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  Dragons & Magic

  Dragon’s Den Casino #1

  By: Poppy Wolfe

  and Blair Babylon

  Dragons & Magic

  Dragon’s Den Casino #1

  By: Poppy Wolfe

  and Blair Babylon

  Mating fever is for old dragons, idle romantics, and suckers.

  Mathonwy, Duke Draco, absolutely, positively, definitely isn’t falling into a mating fever for the new little witch, Bethany Aura, whom his company just hired to whip a new Las Vegas casino into shape. The casino is behind schedule, over budget, and a shambling mess of construction debris and dirt. Angel investors are arriving in a month, and someone in the finance department is embezzling money.

  But his eyes are changing color to flowing, molten gold, he keeps showing up to hang around Bethany, and he obsesses with buying diamonds and gold to drape all over her, as if she had been dipped in his hoard.

  But Mathonwy has a job to do. He’s the CFO for Dragons Den, Inc., and he might be crowned the next king of New Wales, though he’s not particularly sure he wants that job. He’s six feet, six inches tall, ripped from flying instead of taking a plane, and on a dozen committees and boards in New Wales. He has a career. He has a position as a nobleman in his community. He’s too young to settle down with a fated mate.

  Yet, as Bethany casts her glittery, sparkling spells and summons adorable, fluffy creatures to clean away the wreckage and arrange the furniture, Mathonwy watches.

  He can’t take his eyes off of her.

  But he isn’t falling into mating fever.

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  Published by Malachite Publishing LLC

  Copyright 2019 by Malachite Publishing LLC

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Special Offers

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  An Audience with His Majesty

  Three Witches

  Shambles

  The Witch in the HR Office

  Math the Magic Dragon

  Construction Accident

  Penthouse One

  The Glitter Cavalry

  A Warning from the Squid

  The Fountain

  The Odds Were Not in Her Favor

  Supper For A Dragon

  The Facts of Dragon Life

  The Return Flight

  Girlfriends and Cake

  Mating Fever

  A Conversation with Meerkats

  Mating Frenzy

  After the Mating

  Serpentus marinus vegetarian fellacio

  Angel Investors

  New Wales Dragon Clan

  Old Flames

  More PNR from Poppy Wolfe

  Dear Reader

  Prologue

  DUKE Mathonwy Areleous Draco wore the stiff ducal robe he had inherited from his father when he’d assumed the noble title. He wove his way from the center of the crowd toward the far edge, hoping to escape from the people who wanted to talk to him.

  The throng milled about the wide throne room, waiting for the Queen and King to enter.

  Most of the people in the crowd appeared to be human, though exceedingly few actually were.

  A woman’s voice called above the din, “Mathonwy! Mathonwy Draco! I need to talk to you!”

  He turned. “Yes, good to see you, Derryth,” Mathonwy greeted the other member of the Palace Finance Committee, even though they’d seen each other at the meeting the day before. He shook her hand, smiling down at the tall woman. “Have you heard anything about the service workers’ labor contract?”

  “Not yet,” she said, nodding such that her flaming red hair caught the sunlight.

  They conversed for a few minutes until Math was dragged away by Siriol Draugar, who needed to confer about when the Nobles Council Ethics Committee could meet next week for an emergency session to deal with a spate of embezzlements. They decided Thursday at six o’clock would work in their schedules, and Mathonwy was just typing it into his phone when Dyl, the Earl of Ladon, accosted him and insisted on introducing Mathonwy to his daughter Nerys who was home from university for just a few days. Dyl proudly rambled that Nerys was majoring in English Literature and French, was a member of the university speech and debate team, and also ran track. Mathonwy said to her, “Yes, lovely to meet you.”

  He extricated himself from the Ladons and had almost reached the crowd’s edge when the imperious Abertha Deryn found him. She demanded an appointment to discuss the concern that the City of Los Angeles was insisting that the local school for their children integrate with the naturals’ school just a few miles down the coast, which might make it somewhat more difficult to hide what they were. He checked his phone and found a time for her and the school board to have a conference two days later, and then Abertha demanded that Math introduce her to Dewydd Hydra, whom Mathonwy knew from their several shared Nobles Council committees.

  He made the introduction and slipped back into the crowd, trying to make for the wall so he could watch the eddying people and gauge their mood.

  The voluminous, traditional robe Mathonwy wore itched the back of his neck above his fine suit and white dress shirt. Gold-thread embroidery and small crystals encrusted the hem and wide sleeves of the dark silk velvet. The regalia weighed over seventy pounds, though he carried the weight without strain over his broad shoulders.

  Indeed, though the robe had been intended to be floor-length, the hem barely cleared Mathonwy’s knees because he was nearly, almost six and a half feet tall, just a fraction of an inch shy of six feet and six inches of powerful, muscular, not-exactly-human male.

  His friends, who called him Math rather than his given name, teased him incessantly about his extravagant height. Yeah, he was a freakish giant with oversized hands and feet but not enough basketball aptitude to play past high school varsity, so he could do nothing about their taunts except palm their skulls and shrug while they struggled in his grip, eventually pretending to notice their flailing and release them. He towered over most other people, and though he didn’t slouch, Math was careful to bend at the waist if people needed him to during conversation. It was disconcerting to literally talk over people’s heads, so ten years ago when he’d taken possession of the ducal residence—a mansion on the cliffs above the Pacific Ocean—he’d had it redecorated with many seating areas, the first just steps inside the front door.

  The front door was on the roof, of course.

  The front door of this mansion was also on the roof, though this mansion was officially called the Royal Palace.

  Many of the people in the crowd of hundreds were notable for their tall statures, toned and muscled forms, the dragon souls slumbering in their hearts, and real flames curling from the corners of their mouths when a conversation became, shall we say, heated.

  And their eyes were remarkable, of course.

  Mature dragons have glittering, fluid irises, sometimes matching the shifter’s dragon in color, sometimes matching their temperament. Other supernatural beings could see the unusual eye characteristic of the mature dragon, but natural humans hardly noticed. Natural humans often described a mature dragon’s eyes as “piercing” or “striking,” not allowing themselves to see the magic that filled the world around them.

  Indeed, think of celebrities and important persons with “striking, piercing” eyes, and consider how many of them may harbor dragon souls who must, occasionally, be allowed to
fly.

  About half of the guests fit that definition.

  The other half of the crowd in the throne room that thundered with voices and laughter were dragonmates who bore the dragon mating-mark on their shoulders. Tattoos of claws or tails were often visible above the dress necklines or suit collars that the mates wore, though no one actively tried to hide a dragon’s mating-mark. Fashion must be observed, however. Some of the dragonmates were natural humans, though many were witches or mages, fae, or other varieties of shifters. All the women dragonmates and most of the men wore heavy jewelry, necklaces, chains, rings, earrings, and clips in their hair that shone with polished gold and platinum and glittered with precious jewels.

  Dragonmates also acquired the eye characteristic of the mature dragon after mating somehow, even if they weren’t dragon shifters.

  Mathonwy had no idea how that happened.

  Magic, he assumed.

  Math’s eyes were more human-normal than many of the others’ in the room, just an ordinary hazel-brown. He was just out of his teenhood, in dragon years. His eyes probably wouldn’t change for several years, yet. He wasn’t even sure how it happened, whether it was a kind of second puberty or a magical ceremony.

  Eh, it would happen when it was time, he was confident.

  Whenever Math went on the naturals’ social media, jewelry-store ads glittered at him, offering him baubles even though he had no mate and had never had time to search for and find someone suitable. He had been busy with university and his MBA, and then Dragons Den, Inc had snapped him up and made him a division head so fast, it had made his head spin. He’d just never been in the mating mood.

  He assumed it was a mood. Or maybe one’s friends told you when your hair was thinning and your scales were getting dull, and that you’d better find a mate before you became a limp lizard.

  The throne room itself was a large ballroom in a mansion in the hills above Los Angeles. A dais raised two softly upholstered wingback chairs above the milling crowd, so at the moment, the space had been designated as the throne room, though the Queen and King had not entered yet.

  The crowd spilled through the receiving rooms, onto the terrace, and over the lawn. A few people had wandered down the stone steps outside that led to the sea.

  Over five hundred people, Math estimated, had shown up on short notice.

  The monarchs had called this reception on an urgent basis and short notice. Math’s cell phone had first rung with the announcement, then with texts and group chats from his friends, extended family, and most of the New Wales Dragon Clan dissecting every word of the terse announcement.

  Royal Council meeting scheduled for Wednesday at two o’clock PDT.

  Reception to follow in the Throne Room of the Royal Residence.

  All clan members invited.

  Mandatory for nobility.

  Dragonbook had nearly exploded from excitement.

  Twitwyrm had become a flaming madhouse, espousing ever-more-insane conspiracy theories.

  Instadrake showed pictures of coffee, lunches, and cats, though the hashtag #whatroyalreception trended for three hours.

  Wednesday had finally arrived, and thus, Math had also presented himself at the royal residence, though he had to go back to his office after he dropped his stifling gold-and-velvet robe back at his own mansion.

  Later in the summer when the mating season officially started, the room would transition into a party space because dragons are notoriously solitary and somewhat infertile creatures, many living their two centuries alone and going to solitary graves. Thus, birth rates had become a royal priority several generations before. The room was also used for wedding receptions and office parties for Dragons Den, Inc., one of the more successful ventures of the dragon clan.

  Like many of his rather young generation, Mathonwy Draco had been hired by the den’s corporation after university. Competition for jobs in the clan business was fierce, with noble status counting for absolutely nothing. Some noble families thought that was unfair because aristocrats had traditionally held the highest positions, but Dragons Den, Inc. had become a highly successful venture and brought so much new capital into the den’s hoard, er, bank accounts, that no one grumbled too loudly.

  Mathonwy was also busy with several boards and organizations within the New Haven Dragon Clan. He had an MBA and was good at organizing things and people, so of course, they had tapped him. His contact list on his phone grew with every committee meeting, and every one of the names in his phone had shown up here and were competing with each other to grab his shoulder and shake his hand. He’d managed to wiggle and finagle his way near to the podium and over to the side, standing in the shadow of the flowing curtains as he surveyed the crowd.

  “Math!” a man’s voice called through the crowd. “Mathonwy Draco, get your head out of your scaly butt and look over here!”

  Math paused for a moment because he knew exactly who that was, and one should not allow one’s best friends to become too confident in their ability to order you around.

  “Math, I know you can hear me!”

  Probably time to do something about that.

  Math raised his head like he had just noticed something and looked over the heads of the crowd around himself. “Arawn, Arawn Tiamat? Is that you? I could barely hear your reedy little voice—”

  Another tall man, nearly as tall as Math himself, was swimming overhand through the crowd toward him. Arawn’s golden hair outshone the afternoon sunlight that beamed in the wide windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean outside. His voice was sonorous and deep, a voice and chiseled face made for theatre, a vocation Math knew Arawn had never considered in the slightest. Arawn was the least sentimental among the three dragon friends, the most practical and pragmatic, and had sarcastically been voted the Most Likely to Snap and Fry a City Someday in high school. At the awards ceremony, Arawn had rolled his blue eyes slightly upward and accepted the award without comment and with every bit of stoicism that the occasion warranted.

  Arawn asked, “Can you believe this crowd? They must think we’re wolf shifters or something, packing us all in here like this. I can’t believe no one’s freaked out and gone reptilian.”

  “The roof is going to be a madhouse with people trying to take off,” Math said, grimacing. They should have organized it better, perhaps bringing the temporary landing pads out onto the tennis courts. “Have you seen Cai?”

  “Not yet,” Arawn said, looking around the crowd. “He texted that he’s coming in, though.”

  “Always has to make an entrance.” Math craned his neck to look, even though his shoulders stuck out of the crowd. Arawn craned his neck too, as he was only four inches over six feet tall, the poor, little shrimp. “Is that him, over by the doors?”

  A low buzz rattled Math’s arm where Arawn stood. “He just texted again. That’s him.”

  Cai Wyvern waved to them and maneuvered through the tightly packed crowd, sidling between dragons manifested in human form and their dragonmates, always a dangerous move. Dragons are territorial creatures, and they’re downright possessive about their mates. Cai breezed through, laughing with dragons and flirting with their mates, who found themselves flirting back because no one could resist Cai. He whipped his head to the side, flipping his dark hair out of his eyes as he said something to Morgan that made the old dragon rear back in laughter. When Silveretti, a dragonmated fae woman with more drop-dead gorgeous looks than common sense, accosted him right in front of her mate Eurig, Cai showed them something on his phone that made both their eyes widen. Eurig clapped Cai on the back and laughed, and Cai said something else with a wink.

  Same old Cai.

  He finally reached the spot where Math and Arawn were waiting.

  Trumpets played a flourish to announce the entrance of the Dragon Queen and Dragon King.

  Math said, “I cannot believe how close you cut arrivals. It’s why you’re late half the time.”

  Cai slugged Math’s shoulder. “The party doesn’t
start until I’m here.”

  Arawn grimaced. “What did you show Silveretti and Eurig?”

  “Oh, I was at a natural’s party in the Hills last night, and these ladies showed up.” Cai showed Math and Arawn a photo of himself surrounded by three of the hottest new singers in California. One had her arm around Cai’s waist. Another sat on his lap. The last had her tongue in his ear.

  Arawn flinched and stepped back. “Jeez, Cai.”

  Math chuckled at him. “And yet you never take us to these parties.”

  “You grinds schedule business meetings before noon. You can’t stay out until daybreak like I do. I have to attend these parties because that’s where I meet the talent to book into DD’s casinos and arenas.”

  Other venues’ managers wondered how Dragons Den, Inc. always seemed to have the newest, most up-and-coming acts just as they broke out. Cai Wyvern was the company’s secret weapon.

  Arawn said, “And I needlessly worried that you were showing Silveretti a picture of your girlfriend.”

  “Never,” Cai laughed. “I shy away from women after two or three dates. Girlfriends are for chumps who want to get mated.”

  Arawn shook his head. “Sometimes it doesn’t work that way.”

  Cai elbowed both of them. “Shut up. The Royal Ones are about to tell us why they dragged us here in the middle of the week, practically at dawn.”

  Three o’clock. It was three o’clock in the afternoon.

  But that probably was Cai’s definition of dawn.

  Queen Bronwyn and King Llywelyn settled onto their thrones, smiling serenely at the crowd. They’d ruled for two decades with light hands, a benevolent reign during which they had dragged dragon society, kicking and screaming, into the twenty-first century.