CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Lukendevener
If I have to spend one more second looking at Skye in that revealing costume, I think I’ll go mad.
The main fabric of the dress matches her skin tone perfectly, all cream with a hint of strawberry, making her look naked but for a few ropes of pearl holding up tiny fragments of pink that barely deserve to be called clothes.
Her magnificent breasts look ready to burst from their constraints, and her generous hips beckon my hands.
The lushness of her thighs promises the even lusher treat buried between.
My flimsy satin pants feel as if they’re ready to split as my dual cocks battle for the limited space.
Shock covers the little witch’s face as she takes me in, her gaze flicking from my horns to my wings. She spent over an hour devouring my body with her eyes when I was human. This look is decidedly not the same.
I can’t stand it, can’t stand how right it felt to hold her in my arms, to move with her in harmony and grace while we danced. I want her, but she wants him—the human in the book, the man I can never be.
“Goddess.” I shove my hand into my storage pocket and use a burst of magic to call for a robe. The silky fabric hits my palm, and I yank it free and toss it to her. “Dress yourself.”
Her face crumples, but it takes all my willpower not to grab her and take her right here, so I have none left to try to figure out what’s wrong.
A snort of bitter amusement escapes me. I already know what’s wrong. Skye’s just been reminded all over again what a beast I really am.
Three hundred years of being broken, three hundred years of the other dragons rejecting me. Why should Earth be any different?
Yet it still hurts to think that Skye, the sweetest person I’ve ever known, also finds me broken and lacking.
I stalk out of the library, my tail lashing the whole way.
Without speaking of it, we spend all of that evening and the next day in the library, searching for more books about book witches.
There is no trip to the pond, no dancing and laughing beside one another while playing the video game.
I’m too raw. Touching her would be too hard, so I snarl whenever she suggests dancing together.
“No, we research. We need to break this spell.”
“You’re right,” she says, her voice sad.
Sad to say goodbye to the Luke of the book? Sad she’s going to lose her human lover?
I growl deep in my throat. I never realized it was possible to be jealous of oneself. How wrong I was.
Late Friday night, as I stomp my way toward the library and its hidden collection of romance books, I come across Princess Buttercup, hovering over a pair of my boots in the hall outside the sitting room. “What are you doing?”
The cat holds my gaze and squats. A stream of liquid splashes over the leather, the smell of urine filling the air.
She finishes with a flick of her tail and saunters off, pausing to glance back over her shoulder.
“It’s too bad you saw that. I hoped it would be awhile before you found them, so the ammonia smell would really kick in. ”
“Why?” I grit out, even though I already know the answer.
“You hurt her.” The cat turns toward me, jabbing an accusing paw. “She’s so easily hurt, which you knew, and you hurt her anyway.”
“What if I’m the one who’s hurt?”
Princess Buttercup’s head tilts, her pupils widening as she stares at me. Then she shakes her head. “You don’t show it. How would anyone know?” She strolls away, head in the air, bushy tail a jauntily raised flag.
The smell of cat urine fills the air, my keen fae senses making it more intense. Fire pours from my mouth, burning the boots to ash, leaving scorch marks on the stone without doing any real damage. There’s a reason dragons live in caves and castles, surrounded by impervious rock.
I pinch the bridge of my nose for several moments as I roll her words over in my mind. Do I hide my true feelings?
Then I snort. Of course, I hide my true feelings. It’s the only way I’ve survived the past few centuries. My family always tried to hide theirs as well—their constant discomfort at my brokenness—but they were never fully successful. It became easier to act as if it didn’t bother me…
As if nothing bothered me.
I became a dragon of stone and fire instead of scales and blood.
The only time I’ve dropped my guard has been with Skye. And it hasn’t only been while dancing that I’ve done so. No, it’s also occurred while working with her in my library. Hours spent without any need to guard my thoughts.
It’s been so very freeing, Skye’s youthful energy and boundless joy sparking feelings I thought lost centuries ago.
The familiar’s words make me dig deeper within myself to face the most terrifying realization of all: I love Skye.
The power of her magic might have called me to her at the start, but her intelligence, her kindness, her ability to find happiness in the smallest of things—they’re miraculous.
She’s miraculous.
I’m afraid for the first time in centuries, because I finally have something I hold truly precious, and I can’t bear the thought of losing her.
The next morning, Skye mumbles something as she stares down at her breakfast pastry.
“What was that?” I shove another piece of bacon into my mouth, my fangs biting through it with a satisfying crunch.
“I have to go into town,” she says in a rush, forget-me-not eyes flicking toward me and away. “I’m sorry you have to fly me, but I have to go. It’s for the children. Today’s story hour.”
“I’ll fly you,” I growl, a frown creasing my brow. I’ll fly her anywhere she wants. She doesn’t have to beg.
“Thank you.” She stands and smoothes her hands down her dress, the bright turquoise fabric swirling around her hips. The skirt is cut so full that if I spun her around, it would fly up, giving me a flash of her delectable thighs.
My hands ball into fists to keep from reaching for her, my claws pressing into my palms. But I can’t stop my heart from skipping when I take her into my arms, my internal fire roaring to new heights. I wrap her in warmth as I leap into the air, my tail coiling around her bare calves.
Can anyone blame me if I fly far slower than I’ve ever flown in my long life? My wings beat lazily at the air. I never want this flight to end.
I never want to let her go.
All too soon, the forest below us gives way to the buildings of downtown Ferndale Falls.
If the town were set up like most human municipalities, with an even ring of houses surrounding its center, these flights would take longer.
Yet it’s not to be. Downtown butts up against the forest and the waterfall in the northeast, leaving the bulk of town to spread southwest, like parcels pouring from a tipped-over bag.
We land in front of the library almost as soon as we leave the trees behind.
Skye takes two quick steps away from me before pausing to say, “Thank you.”
I grunt and follow her toward the library, reaching past her to open the door.
She glances over her shoulder as soon as she sees my arm, eyes startled and sad. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I want to.” Where else would I go? There’s nowhere I want to be more than with her. I also look forward to hearing her read for the children. I caught some of her performance at Halloween and found it intriguing—the young ones were clearly delighted. I wonder what dragon younglings would think?
The Ferndale Falls library is a swirl of sound and activity, the room full of frazzled parents, dropped toys, and the puffy mounds of winter coats flung off like butterflies shedding their cocoons. The freed children run around the tables and bookshelves, screaming all the while.
“Thank the goddess, you’re here!” Bumbleboots appears out of midair, wringing his hands. “I don’t know what to do.”
“The only thing I want you to worry about today is if any of the children play too rough with the books. If that happens, you have my permission to whisk the book away.” Skye sets a hand on his shoulder. “Does that sound okay?”
“I can do that.” Bumbleboots nods emphatically, his huge brown eyes brimming with relief. “I won’t let you down.” He disappears from view again.
Skye takes off her coat and tosses it onto the circulation desk. She rummages around behind it to pull out several square books with vividly colored covers. After making her way to a clear area of floor, she waves the books overhead and calls out, “Who’s ready for story time?”
En masse, the children slide to a halt and turn toward her. Then they’re shrieking again, jostling forward, each trying to push to the front.
Skye sinks to the floor, her wide skirt spreading out to cover her crossed legs. “Okay, quiet down.”
When the children obey, the parents give a collective sigh of relief and slump into chairs surrounding the long wooden library tables.
I step close and lean one shoulder against a bookcase, my arms crossed over my chest.
Skye has the young ones vote on which book to read first, then cracks it open.
What comes next can only be described as magic.
She loses herself in the book and pulls the audience along with her, creating a different voice for each character and acting out the parts.
Her tone conveys a range of emotions, each perfectly matched to the story.
The children sit, leaning forward, completely mesmerized.
As am I.
When she finishes the final book, a stunned silence hangs in the library for several seconds. Then the children let out a combined groan of disappointment before asking her to read just one more.
“Sorry, everyone. That’s all the books I have for today.” She stands, and several of the smallest ones come over to hug her legs. Skye strokes their hair, wearing the softest, sweetest smile as she looks down at their little faces, all turned up to her as if they’re flowers basking in her sun.
That smile spears straight into my heart, planting the seed of a new obsession that immediately sprouts and grows to fill my entire body. My little witch wants children of her own.
And I want to be the one to give them to her.