Page 33 of Expensive

“Yes. He’s worth it.”

Manny tosses the can into the garbage. “Alright. You better find some damn good makeup to hide all those tattoos then.”

I chuckle.

“Oh, you laugh now. But those hand tattoos are going to be a pain in the ass to cover up all the time. You’d better be damn sure about this, Timber.”

I look him straight in the eye and ask a question I know isn’t fair to him, but it needs to be asked. “If you found a man who would take you as you are, no bond included, and he was everything you ever wanted in an omega, what would you be willing to do to stay with him?”

Manny looks away from me, a bitter smile on his face. “That isn’t ever going to happen for me.”

“But if it did, Manny. What would you be willing to do to be with him?”

He shakes his head. “Anything. I’d do absolutely anything.”

“Then help me. Please. I don’t have any family to turn to. You’re my best chance at keeping him safe.”

Manny meets my gaze. “Okay. I’ll do what I can.”

16

Andrew

I fly through the sky for hours before I’m ready to descend to the roof again. All the while, I ponder a possible solution that’s haunted me since I got on that plane this morning.

Surgeons can’t remove my bond ache, but the magical tie I have to Edward Monroe was created by a warlock. That means a warlock might be able to destroy it. I asked my father about it when Edward died, and he said a spell like that would be horribly complex—that no sane warlock would ever attempt it.

But there are plenty of warlocks out there who aren’t sane.

If a warlock removed my bond ache, I wouldn’t need an adult legal guardian anymore. It wouldn’t matter what the Monroes or my father wanted. I’d be legally capable of making my own decisions. At that point, hurting Timber wouldn’t do my father any good. I would be free of him.

The more I think about it, the more I realize it’s the only scenario that would allow me to protect Timber and be with him at the same time.

In the past, hiring a warlock never seemed worth the enormous risk. The side effects of a botched spell are terrifying. Sometimes people didn’t just die but became mindless zombies. Other victims of botched spells ended up losing their conscience and killing people for fun. Some people have lost entire limbs or their bones became so twisted, they couldn’t walk or sit up straight. The more complex the spell, the higher the risk.

The question is this: Which risk do I take? Do I risk Timber’s safety or my own?

As I pull on my jeans and slip on my shoes, I imagine what our lives could be if my bond ache was gone. Timber and I could be open about our relationship. We could have a family together.

Isn’t that worth any amount of risk? Or is that my bond ache talking?

The thing that makes me pause is what price I’d pay for a spell like that. Unlike the polar bear shifters in the north and the Illusors of the desert, ice dragon shifters don’t have magic in their blood. If we want to perform spells, we have to pay for them, and the price for magic isn’t just financial. It’s deeper than that.

My father was the one who paid the price for my magical tie to Edward Monroe. That was a part of their deal. He never told me what the price was. All I know is that after he went to the warlock, every bit of evidence that my omega father was ever alive disappeared from our apartment. Even the photos. The pictures themselves were still there, but the image of my omega father was simply gone.

I think my alpha father paid the price for my magical tie with the memory of his fated mate.

What is so precious to me that it could ever compare to something like that? I could pay with memories of my omega father too, but as much as I loved him, those memories wouldn’t be as powerful. They were mates. Besides, a magical tie is a far simpler spell than what I would need. I’d have to give up something far more dear to me.

I descend the long staircase that leads to the roof, and take slow steps to my favorite place in the world—my library.

Every dragon has a collection of something—their hoard. It’s what allows them to shift into their dragon form. If they ever lose their hoard, they can start the collection again, but shifting becomes difficult, if not impossible. They often become broken versions of themselves, endlessly longing for the dragon within that they can never quite reach.

A hoard would be the ultimate sacrifice.

I run my fingers along the spines of all the pretty books. First editions ofA Tale of Two Cities,Pride and Prejudice, andMoby Dick. My library is one of the most extensive collections of rare English literature in the world. If anything happened to it, an irreplaceable part of literary history would be lost.

I tell myself I still have time. Timber and I can probably sneak around for the next few weeks or months without getting caught. I tell myself that I’ll think of something else I can sacrifice.

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