Devon’s eyes narrowed. He fought the urge to shift as well. If intimidation was the game they were playing, he could easily match the blood red dragon. Still, he resisted.
It’s the time of the civilized dragon, his father’s words rung in his ears. He’d never paid much heed to such wisdom before, but apparently fear for one’s mate made a man do every manner of improbable things.
“If you need to talk to me, Redblade, you better do it like a man. I’m not playing any games,” Devon said sternly, closing the door behind him. The dragon tilted its head a little, smoke flaring from its nostrils. Devon had to suppress a smirk – Redblades always did have a short temper.
With obvious reluctance, Remington shifted into his human form. Devon shoved his hands in his pockets, more to keep from strangling the other man for showing up when he was in mid-courtship than for any other reason.
“What can I do for you, Remington?” Devon asked, trying and failing at keeping the strain out of his voice. He watched the tall, gray-eyed man walk closer across the roof, all bitter Cheshire grins and shifty glances.
“Can’t a dragon simply drop by for a cup of gold or a friendly word?” Remington teased, coming to a stop some feet from Devon.
“You know I wouldn’t loan you gold if it was the last thing keeping you from an eternity in hell,” Devon said, returning the smirk. Remington nodded. No love lost between the families, as usual.
“I hear you’ve found a bride,” Remington said, turning to face the red sunset dancing behind the mountains.
“Who told you?” Anger threatened to consume Devon. How did the bastard Redblade know already? It didn’t take a leap of imagination to figure out that this could mean nothing good. His worry for Gemma tripled, and he wished he had her by his side now. At least then he could protect her.
“Oh, a little golden birdy,” Remington said, a distinctive slither to his words that made Devon’s skin crawl.
“That still doesn’t tell me what you want. What could be so urgent that it couldn’t wait until the gold moon?” Devon asked. The red glow of the sunset that settled around Remington made the wiry, strong man look even more menacing than he usually did. Devon didn’t trust him any further than he could throw him.
“I thought you would offer to introduce me to your bride, Bluewing. Isn’t it custom to show one’s friends his betrothed after she has been marked?” Remington asked, but the glance he gave Devon told him that there was no doubt that Remington already knew that Gemma wasn’t marked yet.
The marking of a dragon’s bride was a sacred, intensely personal thing and one that was not to be taken lightly. Not only was Remington toying with Devon’s patience, he was also getting dangerously close to insulting Gemma.
“You are not my friend, Redblade. And my bride is not for you to approve or disapprove,” Devon said, his words just a cover for the threat that rumbled in his tone. It was impossible to mistake for anything but a very clear sign for the red dragon to go quickly before his patience truly ran thin.
Remington smiled, shrugging with casual ease, as if nothing in the world was wrong at all.
“Careful, Bluewing. You never know when you might just need old enemies as new friends. But I can take a hint. I think it would be best if you go spend some time with your woman then. Who knows how long that newfound bliss lasts, hmm?”
Devon cocked a brow at his words, barely keeping the rage inside of him at bay. He hadn’t been noticing, but he was blocking the only door that led down into the mansion with his body, as if willing the other man to keep away from Gemma with pure physical presence alone. He didn’t like the way he spoke, though, and an icy fear gripped his heart.
What is he plotting? The fuck could he be up to? If he harms one hair on Gemma’s head…
With most of the dramatics spared, Remington shifted back with elegant ease. His body elongated and burst with red scales, covering him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. His transformation was effortless and fast, and before Devon could get very far with his dark thoughts, the man had turned and swooped off of the roof, his gigantic wings carrying him towards the mountains in the distance with just a few motions.
As soon as Remington had cleared the roof, Devon spun around on his heel and ran back into the mansion.
“Gemma!” he called out as his feet hit the stairs, flying down the steps. He yelled her name as he ran through the corridors, fear pumping the cold through his veins, replacing the blazing heat that was usually there. He knew something was wrong. It had to be. “Gemma!” he growled, coming to the corridor that led to their bedrooms and almost colliding with the wall as he took a sharp left towards her door.