a/n – sorry for the delay on this one! But I think the chapter itself more than makes up for it cause its 5000+ words long! 

ENJOYYYY

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Virion did not recall rejoining the party. He could hardly remember moving from the courtyard, reentering the Hall, or joining the circle of attendees he currently mingled with, but he must have, because now, it is where he stands.

He felt his lips move and heard himself speak, watched others delight in his responses, all of them unaware that he did not even know what they were conversing about. His participation in their conversations was all reflexive, responses that his body intuitively dispensed while internally… internally, Virion’s systems ran amok.

As if he were constantly being zapped by lightning, Virion’s magic erupted beneath his glamour with the same voracity as his heart battering against his chest. It had not settled once since Zirkhlon left him with proclamations of devotion, and Virion was not sure it ever would.

Zirkhlon wanted him. He wanted him as he’d had him in the storm. He wanted his forgiveness, his favour, him. And not just for another feen or nightfall, or to absolve his guilt. The dragon yearned for Virion’s company, mind and spirit, the way the prince secretly pined after him.

He had not let himself admit it, not even to himself, but that is why this had all hurt so much. Because he wanted the dragon. Ragged and unkempt, polished and prestiged, it did not matter. There was something about the man himself. The way he could snipe at Virion and make him laugh within the same breath, and all the vibrant emotions he provoked in him when they were alone.

Zirkhlon roused something in Virion and prodded that same place again now with his confession, unleashing a new storm within the prince that was greater than the one they had endured together.

Virion did not know what to do with it or himself.

“Virion,” a familiar voice called, plucking the prince out of his thoughts. His gaze followed the source until it landed on a familiar beauty approaching him with sparkling brown eyes.

“Syloce,” he greeted after departing from his circle with a bow.

Once again, the sand wraith was dressed impeccably well, and Virion was just as appreciative of her current brown gown as he was of her former attire.

“How surprising that you would speak to me again?” He whispered, knowing he would not need the pleasantries with this one. “After the ruin I almost brought upon your shawl, I thought you would never deign to speak to me again?”

“And could I be blamed?” She replied, lifting a challenging brow.

“Never.”

They shared a smile, and Virion felt a slight weight lift from his chest.

“Much extravagance this time,” Syloce noted while caressing her chalice. “Have you been to the courtyard?” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “There are Spring Drops. Those do not even bloom on Colony.”

Virion hummed, feigning vague interest as if the information did not root itself inside of him and bloom with brutish speed.

Was that another act of Zirkhlon on his behalf? Had he known Virion would love them, and that they would draw his attention, and if so, how?

Virion resisted seeking out the gaze already fixed on him.

“How are you keeping, Virion?”

“Keeping?” He repeated, as if he were unfamiliar with the word. Syloce’s brown eyes narrowed minutely. “Well— blessed,” he answered quickly, but he could see that the error was already noted.

The brown eyes opposing him flittered across the room before they returned with renewed scrutiny. “Are you?”

“Why is it that you ask?”

“Manners were taught to me as a childling,” the wraith retorted, her gaze as sharp as her mind. “Usually, using them does not prompt such defensiveness.”

“Note that you are not in usual company,” Virion quipped before bringing the chalice to his lips.

Syloce’s attention immediately fell upon it, forcing Virion to stifle his curse as he watched her brown eyes widen an inch.

“Ah,” she sighed quietly. “There is truth to these rumours, then.”

“And which would those be?” Virion could not help but ask.

Syloce stepped closer, kind enough to use her magic so that her next words could only be heard by him.

“They say that the chieftain has been bewitched by a certain prince,” she reported quietly. “They say that no other has been gifted a chalice as opulent as yours, that no other has kept the chieftain’s attention since your arrival.” Virion watched her gaze sail over his shoulder to something beyond, “My apologies— keeps.”

Virion almost looked. Almost.

It was only pride and all the eyes already fixed on him that kept him from meeting the only one that mattered, but he could feel him. His gaze. His attention. His greed.

Zirkhlon’s eyes were warm on his back, stirring the fire he’d first kindled within him. The one that only he could tame.

“It is nothing,” Virion dismissed before quickly taking another much-needed sip of wine.

Syloce chortled as she eyed the prince with unmasked amusement. “There are many words that will be used to describe the events of the Assembly, and I am sorry, my friend, but that is not one of them.”

Virion sighed and did not let the reaction be hidden from Syloce. If she was shedding her skin, then so could he.

Perhaps he should be more cautious about exposing himself to her, but Syloce had said ‘friend’, and he was desperate enough now to invest in the sentiment.

“What do you know?” He finally asked.

“Of what they say about you or this sham of an Assembly?” She replied, and Virion struggled not to cheer. There was little else he loved more than when a bet paid off.

For the first time in his lifetime, Virion chose to speak of something other than himself. “This Assembly.”

“We are guests for this night,” Syloce whispered while she eyed the other attendees with exceptionally well-hidden distaste that he saw only now that her glamours were down. “We will each receive private quarters and gifts for the trouble of a night stolen. There will be a dinner for those who wish to share company, and privately arranged ones for those who might not.”

Virion withheld his curses. Since Zirkhlon shared the news of his plans, he had been hoping that it might spur some form of backlash from the others, just enough that he might slip back home to regroup, but such revelations doused those hopes.

If there was to be any resistance, then it would not commence this night, for all Syloce spoke of were things that he would lavish in, if he were anyone else. Gifts from a dragon were precisely as rare as they sounded.

None would be foolish enough to reject.

“The proper Assembly is to begin on the morrow,” Syloce continued, relaying her detailed report. “And we are all quite keen to uncover why the dragons rushed matters as they did, and so suddenly.” She fixed those knowing eyes onto the prince once more. “I do not suppose you know?”

Virion suddenly felt terribly wicked.

He could not answer truthfully, knowing already that all he shared would spread like a bushfire on the very driest of days. But Syloce had just given him a great deal of information, and all of elven culture relied on sharing as much as one was given.

“Your silence betrays you,” Syloce murmured with a kind smile, “and I will not trouble you to share more than you so desire.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, dipping his head in thanks. “I mean that, Syloce.”

She hummed, letting her lips spread wider, “Repay me by taking me on your next shopping trip, and we will be golden.”

They shared a laugh soon lost as conversations dwindled and all turned to face the front of the room. Syloce’s gaze drifted past Virion’s shoulder once more. “I believe we are about to receive an announcement.”

This time, Virion was completely within his rights to turn as others did, and so what if he did so so swiftly that his silks flew rather than sailed with measured grace— he had been patient enough.

Virion found Zirkhlon without effort, and not simply because he stood above all, at the helm of his small audience, but because wherever the dragon was, Virion’s senses nestled under.

Zirkhlon already looked at the prince.

He was a chieftain, he compelled an entire faction within the realm, and yet, he looked at no other but Virion.

Virion’s throat bobbed, his skin flaming beneath his glamour as others followed the dragon’s gaze. Soon, all in attendance were staring at Virion, a shining treasure in a sea of baubles.

Despite himself, Virion basked in the attention.

His skin flamed beneath his glamour, and there was still a part of him that hated being so exposed, but he had always loved the spotlight, and the dragon seemed insistent in casting it upon him.

“On behalf of the dragons of Colony, I express my gratitude to each of you for your presence and your time,” Zirkhlon began, his deep voice filling every crevice of the room as he finally drew his gaze away from Virion, prompting others to do the same. “We recognise how untimely this Assembly has transpired, and the confusion it may have caused, and endeavour to atone for such.”

Those deep, red-rimmed eyes found Virion’s for a brief moment before shifting again.

“To convey our gratitude, dinner will be prepared within our gallery this evening, or your chambers, as promised. Your preference will be accommodated,” he continued before gesturing a hand to the attendants that stepped into view from all open entryways. “Whichever you choose, please let your attendant know once you have been ushered to your private chambers.”

Zirkhlon dipped his head, stepping from the stage, and murmurs were quick to take his place as elves deliberated on what might happen next.

If they spoke of Virion, then he heard none of it, because he could only focus on Zirkhlon now that he was looking at him again. He noticed the way he moved easily through the crowd, the way he towered over everyone else, a mass of muscle and brawn, the way his eyes always sought out Virion’s whenever another broke their stare.

Because of this, it took him too long to notice that the dragon was not moving aimlessly through the crowds, but towards him.

“Let us go then,” he encouraged hastily as he stepped in the opposite direction, “our rooms await.”

Syloce, wisely, kept her mouth shut as she followed the prince and all others who sought out their attendants. Virion sought out Aleen, finding her in the line of waiting staff, but it took only one glance at the dragon he knew was tracking him for her to scurry away.

Virion refused to let that deter him. He followed at Syloce’s side like a loyal shadow and thanked Ythene that she bridled her thoughts to a silent smile.

“Indram,” she greeted as she brushed past a large dragon who hastily fell into step beside her, as if she were the one leading the way, “if you might show me to my chambers, I would be so appreciative. Oh, and Prince Virion to his.”

Indram noticeably hesitated.

“That will not be a problem, will it?” Syloce challenged the moment Indram dared to part his lips.

She eyed the man at her side, and whatever he saw in her gaze scared him presently more than whatever threat Zirkhlon might cast upon him.

“No. Not at all, my lady,” he replied, his sturdy voice a direct contrast to the unease etched into his face.

“Wonderful,” Syloce commented, sharing a wink with her friend.

“Thank you,” Virion whispered to them both, and once more, Syloce restricted her thoughts to a smile.

The hallways of the dragon’s Grand Hall were as colossal as the rest of the structure, arching upwards several heads too high for Virion to reach on his own. Sound would doubtlessly echo within them when empty, but they were too busy for such frivolities now.

They were a hub of activity as attendants and guests alike strode through them, splintering off separate paths while the trio’s own remained faithful and long. Far longer than the rest, until there was no one else walking with them.

By the time Virion noticed the oddity, Indram was already stopping abruptly.

“If you might wait here, Prince Virion,” he asked with a deeply bowed head. “My lady’s room is down this path,” he started with a gesture to where the path diverged to the left, “but I will return for you.”

Virion’s lips parted, but he found himself without a sensible response for the game he already knew was afoot.

Indram would not return, but he could not accuse him of such things without appearing like a maddened elf or a scared babe.

“Very well,” he replied with a step back. “I will see you at dinner, Syloce.”

“You will see me when the sun rises,” she corrected as she stepped away, once again leading her own course, and leaving Indram to scramble after her. “I will be making the most of a private dinner in my chambers. Forgive me, but I have had enough of the social activities as it were.”

Virion remembered feeling guilty about something earlier, but suddenly could not recall why in the face of such blatant betrayal.

His newfound friend laughed as if reading his mind, and Virion did not miss the fact that it was the first real laugh he’d heard from her. He resolved to hear more.

The prince stayed where he was only long enough to watch them disappear around one corner before he hastily carried on, on his own.

Virion would not let Zirkhlon cull him so easily.

He thought himself so clever and smart, but Virion was smarter. He marched through the large hallways, keeping his eyes straight and his ears perked for any movement.

He would find his chambers himself or claim the first he found— whichever would do, once there was a lock he could twist to put between him and the obstinate dragon.

It was not the first time that another had pursued the prince, but it had never been like this. Never before had Virion handled an admirer who chased after him so, perception be damned, and never before had he wanted them to. And he did want, but Virion could not risk himself or his heart so recklessly.

As pretty as they were, Zirkhlon’s words had been just that— words. And sure, if Virion allowed himself more than a moment to ponder every one of the dragon’s actions since he had demanded that the prince attend this farce of an Assembly, then Virion would not be able to deny that they were more than just words. But the prince’s stubbornness could be as unrelenting as his beauty when provoked, especially when he was hurt.

“Lost?”

A scream tore from Virion’s lips as he came to a sudden stop, and just as he predicted, the sound echoed through the grand arching space above.

“Not quite wailing, but close enough,” Zirkhlon spoke at his back, his words and presence like a caress that slithered up the length of Virion’s spine.

Fire and brimstone sparked within the prince’s core, igniting his lungs as the man he was coming to know all too well eased around him and stepped into his line of sight. He stayed close, too close, and Virion cursed him with his gaze for being just as enchanting here as he had been a moment ago, standing above them all.

Virion gazed into glowing eyes that roved over him, noting the ragged beating of Zirkhlon’s broad chest. Had he chased after him? Ran? Pleasure licked through him to imagine it.

“You were to wait for Indram’s return,” Zirkhlon noted with far too much amusement.

“You are not as smart as you think you are,” he replied tightly. “If I knew these halls better, you would have never found me.”

“I know your scent, Virion,” the dragon whispered huskily as he breathed the prince in. “I could find you anywhere in this realm.”

Dear Ythene…

Blood rushed south, following the path of his arousal, but Virion refused to acknowledge it or let it slip past his glamour. That was not an attractive sentiment to him. It simply was not.

“I will be your guide,” Zirkhlon declared as he stepped back, allowing the prince the space to breathe. “I know this path well. There is none better to show you the way.”

“Then lead the way,” Virion sniped with a flung hand. “Most guides are not this talkative.”

Virion hoped his disrespectful callousness would trigger the temper he knew Zirkhlon harboured so he might leave him be, even for a moment, but such hope was futile.

Zirkhlon, the chieftain of the people, the rugged dragon who had incensed him for three feens, smiled and remained quiet as he dragged a foot back and then another, coaxing Virion to fall into a slow dance.

Red-rimmed eyes refused to part from his while he did what was requested, leading the way, but clearly, not at the expense of the view of his prize.

“Have you considered what we spoke about?” He asked lowly, his voice the only companion to the colossal hallways. Virion imagined they were only this large to allow the dragons to walk through them when they freed their wings.

“We?” Virion muttered, struggling to keep his gaze on the path and not the sultry beast leading him deeper into his den. “I do not recall speaking much.”

“What I spoke about then,” Zirkhlon corrected quickly, undeterred and unoffended.

The prince held his tongue.

“Virion.”

What gave him the right to say his name, and in such a manner? And why was Virion so shamefully weak at resisting its compulsion?

“…Virion,” he whispered again, softer now.

“Is this to be your plan?” The prince snapped instead of answering, all without looking at him. He refused to. Not here, and not like this. “You will harass me until I leave.”

“I am not harassing you,” Zirkhlon refuted as he turned a corner without so much as a glance back.

“I think I reserve the right to stipulate what this is, when it is me that you are harassing,” Virion clipped as his chin sailed an inch higher.

“Very well, I will let you have that.”

“Let me—”

“I am harassing you,” Zirkhlon agreed, paying no mind to Virion’s upset.

“Where is your shame?” Virion demanded, huffing now as his glamour wavered.

“Missing, it seems,” the dragon replied thoughtlessly, “but you still have not answered my question, Virion. Have you thought about what I spoke about?”

Virion never wanted so desperately to maim another and kiss them all at once.

“Well?” Zirkhlon prompted, relentless and impatient.

“We only just spoke, you will remember,” Virion reminded tersely.

“So it is ‘we’ now?”

Virion’s gaze snapped to the dragon before he could stop it. He needed to look at him, to view him so he might understand how he could dare to tease now, but he regretted doing so the moment he laid eyes upon the creature’s smile.

Zirkhlon had never smiled at him quite like this.

Virion remembered all of his smiles, try as he might not to. He remembered the smart grins and judgmental smirks. The small casts of amusement and the wide-toothed handsome gift he’d shared over wine when Virion said something particularly clever.

This one was different.

This smile was soft. It was fond, and kind, and filled with longing as Zirkhlon gazed at him as if he were reliving a memory once lost for the first time in a very long time.

“Where are my rooms?” Virion blurted past his heaving chest.

“Behind you.”

Virion turned swiftly, sure that the dragon was teasing, but he was not. A gargantuan door stood behind him, and Virion wondered how he had missed it, but a flash of that soft smile in his mind answered the short-lived mystery for him.

Without comment, he pushed the door open with all his strength. He kept a firm grip of it as he stumbled inside, planning to shove it back in the dragon’s face since Zirkhlon had clearly abandoned his manners, but all inklings of intent and all else ceased to be the moment the prince stepped into his chambers.

“Ythene’s Blessings,” he gasped as his glamour shattered.

The rooms were as large as the hallways themselves, as tall and dominating as the door to it, with thick, marble columns to keep it all standing. It was as long as it was wide, but there was no wall across one length, for instead, the chamber opened candidly to the ocean that crashed just beneath its width.

The view was nothing short of heavenly.

Steps on one side led straight to the roaring waters, and on the other, to sculpted, tamer pools that the sea filled with each crashing wave.

Virion’s eyes shifted inside, skittering over every meticulously crafted article before finally landing on the large bed cornered to one side. It was double the size of his at home, and that was no easy feat.

He spied the entrance to the washing room, which he knew was just as large and grand, but before he could think to explore those, he gleamed the packages waiting just before the open balcony beside his trunks.

They were spread out on one of the plush loungers, wrapped in glittering golden fabrics. Gifts.

Virion’s heart galloped, his fingers twitched, but he spun himself around before he could think of running to them.

Virion loved gifts.

Zirkhlon waited where he had left him, adorned with a different smile— this one shrouded with unmasked pride and pleasure. Another gift.

“What is this?” He whispered, the words tellingly shaky to his own ears.

“Your chambers,” Zirkhlon replied easily, his smile somehow growing.

“No, Zirkhlon—”

“Abandoning titles already?” The dragon mocked, and Ythene, be good, he could not handle this.

“What is this?” Virion hissed, his head shaking listlessly. “These rooms are—”

“Grand?” He hazard while he lingered in the open doorway, his gaze briefly searching inside before returning to Virion’s. “Yes, they are, but I could not think to put you anywhere else.” His gaze dropped, searching Virion’s frame before his eyes warmed once more, “…I wanted to see you in them.”

Virion did not dare to risk responding to that statement.

“These are your rooms,” he accused instead.

“No,” Zirkhlon dismissed as he took his first step inside. He gestured over his shoulders as he did so to the matching door that the prince belatedly realised waited behind him. “Those are mine.”

Right across the hall.

“Then, these are—”

Virion held his tongue, finding himself speechless, voluntarily so, for if he spoke the thoughts in his mind, he did not know what would become of him after.

“These are…” The dragon prompted as his lips spread once more. “Do you wish for me to say it?”

“Do not dare.”

If Zirkhlon admitted that these were rooms meant for a consort, then Virion would be forced to make himself vacate them, and that was a cruelty the prince could not fathom any version of himself inflicting upon himself.

He would never be able to settle in whatever meagre chambers the rest of the guests had been given after being exposed to such opulence.

“They will assume you have been given a room like theirs,” Zirkhlon states, easing Virion’s next worry before it could form. “I did that for you. Only for you. I am more than eager to share that it is you who occupies the chambers beside mine.”

Virion reached for his glamour and only then realised that it had fallen the moment he had stepped inside.

He floundered, feeling his face heating, and worsening when the dragon’s gaze dropped to witness it. He stepped back, but he could not escape the way his ears twitched like a startled fawn’s, or the knowledge that Zirkhlon was once again seeing all of him.

The dragon’s gaze darkened, but he was kind enough to stay where he was while he greedily consumed every one of the prince’s reactions.

“Those are the gifts,” Virion stated once he found the strength to speak again. He did not look, knew himself too well to allow such a misstep. “The ones promised to us all.”

“Those are your gifts,” Zirkhlon corrected as he took another step forward, this one with the sole purpose of bringing them closer.

Virion’s heart skittered as he realised suddenly and far too late that for the first time since their turbulent parting a luhe ago, they were well and truly alone.

“My gifts?” He breathed as he took a step back. He knew he shouldn’t, but he could not help but ask. When it came to precious things, Virion had the greed of a seasoned dragon.

“Yours,” Zirkhlon confirmed gruffly. The dragon took another step forward, prowling. Virion hastily took two back. “I readied them personally for you, for our dinner.”

That gave the prince pause.

“Our dinner?” He repeated as his perfectly shaped brows drew in.

“You think me foolish enough to share you with others?” Zirkhlon retorted as he took advantage of Virion’s surprise to claim his steps, bringing them perilously face to face.

Virion tried to retreat, but the edge of the lounger knocked against the back of his knees. There was no risk of falling, and yet, the dragon’s large hand was quick to settle on his waist to steady him.

There were layers of silk between them, but it felt as if his skin were right against Virion’s. The prince burned.

“I did not give you permission to touch me,” he mumbled quickly over his rushed breaths.

He could not breathe. Thankfully, neither could the dragon.

Zirkhlon retracted his hand quickly, but this close, there was no missing how his jaw clenched tightly to do so. “Apologies… my prince.”

Virion. Was. Melting.

Chest heaving, for a moment, they simply stared at one another while they tried to steady their breaths, a foolish endeavour while they stood this close.

“A special feast has been prepared,” Zirkhlon said after a moment, “one for only you.”

Warmth like spilt lava pooled in Virion’s stomach and spread without restraint, filling every crevice of his being until he felt as though Zirkhlon’s heat was spilling inside of him.

“You must wear them,” he breathed, making Virion’s eyes sparkle.

Clothes. They were clothes.

“You can not abandon your duties,” he whispered, fighting with all his might to ignore the lust gathering inside of him.

Zirkhlon watched the prince’s throat bob as he shifted enough to tossle his hair. He raised a hand, only to stop when Virion’s breath caught. Carefully, he lowered it, but his gaze remained fixed on the lock of hair left over his shoulder.

“Wear them for me,” he whispered.

Virion wondered if the dragon knew that if he touched him now, he would not dare stop him.

“They will know if you and I are missing, and—”

“And I do not care,” Zirkhlon replied smoothly while his gaze lifted to find Virion’s once more. “Must I tell you again what I will do for your favour?”

Virion’s breath hitched as Zirkhlon dared to lean closer so that his heat brushed against every inch of the prince’s body.

“Anything,” he whispered in a rumble. “Anything… and everything.”

The air blew from Virion’s lips, brushing against the dragon’s, causing him to groan.

“Open your gifts, Virion, and put them on,” he demanded as he pulled back suddenly. “I will be waiting for you.”

Zirkhlon stepped away, awarding Virion the space he so desperately needed and loathed. He took with him his suffocating heat, but not the lust he’d stoked within the prince and the upset that he knew he’d never recover from. He had shoved Virion’s world off its axis and seemed determined to keep it that way.

“What if I do not want to?” Virion heard himself challenge.

Zirkhlon turned to share with him that smile, the soft one, the one that was too sweet for Virion’s fragile heart.

“You must to receive the remainder of your gifts.”

More gifts? Virion almost whimpered.

“You are horrid,” he said instead.

Zirkhlon’s smile widened as he stopped at the door and bowed, “Prince Virion.”

And then he was gone, closing the door behind him, and immediately the prince’s shoulders dropped as his remaining defences crumbled.

He slid a hand over his chest as he breathed like a great heaving beast, his mind a rampant mess. He should run. He should call Aiasthlyn and demand his help— he would have to tell Aiasthlyn of the sudden change, or he would worry, and he should do that now.

Virion should have done many things, including diving into the ocean and calling his carrier to transport him the rest of the way. Instead, he turned swiftly and settled his hands on the first of the gifts, as if patience and self-control were concepts he had never heard of.

There were three packages: one in a garment sleeve, another in a large box, and the last in an even smaller box.

Virion started with the largest, the sleeve, and almost screamed again when he tugged the zipper down and saw what awaited inside.

It was a billowed blouse in the richest shade of green with a deeper-hued gemmed corset. The stitching of the blouse was too fine to be anything other than a jorel’s work, and worked up in the sleeve in one exquisite display of a dragon chasing after its own flames.

Jewels showered from every inch of the corset, much like his present attire, but each was assuredly worth more. It was all paired with black leather trousers that laced at its sides rather than the centre, a design Virion had never seen but itched to see on himself already.

He could hardly bear to put it down, but he managed because he had to see the rest.

With shaking fingers, Virion went for the next— the smallest box, hoping to manage his reaction here better.

This time, Virion really did scream when he opened the lid to emeralds.

Green, jubilant, shimmering emeralds. It was a collection: a tiered necklace, a sole, diamond-cut ring, and a thin bracelet that glimmered with miniature emeralds.

Virion had not seen such finery in longer than he could remember.

He was scared to open the last, well and truly terrified, for he knew he would adore it, and that his already-slipping resolve would likely break here.

The last brought him to his knees.

Slippers. Black lace, hand-stitched with raven diamonds. It was like black sand, glimmering with diamonds as if made of stars.

Altogether, Virion did not think he had ever made a better ensemble for himself, and Zirkhlon had been the one to do it.

Zirkhlon had done this—all of this, for him… and there was still more to come.

—————————

Virion is quite literally Ythene’s strongest soldier cause I would’ve been folded like a lawn chair by now

Thoughts???????????

Thoughts on the chase??? The gifts??? him being in consort’s room????

Zirkhlon is pulling out alllll the stopsssss!!! And he’s not even done yet aHHHHHH I love these two soo much!!! 

Next chapter will be out on time next week I promise!!!! But if you can’t handle the wait, remember the full book is out on my Patreon and website for all tiers!!!!

LINK IN MY BIO

Until next time,
Byeeeeeeee Humansssssss