Not even Asher, whose dragon had been drugged silent for five years, could fully understand Arabella or Aimee's situation. He'd never been afraid of his beast.
He replied, "I'll have to ask my mother first."
"Or, we could ask Lynne together. After all, Aimee is my family now, too."
His beast spoke up. Ask her to be our mate, then it will be true in all ways.
Not right now. Let's get everything settled first.
His dragon muttered something unintelligible and curled into a ball inside his mind.
He focused back on Honoria. "Okay, we'll talk to my mum as soon as we can manage it. Although if she agrees, it may be better for you to ask Arabella than me. The last thing I need is Finn growling at me, thinking I'm doing more than talking with his mate."
She rolled her eyes. "By every account, Finn and Arabella are devoted to each other. Give the male some credit."
It may have only been minutes rather than hours, but Asher's dream was all but forgotten. He rolled carefully, moving his back muscles as little as possible, until Honoria was under him. He moved his face closer to hers. "Right now, there's only one female I want to think of." He kissed her gently, taking her lips in slow caresses. "She's the most clever, beautif
ul, determined female I know. And I want to claim her whenever I have the chance."
She raised an eyebrow. "So no mention of love?"
"Of course I bloody love you." After a quick, rough kiss, he added, "And if you doubt it at all, I think I need to convince you with both my cock and tongue of how much I love you, Honoria Wakeham."
While claiming her in a proper ceremony before the clan would be ideal, he did the next best thing and let his female know she was his, body and soul. Sure, she had to do most of the heavy lifting because of his injury, but when they both finally fell asleep in each other's arms, he didn't think she minded.
Not to mention no nightmare dared invade his dreams again, not with the female he loved by his side.
Chapter Twelve
The next week flew by in a series of meetings with clan members, interviewing people to fill various positions within what would be Skyhunter's first "enclave of leaders," and filling out the necessary paperwork sent by the Department of Dragon Affairs.
It all happened so fast that Honoria barely had time to find a traditional dragon-shifter dress that would fit her overly tall frame. Yet as she studied her reflection in the mirror, the dark purple dress slung over one shoulder before hugging her waist and flaring out at the hips, cascading to just above the ground, Honoria thought the dress was perfect.
For the first time in a while, a sense of pride surged through her body at the color. Dark purple had been Skyhunter's traditional color for centuries, but every time she'd worn it before, she'd always felt ashamed at what it represented.
But no longer.
Her dragon spoke up. Of course not. This color now represents us, Asher, and the future.
Well, the real test will be to see how many others come dressed in the color.
While dragon-shifter traditional dress had been specified, she and Asher had mentioned the color was up to each person's choice.
Just because she saw it as the future didn't mean everyone else would. Marcus had forced many a gathering, even before she'd been shipped off to America, and wearing dark purple had been a requirement. After a while, the color had come to represent everything that had changed—for the worst—inside Skyhunter.
Like many things, it would take time to change the feelings surrounding it.
Asher entered the room, wearing a dark purple, yellow and black plaid outfit. Much like kilts of old, it was slung over one shoulder, wrapped around his waist, and the material encircled his lower half, draping to just below his knees.
The K-shaped scar on his chest was in plain view.
She closed the distance between them and murmured, "Someone's looking sexy tonight."
He snorted. "I'm sure you'd say that even if I wore a skirt made out of ferns."
"Maybe." She placed a hand over his scar. "Are you sure about this, though? I know we talked about you wearing a white shirt."
He shook his head. "Even if it were snowing outside, I'd still go bare-chested. If Arabella MacLeod can walk around not caring about her scars, I can do the same."