
With that said, Sebastian eased Peregrine into bed one kiss at a time until they lay beneath the sheets together. Held as close as he was to his dragon, Peregrine did not miss how Sebastian’s erect cock pressed into his thigh, but despite his arousal, Sebastian did not try to breed him. They kissed and touched each other until Peregrine came prettily into his hand instead.
“My mate,” Sebastian purred as he licked up the mess. “I will take care of you always.”
Foggy-brained from his orgasm and still addled from the remnants of a fever, Peregrine dared to ask, “Does that mean my lord will fetch me water? I’m afraid if I go too much longer without it, I may perish.”
As soon as he said it, Peregrine regretted how bold and assertive he’d sounded, but before he had a chance to apologize, Sebastian’s face lit up as though he’d declared his eternal love. “Yes. Of course. At once.”
Sebastian kissed Peregrine briefly on the nose, then rose from the bed and left the room to embark on his given quest. Peregrine stared after him, heart pounding from the rush. Not many survived a dragon attack, true, but even fewer could claim they’d ordered something of a dragon and walked away with their lives.
It would be the first time of many in the two weeks that followed that he would ask Sebastian to do his bidding, but with his heat creeping ever closer, what he planned to give in exchange more than made up for his hubris.
15
Sebastian
1508
Sebastian was pleased with the palace he’d bought off a local official. It was large and airy, surrounded by private gardens, making it feel isolated, but was actually only a short walk to the nearest marketplace, which the people in this area insisted upon calling a bizarre. Sebastian supposed some of the things sold there could be considered strange, but mostly the marketplace had commonplace goods, like produce and meat and household items. Bizarre or not, however, it was convenient to be near one. The servants never had to travel very far to get anything that Peregrine might want or need.
The servants Sebastian found were not Attendants, but were nearly as good as them. Alistair, who spoke several languages, had been of tremendous help in hiring them on. Several of them even spoke some English, having worked for noble crusaders in the past. Apart from having saved Peregrine, it was about the most useful Alistair had ever been in his entire life, although the gift of the small tortoise came a close third. Sebastian might have been jealous if it weren’t for the frank pleasure the small animal seemed to bring his mate.
Sebastian gazed at Peregrine’s sleeping figure, covered only in thin, gauzy silk, and let out a small huff of smoke at that thought. Peregrine wasn’t his mate. There was no mark. Likely there never would be one. Mates were extremely rare. Sebastian had only seen a handful in his entire life and had heard of maybe a score of them. The chances that this fragile omega—the son of a Disgrace, no less—would be his mate was smaller than he could calculate, and Sebastian was quite good at calculations. Nevertheless, Peregrine felt like the mate of his heart, and surely that was more important than any mark. He skimmed his hand over Peregrine’s arse, torn by lust and worry. The weight Peregrine had put on over the course of their journey had been shed during his recovery, and he was so very thin.
True to form, Everard chose that moment to enter the bedchamber, an embarrassed Alistair in tow. Sebastian growled at them, smoke pouring from his nostrils.
“Now, now, brother,” said Everard. “No need for that. I’ve come by to visit my patient one last time.”
“One last time?” Sebastian asked, brows raised.
“Indeed. If your omega is well enough, I shall leave and take our scapegrace of a brother with me.”
Alistair bristled. “I say. That’s uncalled for.”
