Page 3 of Fallen for the Two-Headed Dragon

She shrieked and clamored away, crawling awkwardly and inefficiently out of his entryway.

The little human ran from his lair, undoubtedly believing they’d made their escape.

Every muscle in his body told him to chase after her, but out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed the Council’s folder emit a faint gold light. Annoyed, he downshifted and forced his attention back to the letter.

It pleases us to inform you that there has been a breakthrough in the investigation of King Luvon Ludove’s assassination.

A break? Could that possibly mean…

Rathym read the words again before continuing.

It pleases us to inform you that there has been a breakthrough in the investigation of King Luvon Ludove’s assassination. The murderer, Ivaan Kovgroff, is being held in the Iron Forge Prison and will face his reckoning in a fortnight.

Enclosed in this folder is the complete classified account of the investigation and all applicable paperwork, including the Fire Court’s transcription from the trial, as per your original request—

Gold spots ate away at the parchment in his hands. The bottom half of the stack engulfed in cold flames. Rathym barely caught the date marked in the topmost corner before the light vanished and his claws were empty.

The vile creature that murdered his closest friend over two centuries ago would finally be held accountable. The one who’d forced little Riniya to be an orphan princess with an unqualified dragon regent would finally face his reckoning.

It was good news.

Yet, Rathym’s hearts ached. Not only was Luvon long dead, but the entire realm of elves was gone, lost to the void by the hands of an incompetent human invader who fancied himself a magician. Although the only evidence from the scene made it clear dear Luvon was killed by a Fireborn dragon, the Fire Council discarded the investigation after the elves were lost. Rathym had made a very public, rather unprofessional demand that they solve the murder of their greatest ally else they lose their Grand Commander. Which they ignored. Hence his mundane life in the land of humans, hopping from cave to cave like an imbecile.

As he paced, something glinted inside the entrance. He downshifted into his smaller reptilian form and plucked the item from the tunnel. Spectacles. One sniff and he knew they would be sufficient for tracking his human intruder.

The human would have to wait, but he was not letting them go. There were matters he must attend first, but he would never allow one of his possessions to run away like that.

Especially not the most enrapturing item he owned.

Chapter Three

Dana

For the second time that day, Dana experienced the miraculous hand of the universe. She found her way to the tourist trap of a town and ordered a ride to the home she shared with Jackson in Colorado Springs. Knowing him as well as she did, she had no doubt Jackson would keep gallivanting through the mountains, acting like nothing had happened. Well, screw him. She wouldn’t even bother texting him that she’d lived through his little dateline scheme. She’d just stay home tonight, pack her things, and after her interview in the morning, she would grab what she could and stay with her mom and sister.

As for what happened in the bear cave—nope, nope, nope. She hadn’t had her glasses on. It could’ve been some kind of lizard. That stood on an invisible rock to meet her eye level. With two heads the size of her torso. What was she supposed to do? Call animal control?

After a long, tear-filled shower—both from anger and the pain of her wounds being hit with pressurized water—she gathered some of her crap and put it in the corner for easy retrieval. Jackson wasn’t an idiot. Not completely. Surely he’d realize her stuff was missing and understand she was alive. She should probably consider pressing charges. What an absolute jerk for making her deal with this.

Her dreams were angsty. Full of betrayal and babies that looked like little mini-jerks. Gah! I hate babies! That was a bit of a hyperbole. What she meant was, she hated babies who didn’t belong to her friends—key word, friends.

In the morning, her head was groggy and slow. She dreaded the upcoming day. She could skip the temp agency appointment, but that would mean a more permanent living situation with her family. While she strongly believed that needing support and allowing that support to come from family members was perfectly okay, she preferred her independence. Not to mention a grown-up bedroom as opposed to the teenage poster-plastered walls of her youth. Not to mention space from her mom’s high expectations and subtle criticism.

Her contacts didn’t help. They’d been worn once or twice and her astigmatism made it difficult to adjust even though they’d been kept in the heavy-duty solution from her optometrist. Everything was a bit fuzzy at the edges of her vision, which only accentuated the fuzz inside her head. She stuffed the contact case and solution in her bag, along with eye drops.

Hopefully she wouldn’t make a total bimbo of herself at the temp office. Without Jackson’s financial support, her writing career was basically tanked. Not that her readers would be too surprised considering the length of her writing slump. Jackson had spent most of his time “supporting” her by simultaneously reproaching her, which didn’t help her imposter syndrome at all.

“Those books give you women unrealistic ideas of relationships,” he’d say. Then he would add, “Men like that don’t exist.”

She’d long since given up trying to explain that women don’t actually want all of the tropes in romance books. They’re often an exaggeration of reality that wouldn’t be acceptable in real life. In reality, the arrogant boss-hole would get a sexual assault charge. Well, hopefully, at least.

But it wasn’t only romance books that he had a problem with. He had issues with fantasy novels, too, saying things like, “Those books fill your head with nonsense.”

Needless to say, it really dampened her creativity.

Get your head straight! She urged the woman in the mirror while furiously combing her freshly box-dyed brown hair cropped above her shoulders, awkwardly flaring at the bottoms and in need of a cut. She didn’t often wear makeup, but her blotchy complexion and the dark bags under her brown eyes required she do so today. It was a warm day out, but she would have to wear pants to cover the huge chunk of missing skin on her leg. She would have to wrap it, too, so it didn’t bleed through.

Her bicycle coasted down the hill. The pleasant sensation would have helped rid her mind of the resentful thoughts and the dread filling her chest cavity, if not for the searing pain of her injuries. When she reached the building, she stiffened to minimize the pain as she kicked out the bike stand and locked it up.

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