Page 43 of The Loneliest Dragon at Christmas
Mine. Mate.
Avery closed his eyes and tried to calm the dragon prowling around in his mind.
No. Not mine. And definitely not my mate.
Jack did not belong to him. Jack did not want him. He would be gone as soon as the snow cleared. And that would be the last Avery ever saw of him.
The dragon inside him snarled.
Avery let out a breath, trying to calm himself.
But perhaps this was an opportunity. Perhaps over the next few days, they could spend time together. Perhaps Jack would change his mind and realise how happy they could be together.
Then he’d want Avery.
It was pathetic. It was desperate. But hope rekindled in Avery’s chest.
I will just make him comfortable and happy in my home, as a guest.And if during that time, Jack changes his mind about me and decides he wants me after all, then that would be a wonderful bonus.
“Maybe I should show you around.” Avery rose.
Jack turned towards him. “All right.” He looked so good in Avery’s robe. Was Avery’s scent rubbing onto Jack’s skin?
Avery hummed, chest vibrating. Then he walked to the door and into the hallway. His heart leapt into his throat. Because Avery was taking Jack to his most precious possessions, to his treasure, to his library.
At the door to the room, Avery paused, hand on the brass handle. He glanced back at Jack, nervousness skittering along his skin. His father didn’t like his library, too unorganised, too chaotic, too obviously a dragon’s hoard. Not a civilised dragon’s collection at all.
But it was everything to Avery. He wanted Jack to like it.
With a swallow, Avery pushed the door open. “This is my library.” He strode forward. And even with the anxiety pulsing through him, pleasure rushed through his veins.
My hoard. My glorious, magnificent hoard.
Rows and bookshelves filled the room. But in between and all around, piles of beautiful books were everywhere Avery looked except for a large space by the fire where he would curl up in his dragon form.
Avery’s skin tingled. He inhaled, and the smell of leather, dust, and paper filled his nostrils. The words called to him.The stories beckoned. They were all precious to him, each and every one of them. They contained stories, tales, research, information, recipes, journals, and encyclopaedias. And they were all at his fingertips.
Mine.
“Bugger me,” Jack muttered.
Avery spun towards him, body tensing.
Jack stared in awe at the library around him. “Have you read all these books?”
“I…no.”
Avery should have. He really should finish reading all the books he had before acquiring more. That was always his plan.
But he just couldn’t help himself. Every time he passed a bookstore, it called him by name—“Avery, Avery”—and who was Avery to resist? And it was never only one book. He needed to buy two, or three, or twenty. So many books existed in the world, and he needed them. They had to be his.
Avery looked around at his failure to control his primal dragon instincts. He whined softly.
But how could he control those instincts? He wanted all the books. Even now he felt the craving to go out and find more treasure and bring it back to his den. He wanted the room to brim with books until he could barely move, until he had to crawl over the piles, until he could sleep in his dragon form curled up on top of mounds and mounds of books.
Avery breathed out.
“I’ve never seen so many books in my life.” Jack approached a pile.
