Gemma, sitting with her back to the entrance, heard some voices speaking in hushed tones and peeked behind her chair. She frowned a little, recognizing Devon’s voice in the tin. It sounded like someone, most likely Jolly, as the man seemed to be fixed on his heels like a tiresome puppy, replied something to Devon, and then a pair of padding footsteps headed further as Devon slunk in and closed the door behind him. Immediately, Gemma felt a blush creeping up her cheeks.
He was wearing dark denim and a V-neck black tee that showed her just a peak of that perfectly formed chest of his that she’d been pressed against just a few hours ago. He walked towards her, his blue eyes glinting with mirth, and his step that of a seasoned predator, long and almost soundless. Every move he made was fit for a beast who knew his worth and power, and watching him was doing things to her that she wished it wasn’t. For instance, she wondered what he would look like without that shirt covering his muscles – a thought that did nothing to make her blush wane.
She sighed to herself, miffed at her own weakness and the effect he had on her, and turned her eyes back to the book. Her fingers had been left splayed across the illustration, tracing the body of the long, menacing looking lighter-colored dragon. The black and white image left one to imagine the colors of the animals, but she had a good enough idea, which dragon families were being depicted. Gemma tried to make herself busy with the book, but out of the corner of her eye, she tracked Devon as he pulled up another heavy, plush chair slightly across from her.
He sat down with a heavy exhale, as if the weight of the world had just been lifted from his shoulders. He leant towards her with a light smile on his lips, and she could feel herself cracking under his gaze. It was the kind of smile she liked – the nice kind, the kind that made her want to smile back, not the one that broadcasted to the whole world how he knew better and shouldn’t be messed with.
Devon peeked at the book she was thumbing through, and his expression clouded for just the slightest of moments, Gemma catching the way his clasped hands squeezed together tightly like he was trying to keep them from balling into fists. When she looked up, his face had cleared and his hands had relaxed like nothing had happened at all.
“I see you’re making your way through the library,” he said conversationally, his white teeth flashing as he smiled. She had noticed that the dragon within him was always so close to the surface. If one were to meet the man or see him on the pages of tabloids, they could never tell, but after seeing his dragon in action, the animal was unmistakable about him, just underneath the skin.
“I am. I wish your ancestors acquired more books in English, though,” she said, smiling back despite her best efforts not to do so. Damnable man, it was impossible to stay impassive when he was around.
“Well, dragonkin don’t tend to speak much English amongst themselves. Or any human language, really. You’d think we only communicate through grunts and firestorms, but we can be surprisingly eloquent,” he said, motioning at the finely written lettering, beautiful to behold even if Gemma had no idea what the words said.
“So what’s this about?” she asked, pointing at the picture of the fight she’d been looking at. “This dragon looks like you and the other one looks like the red dragon that almost knocked me off the path when I first came to see you. A Redblade, right?”
Devon chuckled a deep sound that came from his chest and seemed to rumble through her. She liked his voice, even if most of the time she hated what he was saying. There was a musical, low quality to it that made her see how he could easily have been one of the dragons singing those breathtaking songs she’d heard when Dayton Bluewing was being put to rest.
“You’re very observant. Yes, those are a Redblade and a Bluewing, but the picture’s a bit misleading. If I remember correctly, this shows one of the battles for Head of Council, back when things were settled by blood. If you notice, the feeling this image gives you is that the Redblade is winning. The Bluewing, my ancestor Daedalus Bluewing, was the one who set up the original council. It was bigger then, with more families, and the Redblades always assumed that they should be the Head of Council as they were the biggest family back then. Roman Redblade is the one shown here, fighting against Daedalus.”
“What happened?”
“Well, if you could read Dragobir, the language this is written in, then you would learn that Roman and Daedalus fought many great battles against one another to determine, who was the greater of the two. Factions formed on both sides, and it became clear that no order could be restored without one of them being the victor. But though their methods were different, they were evenly matched in most respects – both strong, capable leaders of their families.