Not His Dragon by Annie Nicholas Page B

uncomfortable all the time.
    Ryota pulled out his wallet and handed Eoin a business card. “I’m a lawyer for the supernatural community.”
    “Huh?” Why did they need a lawyer? He pocketed the card. “I suppose you’re here because of Angie.”
    “That and you frightened my omega.”
    “Please, give Beth my sincerest apologies. She ran off before I could assure her of my intentions. I would have let her inside the shop.” He would have let any customers in as well.
    “What do you want with Angie?”
    Eoin didn’t like Ryota’s possessive tone. “To thank her for last night. She has the most exquisite touch.”
    The alpha growled. “Leave her alone.”
    “She told me you haven’t marked her.”
    “Yet.”
    Eoin blinked his nictitating membranes, the ones that moved horizontally, and enjoyed Ryota’s flinch. Shifting his eyes to his dragon’s, with the vertically slit pupil, he met the alpha’s uncertain glare. “Angie belongs to me now, little dog.” Eoin patted the alpha’s head. “She made it quite clear that you are no longer part of her life. You’ve done enough damage. Now run along before I forget my manners and eat you in public.” He’d never had issues sharing a female, but the thought of anyone hurting Angie boiled his blood.
    Ryota didn’t love her. Werewolves wanted to claim their mates. A female like Angie should be cared for. Pampered. Cherished.
    The alpha scowled but turned his back to Eoin and made his way to the office building across the street.
    That’s what Eoin would do for Angie. He would pamper her. Starting with a meal. His gaze traveled to his bike and the deep, grooved scratches carved into his paint job. “Fucking wolf.”
    He jumped on his bike, refusing to let petty werewolf tactics wreck his good mood, and drove home. A familiar black Cadillac blocked his courtyard. His gut twisted. He’d forgotten all about Roger and Lorenzo. What would he show them? He’d flash-fried all his paintings the other night. Parking next to the car, he noticed they were examining the lump of metal he’d thrown out the window in a rage. “Gentlemen?” He joined them.
    Lorenzo shook his hand. “This is fabulous.” He gestured to Eoin’s trash. “Why did you keep your sculpting secret?”
    Eoin raised an eyebrow. Speechless, he turned to Roger, who stood behind the art dealer.
    His agent rolled his eyes. “One can’t rush art. Eoin wasn’t ready to share this side of himself with the public yet.” This was exactly the reason why he’d hired Roger. The man could think fast.
    “Yes, that’s eloquently said.” Eoin stared at the molten mess with jagged claw marks seared in to its element. He couldn’t even distinguish the cans.
    Lorenzo joined him. “It’s visceral. Like a kick in the gut.” He fingered a sharp edge and hissed. Bright red blood seeped from a thin cut on his fingertip. “And dangerous.” He glanced at Eoin. “Just like you.”
    “It’s what you asked for.” He wanted to pound the statue into the ground. This wasn’t a medium he was familiar with.
    “May I see the others?”
    “Others?” Eoin’s voice rose an octave.
    “They’re en route from Berlin and will be here in a few days,” Roger interrupted.
    “A week,” Eoin countered.
    Roger gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Five days at the most.”
    Lorenzo watched their exchange with interest. “Then you can deliver them in time for your show.”
    “I thought that was canceled.” Eoin eyed Roger.
    “I hadn’t finalized the cancellation yet. Roger had promised me something spectacular first and this is beyond my expectations.” Lorenzo clapped Roger on the back. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”
    His agent faced him quickly and whispered, “I bought you five days and a show. Don’t let me down.” He turned and marched to his car without a backward glance.
    Eoin watched them depart. Five days. Where was the closest scrap yard? He needed metal of all types, and his fire. It would be a