“There’s no need to.” He offers me the neon green beverage on a purred statement, “I already know that The Goddess of Fate didn’t fuck up when she gave me you.” The instant the cold bottle is in my grasp he rises to his feet on a wink. “And I plan to spend the rest of my life proving that to you, Tiny Toes.”
An inexplicable feeling begins to spread throughout my chest.
What if he’s right?
What if now that I’m thrust into essentially a whole new world my bad luck finally changes?
Twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t want to be Fate Mated. I would’ve much rather have been hung by my lucky gold tie and beat like a piñata with my most expensive pair of wingtip oxfords than having to be attached to one other being for the rest of my existence. For Dragons Sake, I would’ve chosen the one-handed eggplant path rather than being forced to endure a journey with a creature I’ve been predestined to love.
My entire life I’ve loathed the idea of Fated Mates.
Did it work for my fucking parents?
Yeah.
That’s why I fucking exist.
Did it work for my aunts and uncles?
Yup.
That’s why our cousins were around to cause trouble with – and oh the trouble that was caused.
Has it worked for the majority of other shifters in creation?
I don’t fucking know, but if I had to guess…likely?
Shifters as a whole aren’t exactly a dying thing, so clearly The Goddess of Fate has some idea what the fuck she’s doing, but that doesn’t mean I wanted her doing that shit to me.
What if she fucked up and put me with the wrong creature?
What if my pairing occurred between bottles nine and ten on a three-day bender? Or after the God of Fate – or whoever it is that gets her off – failed to give her the O she needed so she took that resentment out on some, poor innocent being, aka me?
All that what if shit aside, I fucking love choices.
Shoes.
Food.
Bed mates.
Choices are the literal fun of life, and I cannot stand them being stolen from me.
And yet…finding my Fated Mate somehow doesn’t feel like anything has been taken away. It actually feels as though I’ve been gifted something I would’ve never been able to earn on my own. Something I’m so fucking grateful for that I don’t even know how to put it into words.
Which is fucking insane because just a few hours ago I cursed the idea of a Fated Mate, and now I curse the fact I have to be away from her.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Am I broken?
Why am I this way?
Hungry.
That’s right.
This whiplash shit is his fault.
Hungry.
Yeah, yeah. I heard you.
Starving.
Dramatic is what you are.
I shove the edge of the zucchini into the corner of my mouth and chomp down hard just as a thought unexpectedly hits me.
Huh.
Why is it when Ana and I were flirting the craving for food never occurred?
Satisfied.
The word causes me to crunch down on the vegetable again in additional irritation.
No.
That can’t be it.
“You look shellshocked,” Z taunts from beside me, amusement plastered all across his face. “Like you can’t understand how a watch you spent fifty grand on broke when you took it out of the box.”
“Yeah, well, you look bloated, like you’re the one carrying the baby Draak,” I snip back between bites. “Guess we’re all having a fucked-up night.”
“Why on The Great Ones green earth does our home smell like Sleepers and a fucking bakery?” Ptur investigates upon his entering of the library, large fingers tugging angrily at his tie.
My baby brother doesn’t hesitate to sell me out. “Someone’s found their mate.”
“And someone knocked theirs up,” I swiftly state on the heels of the first announcement.
P’s gray stare widens as he stops his six-foot nine frame on the opposite side of Z’s. “What?”
“Sounds like a busy night in the Dragon-Doo Which Draak Are You! mansion,” Griff chortles, English accent adding to the patronizing tone. “Finding your mate is supposed to be great news, Daphne, yet you look so glum.” He crosses over from the ensuite restroom and drops down into the desk chair he works from whenever at the estate. “Or constipated. Both? Is it both?”
Z poorly holds in his snickers while my eyes narrow at our temporary inhouse hacker. “We pay you to answer questions, not ask them.”
“Rot-roh, one of you meddling kids is a bit touchy,” Griff continues to tease, fingers wiggling the mouse to wake up the screen.
P runs both hands through his pitch-black hair at the same time tiny puffs of platinum shaded smoke pierce past his flared nostrils. “This can’t really be happening.”
“Which thing?” Griff maintains his antagonizing nature. “Daphne discovering love outside of department stores or finding out Velma finally got knocked up?”
“What the fuck did you just call my mate?!” Z growls, body flying towards the creature in the leather chair.
My arm flies out to prevent him from damaging the being we still need to do work for us. “Don’t engage. It’s what gets him off.”
“How very rude of you to reveal sacred secrets from other creatures’ bedrooms,” Karry, my ex-girlfriend, playfully pokes upon Gene’s ushering of her into the room.
“Lady Baumgartner has arrived.”
“Thanks, Gene,” she coos on a small wink sauntering my direction.
“Always a pleasure, Lady Baumgartner.” Our butler’s attention shifts to us. “Master Draak, Master Draak, and Master Draak, is there anything else I can do to serve you?”
“Will you check on Little Tails for me?” Z promptly asks. “Just make sure she’s not still hungry? Or hungry again? Or doesn’t need a pillow for her back? Or her stomach?” Panic immediately pierces his blue-gray gaze. “Mother of Dragons, she probably needs one for her stomach, doesn’t she?”
“She’s not that pregnant,” I huff prior to shoving the last of the zucchini into my mouth.
“But she is pregnant?” P interrogates, eyebrows darted to the ceiling.
It’s impossible not to see the excitement in our brother’s gaze as he nods.