Page 7

“Those enormous eyes aren’t having an effect on me,” he muttered under his breath as he typed away at his report, even as Dusty’s head tilted at a particularly cute angle, his tiny blue tongue darting out from his mouth.

“Brrp?”

Robb locked his gaze on to his screen, concentrating fully on the words he was typing and not giving Dusty the satisfaction of giving in to his distractions. The earlier Dusty learned the value of maintaining concentration while doing boring tasks, the easier he would find it to deal with the day-to-day monotony of adult life.

A heavy thunking sound was enough to pull Robb’s attention away, however, and he looked up to see that Dusty had pulled the pen Robb had received as a celebratory award for his twenty years of service to the Agency out of its holder, before dragging it in close to his body and guarding it possessively, staring at Robb with an expression that said Back off.

Clearly, the pen was now part of his hoard.

Robb didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was only gold plated, rather than solid gold – but, he supposed, for a four-year-old dragon that was probably satisfying enough.

He probably should have been at least a little upset that a baby dragon shifter was now gnawing on the symbol of his lifetime’s work with its tiny little kitten-like teeth, but, in a way, it seemed almost fitting. The Agency meant everything to him – and he would put his life on the line for his team even outside of work – but it had also taken away everything else. What even was he, without the Agency?

The dingo rumbled out a discontented growl. It was bound by honor and duty to the Agency… but Robb also knew that giving up its mate for its job had left it torn. All it had left was throwing itself headlong into Agency work, dedicating its every waking moment to bringing down shady shifter organizations like Hargreaves and keeping people safe.

Not, the dingo said sullenly, that we are doing much to destroy Hargreaves at this exact moment.

The dingo had a point, Robb had to admit. Currently, his team were having a heated debate about whether or not having mustard at a sausage sizzle was heresy, while the sound of Mary Had a Little Lamb being mangled on the recorder echoed around the room, courtesy of Hector’s adopted alicorn shifter daughter, Ruby.

She was in her human form at the moment, though Robb wasn’t certain it would’ve sounded any more discordant if she’d been in her alicorn form.

The recorder had been a gift to Ruby from Hector’s brother, Rhys, and Robb had spent enough time with the two of them to know that it had absolutely been a deliberate act of good-natured malice on Rhys’s part.

Meanwhile, Dusty’s dragon shifter sister, Goldie, had decided to perch on top of Robb’s head and hiss at her brother and his shiny gold pen, while Ruby’s younger alicorn sister, Opal, was flying around the room with the team’s resident baby basilisk shifter, Quicksilver, balanced on her back.

It was just the kind of chaos that Robb had managed to get used to over the past few years, and he quickly typed the rest of his report with grim determination, doing his best to ignore the tiny needle-like dragon claws that were prickling at his scalp. He could admit that it probably wasn’t the best report he’d ever written, but at least it was now complete, and he could leave the Agency headquarters with a clear conscience.

Opal came to hover in front of him, her feathery wings flapping and sending the papers on his desk fluttering about. Robb swiftly saved and submitted his report before any errant alicorn hooves clattering across his keyboard could destroy his work, and finally looked up from the screen to see Quicksilver staring at him from over Opal’s head with its impenetrable basilisk’s stare.

He could admit, at least to himself, that a baby basilisk shifter that could turn anyone to stone with a glance was more concerning to him than any number of highly trained Hargreaves agents – and a baby basilisk that was being co-parented by someone as impulsive as Trent, at that. But Trent and his mate Zina had proven themselves to be excellent parents, despite Trent’s occasional attitude issues, and so he returned the basilisk’s gaze with an unblinking stare.

You are not getting paid to have a staring contest with a baby shifter who could kill you with a glance, his dingo muttered.

No, Robb replied, never breaking his steady gaze from Quicksilver’s. But I am getting paid to promote team cohesion.

Is that what you’re calling this? I call it getting soft.

Not really caring what the dingo thought, Robb continued to lock eyes with Quicksilver until, at last, it turned its head and looked away.

Opal fluttered back over to Trent with Quicksilver in tow, and Robb noticed for the first time that everyone was watching him with open amusement on their faces. Given that Goldie was still perched on his head, he couldn’t say that he entirely blamed them.

“Man, that was ice cold,” Trent said, obviously impressed. “Staring down a basilisk? Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“What do you mean? You get on his bad side constantly,” Brooke interjected, and Robb silently thanked her for saying it so he didn’t have to.

Trent laughed. “But when I do it, it’s charming! You actually love it when I get under your skin, don’t you, Robbo? Don’t lie.”

Robbo.

The name hit him like a punch to the gut. He’d never liked it to begin with, but ever since that New Year’s party, it had been absolutely forbidden.

Not that anyone knew the reason calling him that was strictly off-limits – only that it was.

The emotional gut-punch must’ve showed on his face, because a hush fell over the room, followed by a low whistle.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” murmured Callan.

Trent jerked upright from his slouch, his posture so rigid that he looked like a single prod to the chest would send him toppling over like a bowling pin.