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Theta was fuming at himself as he eased his truck off the highway and onto a deserted side road.
He needed privacy, some fresh air. The interior of his truck was beginning to fill with smoke and the last thing he wanted was to get pulled over right now. He needed to get far enough off the road that whatever happened wouldn’t attract undue attention.
Stupid. Stupid Stupid.
What the hell had he been thinking?
He hadn’t been. That was the only answer. At least not with his fucking brain.
All around him he could feel the magic of the air practically thrumming in response to his agitation. As he reached for his key to shut the ignition, the heat of his fury reacted with the cooler magic of the car enough for a showering burst of sparks to explode from his fingertips and into his lap.
“Fuck!” he shouted in a puff of smoke, furiously shifting in his seat to pat down the embers. He wasn’t worried about the Land Rover, there was massive amounts of magic ensuring it was fire-proof. His trousers… not so much.
Grabbing the door handle despite the risk of another explosion Jonathan yanked open the door and tumbled furiously out of the car. He needed space to breathe. The night was clear and, far above the jagged tree-line, the stars twinkled unsympathetically.
What the hell was Rose going to think?
She’d already been offended when he’d messed up and forgotten to ask for her number. Not that he needed it. She was ridiculously easy to track. But she didn’t know that. And thank bloody gold because if she did she’d probably just think he was a creep… a perverted old man. She couldn’t possibly understand…
…how very arse over elbows in thrall he was with her.
And how very, very clueless he was about what to do about it.
Fucking human mating rituals. Always changing. As if every damn century they all got together and invented a whole new set of rules for him to hang himself on.
Not that it ever really mattered before. Sure he’d had a few relationships, he wasn’t a freeking hatchling after all. Especially back in the old country. It was just what was done.
But those had been more… transactional than anything. Some princess or landed lady would want out of the marriage whatever old geezer her family had set her up with, and the council would arrange to have him or one of the other lairless dragons carry her off.
Sure, they’d have a bit of fun. But it only lasted until her family either figured she was dead and she could start a new life, or a suitably acceptable human male came to rescue her and he could hand her over.
It was all so much more simple. Straight forward. He’d never had to contend with any messy thrall, or feelings, or bloody texting before.
And shit. She still didn’t have his number.
He’d run out on her after… bloody hell he wasn’t even ready to think about what they’d just done. Best sex of his long life and he’d been holding back the whole time. What it would be like if he could ever really let go with her? He was getting hot again just thinking of the possibilities. Of course magic like that— a dragon and his mate in full thrall— was powerful, and notoriously hard to control. As it was he’d had to choke back sparks afterward.
And then he’d run out like the coward that he was. Hadn’t even… what’d she called it… pinged her, so she could at least contact him too.
Well that at least he could fix.
Patting himself down, Jonathan pulled his mobile out of his pocket, letting his magic navigate the screen rather than bothering with the stupid tiny buttons. Humans and their obsession with miniaturization. He’d never fucking understand it.
Her name lit up the screen: Rose Tyler- 650-288- 9989
Jonathan groaned. Of course that was her number. He’d nearly flunked numerology back in his academy days and even he could see how auspicious it was. Not a four in the whole thing.
Opening up a text bubble Jonathan searched his mind for something he could possibly say to fix things. She wouldn’t know it was him so he should put his name right? He got as far as “TH” before backspacing and putting down his human alias.
Where had that come from? She wouldn’t recognize that name, and besides, it was way too soon.
Jonathan
It seemed kinda stark. He should put something else right? Nothing too intense. He didn’t want to scare her off. But something so she knew he hadn’t run out of her apartment because of anything she did.
She was perfect.
He was the one who was a massive lumbering mastodon. He should be writing her a fucking engraved thank you letter for even looking in his direction. In verse!
He wasn’t an idiot. He’d lived among humans long enough to know the sort of men that gorgeous young women ended up with. He’d always liked his human form. It was bloody functional… reliable… like his truck, but he was no pretty boy.
Gratitude then. She needed to know how ridiculously lucky he considered himself that she bothered to let him spend time with her at all let alone…
Jonathan could feel his trousers getting tight and hot again just remembering what they’d done and furiously typed out his message to Rose pressing send before he could begin to overthink it.
He needed to get home. Take a long shower and wash the soot off him. The scent of her would stay. It had after she’d spent the night in his arms, the magic of his trove weaving around them binding her closer into his life and heart.
With any luck she’d see his text and forgive him. Maybe she’d text him back. Probably something clever and teasing knowing her. Then he could tease her back a bit. Poke a bit of that fire in her he loved so much. He was good at that at least. Teasing her. Flirting. They were brilliant together after all. And once he got her passions stirred in one direction maybe she’d let him near her again.
Jonathan glanced at her number on his mobile one last time before climbing back in his truck. Lucky. Like the best kind of treasure. Maybe he could be lucky too. Lucky not to cock this thing up too bad. Lucky enough for her patience. Lucky enough for her to get to know him well enough that when he finally told her everything she wouldn’t up and bolt.
He smiled, kissing her name on his mobile like the stupid thrall-sick idiot that he was, before scowling at himself and tucking it back away.
A good nights sleep…. A shower and a good night’s sleep and hopefully a text from his brilliant treasure in the morning. Luck would turn his way, he could feel it.