Dragon Collector (Dragon Hoard Book 2) Read online

  Dragon Collector

  Dragon Hoard Book 2

  Minerva Howe

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Want More?

  Coming Soon from Minerva Howe

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by Minerva Howe

  To Kiernan Kelly, who reminded me that I love dragons, and as always, to my wife.

  Also, many thanks to my editor, Jaymi. You save my butt, always.

  M.

  Dragon Collector

  Copyright © 2020 Minerva Howe

  Cover Art Illustration by Alexandria Corza. Used with permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information electronic address Turtlehat Creatives [email protected]

  Printed in the United States of America.

  ISBN: 978-1-953438-15-7

  1st Edition Turtlehat Creatives 2020

  Created with Vellum

  1

  Eagan Drake was on a mission. When he was on the hunt, he could be singularly focused, whether he was after a food source or a Lalique vase. In this case, he was hunting a very different kind of prey. One that was incredibly important to him and close to his heart.

  He huffed. Really, did Marks and Reaver Antiquarian Bookstore have to be so far from a parking situation? He’d had to park three blocks away and walk, which would be no issue if he wasn’t carrying a set of Edwardian three stair library steps with a drawer as the center step.

  He’d wanted a piece that converted to a chair, but that auction had slipped by without him making it out of Colorado. Chicago was quite the trip when one had his responsibilities.

  Babysitting his niece was a time-consuming job every so often.

  His target, one Oliver Reaver, had been avoiding coming to see Eagan’s brother Brand and Brand’s husband, Devon, who just happened to be Oliver’s business partner. In fact, he’d been avoiding them so long that Eagan was beginning to ache with it.

  So Eagan was going to Ollie.

  With this heavy bit of furniture.

  Wooing he could do, dammit. If Brand could accomplish it, he could too. In fact, Eagan was generally considered the most civilized one among he and his brothers. People liked him. Other men found him attractive. Even Oliver had succumbed to his charms more than once.

  So why was Ollie so damn difficult now? Avoiding him like the plague.

  He hauled the steps up the, well, steps, and muscled them in the door of the shop, the bell ringing away overhead. Ah, there went the element of surprise. Still, a hunt was a hunt, and he would capture his intended prize soon.

  “Just a moment, please. I’ll be right with you.” Ollie’s melodic voice floated up from somewhere in the stacks.

  He didn’t answer. That much of an advantage he would hold on to. Besides, he was a bit disheveled, so he took the time to put himself together, smoothing his sweater vest over his shirt, making sure his auburn hair was in place.

  “Hello?” He heard Oliver inhale, then whisper, “Eagan.”

  “Oliver!” He peered around the corner of a shelf where Ollie had stopped, seemingly frozen as if a gorgon had stared at him. “There you are. Come say a proper hello.”

  “What’s this? How are you?” Ollie looked adorably rumpled, his man bun off-center, his glasses smudged. “I missed you.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” He took Ollie’s hands in his, then kissed his cheek. “I missed you too. I brought you a little something I picked up at auction. You know how I love my bargains, and this one called your name.”

  The steps actually had been a steal, too, at less than fifty.

  “Oh… Oh, they’re gorgeous. Come in, please. Have a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?” Ollie had the most beautiful gold and green eyes.

  “I would indeed. Thank you.” He couldn’t help but stare. Oliver was—his, not to put too fine a point on it. His mate, and he knew it. But Ollie was not convinced, at least not all the time, which was unutterably frustrating.

  “You like the Irish Breakfast, yes? One sugar and lemon?”

  “Please.” Ollie remembered. That was a very good sign. Then again, Oliver might be the most polite fellow he’d ever met. No. Eagan was going to take it as an omen of things to come.

  Oliver disappeared into the little kitchenette; the sound of the kettle familiar. “Have you found anything wonderful?”

  “Well, I got these for you.” Eagan chuckled when Ollie made appropriate happy noises again. “I also picked up a rotating bookshelf for Devon. One of those elaborate Victorian monstrosities. Edwardian seemed more your style.”

  “Oh, he’ll be over the moon. How is Arielle? Still growing?”

  “Like the proverbial weed.” He smiled at the thought of his niece, who was the most brilliant and beautiful little dragonet ever. She was stubborn, determined, and so smart.

  “I need to run up and see her before she forgets who I am. I talk to Devon a few times a week, but it’s always during her nap.” Ollie brought them both a cuppa and some cookies.

  “Oh, lemon cookies. How lovely.” The bookstore had two little table and chair combinations, mainly for consultations, he knew, but they sat together, shop assistant Halle waving at him as she went by, phone to her ear. “You should come up. I know you just hired someone, but perhaps when he’s had a few weeks of training.”

  “Have you decided whether you’re moving to the compound or staying close to the city?” That wasn’t an answer to his question.

  “I’ll keep my house here, I’m sure, but we’re all talking about our options.” There. He could be vague too. Honestly, Brand’s place was perfect for now, but if the area grew up too much, they could always build on at Tyson’s compound farther up in the mountains.

  “Of course. I live upstairs, which you know. I don’t need space.”

  “You know you’re welcome at my house whenever, you know. It’s not as impressive as Brand’s, but my library is well-stocked.” And his bed was huge. And empty.

  “You know I can spend days lost in your house. It’s perfect as is.” The words made Eagan’s heart beat faster.

  “Mmm. Well, it just gained a Limoges tea set and one very early flow blue biscuit jar.” He was very proud of both acquisitions.

  “Oh, wow. That sounds lovely. You can have a fabulous tea party.” Oliver’s knee touched his. “I found you an Esterbrook pen at an estate sale. It’s upstairs.”

  “Oliver! Thank you so much.” His cheeks heated with pleasure, and a curl of steam flowed from his nose.

  His Ollie—because Oliver was his mate, dammit—smiled, the expression sweet. “Do you want to come and see it? I can leave Halle in charge for the afternoon…”

  “I would love that.” His body went sproing! Yes, he wanted to go upstairs.

  “Excellent. I’ll be right back.”

  The cookies were store-bought, but superlative quality, and he ate four waiting for Oliver. He needed to quell the steam engine revving up inside him a bit.

  A wa
rm hand slid into his, Oliver grabbing his mug of tea with the other. “Come upstairs, Eagan. I want you.”

  “Do you now?” He let Oliver lead him. Oh, he wanted too. Badly. In fact, once they made it inside the apartment, he lifted Oliver into his arms.

  “Yes.” Oliver groaned and brought their lips together, his lover cupping his cheeks.

  “Mmm.” Eagan took this kiss deep, his tongue pushing in so he could taste. Why did Oliver hide from him so? The hunt was all good and well, but this was better.

  Ollie groaned, beginning to ride him, hips rocking against his. The need between them was fierce.

  He took Ollie to the little bedroom and stretched him out on the bed, then stripped off the loose clothes Ollie insisted on wearing. That trim body was far too fine to hide.

  Oliver put his glasses aside and took the heavy leather cuff off his hair, letting the dark mass loose and free.

  “Oh.” Eagan dug his fingers into the stuff, spreading it out around Ollie. “Lovely one.”

  “I want you, E. I want you to touch me.”

  “I’m here.” He smoothed his hands over Oliver’s skin, loving how pale and perfect he was. Those flat nipples were more pink than brown, and the tiny line of fine hair was a darker brown than the long chestnut hair Eagan loved so.

  Oliver arched beautifully, making art with his need, and Eagan molded him, touching him with deep, steady caresses. He wanted to relearn all of the textures and flavors of Oliver’s skin, of his mouth, his leaking cock.

  He leaned down, rubbing his cheek against the hard shaft, craving the happy, low cry it earned him. Eagan licked, tasting salt and slight bitterness, but somehow Ollie always tasted so good. So perfect. He would never get enough, and he hated it when they were not together.

  “You make me crazy. I think about you all the goddamn time.” Ollie’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging on him.

  “Good.” He kissed the tip of Oliver’s cock, then sucked him in, ignoring the demand that he rise up. He wasn’t ready to release his prize. Not yet.

  “Fuck. Fuck, yes.” Another of those perfect, delicious arches, and Oliver was sliding over his tongue.

  Eagan closed his eyes so he could focus, letting his tongue rub on the underside ridge and the head hit the back of his throat. Then he swallowed.

  “Eagan!” The sound of his name ringing out satisfied something deep in the pit of his soul. So did the feel of Ollie’s fingers rubbing his neck, massaging his scalp. It was as if his lover couldn’t stop touching him wherever he could reach.

  Eagan craved this—the way his so-hidden away lover became deliciously needy, this nymph who called to him. He licked and sucked, then moved down to nuzzle the fuzzy balls. Oliver smelled so good here, so musky. It was addictive.

  “Please. I dreamed about you last night. I dreamed you were calling my name.”

  Then why do you stay away? He didn’t understand why Ollie was so stubborn, so determined to deny them.

  “Please.” Ollie fucked his mouth when he sicked that hot prick back in. Ollie was so warm, so perfect. He never felt cold when he was with his mate.

  He finally let go of Ollie’s cock with a pop, then slid up Ollie’s body. “Do you have slick, my love?”

  “And condoms,” Ollie said firmly.

  He gritted his teeth. Ollie was terrified of what had happened to Devon, even though he loved the baby.

  “I won’t make you sick, you know.”

  “Devon became a dragon. A pregnant dragon. I have to be careful. I might turn into a cockatrice or a minotaur…”

  “Doubtful, on the whole, love.” He chuckled, though. Ollie had read too many of Brand’s medieval bestiary books. “But for you I’ll do it.”

  He grabbed the condom, tearing the wrapper away so he could smooth it on. Eagan would reward himself by getting Ollie good and wet. He knew there was no way Ollie could even think of getting pregnant until his inner dragon presented enough that he was making his own lubrication. It would happen.

  “Mmm…so pretty.” Ollie reached for him, fingers dragging over his covered prick.

  “I’m ready for you, love. Now, let me get you ready for me.” He lubed his fingers, wanting to get Ollie ready for him. He knew well that he might look like a human in this guise, but his cock was…a little larger than average.

  Oliver’s eyes went heavy-lidded, his lover licking his lips. “Damn. Damn, you’re going to feel so good.”

  “You’re going to take me, love. I’m going to fill you deep.”

  There was something undeniably delicious about the spark of wildness in Oliver’s eyes, in the knowledge that Ollie needed him, wanted him with the same passion. The way Ollie spread for him, let him push two wet fingers in, made him groan, his hips rolling.

  “Yes.” Oliver pulled one leg up, exposing himself easily, that flat belly rippling.

  “Soon, love. Let me get you good and open.” If Ollie would just stay with him, let them be together… But that was not for now. Now was for loving.

  Oliver’s hands were too clever for their own good, though, and the sharp tugs to his nipples threatened to derail him.

  “Careful, now. I want in you before I shoot, love.” He wanted to mark Oliver as his again. He felt as if he was starting over every time.

  “Yes. You feel better than… I want you.” Ollie’s eyelids went heavy.

  He growled. “Than what?” He stopped, staring at Ollie.

  “Huh?” Oliver blinked up at him, wide-eyed.

  “I feel better than what?” Jealousy reared up; his dragon ready to spring out.

  Understanding flooded Ollie’s eyes, his cheeks flushed dark, and a heartbeat later he pulled away from Eagan, sliding out of reach and off the bed. “I was going to say my dreams. I don’t fuck around. Not that we have an arrangement or anything. I—”

  Then Ollie wrapped his arms around himself, running for the bathroom. The door shut and locked with a click.

  Eagan sat back on his heels, his knee making contact with the dropped tube of lube and squirting it all over the bed. “Damn it all! Oliver? Ollie?” He hopped off the bed, taking a few long strides to the bathroom door to knock gently.

  “I’ll be right out. I just need to wash my face.” Oliver’s voice was carefully neutral, but Eagan could feel the hurt.

  “I’m sorry, love. That was cruel of me. I was jealous of nothing.” He knew that. He did.

  “No worries.” Oliver came out, hair up again, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants. “Let me get you a robe, and I’ll show you your pen. You left your blue one here. Robe, I mean.”

  Ollie opened the closet, handing him the robe, which smelled like Oliver.

  “Wait, Oliver, please.” He needed to wash up, but he wanted to make sure Ollie knew he felt like an ass. “That was utterly out of line. I’m sorry. I’ve just—I missed you so.”

  “I understand. It’s okay, Eagan.” It wasn’t. Oliver was hurt, embarrassed, and withdrawn. “I’ll make fresh tea and meet you in the living room.”

  He wanted to grab Ollie and take him back to bed. He wanted all sorts of things, but he washed up instead, shrugging into his robe afterward so he could be civilized and try to figure out to fix what he’d done. The thought of Ollie with anyone else had made him snarl.

  He told himself that Oliver slept in his robe, that Oliver had asked him up, and that Oliver wanted him as badly as he wanted his mate.

  Eagan would grovel. He wasn’t above that, and he deserved the slowly deflating erection he had now. He made his way to Oliver’s tiny living room, summoning a smile.

  Ollie had two new mugs of tea steaming, along with two chocolate cupcakes, and a small box. He was curled in the lovely old wing chair that he preferred, leaving Eagan the loveseat.

  Eagan bit back his sigh. Oh, he’d truly messed up. Ollie might as well have been at the tower in Brand’s house, as distant as he was.

  “Thank you for the tea,” he said. “It smells good.”

  “I bought it at thi
s little tea shop. It reminded me of you, the first day we met. It’s very warming, comforting. Like a hug.”

  “Oh.” His heart swelled. Ollie was too good to him when he didn’t deserve it. “I really am sorry, Ollie. I just want you with me, and it makes me say incredibly stupid things. Now, show me this pen.”

  Oliver unfolded himself and came to sit next to him, handing him the box. The Esterbrook was red marble and a lovely nib. “It has a leaver filler—so you can fill the sack inside. It’s the original sack even.”

  “That’s amazing.” It was. The pen was in near perfect condition, and a pearlized red and tortoise color that reminded him of dragon scales. “Thank you.” He kissed Ollie’s cheek gently.

  “You’re welcome.” Oliver met his gaze, so serious. “I am with you, even if it’s only once in a while. I am not a cheat. If I decide I wish to date someone else, I would tell you first, but I choose to be with you.”

  “Thank you.” He cupped a hand around Ollie’s cheek, rubbing those soft lips with his thumb. “I was irrational. At times, my dragon self simply wants to hoard you. Protect you from everything.”

  Oliver leaned into his touch. “I wish I was a dragon too, but I’m not. There’s nothing but Scottish. Not even anything cool like Navajo or sub-Saharan. Nothing.”

  “Mmm.” He knew Ollie thought the DNA test was conclusive. Magic didn’t follow those boundaries, though. In fact, dragon magic would most likely resist such tests. Besides, Ollie needed to allow his dragon self to emerge. Like Devon had. His brother’s mate had been a natural.

  Ollie was more reticent.

  More reticent. More lovely. More exciting. More intriguing. More delicious.

  “Lover, your eyes are glowing.” Oliver stole a kiss.