A confident grin spread across his face. “Because I’d kill them for trespassing.”
“Intense,” I offered. In a way, being in a dragon’s territory was similar to what my village did with our goddess temple. Myva’s protective barrier shielded us from all manner of demons that came knocking. It made sense that the more intelligent creatures would gravitate to a safer area like us.
“Where did you say you lived again?” he pressed.
I didn’t. Nor did I want to. Not with a complete stranger informing me he planned to move in and build a freaking castle. Before being kidnapped by Gideon’s minion, I was just a few months short of being assigned my own section of my family’s farm. Each of my siblings and I knew growing up that at the age of eighteen, our parents would section on a part of the family farm as a gift.
Or in my brother Cumin’s case, help him buy a particular piece of land a little further out. He’d always been the picky sort. So none of us were surprised when he pulled out a ‘Land for Sale’ flier at his eighteenth birthday celebration. At twenty-three, I was a good five years overdue. Still, I couldn’t imagine whatever small plot I was to be given would be enough to fit whatever Dante had in mind.
Speaking of age. “How old are you?” I asked. If I had to guess, the dragon-shifter looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. His face was free of any imperfections such as laugh lines or sunspots. Yet the commanding aura around him projected something far older. Maybe thirty-five. Some folks were just born with the gift of younger-looking features.
“I’m seven hundred and four.”
I choked on my drink. Red wine spilled all over the front of my borrowed dress. “Seven hundred and four!” I choked out between coughs. “How is that even possible?”
Dante’s weight lifted from the couch. At a speed no human could match, he rushed over to the bar area and returned with a cloth. I snatched it greedily and wiped what I could of the mess off me. “Age does not have the same effect on dragons as it does on other species,” he began as he returned to his seat. “We age at a considerably slower rate, and our human forms reach adulthood at the age of forty. Our dragon forms never truly stop growing. It slows to roughly half an inch every few years after we reach one hundred years of age.”
My voice came out in a hoarse squeak. “How long do dragons live?”
“Until we’re killed,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Both my parents lived well into their 8,000s before they met their end.”
A friggin immortal is sitting next to me.Endless questions flew into my head. Dante, if he really was as ancient as he claimed to be, would have lived through the era when demons were not locked away by the Goddess Myva. My ma would regale me with tales of adventure and creatures of all shapes and sizes, but I always dismissed them as just that: tales. But here I was, sitting next to physical evidence of that era. I gazed around the library in wonder, as though seeing it for the first time. This place held at least 8,000 years of history. My hands itched, eager to get my mitts on every page.
Not only that, the walls outside of this castle led to land that was home to the very same creatures I’d always dreamt about. If I weren’t positive they’d gut me as soon as they saw me, I’d love to meet them.
Excluding any other dragons. I’ve had enough of them.
“How old are you?” he asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Hmm? Oh, I’m twenty-three.”
He blinked. “I apologize for not being more precise. I’m unaware of how humans age. Are you an adult?” His tone became more suspicious as he scanned my face. “Please tell me you’re not a child.”
Indignant, my fist clenched at my side so I could hold myself back from swatting him. “No. I’m an adult,” I bit out.
His shoulders dropped in relief. “Oh, thank the gods,” he sighed.
“Do I look like a kid?” I huffed.
“Do I look over seven hundred?” he asked, sipping his drink.
“Fair point,” I conceded. If they really aged so slow, then a dragon in their twenties probably looked like a gangly preteen. I guess I couldn’t fault him for being confused.
He reached for the bottle of whiskey and refilled his glass. Its delicious caramel smell mingled with Dante’s. Without meaning to, I leaned forward, drawn in by the earthy scent of fields after a good rain.
“Are you ever going to tell me where you live, or should I simply pick out a sunny spot on the Southern continent and build your dream home there?” he asked, his tone teasing.
I cleared my throat and leaned back, grateful for the interruption before I did something stupid. Like crawling in his lap to get more of that scent.
Damn this dragon slut venom!
“I don’t want to tell you,” I said.
“Why not?”
“You’re an immortal stranger fully capable of killing me or destroying my home. If you chose to do so, there would be nothing I could do to stop you.”
His brow furrowed. Then he tilted his glass up as if inspecting the remaining liquid. After a moment of deep deliberation, Dante nodded. “I can’t fault that logic. Would you believe me if I told you I’d never do that?”
