Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
DRAY
A hand was shaking me, and there was a voice yelling, “Dray. Dray, wake up.”
“What's wrong? Are you okay?” I expected him to say he was nauseous again and he wanted the bucket I’d placed in the bathroom. Either that or he had to get to the office because there was something he just had to do. He’d been a whirlwind since he started and had streamlined my business practices.
“I need pickles.”
So not work-related. I blinked. “What?”
“Pickles. The spicy kind. And ice cream, but not together because that's disgusting.” He was sitting up in bed sporting a serious expression. “And they need to be burned.”
“Huh?”
“Just a little charred on the edges.” He patted his stomach. “The babies want it.”
Aunt Raine had examined my mate and determined he was bearing eggs, and more than one.
My dragon perked up.
He wants his food charred. He’s craving heat and fire.
I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “Pax, it’s two in the morning.”
It was my understanding from reading baby books and blogs that cravings came much later in pregnancy, but maybe a shifter/human one messed up that timeline.
“Yes, but I can’t stop thinking about pickles.” He poked out his bottom lip, knowing that I couldn’t resist any demand when he did that. “Spicy burned pickles, please, and don’t forget the ice cream.”
While I’d expected pregnancy cravings, I’d wrongly assumed they’d be things like chocolate. But whatever my mate wanted, I’d get.
My dragon was smug because the baby wanted food touched by fire.
“Okay.” I climbed out of bed and grabbed my jeans. “Pickles and ice cream. Anything else?”
“Maybe really crunchy chips? And the kind of hot sauce that makes your mouth hurt.”
I was about to say that might not be good for the baby, but Pax was carrying our child, and he would never suggest anything that might harm our little one. But also, my mate wasn’t a big fan of anything spicy, so it must’ve been the baby demanding it.
“I love hot food now.” He kissed me. “It must be because I’m mated to a dragon.”
I ran a hand through my hair as Pax was pulling on his clothes.
“Hurry. I’m starving, and I want to make sure you get the right pickles.”
Gods, my mate was adorable. I pulled him into my arms and smothered his face with kisses.
“Yeah, yeah. Pickles first, then kisses.”
There weren’t a lot of choices in our town, but there was a 24-hour grocery store on the highway. Pax blinked as we walked into the brightly lit store. The place was empty except for the cashier, a wolf shifter named Dean I’d gone to school with, and a bored guy stacking shelves.
Pax took the lead and headed for the pickle aisle, and I watched him scan the shelves. He picked up one jar but put it down after reading the label. He shook his head after a second.
“These are boring, and this jar is dill. I want something to burn my mouth off.” He grabbed a third jar with a red label. “Spicy garlic. I want these.”
I peered at the remaining spicy ones on the shelf and read the ingredients. Even my dragon turned his nose up.
“Now for ice cream.”
I held the pickles while Pax debated over which ice cream to get.
When he decided on vanilla, he explained it had to be plain as a contrast to the pickles.
Even though he wasn’t eating them together, my stomach heaved at the idea of both churning around in his belly, but my beast said he’d protect the baby from the heat.
“I might want to alternate. Pickles with one bite and ice cream in the next.
That was pregnancy logic, and it sounded just fine to me.
“Chips.” Pax squeed and reminded me of my young cousins at Christmas. He picked up two bags and followed that with a bottle of hot sauce that had a skull and crossbones on the label.
“That looks dangerous.”
“Good.” He narrowed his eyes, and his nostrils flared. “I love danger.” He blew me a kiss. “I am mated to a fire-breathing dragon.”
I said hi to Dean, and he nodded. He didn’t react to our late-night haul, and I guessed in his job he’d seen weirder things in the middle of the night.
Back at the house, Pax put everything on the kitchen counter. “Goody. Now burn them.” He pulled out half the pickles and put them on a metal tray.
I moved toward the stove to turn on the gas, but my mate grabbed me.
“Not the stove.”
Did he expect me to build a fire outside? I would, but we had a ready-made flame on the stove.
Pax giggled. “Love, you have a dragon inside you. One who breathes fire whether he has his scales or not. Surely he can singe my pickles.” He held up a hand. “Just a tad, I don’t want them incinerated.”
He wants me to help. Awww, that’s so sweet.
“It has to be from your dragon.” He patted his belly. “The babies are demanding it.”
I took his hand and led him outside because I wasn’t doing a partial shift in the house and giving my dragon free rein. He might burn down the place.
I would never.
Burned curtains, remember those?
Pfft. I was much younger then.
“The babies want fire-touched food,” Pax insisted.
I hoped when they hatched they’d accept milk for a few months.
The night air was cool and perfect for a shift and flight, but I wasn’t leaving home, so I’d do a partial shift.
I walked into the middle of the yard, hoping no one was watching.
I wasn’t going to sprout wings, so if anyone complained about the fire, I’d apologize and say we were roasting marshmallows and I didn’t keep an eye on the fire.
Pax was jiggling with excitement as I placed the metal tray on the grass, and my dragon was bouncing up and down.
I allowed my throat to enlarge so my beast could channel fire, but he insisted he needed his claws.
I rolled my eyes because he just wanted to show off for Pax, and maybe to the babies too if they could hear him inside their shells.
My dragon breathed out a small flame, and I reminded him to just burn the edges. I preferred not having to make another trip to the store because the pickles were a pile of smoldering cinder.
I know what I’m doing.
The smell of charred garlic, chili, and vinegar filled the air, and Pax clapped.
I reversed the shift and checked the pickles before beckoning Pax to take a look. “How’s that?”
“Wow.” He flung his arms around my neck. “That’s just how I wanted them. Thank you, and tell your beast I love him.”
Awww, he loves me.
In the kitchen, Pax blew on the pickles, even though they weren’t hot enough to burn his mouth. I studied his face as he ate one. He closed his eyes and moaned. My dragon squeaked, sounding more like a mouse than a fiery reptile.
He doesn’t like it.
Wait, I told him.
“Oh my gods.”
I held my breath and so did my beast.
“Good?”
“So good. Oh my, so, so good.” He ate a second and a third. “I don’t enjoy pickles usually but these taste of heaven.” He cocked his head. “Nah, they taste of dragon’s breath.”
“Want me to make more?”
“Yes, please. Burn all the pickles.”
I winced at the thought of my mate eating a whole jar of pickles. “All?”
“That’s right.” He took the plate of pickles and lay on the sofa, moaning with each bite. “And when I’m done, I’ll start on the ice cream, and I haven’t even gotten to the chips yet.”
As I trudged outside with the rest of the pickles, I suspected I’d be doing this a lot when the babies were old enough to eat real food.
After we’d burned the rest of the pickles, my mate worked his way through them, then took a bite of ice cream and went back to the remaining pickles. He followed that by drowning the chips in hot sauce.
“What?” He wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“You're cute when you're eating charred pickles at three in the morning.”
He laughed and licked around his lips. “I’m a messy eater.”
“An adorable mess.”
He tossed a chip at me, and I caught it on my mouth. Ouch. That hot sauce burned my tongue.
“So, am I the only person who likes dragon-burned food?”
“No, dragon shifters adore it too.” I took another chip. The spicy sauce wasn’t bad, and I was getting used to the heat. “But we have to be careful when and where we do it. At home, we have human-type barbecues and save the dragon ones for the dead of winter in the clearing.”
We finished the food and cleaned up. The craving was apparently satisfied for now.
Upstairs, he curled into me with one hand on his stomach where our babies were growing.
“Dray?” He was already half asleep.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for the pickles. And for not thinking I'm bonkers.”
“Never. Besides, I’m happily bonkers with you.”