What a Dragon Loves

Chapter 1

Amalthea Celeste Payne, you need to quit goofing around and get your life together.

Her mother’s terse words of wisdom—complete with the invocation of her full name to convey the gravity of it all—from yesterday’s phone call still swirled around Ama’s gut.

A full rotation of the Earth hadn’t dulled the edge of those words, so often uttered over the years, and so often followed with a firm You should be more like your sister.

As if that was possible.

Even a Saturday night spent at her favorite Minneapolis dance club, relinquishing her mind and body to the throbbing, incessant beat of her favorite Grindcore tunes, hadn’t eased the pang of knowing she continued to disappoint. And now, driving home along the serene back roads of Minnesota, her favorite Shamanic EDM Spotify list blaring, she couldn’t rid herself of the reality that?—

Holy frijoles, there’s a dead man on the road!

Ama screeched to a halt behind a red pickup truck, hazards flashing, driver door open, and driver or someone else belly down on the asphalt, partially underneath the truck. Had he fallen out? Had the truck run him over?

Why did his ass look so good in those jeans?

She stared at the odd roadkill. Appreciating the view, yet sad such a nice ass had passed away. Then the body the ass was attached to lurched forward, further under the truck.

Ama screamed and jumped out of her car. Then leaned in to flick on the hazards. Ran. Then zipped back to turn off the running engine.

“Are you injured? Should I dial 911? Why do we still say dial these days? Do you have any next of kin I should call?” She yelled as she ran to the side of the truck where the ass and two long legs still lay on the late-spring-sun-warmed road. She kneeled beside them, twisting to look beneath the truck.

A voice hit her ears. A little muffled from the truck’s running engine and a little strained. “I’m fine. Not injured. Just trying to get this kitten that ran out in front of me, then ducked under my truck, dontcha know.”

“Ooooh! Lucky duck, getting chosen by the cat distribution system.” Ama flattened herself on the pavement to get a better view of the kitten. Two golden eyes stared at her from the shadows. It was… “Aww! You’re a black cat! Hello there, handsome!”

“Hello there, back at ya.” Both kitten and man turned to look at her. It was too dark to see which one spoke to her, but the voice was deep and grumbly. Too much so to belong to the kitten. “Are you a witch? Is this your familiar?”

“I think you mean Professor of the Dark Arts.” She laughed and waved away his comment. “And, no. This is just my Saturday night clubbing makeup.”

“An interesting look for Sunday morning. Did the club just let out?”

“Pfffsh. Minneapolis rolls its sidewalks up at 2 a.m. I took a nap at a truck stop.”

Wow, that was like four or five whole sentences spoken to a human being. That had to be a record for her. She usually clammed up after two. This guy was either an Ama-Whisperer, or that fine ass had her feeling loquacious.

Or she was under the influence of kitten mind control.

The guy blinked at her for a moment as if processing her words. Would he reprimand her for being careless, like everyone else felt obliged to? Instead, he nodded toward the kitten. “Listen, if you could go to the other side, that might get it to move so one of us can catch it.”

Ama braced a hand on the man’s muscular ass—because she could, and who could blame her, and something thumped against the bottom of the truck—to pop to a stand and hurry around to the other side of the truck. Good thing this road was barely traveled, especially so early on a Sunday morning. For that matter, good thing she’d been traveling it. Or the guy might be here forever waiting for the kitten to jump into his hands.

She laid down on the other side and pspsps’d at the kitten. As the guy had anticipated, the kitten flinched at her universal kitty summons and ran toward him so he could grab it with one large hand and scramble out from under the truck.

Ama skipped back around, excited to see the kitten up close.

Then skidded to a halt. The rest of the man, now standing upright, was as fine as his ass. Tall, blonde, muscular, and gorgeous in a movie Thor—early Avengers; definitely not End Game era—kind of way but without the 1980s shoulder pad cape. Instead of Asgardian armor, he wore jeans, work boots, and a dark-blue plaid flannel rolled up to his elbows and unbuttoned to show off the plain white t-shirt painted on his ripped torso.

That’s a good look.She appreciated to view for a moment before he held out his cupped hands toward her.

“It’s more mud than cat.” He nodded at the shivering bundle with gold eyes.

She leaned forward for a better peek. And got whiff of lavender and apple martini. “I see someone is channeling their inner Carrie Bradshaw. It’s a lovely choice, but I would have expected something with a little more vanilla or sandalwood.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “On the cat?”

“No, on you.” How could he not know? “SJP’s perfume, Lovely, is… well, lovely. Although you might not want to roll in it.”

“Me?”

“No, the mud.” She peered more closely at the tiny kitten. It was soaked and trembling, but not muddy. Its distinctive mottled black-brown-biscuit coat coloration was unmistakable. “Aww! You’re a Tortie! Hello there, beautiful!”” She flashed Thor a triumphant smile before addressing the kitten again. “You’re in good hands.”

Not sure why she said that because she had no idea what manner of hands Thor had. Her guilt at the lie multiplied when he shoved the bundle at her, frowning. “He’d be better off in your hands. You look like someone who could handle a new pet. Or know someone who can.”

“She.”

He tilted his head as if she spoke Klingon.

“Torties are girls. So, she’s a she. Unless she’s a he.” Which was rare.

“Uh, yeah. That’s usually how it works.”

Ama shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

When he shoved the shivering bundle at her again, she flinched back, waving her hand in front of her. “Oh, no. The cat distribution system chose you.”

He frowned at her like she wasn’t making sense. A common expression because it was a common occurrence for her. “The cat… what?”

“The cat distribution system. You see, cats are magical creatures crafted in the pits of Mordor that somehow know who most needs their diabolical influence.”

He blinked at her “You think I need diabolical influence in my life?”

“Not me. The universe.” Ama shrugged and laughed. “Guess it thinks some chaos might be good for you. You can’t refuse their offering.”

“Ya know, this isn’t the one ring to rule them all. I can refuse this offering.”

She ignored his Lord of the Rings reference—who even made them these days?—and grinned at the kitten that had already curled up within the cozy span of his hands. “Lucky you were just gifted with a tortoiseshell tabby. They’re the spawn of Satan and sweet little cherubs. They’re like a BOGO of kitty cray-cray. She’ll zig when you expect her to zag and you’ll hate every minute of it, but she’ll wrap you around her little paws.”

“Maybe I’m just the conduit for the cat distribution system to choose you to add some chaos to your life.” He shoved the kitten, who was already eyes-closed and purring, toward her again.

“More chaos?” She wrapped her hands around his and pushed his bundle, hands and all, against his chest and tried to dry the sleepy little bit with the ends of his flannel shirt. “I’m already a chaos tornado stuffed in a hurricane of crazy and wrapped with a blizzard of mayhem.”

“Then a cat would be a perfect addition.”

Ama shook her head. As much as she’d love to have a pet, she was already responsible for the care and feeding of tiny humans throughout the week. She relished her job at the daycare facility, but adding similar duties to her free time would overtax what little focus she had. Just the thought suddenly exhausted her. She struggled to pull further explanation out. “No way, Thor. You look all big and responsible. Just feed her, water her, give her a cat box, and let her completely rule your life.”

“Did you just call me Thor?” His bright blue eyes raked her face as if looking for something. Then he dislodged one hand from the purring bundle and swiped a wet thumb across her cheek. “Your, uh, Saturday night clubbing makeup smeared a bit.”

His finger was cold, but heat rushed to her face and she ducked her head. Her Saturday night clubbing makeup consisted of neon streaks and splatters from top to bottom. She’d laid down a midnight-blue base to better offset the neon so it glowed more brightly in the strobe black lights of the dance floor. The look didn’t have quite the same impact on a sunny outdoor roadside location.

Maybe she should dye her hair pink.

All her excitement over the kitten rescue and finding a possible dead body evaporated for no other reason than she’d spent all her spoons on this social interaction. Such was the way of her life, and it severely crimped her social opportunities. She stared at the pavement and tried to think of words that would explain why she was about to turn around and walk straight back to her car.

No words came. But the constriction of social expectation did, because he no doubt expected her to say something, and it clamped on her like a vise. Like it always did when she’d talked too much. She struggled for air and tears burned at the corner of her eye lids. She hated this night-and-day switch her body and mind always did to her. Like she was Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde… if one was a chatty over-sharer of useless information and the other was the worst kind of introvert, incapable of uttering words, period.

“My name’s Arkyn. Arkyn Drekison.”

Ama was moments from bolting, but Thor’s—Arkyn’s—calm voice wrapped around her like a hug. Images of soft grass and sloping hills and warm sunshine flashed in her head. The smell of earth and the sound of the life deep within its dirt.

It grounded her. So many people loved the thought of flying among the clouds or bobbing in the waves as if that perceived freedom from the bonds of gravity was somehow a good thing. But Ama felt that untethered sensation every day, as if nothing anchored her to this world, to this life. As if a mere breeze or exhale or whim of Fate would send her drifting into the emptiness of space and away from everything she knew. As it so often had throughout her life.

Toes gripping ground, the firmness, the solidity, of the planet beneath her feet was what she preferred. Like a hug, keeping her from the dark abyss that hovered at the edges of her consciousness.

Arkyn’s voice eased the vice around her lungs a bit so she could breathe normally. The heat rolling from his body surrounded her and tied her to the present so she didn’t have to fear she might drift away and disappear like morning mist.

She inhaled deeply, latching on to the last bit of social strength she had, and gave him a tight smile. “Nice to meet you, Arkyn. I’m Ama Payne. I’m glad you’re not dead. Now I need to leave.”

She turned and power-walked back to her car. His voice carried to her. “Can I at least get your number? You know, if case I have spawn of Satan questions?”

No way. No way would anything good come of giving him her number. She was whiplash in neon-spattered leggings and chunky-heeled platform boots. Any positive karma she’d earned helping the cat distribution system get its man would be negated if she tried to continue a relationship with him, no matter how nice his ass.

Still, she liked being around him. And he’d looked so lost at the thought of taking care of his newfound kitten. She’d be cruel to leave him without any sort of backup.

So Ama slowed as she drove past him, rolled down her passenger window, and shouted her number. There. Her guilt was assuaged and it was up to him to remember it.

Pancakes would taste so good right now.