Page 9 of Dead

All told, the king could’ve been wearing rags, for all he cared. No matter what, Adriel, son of Theral, would be the most handsome male in any room. As the king met his stare across the bannister, Eilam felt his body tense all the more. Those violet eyes held his, making it nearly impossible to breathe. His bear roared deep within, but the sound seemed to grow weaker as time passed.

A shifter, denied his mate too long, would slowly begin to wither.

Eilam dragged his gaze away, sensing the king would be the death of him.

Remembering his duty for the night, he moved his stare to the two king’s guardsmen, Garret and Cannon, who trailed behind their monarch. One at a time, they met Eilam’s gaze, nodding that all was well. Eilam slowly spun away, trying to ignore his king as best as possible. His body—and the shifter spirit within him—couldn’t take much more.

Turning his attention to Solomon, he saw the dragon wore the same look the male had given Hart. But he was now eyeing Garret. Eilam smiled, curious at what he was now seeing. Solomon and Garret had always appeared to hate one another. Was there more to the ire between them? Attraction disguised as ire?

Or would the two of them tear one another apart in their mad desire for Hart? Not that he made a habit of getting into his employees’ and friend’s personal lives, but the king’s guard was already understaffed. He didn’t need Garret’s focus elsewhere.

Life would be so much easier without dealing with mates, he sometimes thought. His life would certainly be less stressful without his.

The dragon’s attention was so rapt, he hadn’t even seemed to notice Eilam’s approach. He smiled to himself. He liked the dragon. Solomon was a good man who deserved happiness. “He looks good in his armor, doesn’t he?” Eilam murmured lowly.

Solomon turned. “I was looking at our king.”

Eilam chuckled. “No. You weren’t.” He turned to look at the scene before them. While he wanted to be closer to their king, he didn’t mind being left out of the pageantry. That was the only good thing about the stinging denial. Again, his thoughts forced his stare to fall on the king.

His body stiffened with a need he struggled to control more and more each day.

“Why were you watching me when your own mate was coming down the stairs?” Solomon asked.

Eilam’s jaw clenched. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Solomon smiled to himself. “See—we all have lies we tell ourselves to make it through the day. Leave me to mine and I’ll leave you to yours.”

Was he that transparent or had the dragon read his mind? “That won’t change the fact that you and Garretson are at each other’s throats, demanding the chance to win your mate.”

“And your point?”

“Dragons aren’t known for their skills at sharing… but perhaps you could gain more if you tried it.” He hated playing cupid, but he had a job to do. A war between his guard and the dragon would only waste time.

Solomon continued to stare at Garret another moment. He then turned his stare to see Hart in the crowd, watching him from afar.

“You’re right. Dragons don’t share.” Solomon stalked away, his irritation evident.

That went well.

Eilam had no luck in his own love life. Whatever had made him think it was possible to coax others in the right direction was beyond him.

He turned… and Jean Pierre was suddenly beside him again. The incubi shoved a glass of Elvish wine into his hand. “I thought you could use a drink,” the male cooed as he moved in close.

“Eilam, there you are,” a voice called out loudly, through the crowd.

He turned and saw the mass of guests part. The king stared in his direction from halfway across the room. One eyebrow cocked higher as the monarch glared at Jean Pierre. The guests had quieted and turned a watchful eye to what would transpire between them.

“May I be of service, Your Majesty?” He bent slightly at the waist and pushed Jean Pierre slightly away.

The king took a few steps closer. He lifted his chin and eyed Jean Pierre down his nose. “I was hoping you would serve as my escort for the evening.”

Eilam eyed the man, wondering if this was some sort of twisted joke. When he saw the look in the king’s eyes, he sensed there was something twisted, but it was no joke. The warlock simply wanted to torment him.

Or is he jealous?

He tried to keep the smile off his face as he bowed again. “It would be my pleasure, sire.”

The king lifted a hand in the air, silently demanding Eilam’s arm.

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