Not His Dragon Read online

  His gaze wandered to his latest painting. The colors didn’t do justice to Angie’s aura but nothing in the natural world could mimic magic. His head still hurt from viewing her with his magical vision. He took a puff of his cigarette.

  Cool air breezed into his lair and brushed his flesh, tempting him to follow it out into the sky. He should fly. That would clear his head then maybe he could figure out how to explain the truth to Angie. He traced the black line blocking her magic on the painting. Who would cast such an evil spell on a child? She must have been very young, since she’d never shifted. Their gift to become dragon came early, around ten years old.

  Wouldn’t it be nice if Angie could fly with him? If he broke this barrier, then she could shift shape. He could think of a few things to try, but they’d need privacy, and he had the perfect place in mind. The media would implode if he dropped in by landing on her roof in full daylight though. They’d be all over her if they discovered he was visiting her. She’d never get a moment’s peace. He snuffed his cigarette out against the stone wall and dropped the remainder back in the pack.

  He frowned as he made his way to his bedroom two floors down. He’d go in human form again, then bring her back here so he could shift in private. That meant he should clean his skin of his sweat and stink. He didn’t have time to fly to the lake and wash in dragon form so he’d shower. The bathroom in his bedroom seemed in better condition than the one by his workshop. He washed and dressed, still dripping water. Didn’t he used to own towels? Once inside his garage, he bypassed his bike and jumped into the Aston Martin she had admired yesterday.

  Traffic didn’t exist on Saturdays in New Port so it took minutes to arrive at her building. Entering, he scanned the mailboxes fixed inside on the wall. Most were unmarked. Two hung open on their hinges. He grimaced. None of them had Angie’s name listed.

  Approaching the closest apartment door, he knocked until it swung open.

  A burly male, dressed only in boxers, glared at him. “Man, do you know what time it is?”

  “Six a.m. Do you know where Angie lives?”

  “Fuck no.” He slammed the door in Eoin’s face.

  The dragon narrowed his gaze. If he set fire to the idiot’s home, Angie’s would burn as well. He snarled silently before going to the next door and repeated the process with similar results.

  Angie woke to pounding in the hallway. She rolled on her stomach and hugged the pillow over her head. Every few minutes the noise would grow closer with the occasional shout from one of her neighbors. There was a special in hell for those who woke others early on the weekend.

  With a groan, she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her clock in disbelief. What asshole was making that racket at 6:20 a.m.? The weekend was sacred, the only part of the week where all she had to do was care for herself.

  Except tonight she would still have to care for Eoin’s scale rot, but last night had proven that wasn’t much of a chore. She liked hanging with the dragon. Maybe she’d accept his taunt and undress for him. The thought of Eoin watching her undress sent hot pangs of desire between her thighs.

  The pounding started again. She jumped to her feet and stormed to her door. Whoever that asshole was better be wearing kneepads because she’d make him beg for mercy. Swinging the door open, her razor words hung on her tongue. She half expected to taste blood.

  Eoin knocked on the neighbor’s door across the hall. He glanced over his shoulder and the best surprised smile bloomed on his face. “There you are.”

  She shielded her body with the door. Dirty t-shirt and old boxers were far from lingerie. God, what would he think? “Eoin? What the fuck?”

  The neighbor answered the knocking. “What the hell is going on out here?” Mrs. Crane carried her cane two-handed like a baseball bat. Angie had never seen her use it to walk, just to beat people out of her way.

  Angie gestured for Eoin to move before the old woman brained him. “Sorry, Mrs. Crane.” She shouted so the old woman could hear. “Wrong door.”

  Eoin strode into Angie’s apartment.

  She closed the door before Mrs. Crane could follow.

  “Are you a hoarder?” He stood in the middle of her kitchen/living room combo assessing her messy home with a critical eye.

  “Fuck you, Eoin. What do you want?” She did hoard things and she was a terrible housekeeper. She blamed it on being raised with nothing. Who knew when she’d need a toaster that could set things on fire? What if she wanted to roast marshmallows?

  He plucked at the clean laundry on her table until he hung a pair of panties from his finger. “I want to spend the afternoon with you.”

  She snatched her underwear from his hold. “You’re several hours early.”

  “It’ll take some time to fly to our destination.” His gaze traveled along her torso, pausing at the curve of her hips. “You look nice.” With his fingertips, he tugged at her t-shirt to draw her closer.

  A cup of Java couldn’t have revved her pulse like Eoin’s proximity. She set her hands on his chest. If she drew any closer, she wouldn’t be responsible for her actions.

  “It’s a perfect morning to fly.” His voice had gone husky.

  “I need a shower.”

  “Shower while I make breakfast.”

  Butterflies took wing in her stomach. “Okay, where are we going?”

  “Secret dragon place,” he whispered.

  Nodding, she backed away to the shower. She couldn’t believe Eoin was in her craptastic apartment. The paint cracks made abstract designs on every wall and they were so thin her whole floor had probably heard them making plans.

  She paused in front of the mirror and stifled a scream. Half her hair stood straight up and the other half was plastered to her scalp. He said she looked good. What a fucking liar. She looked like a crackhead after a hard night on the pipe.

  The apartment sucked rotten eggs, but the hot water tank did work as long as Mrs. Crane didn’t flush her toilet. She let the shower cascade over her tired body. Flying sounded nice, but how far away would he take her? She didn’t have a passport.

  “Angie.”

  She jumped and covered her tits even though Eoin couldn’t see through the shower curtain. “Get out!” Thin plastic was the only thing separating them. The air suddenly seemed too heavy with steam.

  “You’ve no food. Are you hiding it?”

  She hung her head. She budgeted her food money and hadn’t had time to do any grocery shopping this week. It was one of the things on her to-do list. “I have a box of Pop Tarts in the cupboard.”

  “That’s sad.”

  She turned off the water and heard him searching her cupboards. She didn’t buy lots of food because the cockroaches were so big they could carry most of it away.

  Wrapping a towel around her body, she hurried to the clean laundry pile on the kitchen table and pulled out fresh clothes. It wasn’t a workday and Eoin was taking her someplace special. This called for a clean, non-stained or torn outfit.

  She tossed him a glance.

  He leaned on the counter watching her. His heated gaze pulled on her towel, daring her to drop it.

  Temptation loosened her grip.

  The toaster popped and she shook free of his spell. On the other side of the paper screen separating her studio in two, she dressed quickly.

  “Fuck a duck, these things are hot.” Eoin continued swearing under his breath. Pop Tarts could burn like napalm when heated just right. That they could burn a dragon said much of the power of hot sugar.

  A setting of paper plates and a stack of freshly warmed prepackaged toaster pastries greeted her return to the kitchen.

  Eoin sucked on his finger. “Watch the first bite, they’re hot.”

  The scent of fresh coffee called her to breakfast faster. She waited for her stomach to revolt but it remained calm. Maybe her phobia had gone away. That would be so cool. She could finally go to restaurants.

  Things like prepackaged food didn’t bother her. The product
was made more by machines than by men. Or so she kept telling herself.

  She sipped on the cup Eoin offered her. “What should I bring?”

  “A sweater. It gets cooler in high altitudes. We’ll drive back to the castle and get a riding harness for you.”

  “I’m surprised you have one. I didn’t think dragons would allow riders.”

  “I’m not a mount, but I’m practical. If I don’t want to carry a human in my hands, then they need something to keep them from falling off my back.”

  “I didn’t use a harness the other night.”

  “It was a short trip. This will be longer and higher.”

  Her gut clenched. “How high?”

  “You’ll still be able to breathe.”

  She felt breathless already. “How high can you fly?”

  “The jet streams. Around forty-five thousand feet. That’s why most humans can’t spot us. We’re just a speck in the sky.”

  “Wow.”

  He handed her two Pop Tarts. “Eat on the go. We’ve got lots to do first.”

  “Like?”

  “For one, stop for provisions. I can’t be expected to survive on this poison.” He flicked her breakfast.

  She followed him out of the building. He seemed so animated. The thought warmed her. His mood was infectious. She couldn’t imagine what he planned on showing her.

  “Eoin?”

  He opened the passenger side door to his car. “What?”

  “What’s at this secret dragon place?”

  “It’s where we take our young to teach them how to fly.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  From this vantage point on Eoin’s back, Angie could view the world as if she were a giant. She tugged the leather jacket Eoin insisted she wear tighter around her torso. The wind seemed to blow right through her even with her sweater.

  They flew over wild lands full of green trees and open fields. She hadn’t seen a farm or a road in the last hour. Ahead, a mountain rose from the rolling hills as if something had punched the Earth’s crust from underneath.

  Stark cliffs formed the sides of the mountain. The peak was flat as a pancake with a piece of the forest still thriving on top.

  Eoin did a lazy circle around the summit. “Looks vacant.”

  The leather harness strapping her to his back creaked as he dove to land. Angie clamped her teeth shut, refusing to squeal in terror. She almost lost her grip on the bag Eoin had packed.

  In the center of the plateau a field of wild flowers grew. Eoin chose to glide to a stop here. He patiently laid on the ground as she undid the harness with numb fingers. The air, thankfully, was warmer on the mountaintop.

  She made a soft landing next to him with the bag and unpacked his clothes. She also discovered a bottle of wine, a brick of cheese, crusty bread, and grapes.

  Eoin knelt next to her. “That corner store we stopped at was well stocked. I have to remember to shop there more often. I hate crowds.”

  “You have more than I did.” She didn’t hide her curiosity as she watched him dress. Over the last few days, she’d seen Eoin naked enough times that the effect should have worn off. Nope, the sight of his tight ass still kicked her in the gut. She shivered. What would it be like if she ever touched him?

  He pulled a t-shirt over his head and tossed her an inviting smile. The jerk knew exactly what she was thinking.

  She whipped a grape at his perfect abs.

  He caught it with unnatural speed and popped it into his mouth. “Thanks.” Sauntering over, Eoin locked his gaze on her. She noted the possessive nature in that look. She’d seen it enough times on Ryota, except Eoin didn’t make her feel owned. “I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

  Angie stared over the long grass swaying in the soft breeze. The scent of flowers filled her lungs and not a modern noise could be heard. “It’s peaceful.”

  Lying next to her on his back, Eoin entwined his fingers behind his head. “It’s been ages since I’ve visited.” He closed his eyes.

  “You said this is where baby dragons learn to fly?” She’d never seen a baby dragon. Heck, the world hadn’t seen one. No photos or sightings. “Are there any babies?”

  “Sure. My clan has nestlings right now. In about ten years they’ll be ready to come here and learn.”

  “Ten?” That seemed young and old at the same time, depending on a dragon’s lifespan. “How old are you?”

  “Old enough.”

  “Fine, be like that. Then answer this. Why am I here? It’s not like I’m ready to learn to fly.”

  “Not yet.” He opened his eyes and sat up with a fluid grace she envied. “I want to teach you how to shift.”

  Her mouth unhinged. They were back to this again. He still thought she was a dragon. Just when she wanted to toss caution to the wind and accept his advances, he reminded her why she swore off shifters. All these thoughts tumbled in her head but not a word slipped out of her open mouth.

  “Angie.” He spoke as if trying to coax a nervous colt to approach. “I know you believe you can’t—”

  “I can’t.” She jabbed her finger against his chest.

  He wrapped his hand around her finger and held it firm. “You can. Dragons can see magic.” Blinking slowly, his eyes changed from human to dragon. “I brought you here so I can examine your aura better.”

  A breath caught in her throat and she was almost afraid to move or believe. “You already looked?”

  He nodded.

  She swallowed around a lump in her throat. “What did you see?” Part of her wished he hadn’t peeked. She’d come to terms with her fate. She didn’t need Eoin raising her hopes for nothing. She’d been down that road too many times.

  “It’s hard in the city to look at magic in detail. There’s so much life that things can blur. Up here, we’re isolated.” He grinned. “And it’s beautiful. No one should disturb us.” His gaze unfocused and he studied the air around her.

  She squirmed, burning with curiosity. “Are dragons the only creatures who can see magic?” For as long as she could remember, she’d known she was different. She’d wanted to belong but couldn’t find a place to fit.

  “Your aura is pure dragon.” He ran his fingertips over some unseen thing. “We match.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

  Heavy anticipation settled in her stomach. What did that mean? She glanced at her unnaturally sharp fingernails. Pure shifters weren’t genetic throwbacks.

  “There it is. I knew I’d seen it last night but I couldn’t be sure.”

  “What?” The question came out sharper than she’d planned. Eoin wasn’t the enemy. He wanted to help.

  “A shield surrounds your aura and blocks you from touching magic. I think your inability to shift has nothing to do with genetics. All shifters need magic to change shape and you can’t touch yours.”

  She jumped to her feet and paced. “That can’t be right.” He didn’t know what he was talking about. He’d been trying to convince her she was a dragon since the day they met.

  Climbing to his feet, he watched her. “I’m not wrong. We can try to break the shield together and then you can shift.” He sounded like a child on Christmas who couldn’t wait to open his present. Except the paper he’d been tearing apart was her life.

  “Eoin! My parents were human.” She planted her hands on her hips and confronted him.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, they died in a car accident. That wouldn’t kill dragons.”

  He ran his hand over his head while searching the ground with his gaze. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “All I have to go on is what I see as fact. Let’s work on your shifting then we’ll figure out the rest.”

  The cool wind picked up for a moment and shoved Angie’s body. She held herself, suddenly feeling very small. “We?”

  He moved so fast she blinked when his arms folded around her. “Yes, we. We’ll figure this out together. Do you think I’d drop a bomb like this and not help?”


  “No one’s ever bothered to help before.” When her parents had died and her world had shattered, she’d been shoved into one foster home after another. They hadn’t cared about dropping bombs on her and abandoning her as a child.

  “Let’s start by trying to break the shield. As long as it’s intact you can’t touch the magic.” He held her at arm’s length and met her stare.

  She nodded, the motion jerky and hesitant.

  “Clear your mind.”

  She took a deep, cleansing breath, and did as he asked. Uncluttering her thoughts was akin to chasing cats. It had been years since she’d last tried to shift. Even when Ryota had begged her to try, she had denied him. How had Eoin circumvented her defenses so easily? The process took a few minutes while Eoin stayed quiet.

  “What is the first emotion you sense?” He spoke softly.

  She’d done this exercise before, so discovering the emotion at her core didn’t surprise her. Fear. “Okay, I have it.” This sucked. Why couldn’t her trigger emotion be anger or happiness? No, she had to think of fearful things to shift.

  “Focus on the emotion and—”

  “You know I’ve tried this before, right?”

  “No.” He sighed. “Either way, I need to watch the shield and see how it reacts to your attempt to change shape.”

  “Oh.” That made sense. She took a deep breath, reluctant to start. She began with her childhood fear of monsters living under her bed. Of being curled under her blankets too afraid to breathe—of needing to pee but not wanting to put her foot on the floor.

  Her heart quickened. She moved on to her first night in a foster home. It had smelled funny and she had to share her room with an older girl who had made fun of her fingernails. Small and alone, she’d faced the dark world and realized no one alive would miss her if she vanished.

  Cold claws of fear gripped her spine. The nights hiding on the street, a pretty young girl trying to survive… Breathing grew harder.