When I arrive home that evening, I find Ambrose waiting for me, sitting at the bottom of the stairway with Dougal at his side. As I hang my jacket on the hook near the door, he comes behind me, sets his hands on my waist, and kisses the back and side of my neck.
His touch isn't unwelcome, and I suppose that after what we've done together, I shouldn't be surprised he feels he has such license, but it seems a bit excessive to pounce on me the moment I'm through the door.
"Where've you been?" he asks, tickling me with his breath as his lips move against my skin.
"With Julian," I reply, moving out of reach and heading for the kitchen.
I'm hungry and grumpy and, after what Julian learned today, somewhat less excited to have found my potential mate. If simply witnessing such a relationship is this stressful and exhausting, I'm not sure I'm cut out to be in one myself.
"Ah, I remember now. Did he find his answers?" Ambrose asks, following close behind.
"More or less." I shrug as I open the fridge.
A quick scan of the barren shelves within tells me a trip to the store is overdue. Finding the pantry in a similar condition, I grab a box of pasta and turn towards the stove. Ambrose intercepts me, taking the box from my hand and setting it aside before crowding me against the counter.
"Leave that," he says, tipping my face up by the chin and leaning to kiss me. "We can go out for something... later. My treat."
"I think you're supposed to buy me dinner first," I grumble, but he only smiles.
He presses close, the whole length of his body against mine, and desire radiates from him like heat.
"Gods, I want you," he murmurs, his tongue testing the seal of my lips and his hands sliding down my back. He's infecting my senses again, and my body responds to his touch; with an effort, though, I hold on to my mind.
"Ambrose... wait." I push him away, and thankfully he obeys. He leans forward, though, his chest pressed lightly against my hands, letting me know that the moment I allow it he'll move close again.
"Why?" he asks. "I've been waiting all afternoon."
"Just... slow down, okay? Look, I... enjoyed... what we, um... what we did—"
"We fucked," he interjects.
"I know," I snap. "I was there. And it was... nice. But this... whatever this thing is between us... I just don't know right now." My face feels very hot, and I'd like to slink away and hide for a year.
"What's to know?" he challenges. "You like me. I like you. We don't need to complicate things."
Something tightens in my chest, and suddenly my appetite is gone.
"I may not know what else I want, Ambrose," I say, "but I sure as hell don't want to be your fuck-buddy." I push past him, headed for the front door. "And you can get your own dinner—no strings attached," I add.
"Hey, now—that isn't what I meant," he says, following me into the entryway where he catches my arm and makes me stop.
I spin to face him, annoyed. He's being weirdly intense, and I'm too tired to figure him out. "Ambrose, let go," I say, jerking free. "I'm not in the mood for this right now."
I continue towards the door, and this time he doesn't follow.
"Noah, just wait a moment, please," he calls, and there's enough unwarranted patience in his voice that I obey, and turn back to look at him. "I know it's different for you," he goes on, seeing he has my attention. "I know that it's got to be the right combination of things, and that it's more than just physical. I know you're not the type to want a casual fling. But that isn't what this is." He gestures between us. "And you know that well enough."
"Really?" I retort. "That sounds a little complicated."
He sighs and runs his hands through his long hair. "I shouldn't have said it like that," he says. "What I mean is... You don't always need to understand a thing to just... let it be."
I laugh humorlessly and turn back towards the door. "Sorry, Ambrose. Overthinking things is my specialty."
"And a dragon's treasure is his heart, little wolf," he says softly, the odd statement making me pause. "If a piece of it goes missing, he'll know. He'll feel it, just as I felt it this afternoon. Something of mine disappeared from this world, as surely as if it had never been. I felt that absence as an ache at the heart of me. Thankfully, it lasted but a moment, and whatever had gone missing soon returned. So let me ask you again, Noah Hunter: where've you been?"
I look at him, my mind turning over his words and trying in vain to make sense of them. A wolf will feel the loss of a mate like that, but only once the mate-bond is formed, and only once they have knowledge of the loss. Not a potential mate, and not just... instantly.
"Faerie," I say slowly. "I was in Faerie, with Julian. He opened a Passage, and I followed him through."
"Faerie?" he repeats, and brushes a hand over his mouth. "Well, that's it then. Fuck." He laughs, but the sound has an odd edge to it.
"What?"
"I guess a part of me was hoping it might have been... something else, after all, but this proves it."
"What?" I say again.
He closes the distance between us, eyes dark and a line between his brows. "It means that you're mine now, little wolf," he says. "whether you know it or not. You're my treasure, my heart, maybe even..." He pauses, and meets my eyes, and his own hold a strange look. "Maybe even the thing most dear to me," he finishes.
I stare back at him, finding my feelings even more conflicted than before.
Part of me—maybe the truest part—knows that he's right, and that if I could just let myself, I would feel the same.
Another part is almost panicking. This is too intense, too sudden, and too much out of my control.
And yet another part has fixated on how unhappy Ambrose looks.
"Is this... not a good thing?" I ask, and swallow a sudden thickness at the back of my throat. I don't know if dragons have mates the same way Wolves do, or if—like Wolves—they have a choice, but if I had a choice I wouldn't choose me.
He must see something of my thoughts on my face, and his expression softens. "It's true, little wolf: I never thought I'd meet my fated match—much less that he'd be a sad, bedraggled little thing appearing in the middle of the night, all loveless and lost—but I'm glad that I have, and I'm glad that it's you. If I appear unhappy, it is only because... well, because now this makes better sense to me."
Pulling a folded rectangle of paper from his pocket, he hands it over. Opening it, I see it's a postcard. On the back is a cat's-paw stamp made in red ink. On the front is a picture of the full moon.
"I found it this morning, out in the postbox by the street. Thought it was a mistake, at first. I don't have a gift-relic, after all. I more am one—if you consider my mother's wish. And if vengeance is the thief's motive, I don't know what I've done to merit it, except to have been born. More than that, I couldn't fathom what it was the thief might take, that I would fear to lose. This house? My grandfather's things?" He shakes his head. "I may be a dragon's child, but I've never held physical possessions very dear. I couldn't think of a single thing I could not bear to lose." He draws a long breath, then lets it out. "I suppose I have the answer, now," he says.
I swallow again, looking at the postcard. "You really think it means me?"
He shakes his head. "Not for certain, no. The full moon is likely a reference to when the thief will strike, more than to you or your nature. I only know that if the thief were to take my most prized possession... Well, it would be you."
I look up at him sharply. "Even if I am your mate, I don't belong to you," I reply. "How could the thief have found out about that, anyway? We've barely been together."
Ambrose shrugs. "Another mystery, if it is what this means."
"Great," I sigh. "Dane's going to love this."
"You needn't bother him tonight," Ambrose says, leaning closer and stroking the side of my face, apparently undeterred by my mood. "Tomorrow will be soon enough—the moon's not full for another two weeks. For tonight... Well, will you let me buy you dinner, at least?"
I hesitate. I'm still tired, hungry, and grumpy—and now on top of that, I'm scared and a little overwhelmed, and more confused than ever. As my stomach lets out an audible growl, however, my will to be difficult—or rational—fades. Ambrose is right about one thing at least—I don't always need to understand a thing to let it be.
"Alright, dinner," I agree. "But that's all—no promises."
"Shall we have a wager?" he asks, smiling and letting his heat wash over me again as he closes the last space between us.
"Only if you want to lose," I answer, but despite everything, I can't quite keep the smile from my voice.
He hears it and his own smile returns to his lips as they meet mine. "All right," he whispers against my mouth. "I wager you won't let me kiss you."
"You're already kissing me," I point out.
"Ah, so I've lost. Then I wager you won't let me touch you," he goes on, sliding his hands down to my hips and then up the inside of my shirt, the warmth of his palms sinking through my skin.
"Ambrose," I protest, but I lean into him.
"Ah, no—lost again," he mutters, pretending to frown. "Alright—last round. I wager you won't let me have you, here and now."
His eyes meet mine, lit with fire, and then he lowers himself to his knees.
I could make him stop—I should make him stop—but I don't.
Deftly, he undoes my trousers and works me free, and I shudder and gasp, and fall against the door as he kisses, licks, and then swallows me whole. I press my hands over my mouth, but pathetic little noises keep escaping me anyway, and mere moments later he stands, wiping his lips and raising his brows as I glare half-heartedly and struggle to catch my breath.
"Well, now that you've thoroughly defeated me," he says, with a smug little smile, "I suppose the choice is yours. What would you like to eat, little wolf?"