Hoarded by the Dragon (Monstrous Matches, #4)
Lillian Lark
Dear Reader,
Hoarded by the Dragon includes accidental pregnancy, debilitating pregnancy symptoms, struggles with self-worth, birth, pregnancy health scare, past loss of child and mate mentioned, and minor body negativity by side character.
As promised, he has two dicks.
Be kind to yourself,
L. Lark
1
KATARINA
I’M GOING to die today, and it’s because of my amazing ass.
I wiggle my hips, but they don’t budge from where they are stuck in the window. Oh, this was so stupid. In my defense, it wasn’t my idea, but to my detriment… I still went along with it.
“Please, Katarina? They’ll kill me if I can’t deliver on this. It’s a quick job, in and out. Only someone with your skills can do it.” There were tears in Nemo’s eyes. I’d never seen the imp who mentored me cry before.
Stupid stupid stupid, but Nemo had been the only one to support a no-name homeless witch teen. Yes, he did so by coaching me in cat burglary along with other skills that facilitated my life of crime, but he was there for me. And even though I’ve sworn off the life, how could I not help him this one time?
Even if he had made a passing comment about the added width of my hips as if I should have remained the size I was as a teenager. Probably because he had this window in mind.
But I still agreed.
That was before he’d told me who I was robbing, and even then, I was too determined to turn back.
And now my life is over. I’m stuck in a motherfucking dragon’s window.
Breathe, Katarina. I coach myself to calm down and say a prayer to whoever is listening before trying again. The sill scrapes against my hip bones, but the flesh of my body somehow shifts enough for me to slide in. I don’t spend too much time gasping in relief and instead drop soundlessly into the room.
My gymnastic ability is a little rusty, but I’ve still got the touch.
And now to find this artifact. Moonlight cuts shapes on the floor and gives me enough light to navigate by without revealing too many other details. The space is large in a statement kind of way, high ceilings and sparse of furniture.
It feels empty, which bodes well for this job. I move silently anyway. The room I’ve dropped into looks to be a conservatory with a grand piano and a wall of windows.
Warding spells are interesting in how they function. Impenetrable most of the time, but loopholes exist. Glass is a challenging substance to ward and requires monthly recharging. The joint where glass meets the rest of a structure? Notorious for failure. A good ward master will place extra protections on those joints, but most still only focus on the ground floor.
Because even at weak points, the wards will hold against an intruder.
Unless the intruder is like me… and I’ve never heard of anyone else who can do what I can.
Usually, a job like this would require weeks of scoping out a location and checking each possible entry point, but luckily Nemo had done all the legwork required.
I orient myself and remember the blueprints. The left hallway is where I need to go. The lack of doors is both a pro and a con. I don’t have to worry about creaking any open, but sound travels better and paranormal beings tend to have excellent hearing.
I make it to the gallery without getting lost. It’s dark but filled with lit display cases. Each case holds something that is undoubtedly priceless. There are odd arrangements of pillows around the room. The big kind that could double as beds. It’s as if orgies take place here… and maybe they do.
The jewels in an intricate Fabergé egg wink at me from a display case, and I purposely look away. I’ve always had a weakness for beautiful craftsmanship. I check each case, keeping my steps as silent as possible and not stumbling over any of the illuminated treasures.
A medieval manuscript, a crown of jewels that looks familiar from my high school history class, a gold statue of what looks like a griffin, until—finally—a figurine made of crystal. The pink hue of it looks like rose quartz, but I’m sure it’s the magical significance rather than the price of the material that determines the value.
Out of all the things I’ve ever risked my life for, this one almost looks ordinary. I lean in to squint at it, being sure to leave enough space between me and the glass case that I’ll have to figure out how to open. The figurine is about as tall as my hand and feminine with exaggerated curves. A line of carved words in a language I don’t recognize trails up the side. This is what Nemo needs?
Is it a devotional tool? An heirloom? Will the owner miss it?
The guilt that I’ve been sure to suppress starts to well, but I mercilessly push it down. This is about keeping Nemo safe.
I identify the latches at the bottom of the case just as something brushes against my ass.
I snap upright, flailing. Strong arms capture me against a hard body. A hand wraps around my throat and squeezes just enough to keep me from being able to scream. I can barely breathe.
I’m caught.
The growl at my ear causes a cascade of chills down my spine, freezing my gut.
“Awfully bold of you to try and steal from a dragon’s hoard, thief,” he spits the last word.
Oh, fuck.
“By all rights, I should snap your neck.” The press of the speaker’s body has a sweat replacing the chill. Heat comes off him in waves. Do dragons really breathe fire?
I try to swallow but fail. My racing heart threatens to go over the edge, but the man holding me loosens his grip a small amount.
“You’re the dragon, I presume?” My voice is scratchy, but surprisingly stable. Please let this just be a guard. Anyone else other than the dragon that owns this house. But something about the presence of the man at my back removes all doubt. I still really hope it’s not him.
His snort kills that hope.
“We can work something out,” I say instead. Criminals evade capture not because they are smart, but because they can pivot. I may have forsaken the criminal life… but in my soul, I still am one. No matter how much I try to make amends.
“Why would I want to work something out with you?” His derision is heavy and biting.
“Because dead bodies are inconvenient?” I try.
“I could just eat you.”
My heart is ice, but for some strange reason, my body isn’t frozen in panic. The heat spreading through me and making me sweat is relaxing muscles that have very good reason to be tense. There are some other reactions lower down that I’m not thinking about right now.
“I think,” I whisper. “That I’d be terrible eating.”
His laugh is cruel, and something sharp drags against the sweating skin of my throat that feels distinctly like teeth. “Maybe. And maybe not.”
Inappropriate sensations race over my skin. It only gets worse when he inhales my throat as if scenting me.