Chapter 8
eight
No Ragerts
Ileave Bastian with the boxers and jog up the stairs with Oscar’s kennel.
The door to the apartment is wide open and the book pile that was once at the door has been moved.
There’s a small coat closet on the left and a little spot at the end of the entrance hall where I might place a bench for putting on shoes.
I turn right into the rest of the apartment and stop dead in my tracks at the sight in the center of the room.
Towering altars of my special editions encircle the older, damaged books like Stonehenge.
There’s a small nest at the center of the weathered copies, like a little gravy pool made in a mound of mashed potatoes.
Scratches in the wood floor around the book pile glow with twisting gold and black magic.
I set Oscar down and take a tentative step closer.
Is this some kind of ritual? What is he doing with them?
I reach out to take my copy of Ashes & Embers off the top of one of the towers and a swirl of ink appears at my side. The dragon’s hand clamps down on my wrist, and he pushes me back until he stands between me and my books.
His low voice is loaded with danger. “Don’t touch them.”
“They’re my books,” I snap, yanking on my wrist.
He doesn’t release me. “They must remain like this.”
“For your dark summoning?” I ask. “Let go.”
He doesn’t abide my request.
“I need them,” he murmurs and his jaw flexes.
I laugh. “What, are the books keeping you alive?”
“Don’t touch them,” he snarls.
I’ve heard people get obsessive, and I know dragons of myths really like their treasure, but they won’t die if they don’t have a hoard…right? Oh, who am I kidding. I don’t know how magic works.
But he can’t hurt me—so he says.
“Or what?” I ask defiantly.
Oscar meows as boldly as me.
“Or I will do unspeakable things.”
I lift my chin and place my other hand over my chest. “You can’t hurt me, remember?”
He leans closer. “I don’t have to harm you to ruin your life.”
Against my will, a conjuration of all the things he could do fills up my mind. He could tear apart my home and my business. He could pee all over my clothes, or my food. That’s not overtly harming me…but so gross.
He could imprison me.
A shiver rips down my spine, and I jerk away again. His grip is rock solid, immovable, and though it doesn’t hurt, panic trickles back into my thoughts.
“That’s better.” He sneers. “You should fear me, pink flesh. I’m the horrible dragon.”
Gone is the man who helped me to my feet moments ago, and in his place is a wretched monster. I yank once more and he lets go. I stagger back, cradling my wrist.
We’re at an impasse.
He won’t leave.
I can’t leave.
Bastian stalks through a gap in the book towers then sits at the center of the pile. His tail wraps over his lap and around his hips, and he rests his hands on it in a meditative pose.
My phone buzzes somewhere nearby and I hunt for it.
It’s light enough to see the outlines of the wood burning stove and something that resembles a freezer chest. Sitting atop that is my device, still at twenty percent power.
I grimace as I snatch it up and see all the Instaframe notifications I’ve missed.
Well…here’s one for them.
I whirl around and open my camera app, then snap a picture of the altar of books. The dragon is barely visible among them in the darkness, looking like a specter.
My thumbs fly across the keyboard. Turns out hauntings are real in Northern Wisconsin, and sometimes they’re huge assholes. #DragonThinksMyBooksAreHisHoard #SecondChanceFantasyBooks #BookstoreBullshit
No one will believe it’s real, but it’s good PR for my shop.
The picture plinks as it posts, and I tuck my phone away in my pocket. I walk to Oscar’s cage and open the gate.
“Go find the mice, boy,” I say.
He darts from his confines and goes straight for Bastian. His tail lifts and flicks side to side as he trots right through the circle of glowing symbols and sits down in front of the dragon.
“Merrow,” Oscar introduces himself like a proper gentleman.
I don’t take my eyes off the pair as Bastian glares down at him.
“Go away from me,” he says.
“Meh meh mereh,” Oscar replies.
“Pink flesh, command your beast,” Bastian says.
I snicker. “Sorry, that’s not how cats work.”
He grumbles and pulls one of the older books closer, as if Oscar might chew on it. My boy, to his credit, hasn’t touched a single book. He’s accepting the rules he doesn’t even know exist.
“I’m going to go get the litter box and a few other things,” I say. “You could put your pants on and help.”
Bastian closes his eyes and resumes his meditative state. “I will not.”
I cluck my tongue and cross my arms. “Fine. See if I do you any favors, then.”
“I need nothing from you.”
“What about my books, huh?” I demand.
“They’re mine.”
I growl and Oscar makes a similar noise. One of Bastian’s eyes snaps open. I think he might be able to kind of see, because he looks right at Oscar and bares his teeth.
“Away, I said!”
“Myaaah,” Oscar taunts.
“If you do anything to my cat, I will burn down this whole damn building with you inside it,” I say.
“I will not harm the feline!” Bastian declares impatiently. “Go and collect your frail, human implements.”
“Go and collect your frail, human implements,” I mutter in a silly, high-pitched voice as I walk toward the stairs.
I get to the bottom and fear strikes my chest for Oscar. How could I just leave him up there alone with that sharp-fanged monster?
I touch the mark on my sternum. The air ripples with black ink, and then Bastian appears before me, cross-legged in his black boxers.
He sighs deeply. “I won’t. Harm. The feline.”
“Even if he touches the books?”
He grinds his teeth. “I would certainly want to, but no, I wouldn’t be able to…without consequence.”
“That makes me feel warm and fuzzy,” I say.
I grab the bag of shirts and sweatpants from the floor and hold them out to him.
“Pants. Now. You’re coming with me.”
“I will not.”
“Yeah? I think you will.”
I turn and march away from him into the shop, then stop at the center of the room and brush the mark on my chest. The air swirls with ink in front of me and he appears with a groan.
“So, it’s not voluntary?” I ask.
“Obviously,” he annunciates each syllable with exasperation.
Oh.
My god.
I can’t help but laugh. “Wow, I bet you are regretting this.”
He lunges to his feet with a grimace creasing his face. “Like you gave me much of a choice.”
A sudden pang strikes a chord of guilt in my gut, but that’s bullshit.
“You didn’t give me a choice,” I say. “You held me up against a wall and demanded I bring back your book while refusing to release mine to me, or to leave. This is my home. My business. My second chance!”
I stomp my foot with the final declaration. I’m panting and glaring up at him, willing him to acknowledge how fucked up this is, and that it’s his fault.
Bastian stands taller but his expression softens. “I, too, have nowhere else to go.”
And there’s the man again instead of the pouty, grumpy monster. I shake my head, trying to clear the emotional fog from my mind.
“I sunk all my money—my whole future—into this place. I have nothing but Oscar, and my special editions, which are currently being held hostage,” I say, scowling up at him.
“This is my final refuge, and those books are…” He growls as he trails off.
“They’re what,” I say, crossing my arms.
“My lifeline,” he admits angrily.
“What do you mean?”
“As you assumed, the books are keeping me alive. Without their stories, I will cease to be in this universe, returning to the source.”
He’ll die without my books? Is that possible?
Are dragons a real, possible thing? No, but here he stands, right in front of me.
I let out a long breath and close my eyes.
If my books really are keeping him alive, how could I take them away?
“Caitlin?”
My name murmured from his lips is something I didn’t know I needed, but now I know the way his mouth shapes the “A,” how his tongue wraps around the “L,” and his throat rumbles on the “N.” I want his mouth curling against my neck instead of my name.
Ohmygodwhatthefuck!
I must be ovulating.
“You’re aroused again,” he says, a lilt of amusement in his words.
I glare up at his smirking lips.
“It’s not your doing,” I lie, because I can’t stand the truth.
Despite how weird and frustrating this situation is, despite how inhuman he is, I do find him alluring. For some stupid, hot-flash, reason. It must be all the monster smut I’ve read. I’ve addled my brain and made scary things into sexy ones.
His tail moves in my peripheral vision and the tip slides over my ankle just above my boot.
I suck in a sharp breath and tell my legs to step back—but they don’t.
I’m just standing here as his tail makes a slow perusal of my stockinged leg.
It wraps around my calf and over my knee, sending a thrill up my thigh to my core.
Bastian’s smirk spreads and his fangs poke into his bottom lip. “Your mouth may spin fiction, but your scent reveals fact.”
“Enough!” I slap his tail and it retreats from my thigh. “I’m a very busy woman and I have things to do, so either put on pants and help me, or put on pants and follow me around because you’re not staying in that room alone with Oscar.”
He huffs, the smile melting from his lips.
I walk toward the sweatpants on the floor of the office and pick them up. Bastian is still standing in the shop, pouting. I assume he knows what comes next, because he doesn’t seem surprised when I brush the mark on my chest and summon him to my side.
I hold out the pants, brushing his fingers with them. “On.”
He stuffs his clawed foot into one leg and tugs carelessly, ripping the material down the front with two of his talons. I purse my lips and cross my arms.
“Guess you’re going to look like a hobo dragon, because I’m not buying you more pants until I get the first check out of this place.”
He shoves his other foot into the pant leg even harder, gouging it open entirely with a devilish smile.
“Lovely,” I sigh as my lip curls. “But it’s not getting you out of this. Follow me, now, or I will make you.”