Rick shook his head in disbelief for what must be the millionth time.

Of all the places to received a random invite - a formal request even, not just a simple phone call, but stationary and hand delivered and everything - he would never in a million years have guessed the Tantalus.

Not even the lower levels. No, his invite had included instructions and a special card.

All the way to the top floors.

No one ever saw the demon lord in his lair. Those with appointments saw him in the lower offices; no one was dumb enough to bother him without an appointment.

Sable Brennus was remarkably laid back for a demon, or so the rumors went, but he was still a demon.

He pulled the invite from his pocket as he reached what was clearly a reception room, holding it out as he approached the desk where some sort of abnormal answered phones and did the sort of paperwork that looked mysterious and exotic to outsiders but was really more boring than watching grass grow.

The woman didn't even look at it, just flicked him the barest of glances, a brief but pretty smile, and mashed a button on her phone. "Mr. Brennus, Mr. Cross is here." She smiled again, and Rick caught a hint of fangs. "Please go right in - the second door to the right."

"Thank you," Rick murmured, daring a smile of his own, not used to doing it - but she didn't look horrified by the effort, her own smile brightening, so maybe he wasn't completely out of practice.

Feeling moderately better, Rick turned and walked down the wide hallway, doing his best to relax and not gawk at the expensive paintings, vases. This one hallway cost more than his entire house - and his house wasn't cheap. Why in the world was he being called here of all places?

He suspected he knew, at least to a degree, though he wouldn't have thought the D-Pits the sort of the thing to interest a demon. Never mind that he'd said a hundred thousand times to anyone dumb enough to bring the subject up that he wanted no part of the D-Pits ever. Not their scene. Hadn't been when they were young and stupid, certainly wouldn't be now that they'd more or less matured.

At the second door on the right, Rick hesitated. Did one knock in situations like this?

The problem was solved for him when the door suddenly opened, and Rick found himself greeted by a startlingly handsome man - his clothes were old, worn, the leather jacket clearly well past its last legs, but for all that the man looked good. Early thirties? Classic blonde hair and blue eyes, slender but fit build.

Something about him was abnormal, but without Cal Rick couldn't tell what. "Ah-I'm here to see-"

"Come on in," the blonde man said. "I was just coming out to greet you." He stepped aside to let Rick in. "You're Aldrick Cross."

"Rick, please."

The man nodded. "I'm Chris White." He closed the door and pointed across the office - more of a sitting room or lounge or something, nothing but sofas and chairs and a long coffee table - to a man standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. "That's Sable."

Yeah, Rick hadn't needed to be told that. Even without Cal, he'd recognize a demon lord. Everyone in the territory had heard about the man - how didn't you hear about the one that kept neighboring wolves and vamps and other problems out of the area? He was as good-looking as the rumors went, and cliché as it sounded those eyes really were the color of storm clouds.

"I'm actually the one who wanted to speak with you," Chris said, motioning for him to sit. "Want a drink or anything?"

"No, thanks," Rick said. "What's this all about? Usually when someone receives an invite from the demon in residence, it's not a good thing."

Sable chuckled and moved to on the sofa opposite the one Rick had taken. "If I dislike someone, I go get rid of them or have Christian do it. They would not be invited here."

"That's what I was hoping," Rick said, hoping his abject relief didn't show. He fought the urge to rake a hand restlessly through his hair, knowing the black strands didn't need the added help looking messy. "So what did you want?"

"I'm sure you already have a good idea," Chris said, leaning back in the armchair he'd taken, situated between the two long sofas. He braced his elbows on the arms rests and steepled his fingers.

"Why on earth would a demon lord and his consort give two fucks - pardon my language - about the D-pits. Only reason anyone ever wants to talk to me."

Chris shook his head. "It is and isn't about that."

Rick quirked one brow. "Do explain." He might be nervous as shit about this, but damned if he'd let anyone try and fuck with Cal.

"I have been hired to find a particular dragon. For the past two months I have been looking and the only clues I can find all point to the D-Pits. Unfortunately-"

"You can't get in," Rick interrupted. "You're abnormal though I can't tell how - maybe that's just the demon magic."

Sable snickered as Chris glowered. "In part my magic, but Christian is…special."

"Be quiet," Chris snapped. He turned back to Rick. "As you say, I and my associates are all abnormal to some degree. So we can't get in as spectators, and we've no chance of finding a dragon and joining the fights."

Spectator being the polite word for anyone who wanted to bet on the fights. Scum of the earth, Rick preferred. The only people he hated more were the Owners, though D-Pit lords were a damned close second.

Christ drummed his finger tips together as he spoke. "I could force the issue as Sable's consort since the Pits bleed into his territory but creating that kind of stir does no one any favors and won't guarantee I'll get the dragon before his Owner bolts with him. Anyway, I never could figure out which D-Pit exactly he's located."

He knew where this was going. "You want me to go in and find this dragon for you."

"It's a young one," Chris said. "Turned fifteen about a month before he was kidnapped. Frost. Pure blood."

Rick winced. Frost dragons were rare; they were also damned hard to beat. Few things were as formidable as a pure blood frost dragon. Of all the high elements, they were the most tenacious and vicious. "Where'd they get it?"

"He was kidnapped right from his house in the dead of night. That was four months ago. I was only hired two months ago. Motive I don't yet have - I've been putting all my effort into simply finding him."

"Gotcha," Rick said, nodding in thought. He knew the D-Pits because he wanted nothing to do with them - 'know thine enemy' and all that. "A PB Frost? No one would waste time with the outer Pits. I'd hazard to say he's at the Shatter Spine, the Snap Neck, or the Broken Heart. Who's the 'Owner'?"

Chris glowered at some unseen annoyance. "If I knew that, I wouldn't have to drag you into this. All I hear are rumors of a young frost dragon slowly making a name for himself. No wins yet, but it's only a matter of time. No one is willing to cough up who owns him."

That was unusual, but not unheard of. Owners were usually as well known and spoken of as their dragons. To know the dragon but not the Owner was to know the weapon but not the wielder. It could mean only a couple of things - either no one knew the Owner's identity, which had happened; some people just didn't like it known they played in the D-Pits. Other times…the Owner was high enough up the chain no one dared say his name without express permission.

Which meant he probably used a shadow Owner to do the in-Pit work while he watched from above and covertly passed on his orders. If that was the case, and it every well could be with a PB Frost involved - and one technically too young to be thrown into the Pits - then this could get ugly fast. Rick shook his head. "Sounds like you're in a nasty tangle. I'm sure I don't need to explain what's likely going down."

"I'm sure hearing the finer points couldn't hurt," Chris replied, "however I do sense this is probably running deeper than any of us likes to think about. If you're willing, though, find him and get him out." He made a face. "If it starts to look too dangerous, just tell me where he is and I'll say to hell with keeping things quiet."

Rick frowned in thought. "I have to talk to Cal before I can tell you for certain, but I will be honest and say I don't like the idea of a kit being thrown in the Pits. Not even sure how that would have slipped by - even the D-Pits have that much of a standard. Never heard of a child being thrown in, which makes me nervous about the Owner. I'm willing, but I have to speak with Cal. How can I get in touch?"

"Call this number," Chris said, and pulled a business card from his pocket. It was plain white with a band of black across the top and the words White Detective Agency above that. Below that was Chris's name, then the name Douglas, and lastly a phone number. "Ask to speak to me or Doug."

Rick stood up and tucked the card away in his jeans. "Will do."

"Thank you," Chris said.

"I haven't agreed yet."

"You listened. That's more than most in your position would do."

Rick shrugged. "I figured it was better not to tell a demon lord to kiss off. Anyway, Cal said I should at least check it out. I'll show myself out." He turned and strode out the door, back down the hall, waved to the secretary and then took the elevator down to the lobby.

It was cloudy but not quite raining when he hit the streets. An attendant pulled up with his motorcycle as Rick reached the bottom of the stairs. He took his keys and thanked the man, the entire situation from the invite to the conversation to having a valet take care of his bike still completely surreal. He was thirty-five. Shit like this didn't happen to thirty-five year olds.

Now he had to go tell Cal that because he was a fucking soft touch that they might finally have to go down into the Pits they'd avoided their whole damn lives.

Home was an overblown "cabin" deep in the mountains, on a road only someone desperate and foolish enough to want to get the fuck away from people would travel. Getting shit to the cabin had been a damned nightmare, but worth it in the end.

Out here, he and Cal would know people were coming. Precious few thought the trip worth it, after he'd already turned down more offers than he could count - of the polite and not so polite kind. Luckily, he'd managed to take care of them without dragging Cal into the fight. If they saw Cal fight, then they'd never leave him alone.

Worse, they'd try to take him.

He'd risk that if they did this for the demon lord's consort…though he wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to tell a demon lord's consort no.

Not that Chris or Sable had seemed particularly evil or demonic. Hell, he was referring to them by first name. He'd heard of demon territories where they had to use honorifics and shit.

Driving the twisting road was difficult enough on a good day - never mind a bad night. The rain had finally hit and it was only his bike and knowledge that kept him from taking a long, nasty spill back down to the bottom of the mountain.

The lights of the cabin finally came into view and Rick relaxed slightly. As he approached, the garage door opened and he was able to drive right inside - Cal must have been watching for him, the bike didn't have an auto-opener.

Tearing his helmet off, Rick set it aside and started stripping out of his wet clothes, shivering in the cold air and hustling inside to throw the clothes in the laundry room before he padded through the kitchen into the hall, then up the stairs to their bedroom.

He smiled as he heard the shower running, laughing as steam washed over him as he opened the bathroom door. "It's a shower, not a sauna, Cal."

"I can try," Cal grumbled laughingly, peeking around the wide glass wall that separated the shower from the rest of the massive bathroom. He was soaked from head to foot, water beading and streaming down his fair skin, the fine-toned muscles. His hair, dark chocolate brown, was plastered to his skull, all but covering his pale amber eyes. "Especially since you won't give me a sauna."

Rick rolled his eyes. "I gave you the hot tub."

"Still not a sauna," Cal replied with a sniff, but he grinned and reached out to tug Rick into the shower with him, looping his arms around Rick's neck. "Get in here before you catch a cold. The weather's been miserable all day."

Rick wrapped his arms around Cal's waist and rested his head a moment against his lover's chest. "You feel good."

Sharp teeth nipped his ear, making him shiver. "You too. Glad you're back."

"Is that why you're trying to steam me?" Rick asked with a breathless laugh as his back met slick tile.

"Mmm, steamed Ricky. My second favorite," Cal replied, then pressed up against him and covered Ricky's mouth with his own, teasing his tongue over Ricky's lips for a minute before parting them and taking claim of his mouth. Knowing hands roamed Rick's body, knowing exactly where to touch, tease, how to elicit all the gasps and moans Rick fed into his mouth, before he finally ceased tormenting and reached down to stroke them both together, hard and fast until they both came calling each other's names.

"Second favorite?" Rick asked when he could finally speak again. Absently he reached out to find the soap, nearly dropping it twice before he finally started soaping them both up.

Cal grinned wide, displaying his too sharp to be human teeth. "I will always be most fond of chocolate Ricky."

Rick made a face and ignored the heat he could feel in his cheeks. "You're spoiled rotten, lizard."

"By you," Cal said, stealing the soap and washing Rick as Rick washed him. He stole a kiss and then suddenly rubbed his soap-covered hands all over Rick's face, back up against the glass as Rick tried to retaliate - then caught him up and shoved them both back into the spray, rinsing them off quickly. Rick turned off the water as Cal snagged a couple of towels, then they dressed quickly, him in an old pair of sweats, Cal in a ridiculous pair of PJ pants - dark red with little blue and black cartoon dragons.

Rick smiled fondly, shaking his head at Cal's ever amusing choice of lounging attire, and led the way back downstairs and into the kitchen. "Hungry?" he asked, snagging a longneck from the fridge and twisting the cap off, pitching it into the trashcan on the far side of the kitchen before taking a long swallow.

"Only for you," Cal said with a wink. "I ate already. We're running low on steak."

"Damned lizard," Rick replied. "Why can't you eat crickets like the cute little lizards in the pet stores?"

Cal sniffed. "I give you sex. I get steak."

"I suppose you have a point," Rick said with a grin before taking another swallow of his beer. He followed Cal out of the kitchen and across the hall to the living room, setting his beer on the table before allowing the dragon to drag him down onto the couch - brown suede, nearly big enough to be a bed. He lay along the edge, back to Cal's chest, their legs tangled together.

"So what did the demon lord want?"

"It was his consort that wanted to see me, actually," Rick said, good mood fading as he explained all that Chris had told him, what he'd asked.

Cal was quiet for several long minutes after he finished. Rick twisted around to watch him, knowing his own green eyes were just as intense as the pale amber that stared back. Then Cal leaned down and kissed, long and slow and sweet. "We can't let a kit stay in the Pits. If he's still alive, it's only because he's a frost and damned lucky."

Rick nodded in agreement and leaned in for another kiss. "You know I love you."

"Of course," Cal said, nuzzling against him. "Love you too."

It was impossible to tell a dragon type by looking at the untransformed human. No matter what the experts said, no matter how many people claimed that talent. A blonde man with green eyes was just as likely to be a black dragon as a green dragon as a white dragon. Anyone who could claim to tell on sight was lying through his fucking teeth or already knew.

Rick knew this for a fact. Every last one of the bastards who'd 'stopped by for a little chat' had immediately pegged Cal as a black dragon. Which was very nice of them, as black dragons were prized - not rare, exactly, but certainly a little more than merely respectable.

"Smells awful," Cal said quietly, his voice reaching Rick's ears in the din but only just. Rick tightened his grip on Cal's hand and wrestled them through the crowd of gawkers and wannabe spectators.

The real money would already be inside. Later a few of the wannabes might be allowed inside, though only so the vets could wring them dry.

"It's going to be a long night," Rick said with a sigh as he approached the fighter table.

Eyes widened in shock as he and Cal approached.

"Cross," greeted a man who looked as though he'd once lost a fight with a grizzly bear. That he could see at all was a miracle. Tank was his name, or what he went by anyway. "Never thought we'd actually see you here."

"Things change," Rick said shortly.

Tank stood up from where he'd been sitting on the edge of a table. He put out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray and then approached them. All around, the gawkers and workers backed away to give him room. He walked slowly around Cal, looking the dragon up and down. Rick tolerated it until Tank reached out a hand - he grabbed it just as Cal started to growl and his pale eyes began to warm to a deep gold.

"He's not for you to touch," Rick said, holding Tank's wrist tight.

"All right, man. Chill." Tank tore his wrist free and gave Cal another once over. "Fine piece of dragon, Cross." He leered. "Keep this one in excellent shape, don't you?" Rick said nothing and Tank rolled his eyes. "I keep forgetting you got no sense of humor, man. Signing him up? Where do you want to start?"

Rick had considered this question carefully on the drive up.

The Pits were broken up into a dozen types - A through D, with three grades of each. The A-Pits were for pussies; it was where the gawkers and the wannabes went when they realized they'd never be good enough for a real Pit fight - for either playing or watching. Lesser abnormals were fought there - gremlins, goblins, faeries, most of them taken right off the streets.

The B-Pits were a bit tougher, given over to those creatures from the A-Pits and from wherever else in the abnormal world worthy fighters could be coerced in one way or another. It was also where real money started to enter the scene - five hundred dollars just to get in, and from there people bet like crazy. Hellhounds, ogres, trolls - all these were common in the B-Pits.

Anyone with real interest in a fight, and in making serious money off a fight, went for the C-Pits. A thousand dollars cover, and betting was all but mandatory. Here the real abnormals fought - minotaur, werewolves, imps. It was the only Pit where fights to the death took place , though only at the highest of the three levels, and it was decided on a fight-by-fight basis. For that reason alone, the C-Pits were often considered by many to be the most brutal.

That was only because those who said so couldn't get into the D-Pits. Five thousand was the cover charge to see a D-Pit fight, and here betting was mandatory. If you couldn't afford to play…well, you didn't get in. High rollers hung in the D-Pits - though only normals. No abnormals were allowed in the D-Pits. Paranormals that had an interest sent a normal rep.

So far as participation went - if you had a dragon strong enough, you were allowed to try.

Strong enough mostly meant age, fitness, fighting ability. Dragons were strong and capable naturally - they were made for combat, bred for it, and those who went into the D-Pits were given a workout regimen that would kill any other creature.

Within the D-Pits the three levels were entry, master, and special.

Entry and master would be far too easy for Cal. Special would provide a bit of a challenge, maybe, but they weren't here for Cal. The kit's name was Nevada Montserrat. He was the reason they were here. As powerful as a frost dragon was, especially a young one, he would not have the experience that came with age. That meant he wouldn't be in special, which meant to put Cal there would be a waste of time.

Rick almost felt bad for the dragons that would take a beating, going up against Cal. He wouldn't hurt them too much, but he had to keep in it until they found Nevada. Hopefully it wouldn't take them days and days to do it. "Master."

Tank quirked a brow at him. "You sure? He's never fought in a Pit before; there are some real toughs that will hold his being new against him."

"I said Master, Tank."

"Okay, okay. Just looking out for your dragon, man. I'd hate to see such a fine black go to waste."

Rick barely kept from laughing in his face.

Tank held out two chips, each one stamped with a '14'. "He stays with you until his number is called. Hand over his chip to the ref, keep yours on the off chance you win."

"Thanks," Rick replied, taking the chips and tucking them away in his black leather jacket.

"Fight well," Tank told Cal. "Don't disappoint your Owner."

Cal said nothing, though his eyes darkened at what he perceived as an insult.

"Come on, Cal," Rick said, turning and leading way into the Pits.

D-Pits were kept strictly apart from the others, which often occupied the same building if they didn't outright share fighting space. This was because magic was frequently used to cheat, and depending on the species certain dragons were more susceptible to magic than others.

So no abnormals. Anyone with a dragon didn't need extraneous abilities anyway.

"Stop smirking, Cal," Rick muttered as they entered the Pits. "You'll give your game away."

Cal snorted softly.

"You'll give away you have nothing to fear," Rick corrected with a warning look.

"We're not here to win anything."

Rick just gave him a look.

Cal grimaced. "All right, all right. So maybe it's getting to me. I can't help it. Much."

"Try," Rick said, but nodded in understanding. The air was saturated with a fighting lust. All around him in the brightly lit hall were dragons waiting to fight. Some were dreading it, others were panting for it. More than a few unethical owners kept their dragons in a state of sexual frustration days before a fight to make them that much more vicious in the Pit.

Most were still in human form, though he could see about half a dozen or so in dragon form, holding perfectly still but obviously wanting to pull at the chains holding them and pick an early fight. Teeth and scales glistened in the light of the chandeliers.

Packed together, the scent just stirred the dragons further. Even Cal could not help but feel it a bit, which stirred his urge to fight. This was why dragons made such excellent Pit fighters.

"Fourteen," Cal murmured, amber eyes panning the room, picking out the ones that would precede him, the ones he would be fighting, no doubt also looking for the kit. "I don't see him," he said a couple of minutes later, voice barely audible.

Rick nodded, but motioned him to silence as they reached the bar. He ordered a beer then turned to look out over the crowd.

In jeans, sweater, and a leather jacket he was glaringly out of place - except for the six one dragon standing beside him. Cal was dressed just as simply as Rick, in loose jeans and a tight white t-shirt, a brown corduroy jacket.

"You suppose we should have dressed fancy?" Cal asked with a wink.

"I'd prefer to be at home in my sweats."

"I'd prefer naked myself."

Rick grinned. "You have a point."

Cal dipped his head and planted a quick kiss on his lips. "You taste like beer. What do I get if I win? Do I get a prize just for fighting?"

"You're spoiled," Rick said, rolling his eyes, fighting a fond smile. "Of course you'll win. No prize for that." He took a long pull of his beer. "If you behave, I'll let you hunt a few deer."

Amber eyes flared with pleasure. "If we do you know what in one night?" He leaned in closer. "If I'm a good little dragon and not only behave but save the day?"

Rick closed the space between them and kissed Cal briefly, but with force. "You can have chocolate."

"On you?" Cal asked, eyes all but glowing.

"If you insist, lizard."

"I insist."

Rick started to reply, but the sound of a gong announced the beginning of the fights and slowly the mingling crowd began to move out of the hall and into the arena. "Make the calls," he said. "I'll go with whatever you decide."

Cal's hand curled briefly over his, holding it tight, an acknowledgement of the trust Rick was placing in him - redundant to mention it, really, they trusted each other implicitly. Anything could happen in the Pits though, especially since they were trying to take another dragon out. In the heat of a fight, Rick would still trust Cal and move according to what the dragon decided.

Precious few Owners trusted their dragons to that degree. Most dragons were born as humans and lived for years that way, but once their dragon genes were activated thinking of them as human was stupid and quite possibly dangerous. That would be why the already transformed ones were chained, especially if their Owners had them exclusively for Pit use.

The arena was simple, straightforward. Amphitheatre style for the seating in a full circle around the actual fighting ring - which was completely sealed off by specially made glass so that the fight could be seen clearly without spectators getting unintentionally injured. The seats themselves were all movie theatre style, high backs and plenty of padding, with plenty of leg room. Before each fight spectators would place their bets; participants weren't allowed to bet.

All the lights but those in the ring itself went out as numbers one and two were called.

Rick grunted. "Not too bad, I guess. That black has survived more than a few." He snickered at Cal's low growl. "I'm not praising him. Just an observation. That green dragon…I would bet on the black." Cal growled louder and Rick rolled his eyes. He grasped Cal's chin and made the dragon look at him. "Cal. I'm yours."

Amber eyes flared, then settled to their usual pale color. Cal nodded and settled back in his seat. "It's hard resisting. If it was jut a few…but there's what, almost fifty here? I hope I don't have to go through all of them…"

"I doubt it," Rick replied. "Some of these are probably from the entry level, their Owners wanting them to observe, learn to control themselves with so much fight lust in the air." He slid Cal an amused glance. "A few are from Master level."

Cal snorted and said nothing.

All around them a hush fell as everyone finished placing their bets and a bell rang to start the fight.

It was fast and brutal - Rick had been right about the green. Probably fresh from entry level, not used to a nasty like the black, which had obviously been worked to a frenzy pre-fight.

The black lasted the next four fights, but fell to number six, which was a red dragon. Also known as a fire dragon. Blue was water, green was earth, white was wind. Basic elemental dragons. Black was hybrid - at least two elementals, sometimes more.

Everyone thought Cal was a four-hybrid black - a black dragon that had bits of all four basic elements. If that were true, it would draw close in power to the high elementals - inferno, frost, rock, and gale.

High elementals were rare; even harder to find was a pure blood - someone who was more dragon than human. At best, most dragons were fifty-fifty. To count as pure blood - PB - the count had to be 75-25 dragon to human.

Rick watched as the red dragon beat down the black, then blazed his way straight through to twelve. Number twelve was a rock dragon, which meant things were finally heating up.

It also meant Tank had been fucking with him, as the bastard would know good and well which dragons had which numbers. He was setting up Cal to take a fall to a fresh rock, since any high elemental worth his scales would beat down a red. No doubt the red's owner was just trying to see how far he could push his fire dragon.

Well, Tank was about to learn just how stupid he was. Even if it wasn't the reason they were here, Rick didn't appreciate being fucked with - especially for something as stupid as money. Nor did he like that someone was trying to set Cal up to take a beating. A fair fight was one thing…

Beside him Cal growled low, leaning forward to examine his pending opponent as the rock quickly beat an unfortunate white.

"Fourteen!"

"Come on," Rick said as the lights went up. The ring reeked of blood, sweat, and excited dragon. He handed his chip to the ref at the door, then walked into the fighting ring.

The owner of the rock was a tall, thin man that Rick immediately felt like punching. Just because his mustache was so goddamn ugly. He sneered as Rick and Cal entered. "I've heard about you. Cross, isn't it? Is this your black everyone whispers about?"

Rick finally allowed himself to laugh, throwing his head back and positively shaking with mirth. "It's funny, you know? Everyone keeps saying Cal is a black. No one ever fucking asked me if that was correct. I don't believe I caught your name."

The man bristled. "Buckley. What the hell kind of dragon is he, then?"

"I guess you'll see."

Buckley ignored the taunt and continued with his condescension. "You haven't changed him yet? That'll slow him down. You're more amateur than I thought."

Around them the lights flashed. Rick ignored Buckley in favor of leaning up to kiss Cal. "Love you."

Cal grinned. "Love you too."

Buckley's sneer worsened. "Amateur," he reaffirmed. "What's the cute little dragon's name?" He stroked the head of his own dragon, which was snarling and growling impatiently. "This is Gargoyle."

"Excalibur," Rick replied, then stole one last kiss before darting from the ring and back up to his seat. A second later the lights went out.

All around him people whispered and muttered, astonished to see that Cal was still in his human form as the start signal rang out.

The dark gray rock dragon threw itself at him - Cal dodged neatly away and dropped to all fours as he changed. Freely. At will. No injection necessary at all.

Whispers turned to gasps, mutters to startled cries as all saw the dragon that gleamed in the light.

Dragons weren't the huge beasts myth and legend took them for. They weren't small either, but somewhere between a small pony and large dog. From nose to tip of tail dragons averaged anywhere from twelve to sixteen feet. So far as their feet went - again more in common with cats. Padding, retractable claws. They had the sinuous, lethal grace of a wild cat combined the ominous presence of a crocodile, with an extended neck ending in a triangular head full of teeth meant for tearing flesh from bone. Those unused to the sight of a real dragon often thought them some sort of monster rather than the popular creatures from legends.

Beasts meant for fighting weren't ever going to look pretty. He still thought Cal beautiful, as stunning as the first day they'd met. Instead of green, red, black, or any of the other usual colors - Cal's scales glistened like polished steel, as though the dragon were covered entirely in armor. Scales were armor, of course, but on Cal they actually looked like it. His eyes were still amber, but rather than pale they flared bright gold with battle lust.

"A knight dragon," someone nearby muttered, and Rick smirked in the dark.

"Impossible," another replied. "They're extinct."

"Extinct? They're legend. Not real. It must be some weird rock. Drugged up or something. Who owns that thing?"

Rick blocked the voices out and let the fight do the talking.

The rock dragon launched himself forward, immediately going for a full attack, and sharp eyes could see that something was driving it to a near panic - his movements weren't as controlled as they'd been in previous fights.

It was scared of Cal.

With good reason. As the rock dragon reached him, Cal ducked to the side and whipped his tail - there was a resounding crack as it met the softer underbelly scales of the rock dragon, the sharp metallic-looking scales slicing open the vulnerable flesh.

Not deeply. The dragon would live. Cal wasn't cruel - just efficient. Taking each dragon he had to fight well and truly out of the fight would mean fewer dragons to fight later when they tried to break out of here with the kit.

The talking increased in volume as the lights went up and the injured rock was carefully taken away.

Rick ignored the eyes he could feel on him, his own gaze solely for the shining dragon in the middle of the ring. "All the steak you want, Cal," he murmured softly, smiling faintly at the way the Cal's tail swished lazily back and forth across the arena floor.

All of this was far too easy for Cal. One of the thousands of reasons they'd never wasted their time with the Pits.

The noise reached a crescendo as men who prided themselves on their cool and aplomb scrambled to learn all they could of the unexpected new arrival. None of them could agree upon Cal's species, and Rick would have started laughing again except he wanted to draw as little attention as necessary now.

Cal was a knight dragon. Also known as a steel dragon. There was no species better.

Not to say Cal was perfect, though Rick had a biased opinion of his own on that. All dragons had the same set of weaknesses - susceptibility to outside magic, that soft underbelly, the long neck could be a problem if dragons didn't guard properly…there were others, and a few more that changed depending on the species.

Dragons fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen went as quickly as thirteen. Cal wasn't even breaking a sweat. He swiveled his silver head up to face Rick, baring his teeth in what precious few would realize was a smile. Rick smiled back - then stilled as he saw number eighteen enter the ring.

Its scales looked like chips of ice, glistening wetly beneath the bright lights.

Glittering metal and shining ice. A pretty contrast, insofar as such violent-looking creatures could be pretty.

Rick shunted his amusement aside and sat up, discarding his beer to watch the arena. That was their kit, sure enough. Even from here he could see the clouds of frost pulsing from its mouth in time with its breathing.

He could also see Cal was thinking, pondering, communicating with the kit.

Then all hell broke loose as with an earth-shaking roar Cal dove straight through the special-made glass, shattering it like nothing, the kit bolting after him as they barreled their way right through an emergency exit.

Rick wasted no time, but turned and bolted for a different door, darting out of it right before someone finally thought to hit the main lights.

Not his style, but it was the best option - no one would have expected it, they hadn't been here for anyone to grow suspicious. All they had to do was get the living hell out of dodge.

Avoiding the main ways, Rick tried the first 'employees only' door he saw and bolted down a dim-lit hall which spilled him into an offshoot of the kitchen. Ignoring the looks and cries, he ran for the back door and across the loading dock, around to the main parking lot and his bike - parked as close to the road as he'd been able to get it.

He didn't waste time, just threw himself on it and started it up, roaring off before anyone could even think to check outside.

On the highway he allowed himself to breathe a bit, though not entirely relax. They wouldn't be out of the woods for a long goddamned time now. He hoped Cal and the kit were all right. Anxiety was trying to get the better of him, urge him to go faster, but the very last thing he should do right now was increase his speed.

The drive was an hour long but it felt like fifty by the time he finally hit the winding road that led straight to the cabin. He stopped his bike in the open garage - Cal had beat him home then, thank god - mashed the button to close it, punched in the codes to trigger the security system laid out over the house and several acres of yard, then strode into the house, locking the door behind him.

He paused in the hallway, then heard noise upstairs. Bolting up the stairs, he strode immediately toward the bedroom - and finally allowed his tension to ease as Cal caught him up in the doorway with a consuming kiss, all their frustration and worry and anxiety blending together in it, the force of it bruising Rick's lips before they both finally calmed. "Injuries?" he asked breathlessly.

"Minor scratches for me, the kit is okay." Cal slowly let go of him and turned toward their bed.

Nevada was fifteen, Chris had said. He looked it - younger, in fact, exhaustion and maltreatment plain on his face and body though he lie unconscious.

"First time he's changed back in weeks," Cal murmured from behind Rick, settling his chin on Rick's shoulder. "Poor thing's been fighting every night, usually for rounds at a time. No wins." He growled low, hands resting on Rick's hips, gripping tightly, just short of bruising. "He's just a kit. Why would they do this?"

"The question is who would do this."

Cal growled more loudly this time, nearly snarling. "That's what I mean. It was his parents that did it. They're the Owners behind the shadow who fights him."

Rick froze, shock running like ice water through his veins. "What?" he finally managed. "But-" he shook his head. "We need to call Chris."

"The kit stays with us," Cal said with another low growl. He let go of Rick to move back toward the bed, sitting beside the sleeping Nevada and bending over him, nuzzling and petting.

Something to which Rick would have taken offense if he hadn't known full well Cal was merely caring for a kit. It was sort of cute, really. "Does this mean I'm sleeping on the couch?" he grumbled, but with a wink when Cal looked up.

Cal smiled back. "I'll keep you warm." He bent back down to stroke Nevada's hair, nuzzle his cheek. In his sleep, free of inhibition and human habit, the dragon in Nevada curled closer to the soothing presence of an older dragon that smelled of comfort and caring. "He'll feel safest here, sleep better."

"I know," Rick said. Cal's scent was thick here, where they slept, loved. At lease he'd changed the sheets that morning with this in mind. "I'm glad we got him with such little fuss, all things considered."

One last nuzzle and then Cal stood up, pulled the blankets up over the kit, then strode over to wrap himself around Rick, nuzzling his lover and Owner much as he had Nevada. "Do I get chocolate Ricky?"

"Yes, lizard," Ricky said, rolling his eyes. "When this whole matter is resolved and done with you can have chocolate."

"Chocolate Ricky."

"I said yes!"

Cal chuckled and backed him into the hallway, leaving the lights on and the door open so the kit would feel less lost and more welcome to roam whenever he woke. "How did I do?"

"You were magnificent and perfect, lizard, and you know it." Ricky let Cal press him up against the banister, opening his mouth to take the dragon's eager kiss. "Behave."

Stealing one last kiss, Cal finally backed away. His amber eyes were pale, but held a shine. "We did it."

"We've started anyway," Rick said, taking hold of Cal's hand and leading the way downstairs and into the blue and green kitchen. He pointed to the table and Cal obediently sat. "Now we have to figure out how to end it." Opening the large fridge, he pulled out a beer and two large steaks. "I also need to figure out where in the middle of this damn mess I'm supposed to go grocery shopping." He dropped the steaks in front of Cal, then twisted the cap off his beer and sat down, propping his feet on the chair opposite.

Cal dug into the steaks, tearing the meat into chunks that were quickly decimated by his sharp teeth. Both steaks were gone in minutes. "The kit should probably have softer stuff for a bit; he was forced to change right before they threw him in the ring."

If Rick was capable of growling, he would have. Waking the dragon genes could be painful and was at the very least a fuck of a surprise - especially if Nevada hadn't known he had dragon genes sleeping in his system. "Did the kit know?"

"No," Cal said with the growl Rick felt. "We didn't talk much before we got home and he passed out after I helped him change back…he said his mother and stepfather forced him into it. They…owe money. A lot of it. To a man high up the Pit chain. He persuaded them to put him in the rings."

Rick swore, stomach souring. "We need to call Chris." Setting his beer down, he went into the hall to fetch the cordless phone, snatched up the business card he'd left beside it and punched the number in as he walked back into the kitchen.

The line picked up on the second ring. "White Detective Agency. Chris speaking."

"Chris. Ricky. We have the kit. Shit you need to know before you tell anyone."

"I might already know it. Be there in a second."

"Let me turn off the alarms."

A soft laugh. "No alarm can sense me." The phone went dead.

Cal snarled and stood up, whipping around to face the hallway.

"Neat trick," Rick said shortly, stroking Cal's hair soothingly. "Mind telling me how you did it? We're rigged to block that kind of magic."

Chris smirked - and suddenly Rick could see straight through him. "That's a new one on me."

Cal growled low but subsided beneath Rick's petting.

"So you're…part spook or something? What do you already know that I was going to tell you?"

Chris grimaced. "I've been putting all my efforts toward finding Nevada, which meant digging through what I could find on the Pits and all. With you helping, I finally was able to turn my attention to motive. I'm finding some interesting shit on the kid's parents. Specifically, his mother and stepfather. Father died years ago - I think it's that side of the family that carried the dragon genes."

"Yeah," Rick said, still petting Cal, who'd resumed growling softly. "Cal managed to speak to him a bit before the kit passed out. "The parents are behind it."

"I wasn't yet sure if it was one or both. The mother looked suitably distraught, very good actress, the bitch." Chris scrubbed a hand through his hair. "That would explain all the trouble I went through with my client."

Rick tilted his head. "Who was the client?"

"Kennedy Montserrat, Nevada's stepbrother. He sent me a note via a servant in the household, asked me to meet him in the backroom of a store he goes to often. Told me it was important no one knew I'd been hired - he was terrified, pale as a goddamned ghost and I should know, that they'd kill Nev. I don't think he knows his parents did it; he would have told me. Whatever their folks are up to or into, the brothers are tight and not part of it - until Nev was kidnapped."

Cal looked up at Rick and the two exchanged a look. "Tight, you say?"

"Yeah," Chris said. "The poor kid was all but in tears when he was hiring me; you could see it was taking everything he had to act like an adult and not fall apart." He shrugged. "There's a bond; I'm guessing from your expressions it's a dragon thing."

Rick gave a shrug of his own. "Maybe, but not necessarily. Cal said the kit didn't know he was a dragon, which is going to be hard on him in a lot of ways. If he's already formed a bond, albeit unwittingly…then we can train the Owner while we train the dragon. That would make life easier for both of them, if they're as close as you say."

Chris shook his head. "Most of what you're saying doesn't make sense to me. Dragons are something I've never dealt with before. I've learned a bit doing this - enough to know I'm glad they're not a frequent problem."

"Be very grateful," Rick said, his laughter mingling with Cal's. "Bonding…dragons are possessive of their lovers - who should be their Owners but aren't always. And lover doesn't mean mate in the breeding sense - that's entirely separate." He ruffled Cal's hair, the dragon turning his head and nipping Rick's stomach in retaliation. "Cal has three kits being raised by their mother back home, which is how it's done traditionally. Not like…everywhere else." Rick shrugged again. "Everywhere else they're raised as humans, and injected with the appropriate triggers to change one way or the other. That's rough…even rougher on a kit like Nevada, who didn't know what was going to happen to him, only to be thrown immediately into the Pits. They probably kept him scared and frightened…if what you say about this stepbrother is true, it's possible they threatened to hurt him if Nevada didn't fight. We'll learn more when the kit wakes."

"You keep calling him a kit."

"Term for young dragons. Habit. Where we were raised, dragons are still mostly dragon which means they're properly raised. People often forget that dragons have just been bred to transform into humans - it's not much different from treating a werewolf or a demon like a human just because they look like'em most of the time."

Chris grunted. "You don't need to tell me that, trust me. My staff includes a witch, a werewolf, a vampire, and an imp - free and mature. Never mind I'm a consort."

Rick grinned. "I guess I'm instructing the wrong person."

"Just maybe," Chris said, rolling his eyes. "So the parents are definitely behind this, then. Great. What the hell do I do with the kid? Kit."

"We're keeping him," Cal replied with a barely-suppressed growl. "Bring his Owner." His arms wrapped tight around Rick's waist, an obvious attempt to still the restless, angry energy that was all but pouring off him.

Chris lifted a brow.

Rick soothed Cal gently, petting his hair and rubbing along his back. "Like I said, he was bred a few years ago. The fathers have practically nothing to do with raising the kits - that's left to the mothers and their Owners. All dragons have protective instincts, though, when it's not beat out of them with everything else in the Pits. Especially those who have already had kits. Cal's…adopted him, more or less."

"I'll bring Kenny. I have to tell him Nevada's been rescued, he'll want to see him." Suddenly he looked tired, raking a hand through his hair again. "Fuck, how do you tell a kid his parents are fucking assholes? I'll be back in, oh, half an hour or so. Fuck, what a night."

Cal nuzzled the stomach he'd recently been nipping. "It's okay we keep the kit?"

"As if you'd give me a choice, lover," Rick said fondly, burying his hands in Cal's thick hair and tilting his head up to lean down and take a long, lingering kiss. "Of course it's okay. I'm sure we old people could use the, uh, excitement a couple of teenagers always bring." He made a face, but smiled. "Especially a traumatized kit and what will no doubt be an equally distraught young Owner. At least we won't be bored…" He smirked. "Though it also means you'll have to wait a long time for your chocolate. The last thing that kit is going to need is to smell you all hot and bothered."

Growling low, Cal pulled his head free of Rick's hands and again nipped his stomach, shifting around in his seat so that he could pull Rick between his thighs, hands trailing up Rick's thighs to his ass, gripping it tight as he tugged Rick even closer. He tugged Rick's t-shirt out of his jeans, shoving it up to get his teeth against bare skin.

Rick shivered but resisted letting the teasing get more heated. "Half an hour, Cal, before they're back. The kit's going to be hungry when he wakes up."

Cal lapped at the marks he'd left, soothing the red indentions that would shortly turn to bruises. Owning a dragon meant he hadn't been free of bruises practically from the day they'd met - definitely from the day they'd become lovers.

Leaning down, Rick took a last deep, hard kiss, letting Cal go only when oxygen became a requirement. Ever pushy and teasing, Cal bit down on his lower lip as Rick pulled away, leaving a sting that bled slightly.

"Behave," Rick said firmly. He licked blood from his lip. "You taste like dead cow."

Cal wrinkled his nose. "So romantic."

"Eat roses instead of dead cow and maybe I will be," Rick said with a laugh, then moved away to retrieve his beer. "Though speaking of food, I should probably eat something. I doubt there's going to be much in the way of sleep tonight…"

He could feel Cal's eyes on him as he set about making a sandwich - turkey with all the fixings. Lots of mustard.

"Yech," Cal said. "You put the mustard there on purpose."

Rick snorted. "Yeah, so a certain dumb lizard doesn't steal my eats. If you're still that hungry, have a snack - a small one!"

"The only snack I want is you. I was good. I should get a Ricky."

"Shut up, lizard," Rick said, biting into his sandwich to hide a smile.

Cal stuck his tongue out, but conceded defeat by going to the fridge and pulling out a small container filled with ground beef.

"Try eating vegetables, you dumb lizard. Dragons do not survive on meat alone."

"No," Cal said, defiantly eating a chunk of ground beef.

Rick rolled his eyes, but the familiar argument was waylaid as the sounds of a snarling dragon just barely reached their ears.

Cal immediately dropped his food, his own snarl filling the house.

"Calm down!" Rick snapped. He strode to the security control panel and deactivated it. "Come on, let's get this over with. I was really hoping they'd fall off coming up the road…" Sighing, he gave his sandwich and beer a longing look then led the way to the front door. Unlocking the deadbolt, he stepped back to allow Cal to precede him out. "Behave," he warned.

A growling acknowledgement was Cal's only reply as he shifted smoothly from human to dragon. His scales shone in the moonlight as he prowled out into the front yard and tensed for attack. Rick stopped a couple of feet behind him.

Slowly their guests appeared over the last rise, moving quickly now that Rick's security system was no longer an impediment. They stopped a dozen feet or so away.

Three red dragons, two black. Only four Owners, so two of the dragons must be siblings not inclined toward being split up.

"Tank, go the hell home. What the fuck are you doing here?" Rick asked, stifling a sigh. "I didn't even know you'd gotten a dragon."

Tank motioned to one of the blacks. "Been holding him back until I could put him straight into Master. He's a fine beast." His eyes strayed to Cal. "Nothing like yours though." In front of him, the black dragon growled.

Rick wondered sadly if Tank even noticed the hurt tone to it. Dragons were possessive of their Owners, even when the choice of Owner was taken from them and 'lover' wasn't part of the equation. The very least Tank could do was show a bit of loyalty back.

Pit Owners never cared though. If they did, they wouldn't Pit their dragons.

"Keep your eyes off my dragon and stop hurting yours," Rick said sharply, knowing it was useless but unable not to help a dragon right in front of him. "I'd prefer you just get the hell off my property and stay off it, but I doubt I'll be that lucky."

"Steel dragons are extinct," another Owner said, a light-haired older man Rick didn't recognize. Of the four, Tank was the only one he did recognize. "How do you have an extinct dragon?"

Rick snorted. "Obviously they're not extinct. How I have one is none of your goddamn business." Never mind he and Cal were forbidden to talk about it. Even the small bit he'd told Chris about Cal being properly raised was pushing it. "Get the hell out of here before you find out why he's not extinct."

"Yeah, we all saw what he did. The dragons aside, that glass was made with crushed dragon scale - he shouldn't have been able to break it."

He was losing patience. "Did you girls come here to gossip about my dragon or to pick a fight? Either way, I'll thank you to go the fuck away already. I would like to finish my dinner and go to bed."

One of the Owners sneered, a brown-haired man who looked like he spent his winnings paying off food bills. "Yeah, we all saw what you keep in your bed."

Cal bared his teeth and growled, causing the other dragons to tense even further. They sensed a real threat, and they wouldn't be used to fighting outside of the Pits and all their training.

"That's none of your business," Rick said, wanting badly to roll his eyes.

Tank shot the other Owners a warning look. "Look, we're just here to take back the frost. Boss's orders. Says it belongs to him until further notice."

"You can tell your boss to kiss my goddamn ass. The kit is ours now, and if he ever tries to make an underage Pit fight again, I'll show him just how nasty a knight dragon can be. Understand me? Get the fuck off my property before you get a taste of that nastiness yourself." Cal's growl backed up the words.

"Underage?" Tank repeated "What in the fuck are you talking about?"

Rick just looked at him. "Go to hell. How the fuck could you possibly miss that kit is too goddamn young to be fighting? Are you stupid or just blind? He's barely twelve feet nose to tail, his scales are still hardening - I could see that at a goddamn distance - and he has way too much power for an older dragon."

"You didn't see him fight," an Owner pointed out.

"But you did!" Rick snarled. "All of you. He's a goddamn kit. Barely fifteen. We're keeping him. If it's money your boss wants, tell him to let me know how much."

"You couldn't pay it."

Rick sneered. "Get off my land. Tell your boss to kiss my ass."

"You're awfully high and mighty," the last Owner said. A flick of his fingers, a muttered hiss of sound, and the second black dragon leapt forward.

"Fool," Rick said with a soft sigh.

Cal dodged the black's graceful leap, then sprang suddenly forward while the black was still landing, sinking his teeth into its throat, not quite hard enough to draw blood, then reared up as he pivoted to throw the black into two reds as they sprang forward to join the fight.

The last red bounded over the disjointed pile of the other three, scorching breath flaring out. Rick recoiled from the heat of the blast, but short of turning his head to protect his face, Cal gave no indication of being anything more than vaguely amused as he walked toward the red that was now retreating.

Dragons like this had never fought a knight dragon.

They were as perfect as dragons could be - it was from them the other breeds had been created, the different abilities separated out by careful, selective breeding and refined slowly over the years to create the elemental breeds now known. The High Elements were actually truer, the basic elements only watered down versions of them.

Ironic that blacks were now so highly prized, when once they'd only been the starting point to fully separating out the different elements.

The idiots didn't stand a chance - it was like pitting housecats against a wild cat. Except these poor dragons could only do what their Owners said.

"Cal, knock them out. I want this over with."

Growling a low acknowledgement, Cal went from defensive to offensive, quickly knocking out all four dragons. In the middle of the fallen dragons, his scales gleamed with startling brightness in the moonlight, except where fire had blackened them. Nothing a cleaning wouldn't fix.

"How is that possible?" Tank asked.

"If you're any sort of owner," Rick said curtly, "you know the legends."

"They're legends, Cross."

Rick did roll his eyes that time. "Yes, Cal is a legend. A legend just took out four dragons in a matter of minutes. Christ, where the hell do they dig you people up?" He reached out to stroke Cal's smooth, slick scales as the dragon sat down beside him.

Tank's reply was cut off as two figures suddenly appeared at the edge of the yard.

Chris frowned. "I thought I felt something." He narrowed his eyes at Tank and the others. "What are you doing here, besides the obvious?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Tank demanded.

"Chris White," Chris replied, striding toward them. "I was hired to find a kidnapped frost dragon. If you're here to take him, you can go the hell away."

The owner of the black Cal had thrown stepped forward. "If we're not listening to him," he pointed to Rick, "then we're certainly not listening to you. Ain't your yard."

In reply, Chris merely threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing out across the mountains around them. Then he abruptly stopped, and lifted his right hand. A ring glittered there, the diamond set in it remarkable in size and brilliance.

"Oh, fuck," Tank hissed. "You're that detective."

"That's right," Chris said. "I know something a lot worse than a shiny dragon so go the fuck away."

Tank nodded. "We're leaving."

"What!"

"Shut it," Tank snarled. "Dragons I deal with." He looked at Chris, then hastily looked away. "Demons I don't. We're out. I'll…give the boss your message, Cross."

"Do that." He watched them until they were out of sight, and didn't relax until Cal shifted back to human. "What a night." He didn't protest as Cal wrapped an arm around him, wrapping his own around Cal's waist in a loose embrace. He glanced at Chris. "I prefer to handle my own fights…"

Chris grimaced. "I don't like flashing my power, but my client is more important." He turned and motioned the other man for - a boy, really. Fifteen, maybe sixteen, with the sort of pale blonde hair that kids usually outgrew. A light tan, brown eyes wide with confusion, no doubt some fear, red from where he'd clearly been crying. Gangly, awkward, as they always were at that age. Eventually, though, he'd be a handsome young man. Ideally, one with a dragon at his side.

"Let's get inside," Rick said, and ushered everyone into the house and to the living room.

"Where's Nev?" the kid asked anxiously. "Is he okay? Hurt? Chris said he was a dragon…" He looked anxiously around, hands clenching and unclenching. "Uh. Thank you for saving him. Is he okay?"

Rick chuckled softly. "He's upstairs, kid. Last room down the hall. Go ahead - but don't wake him. He'll like your closeness, but he needs rest."

"Okay," the kid called over his shoulder as he bolted.

Cal rumbled in amusement and nuzzled Rick's cheek. "He acts like you that time I fell into the canyon."

"Definitely an Owner, I'd say. Poor kids, stuck with each other at so young an age." He laughed as Cal nipped his throat. "Behave!"

Chris looked at them. "So you're keeping them both?"

"Yeah," Rick replied. "We'll take care of them. Raise them the way dragons and Owners should be raised. What are we going to do about the parents?"

Blue eyes gleamed, and the look on Chris's face reminded Rick forcibly, and perhaps made it truly clear for the first time, that this man was the consort of a demon lord. "I'll take care of them. I should destroy the Pit. All of them. I wish it was worth the effort."

"They'd just build a new one somewhere else; at least here they'll be careful now not to ever draw your attention again. I've never seen Tank go pale before; that was goddamn funny."

Chris smiled briefly. "Tell the kid his payment is to keep his ass here for however long you deem necessary. And speaking of payment, what would you like in return for helping me?"

"We've got all we need," Rick said, smiling faintly. "Isn't that right, Cal?"

The dragon muttered something against his neck, too low for Chris to catch. Rick laughed softly at his confusion. "He said 'Camelot.'

Chris only looked more confused.

"There's an old legend about dragons, I don't know if you've heard it…"

"No. Facts are what interest me. I have no patience for legends." Chris made a face. "Even if some would count me one."

Rick chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you would be. But the legend about dragons…they say there once was a man who was destined to be king. To help in that pursuit, a priestess created for him a weapon mightier than any other, so grand and fine that it had no equal." He stroked Cal's cheek as the dragon lifted his head to, their eyes locked. "The weapon responded only to the rightful king, obeyed only his will and commands."

"A dragon," Chris said.

"Yes. With scales the color of polished steel, so powerful it was nearly invincible. Its descendants were the same, dragons of unequal power who obeyed only those who carried the blood of the great king."

Chris shook his head. "An interesting legend. So this is your Camelot?"

"Yeah," Rick said. "It's not much, but it's all we want. If you insist on paying us, though - you can get someone to go grocery shopping for me. I don't want to go far from the house until those two are firmly settled."

"Done," Chris said. "Thanks for everything."

"We were happy to help."

With a last nod and wave, Chris vanished.

Rick groaned and stripped out of his jacket, then kicked off his shoes before stretching out on the long, suede couch. Cal settled out along his side, sharp nails raking lightly up and down his chest in a rough, idle caress. "It's quiet up there."

"Sleeping," Cal replied with a yawn of his own.

"Better catch some Z's of our own then. Tomorrow is going to be a hell of a goddamn day, and that only the beginning."

Cal leaned up to kiss him, soft and sweet. "They're cute though. Love you."

"They are," Rick agreed. He curled his arms around Cal and closed his eyes, settling back against the couch. "Though not cute enough they're keeping my bed. Love you too."