Page 31 of Owen
“The dragon will convince her, even if you cannot.” Isla winked.
“I would rather she accept me because she wishes to, not because she feels compelled to.”
Dallas reached out to shake my hand. “If this is truly your fated mate, she’ll accept you without question.”
I could only hope he was right.
12
My ankle was better. Had Hecate healed me? If so, it was the only favor she’d done me while she had control of my body. A healed sprain was the least she could do, as far as I was concerned.
Still, it was nice to be able to move it and put weight on it without so much as a twinge.
Once I was finished drying off from the best shower I had ever taken in my entire life—it was that good, and that necessary after days spent in the middle of nowhere—I looked around in hopes of finding something clean to wear. The dresser held a few t-shirts, a pair of sweatpants. An old sweater. All of it was way too big for me, obviously belonging to one of the guys living there, but it was better than putting on my dirty hiking clothes. I wanted to burn them, frankly.
I then laced up my boots and was grateful Hecate had thought to pick up the one I had taken off earlier before bringing me with her. She might have been completely wrong to go through my head and take over my body, but she wasn’t completely unthoughtful.
Though if she expected thanks, she would find herself waiting a very long time.
All of this was done as a distraction, and I knew it. Heck, Owen might have suggested I shower as a way to distract me, too. From what? From whatever he was working out while I was in here and he was out there. Telling Hecate not to erase my memory.
I had to wonder if any of it was real. Okay, so I wasn’t dead like I had feared earlier. Great. But what if I was dreaming this? Was it possible to take such an incredible, soul-cleansing shower in a dream? If it was all just in my head, this was the most vivid dreaming I had ever done.
Which meant it was real. I was actually going through this. Witches were real, a witch had messed around in my brain and all that. All right. I had to accept it and move on and hope none of them felt like putting a spell on me or something.
What did that make him? I still hadn’t figured that part out yet. Why was he hanging around with witches?
My heart jumped when the lock clicked, and I hoped it was him. I didn’t know what I’d do if Hecate came strolling in—or, even worse, some witch I didn’t know.
But it was Owen, and I heaved a sigh of relief.
“How’d it go?” I asked, wringing my hands for lack of anything else to do with them. I tended to fidget when I was nervous, and I couldn’t remember ever feeling more nervous than I was just then.
He was tough to read, his face blank. This didn’t bode well, but I was willing to play along and stay positive. “Should I expect to have my memory wiped clean? I mean, while she’s at it, there’s a few embarrassing middle school moments I wouldn’t mind never remembering again.”
He chuckled, but his mood didn’t seem to improve much. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you more about the legends surrounding this range of mountains, but centering on this mountain in particular.”
“No, you didn’t.” Why were we talking about this now? “Are you trying to explain to me why Hecate has no choice but to wipe my memory clean?”
“Nay! Och, lass, ‘tis not what was on my mind at all.” He smiled then, wide and genuine. “I spoke to her, to Dallas, and everyone agrees that there is no call to tinker with your memory.”
“Really?” I couldn’t put into words how this made me feel. Relief didn’t seem to cover it. I threw myself at him, locked my arms around his neck and squeezed. “I don’t have to forget you!”
“You don’t,” he agreed, patting my back, but nothing more than that. When he didn’t hug me, I let go.
“What aren’t you telling me? Why did you want to talk about the legends and the mountain?” I quaked a little inside. Did I really want to hear this? What if they wanted something else from me in exchange for letting me keep my memory? “Tell me I’m not gonna be sacrificed to the mountain or something deranged like that.”
He burst out laughing. “Och, you’ve quite the imagination. Though I suppose that’s a good thing, as I’ll be asking you to use it in a moment or two. You told me a tale earlier of dragons—at least, you made mention of them. What if I told you those legends weren’t legends at all?”
I blinked, waiting for a punchline that never came. “Pardon?” I finally asked when it was obvious he was waiting for something from me.
“The dragons of the legends were real. They existed. I know this is difficult to understand, but if you can accept the existence of witches—”
“Wait a minute. Witches and dragons don’t exactly exist on the same plane of existence, and I still want to know what this has to do with you or me. What are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to tell you that the dragons were real. That the witches gave their treasure to the dragons for safe keeping when it was clear their lives were in danger. Those pieces—including your diadem, which was lost—contained magic. That magic could not get into the hands of mortal man, for there was no telling what might come of it.”
“Okay…”
