Eggsclusive: Glitter Dragons, #6

By Jinx Jax

He'd given up hope…

 

Watching his brothers find mates had left Vanner wondering if his turn would ever come. Eventually, he decided the fates had forgotten him, but that didn't mean he'd let some nosy human threaten their peace and quiet. Only, when Vanner confronts the man who's been snooping on them from the other side of the neighborhood gate, he discovers his mate has been practically under his nose the whole time!

 

Wannabe investigative reporter Dean Conrad-Warner had used every moment he could spare to spy on the men he believed to be the Glitter Dragons. All he needed was one good video to prove they weren't humans but dragonoids from another world. After waiting and watching for three months, he's just about to throw in the towel when one of them hits on him. Stunned by his turn of luck, Dean's even more stunned when he finds himself thoroughly smitten.

 

Vanner thought playing cat and mouse with his mate might be fun, but when he realizes Dean could destroy them all with one story, Vanner is willing to do anything to keep him quiet, even claim Dean as his mate before he explains exactly what the hapless human has stumbled into. Once he knows the truth, will Dean join their happy family, or will he try to make a name for himself by exposing the truth behind the Glitter Dragons?

 

This fluffy paranormal M/M romance contains a lonely dragon-shifter longing for a mate, a part-time bartender who fancies himself an intrepid reporter, a BFF who almost ruins everything, and a big dose of controlled chaos as the series comes to an end. 32,000 words or 128 pages.

 

Note: this story contains Mpreg elements, but does not contain Mpreg for the main characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jinx Jax
• Release date: Feb 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9798201152642

Book preview

About Eggsclusive

He’d given up hope...

Watching his brothers find mates had left Vanner wondering if his turn would ever come. Eventually, he decided the fates had forgotten him, but that didn’t mean he’d let some nosy human threaten their peace and quiet. Only, when Vanner confronts the man who’s been snooping on them from the other side of the neighborhood gate, he discovers his mate has been practically under his nose the whole time!

Wannabe investigative reporter Dean Conrad-Warner had used every moment he could spare to spy on the men he believed to be the Glitter Dragons. All he needed was one good video to prove they weren’t humans but dragonoids from another world. After waiting and watching for three months, he’s just about to throw in the towel when one of them hits on him. Stunned by his turn of luck, Dean’s even more stunned when he finds himself thoroughly smitten.

Vanner thought playing cat and mouse with his mate might be fun, but when he realizes Dean could destroy them all with one story, Vanner is willing to do anything to keep him quiet, even claim Dean as his mate before he explains exactly what the hapless human has stumbled into. Once he knows the truth, will Dean join their happy family, or will he try to make a name for himself by exposing the truth behind the Glitter Dragons?

This fluffy paranormal M/M romance contains a lonely dragon-shifter longing for a mate, a part-time bartender who fancies himself an intrepid reporter, a BFF who almost ruins everything, and a big dose of controlled chaos as the series comes to an end. 32,000 words or 128 pages.

Note: this story contains Mpreg elements, but does not contain Mpreg for the main characters.

Chapter One

Dean Conrad-Warner had discovered his superpower: he could slow time.

Conducting endless surveillance practically made time run backward. Like now. He’d been milling around the gate of the exclusive neighborhood for months. Well, not milling, exactly. He’d been sitting in a sleek Jaguar to blend in, which had worked well, but he hadn’t had much luck following any of his targets, which sucked big hairy donkey balls. His targets were either the most paranoid men on the planet or the luckiest. Dean wasn’t sure which. He only knew he’d do anything to get answers.

Thankfully, he managed to find plenty of shade. Über wealthy people could afford lots of trees. And not just any trees, but big and lush ones despite the drought. Perky and practically oozing with glittery abundance, the trees offered a welcomed respite from the heat.

And no dog shit anywhere. That was another plus. If their pooches pooped, they either cleaned it up right away or they didn’t own any pets. Or maybe they had staff that took their pampered poop-machines to the dog park.

Dog park.

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes. Lower-income neighborhoods didn’t even have a park for kids while these assholes got one for their dogs.

Internally griping about the differences between the lives of most people and the lives of these people had helped him pass the time. Probably not the healthiest of pursuits, but it kept him focused on any little thing around him that might help with his goal. His goal that seemed to be getting further away rather than closer.

Could he be wrong?

It wasn’t the first time he’d pondered the question, but he pushed it aside because right now was not the time. Later tonight, when he settled into bed, he’d chew over what he was doing with his life. Now, he needed to keep alert.

Dean did another survey of the neighborhood.

One thing that had impressed him was, despite sitting under big shade trees all day, his borrowed car hadn’t been covered in bird crap. Didn’t take him long to figure out why. When he did, he wanted to rail at the homeowners, but he sucked his rage down.

Every tree—yes, every single one—had little spikes along the branches. He’d used his camera with the super-long lens to get a close-up shot of one tree. Once he had that, it hadn’t taken him long on the internet to discover that bird spikes were totally a thing, a despicable thing that kept birds from roosting in the branches of trees and pooping on expensive cars. A fact which was made weirder by the fact the streets were almost entirely devoid of cars.

Why the fuck would they spend all that time and effort on something that would probably only affect them once a month or less? Dean shook his head. Just another example of people with more money than brains, and people who had so few problems they fixed things before they could even become a problem.

Dean slumped a little more in the driver’s seat then considered his smartphone. He did this every so often on the off chance someone might be watching him and wondering what he was doing. He’d discovered if he stayed in front of or near a home that had a for sale sign in the yard—all tastefully done and aesthetically pleasing—the locals left him alone, erroneously assuming him to be either a prospective homebuyer or an agent waiting for a prospective client. Dean had always found it interesting that people made up narratives about those around them, narratives that were almost always wrong.

If they actually knew what he was doing out here, they’d probably come after him with pitchforks and torches. One thing he’d learned the hard way was not shitting on things that people loved. Like, sugar. It was bad for you. No question about it. Sugar ruined your teeth, heart, and colon, but if he harped on that, he took all the enjoyment out of someone’s candy bar. Ditto a beloved pastime like football that caused countless injuries. And most certainly in Los Angeles, he’d learned never ever go after a beloved celebrity. That would get you on the fast-track to a—

Hello?

Dean jolted so violently he bashed his elbow against the horn, sending out an indignant whonk! that destroyed the silence of the neighborhood and left his ears ringing.

Are you okay?

Dean turned his head, ready to read the guy the riot act for scaring the shit out of him, only to find himself mesmerized by a stunning man with longish hair and soul-stealing eyes.

I just noticed you sitting here, and...

Dean’s superpower kicked in, stopping time completely, giving him an opportunity to examine this incredibly fuckable hunk of man meat. Warm brown eyes the color of an old leather-bound journal said kind-hearted poet, but a carelessly trimmed beard said goal-consumed inventor. Long strands of brown hair caught the softest of breezes, giving him the air of man from a historical romance, but the shorts—ah, God, those cock-clinging shorts that showed off everything the man possessed below the belt, a considerable amount—said rock star. Or porn star. Or both. Dean had no trouble at all imagining this man wailing on a low-slung guitar as if it were an extension of his cock.

Dean moved his gaze up and down again, trying to reconcile the difference between the upper half and the lower half. Then his tired, lonely, and very horny gaze returned to those clinging blue shorts. Were it not for the small interior of the sports car, he might invite him inside. Then again, who cared how small the space was? Motivated men could always work something out. Besides, they’d have fun trying.

Just as Dean opened his mouth to proposition him, the man said, I’m Vanner.

Dean. Damn it. He’d used his real name. Had all the blood in his body not been in his dick, he wouldn’t have fucked up so badly, but there was nothing to be done about it now. You live around here?

Yes. He offered only a clipped response then asked, You?

Dean’s carefully prepared story vanished from his head in an instant. Instead, he sputtered, pointing at the for sale sign on the lawn of the nearby house.

You’re buying? Vanner asked.

Unable to form a coherent word, Dean nodded.

It’s a great neighborhood. Vanner glanced around then returned his attention to Dean’s face, and then he slowly and deliberately licked his lips. I could show you around.

That had to be a come-on. Had to. No straight man would say something like that or lick his plush, beautiful mouth like that.

Or not. Vanner moved back. Have a good day.

Frozen gray matter turned into steaming mush in a flash when Dean watched Vanner casually jog away from him. Coming or going, the man had a body that put every fitness model Dean had ever seen to shame. And he was letting him get away!

Fuck. Dean shoved his hand in his pants for the car keys, bashing his hard cock in the process. Fuck! he muttered again, gritting his teeth. Once he freed the keys from his suddenly tight jeans, he jammed them in the ignition and fired up the engine, which purred like a big, hungry cat. Don’t worry, baby. Dean patted the dash. I’m not going to let him get away.

Dean had enough presence of mind to look both ways before pulling away from the curb and then, keeping his speed at a sane pace, he caught up to Vanner.

Hey, Dean called out the window.

Hello again. Vanner stopped moving forward but jogged in place, making his junk bounce lightly in his shorts.

I’ve decided to take you up on your offer.

Vanner lifted one