It felt uncomfortably foreboding that all of the elders had died in quick succession, as they were ought to. The generations tended to wane quickly when their time came, even with the longevity of dragons and their mates. It was always a sign of sad times to come when a dragon died of old age, or a broken heart as several of the old council members had after losing their mates.
The thought brought grim memories to Devon, snapshots of his parents and how their love had made the halls echo with laughter, and how everything had grown cold and dark when Gabriella, his mother, had died.
The chilliness was still in the hallways, even after his father’s passing. It seemed that bringing light to his home was not something Devon alone could do. Then again, he wasn’t exactly in the mood to bring joy into the house at the very moment. Having it stark and dreary worked just fine for him.
The musty air of the mansion tickled his nose, and his expression remained stony. The eldest of the Bluewing brothers, it had become his job as head of the family to take on any and all responsibilities his father had had. While his brothers partied in Monaco and guarded their vast family fortunes in Costa Rica, here he was, looking out at an unassuming little village in Colorado, tasked with having to find a wife.
How the mighty have fallen, he mused grimly, swishing the liquid around in the glass.
He heard a small crackling noise, and looking down, he cursed under his breath. He’d squeezed the glass so hard that it had cracked. Downsides of countless eons of dragon magic – it was hard to control, no matter the form it took. That, and he was just damn aggravated. Devon set the glass down, raising his hand to his neck and letting his fingertips trace the slim, tasteful gold chains around it.
Like any dragon, he liked keeping a part of his hoard close to him. Unlike the dragons in Asia and Africa, though, he wasn’t completely ostentatious about it. Little good could come from letting everyone know of his wealth in the land of cutthroats and thieves – though most of them were kept out by the dragon magic that protected Treasure Lane. Still, as the dragons grew fewer in the lands, so did the magic grow weaker, and Devon had the grim feeling that one day, his magic wouldn’t be enough to protect what was his.
Just days before his father’s passing, he had been partying in LA, drinking until he couldn’t see straight, buying any business, property and woman he fancied and generally living the dream. And now, here he was, without anything to amuse him and no chance of leaving for longer than a few days. One had to protect the hoard, that he couldn’t deny – even if he wanted to stray further, his dragon would bring him back. There was no rest when his gold was not near or under the scrutiny of someone he trusted.
And these days, he wasn’t even sure if he could trust his younger brothers, Donovan and Demetrius. If one of them had been tasked with the burden now set on Devon, he wasn’t so sure if they’d answer the call. While he was a partying letch, the twins were in a class all of their own. It was best to keep them in Monaco and Costa Rica, where the worst foes they would have to battle were a sunburn and a hangover. At least until they grew up, anyway.
So, what is a dragon to do when faced with boredom in a place with little to do?
He had already done all he could think of. The remodeling of the mansion was well under way and the hoard had been carefully counted and cataloged as soon as the dragon royals had left after the funeral. The passing of a dragon was never a sad time – it signified that they had been given a chance to move on as elders and allowed to guard the Great Hoard. Knowing his father, Devon was sure the old grouch was glad to be back with his mother.
When the ceremonies had been taken care of, Devon had become painfully aware of how little there was to do at his family home. In a fit of desperation, he’d surveyed the bounty that Gold Valley paid the Bluewings each year, and upped it by more than a third after seeing that his father had neglected to do so for a decade. It was only just, he thought, seeing as those people only had jobs and incomes because of the Bluewings.
Gold Valley was one of the premiere goldsmith towns in the whole world, a feat managed thanks to centuries of careful development and coaxing by the dragons, who lived there. After all, every dragon loved gold, and it was only sensible to keep the masters, who could provide it close by.
They owe us as much, he thought.
Night grew near, and Devon was anticipating another stretch of darkness with nothing to do but curl up and wait for the sun. He’d customarily take a short flight along the borders of his lands before he attempted sleep, though seeing as he hardly needed it when things were as calm as they were now, it provided him with little distraction. So when there was a knock at his study door, he let out a sigh of relief.