Page 30 of Princess Seeks Dragon
Istep out of the showerand swallow a curse.
Angela is lying on my bed. Sound asleep, curled up with her knees to her chest.
Tiny, wee thing. Okay, not so tiny to my human form, but to my dragon form? She’d be gone in three bites.
But why is she in my room? I told her first door along—
Yes, you numpty, because that’s always been the guest room—and you’re the guest. You were here first.
I slide back into the bathroom, towel more firmly wrapped around my waist.
It’s no big deal. They have other rooms. I’ll collect up my things and move down the hall.
But I need clean clothes. The jeans I threw on last night probably smell of cigarettes and spilled beer since I wore them to the roadhouse.
As quietly as I can, I move to the dresser and hold still while Angela rolls and moans softly in her sleep.
My heart speeds up the longer I watch her, and I don’t know why I suddenly have such a strong urge to go over and kiss my mate, wake her up in ways that’ll have her screaming in delight.
“Mate?” I mouth to myself, wondering where the bloody hell that idea came from.
Until I see it.
My amulet. My amulet around her neck, resting right between her perfect breasts.
“Fuck!” I hiss.
Angela’s eyelids fly open, and she gasps, sitting up with a frantic look on her face.
“Graham!” she gasps.
“I forgot I left my luggage in here,” I explain.
“Wait, was this your room? There’s a bathroom?” Angela cocks her head, and her mouth drops as she cranes her neck. “That’s a huge bathroom! Why is everything here so big?”
All the better for the dragon to fuck you with my dear, I think, but I mercifully keep my mouth shut. “I told you the wrong room, I’m sorry. I should have sent you to the first door on theleft.”
“Oh, I can move my stuff, it’s no problem. And it’s really nice that you guys give out souvenirs—oh, shoot. I’m so stupid right now,” Angela puts her hand on the amulet and begins to lift it off from around her neck. “This must be yours, huh?”
I cross the room in one bound and pin her wrist to her throat. “Don’t take it off. It’s... It’s bad luck,” I say.
She nods, silent, wide-eyed.
“I’ll move my things,” I whisper, releasing her.
“Mine’s still packed,” she squeaks and scurries out the door. Across the hall, the other bedroom door slams shut.
“Oh, hell,” I wheeze, sitting down, my ribs feeling three sizes too small. “Angela’s wearing my amulet.”
Dragons aren’t supposed to take them off, but I break that rule all the time. I’ve only ever heard of a dragon letting another wear his amulet when they’re on their deathbed. They usually take it off and place it on their youngest dragonborn, or maybe on the eldest child, to symbolize their new place as leader in the clan.
As I stumble into undershorts and a clean pair of jeans, I call the one person who already knows how badly I’ve screwed up, how badly I’ve disgraced the family name, and still loves me.
“Ian?”
“Graham! How are you?”
“Um. Everything is fine. The business is fine. I’m home for lunch and then I’ll go back,” I tell a half-truth.
