Deep Inside
Something old, coiled, and fire-breathing.
And apparently, Jammy Dracotar had noticed.
He sat at the head of the obsidian-glassed room like he owned time. Slate-black hair, jaw cut by some divine blade, eyes the color of molten amber flickering with shadows that didn’t belong in a man’s gaze.
Lustre had been cataloging ancient draconic texts in his private archive for two weeks—
until tonight.
Tonight, he hadn’t brought her here for scrolls.
The bidding war for a relic ended. Champagne flowed. But Jammy’s gaze stayed pinned on her.