Page 118 of Finch

against his body and how their cool, flat faces would be a reprieve from the feverish heat

radiating from his skin. “God, yes. Please.”

“Come, then.” Hugh stood, then picked Finch up in a bridal carry as if he weighed no more

than one of Finch’s rats. Once Finch was secure in his arms, Hugh carried him to the door of

his room and managed to open it without dropping him. Finch suspected magic had been

involved.

“I’m naked, sir,” Finch murmured as he nuzzled against Hugh’s neck. With the way he was

burning up, modesty was the least of his worries, but he thought it prudent to mention. The

staff would no doubt be scarred to see him in the nude, never mind the visiting Disgraces.

Hugh bent his head down so they were nose to nose. “It’s of no consequence. I won’t let them

see you. You are mine, Finch. My treasure to keep forever. I’m a selfish, greedy dragon, you

know, and I’d rather cut my own arm off than have to share. You’re safe with me. I’ll keep you

out of sight. And then, when we’re alone and you’re bathed in gold, I’ll make sure you

remember it always.”

That said, he whisked Finch away, and like when he’d curled around Finch and tucked him

under his wing, Finch had never felt more safe. The difference now was that he’d also never

felt more loved.

* * *

There was another break in time when Finch’s heat took control, then Finch came to and found

himself half-buried in old gold coins and decorated with jewelry and gemstones. He was in

Hugh’s hoard, he realized, and had been laid atop one of his mountains of treasure. It was all

so cool on his skin. So mercifully, blissfully cool. Finch twisted his hips in an attempt to dig

himself deeper into it, but all he managed to do was send coins clattering down the mountain

and dislodge a large pearl that had been resting in the dip of his navel. The pearl clicked as it

hit the gold surrounding him, but before it could bounce its way down the heap, it was seized

by familiar fingers—Hugh’s.

“Are you there, Finch?” he asked in a near whisper as he ran the pearl over the curve of Finch’s

hip. “Have you come back to me?”

Finch’s mouth was dry, and an aching need seized him that ran bone deep. “Yes.”

“I made you a bed from my hoard. Is it to your liking? I couldn’t get an answer out of you before.

---