Page 8 of The Monster at the End of This Molt

"Yes."

"Is he the reason you didn't want me to stay here last night?" I didn't like the picture my brain was painting of Weld and Lemon together, but I had to know.

"I didn't want you to stay here when I have a perfectly good couch."

I snorted. "You also have a perfectly good bed."

He closed his eyes and inhaled for what seemed like forever before releasing his breath in that same controlled manner. Then, he opened his eyes.

"Did you just count to ten?" He reminded me of my dad, which was weird.

He shrugged. "I was a schoolteacher, remember?"

That explained it. He'd taught the teenage alpha class with my dad. "But not here?"

"Not for a long time." He leaned over his cup, swirling the straw like a stir-stick and making it hum. "Not since The Fortress, or Pavilion, or whatever you're calling it these days."

"Galen renamed us The Pavilion. They said to tell you hello."

The corners of his mouth turned up. "That doesn't sound like them."

"They also said you'd better attend this year's dragon reunion, or else."

"That's more like it." Weld's chuckle made my chest feel light, and it made everything below my belt ache. "The festival is all anyone here can talk about. I was supposed to stay and hold down the fort."

"Not everyone here is single." From my spot facing the room, I counted four alpha and omega pairs with the same color markings nearby, and a handful of children.

"No, but several pairs are elderly. They need someone to cook for them."

I pointed at my plate, wondering how early he'd left this morning to make all this. "Did you?—"

"Goddess, no. I can't feed this many people at once. I'd burn the place down."

I laughed. "Now you sound like Clementine."

He asked after my siblings, and I rambled for a good half-hour. I tried to remember to eat my food when Weld interjected with a comment or asked me another question, but he was an alpha of few words. My toast was cold and soggy by the time I finally used it to scoop the remaining fruity oatmeal into my mouth.

"What are we doing today?" I asked as Weld stacked my empty plate on top of his.

"I'm working on that tractor wheel until hell freezes over or I build a damn forge. You're welcome to do whatever you want. I have some old video games and?—"

"I can help with the wheel." It was nothing a little magic couldn't fix.

He shook his head. "I can do it myself. If I can't … my only good quality is my strength. If I can't fix a tractor wheel, I don't deserve you as my fated mate.

It was my turn to take a breath and count to ten. He was my fated mate, end of story. I'd found him worthy when I was a hatchling, and nothing would change that.

"You don't need to prove anything to me," I said.

"I can't leave until I fix that wheel," he insisted. "They need an automated harvester. Tim can keep it running with his magic, but that wheel needs to turn, and right now, I can't even set a bead on the tire."

"I give you one week," I said.

He blinked. "I don't take demands from you, omega."

"It's not a demand but an extension of grace. I'm giving you a week to fix it yourself. If it's not fixed by then, I'll show you why fate brought us together in the first place."

That was the question I'd asked my parents, and even my dragon friend, the most. Why had fate mated me to a much older kobold? Why me, and not someone his age?

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