Chapter 6 Chance #2
Lola, tired of being ignored, shoved her furry head under my chin and let out a yowl. I scooped her up, set her on the back of the chair, and kept scrolling.
Every link led to another dead end. The NRCS office number just rang through to a voicemail for "general inquiries." The university wasn't allowed to share alumni info. Even the damn zoo had taken down any mention of her from their staff list.
"I'm going to lose my mind," I said. "How do people find anyone nowadays?"
Damon laughed. "You could stand on the mountain and yell."
"Helpful."
He shrugged again, more serious now. "You might have better luck running into her in town. Small towns don't keep secrets for long."
I laughed to keep from crying. "You forget, she just moved here. I wouldn't bet on a casual run-in."
Damon cocked his head, thinking. "She's got to have a routine. Kids always do. School, groceries, whatever. If you tracked the schedule…"
"Not a stalker?"
He snorted. "Just saying. If you don't want to wait, your options are slim."
I looked at the screen. My brother, all quiet confidence, suddenly seemed… almost sympathetic, like he got what was really at stake here.
Fated mates weren't really a thing in the real world, only in the storybooks. However, if a dragon chose a mate, it might as well be fate. There was no denying it, no stopping the love from coming.
Damon had lost the girl his dragon had chosen in his teens, and subsequently almost died himself of grief. Since then, he kept life at arm's length, as if he'd used up all his emotions by the time he was fifteen.
I let out a breath and slumped back in my chair, the tension finally getting the better of me. Lola, sensing my mood, hopped down and started licking her paws with deep, put-upon purrs.
Damon's voice softened. "We'll find her, Chance. It just takes time."
"Yeah." My throat felt tight, but I didn't want to say anything else. I just stared at the faces on the screen. My family, past and present, staring right back at me.
I jolted a little, remembering something from earlier. "Oh! I almost forgot. Tash buys sausage rolls from Sweet Dragon. Her, our daughters love them. She might come back for more."
He paused, eyebrow cocked. "Sausage rolls?"
"Yeah. The spicy ones."
Damon barked a laugh. "That tracks. You remember how Mom used to lose her mind trying to keep the fridge stocked when we were kids? Dragons and meat are like…" He wiggled his hand, searching for the word. "'Mutually assured destruction,' I think she called it."
I snorted. "You're saying dragons have a protein addiction?"
He shrugged. "I'm saying, if those twins want sausage for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, you do not need a DNA test. There's a dragon in there."
I couldn't help it. I felt a stupid, stubborn kind of pride. Like maybe they'd inherited something good, not just the grit and bad temper. "Yeah. I guess that's something."
He grinned at me from the other side of the screen. "It's a lot. You should see yourself right now. All puffed up."
I waved him off, but he was right. The idea was ridiculous and also kind of awesome. Thinking about her stirred things I hadn't felt in years, instincts I thought I'd buried. The pull toward her wasn't subtle.
He was back to business with his phone in his hand. He scrolled, then started typing a text.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Calling in a favor." He didn't look up. "I know a guy at the Department of Agriculture. Dude's a freak for water quality." He sent the text and set down the phone with a thunk. "If anyone can get contact info for the NRCS hellbender project, it's him."
The words settled in the air, nerves stretching toward the promise of an actual lead. Lola had fallen asleep on my foot, a lump of bright white fur vibrating with every snore. I didn't dare move her.
Damon shot me a look. "You gonna be okay if this actually works?"
I tried to act casual. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He grinned. "I've never seen you this nervous."
I flipped him off, and he snorted, but the phone vibrated almost before I got my hand down.
Damon checked the screen, lips quirking. "Boom. Got a number. Probably a government-issued smartphone. If she's anywhere near a cell tower, you'll reach her."
My heart slammed into my ribs like it was trying to get out. I copied the number into my phone, thumb hovering over the Call button so long it almost started to sweat.
Damon watched, eyes glittering. "Don't freeze up now."
"Shut up."
I pressed the green button.
It rang once. Then a rush of noise, like wind and water, and her voice came sharp and alive through the speaker. "Hold on, shit." There was a rustling sound, then someone cursing under their breath.
For a moment, I just listened, locked up, then the call ended.
Static filled my ears. I stared at the screen in shock.
Even through the chaos on the call, her voice hit me hard.
One word from her and everything inside me locked up like I was a kid again.
The reaction was ridiculous. Also, impossible to ignore.
"Wow," Damon managed. "Strong start, Casanova."
Caden went nuclear inside my skull. You let her slip away again! Caden howled, hurling the words like bricks. Our mate! Our hatchlings!
I gripped the edge of the desk so hard my knuckles went as white as bakery icing. The wood creaked, and a piece of wood cracked off into my hand.
Damon's voice came through the haze. "Hey, genius. Your eyes are glowing. Like, full-on torch mode."
It took effort, real, embarrassing effort, and a little time to dial it back. I blinked until the world steadied. "Okay. I'm good." All I could think about was the warmth of her voice, the tension under it, the nearness. It was stupid how much I wanted to hear her say my name again.
"Are you?" Damon didn't sound convinced.
I huffed out a breath, staring at the missed-call screen. "I just froze. I don't know what I thought I'd say. But I blew it."
He rolled his eyes. "You didn't blow anything. She was obviously busy. You got the right number, I think. All you have to do now is not scare her to death when you see her next."
Lola, sensing the mood, stretched and promptly burrowed into the sofa cushions.
Damon was still watching me. "Look, why don't you just work more shifts at the bakery? It's the best in town. Odds are they'll be back. Boom. No stalking. No weird small-town feeling that she's being stalked. Just you, making rolls and trying to have a conversation."
"Simple plan," I said, almost laughing. A simple plan that made my pulse climb. I wasn't ready to admit how much seeing her again mattered. Or how badly I wanted the chance to be close enough to feel her energy again. "You think that'll work?"
He shrugged. "Sometimes the simplest plan is best. Besides, you suck at lying."
I grinned, despite myself. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Anytime, brother." He hesitated, then went softer. "It'll be okay, you know. As long as you're both alive, you'll get there."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing. The call ended with a clunk and a flicker of Damon's lopsided grin.
The house was quiet. I felt like every part of me had been scraped raw.
But I had a plan now. Sort of.
I got up, stretched, and wandered to the bathroom. The lights made me look older, maybe a little wild around the edges. I braced both hands on the sink and eyed my reflection.
"Okay," I told the mirror. "You see her, you speak like a human adult. No babbling. No growling. Just keep it together for five minutes, you can do that much."
Caden didn't agree. He started spit balling lines in my head, every one dumber than the last.
Tell her what she is. Tell her she's ours. Tell her you've waited a lifetime.
"Not happening," I muttered. I tried for something normal. "Hey, Tash, long time… no, too casual. Hey, funny seeing you! No, that sounds like a stalker. Dammit."
Tell her she carried our offspring, nurtured them with her mortal strength.
"I am not opening with 'You carried my offspring,' Caden. For the last time, humans don't talk like that."
The cat yowled from the doorway, like even she agreed I was hopeless.
I practiced a dozen more lines, each one crashing and burning harder than the last. Every time I got close to something normal, Caden tried to wedge in words like "hatchlings," or "progeny," or "eternal bond."
The worst part? Every time he said "ours," it felt right. Not out loud, maybe. But real, deep down.
I splashed some cold water on my face, looked myself in the eyes, and smiled for exactly one second. "Don't screw it up," I told the idiot in the mirror. "Just be real."
Tomorrow, hopefully, I'd face her. Or maybe I should say us. Whatever we were.
I had a hell of a lot to say. All I had to do was not combust before I got the words out.