Chapter Eight
Leaving that gorgeous man in the bed and walking away might’ve been the hardest thing Jimryr had ever done.
No one would blame him if he stayed a few more minutes, right?
Griff felt so right in his arms, tall enough to see eye-to-eye, with an affinity for Jim’s baser nature.
How long had Griff been alone? How nice to stay for a while somewhere, enjoying perfect company.
The company of a beta dragon. One who didn’t seem inclined to find more of his kind, if he’d been here for any length of time.
Most dragons naturally sought a court, whether provided by nature or acquired, like the DeKalb County Dragons.
Perhaps the heavy scarring kept Griff isolated.
He’d seen battle for sure. The facial scars matched someone’s claws, and alpha fire definitely caused the burns.
Jimryr’s dragon growled. An alpha had broken dragon law to harm a beta.
Were his wings damaged? Could he not fly? The loss would explain his solitary life. It also meant Griff likely wouldn’t join in the planned offensive back in the dragons’ home realm.
Images appeared in Jimryr's mind of the beta he’d tried to save when the mage accidentally transported him to the human realm—and the one he’d arrived too late to help.
Could Griff be the same dragon? If so, he’d been through enough, trying to save the green dragon, then getting burned.
Had the green been close kin? A lover, perhaps?
Or a mate? Some dragons lost their minds after losing a mate, or simply yielded their lives rather than be alone.
If Griff was the dragon in question, he’d risked his life, and most likely his wings, in vain.
Jimryr winced. Take anything from him but his wings. The opportunity to fly didn’t present itself often, but he took every chance. Riding the Harley with the wind in his face came close. Still, nothing beat soaring above the clouds, riding the breeze.
Griff’s scars didn’t matter to Jimryr, who’d survived a violent world, witnessing many such injuries, and worse. Most injuries healed quickly, but those caused by a dragon lingered—marking the defeated for the rest of their lives. Not fair.
Maybe he should stay for a bit, get to know this wounded beta, find out his court, where he came from, how he got here, and who he’d lost a fight with.
But no, duty called. Jimryr waited until Griff’s breathing evened out once more, then rose and dressed, using his cell phone for a light to make sure he’d gotten everything, since the light no longer shone through the bedroom door.
Dragon sight could only take a man so far in a darkened room.
The living-room lamp must’ve been on a timer.
A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Yes, best to leave now.
Jimryr tiptoed out of the cabin, pausing in the front yard to stare at the full moon peeking through threatening clouds. Lightning flashed. An owl hooted, such a lonely sound. He could relate.
More clouds had moved in while he’d enjoyed time in the cabin, and soon the rain would start again. He shimmied into rain gear from his saddlebag. A little wet stuff wouldn’t stop him. In fact, he should be on his Harley right now, leaving this cabin in the rearview.
Instead, he imagined Griff lying sprawled on the covers. He’d love to come back this way sometime, but even if he managed, nothing guaranteed Griff would want a repeat. Lots of men liked no-strings-attached sex. Hell, they hadn’t even exchanged last names.
Griff hadn’t asked about Jim’s hand. Griff. Was that even his real name?
His scent still filled Jimryr’s nose, an aroused dragon with a hint of soap and sweat.
Going home with someone might’ve been a bad idea, but after sitting among humans he’d nothing in common with, scoping out the dragon he’d heard rumors of…
Then he’d looked into amber eyes and knew people weren’t what he needed, but a person.
A dragon. He’d carry this memory with him for a long, long time.
He unhooked his spirit bell from beneath the bike before he could second guess himself, opened Griff’s truck door, and left the tiny silver talisman on the seat.
Maybe the trinket would offer some protection from the cruel world.
Jimryr had others. Giving away a part of his hoard to a near-stranger wasn’t something to dwell on.
Now, to leave quietly. If Jim saw the man, spoke to him again, he might reconsider leaving. He couldn’t stay.
He pushed the bike down the drive to keep from waking Griff. Sheer willpower got him on the bike, determination had him firing the engine, and a heavy dose of responsibility urged him out onto the highway.
Responsibility? Or foolishness? Sometimes the two blended into one.
His dragon gave a reluctant whine. He didn’t want to leave either.
By two a.m. the unrelenting rain made riding treacherous, especially with big rigs slinging sheets of water onto the bike.
Jimryr stopped at a motel off the interstate.
Didn’t look like much, but he’d stayed in worse.
The club provided his money when he wasn’t working as a mechanic with Zorah, but why spend more than necessary?
A hot shower warmed his chilled skin but also washed away the traces of his memorable encounter. What was Griff doing now? Still sleeping, or had he already woken to find himself alone? A tug centered in Jimryr’s chest.
No. Put those thoughts away. We enjoyed a great time, which I now need to forget. Or make use of the experience.
Sitting on the bed in only a towel wrapped around his waist, Jimryr closed his eyes and immersed himself in memory.
He’d not brought any notebooks, so he used the hotel-provided notepad and ink pen.
The words came as he thought back, not to the actions themselves, but to how the experience made him feel.
Sort of like flying. Wouldn't his everyday acquaintances be surprised by his attempt to capture a few moments in time poetically?
Jimryr put aside his writing and texted Zorah: No likely candidates in this part of Alabama.
A memory came back of Griff lying on his stomach, the moon lighting his horribly scarred back. He’d done enough fighting. No one could ask him to do more. At least not without knowing the full story.
Let the scarred dragon live in peace. Jimryr curled onto the bed, catching a few hours of sleep before starting on the road again, waking to a new text from Zorah: Three betas spotted in Valdosta.
No comment on the lone dragon, but three more possible soldiers for the coming war. A fighting force of over two thousand would greet the returning mage.
If he ever came back, Jimryr would be ready.