Page 28 of Fallen for the Two-Headed Dragon

An idea came to mind as he perused the books stacked neatly into separate genre-specific piles. There was still so much unused room in the lonely cave, and he had the time and power to create more if needed. Last time he’d rearranged, he’d caused a shift in the rocks that created new formations along the mountain. Cliff drops and hangs cropped up along the steep incline, rocks and boulders shifted. He would be more careful this time.

He decided to do something useful with this time separated from his mate. Something that would show her that he was a worthy partner. Something to prove he belonged to her just as much as she belonged to him.

Something that would keep his mind from reliving bright flames whipping against the night sky.

Chapter Fifteen

Dana

Samantha knocked on the open door to Dana’s childhood bedroom. She leaned against the frame and held up a plastic-covered silver tray.

“Yes, please!”

Sam kicked the door shut and plopped onto the bed beside her, extending a hand with two forks. Dana snatched one and removed the lid from the chocolate silk pie. Their favorite. Their mom’s favorite, too. There was always one in their fridge growing up, especially after their dad left. Their mom bought the pies for herself, but the sisters would sneak into the kitchen past bedtime to share a late night treat. They always ate too much and yet childishly believed they’d been discreet. Sometimes they would use a knife and slowly shed little slivers of the pie, as though their mother wouldn’t notice if they kept each bite small.

“So, what really happened out there?”

“You’re going to be so jealous.”

“Oh my god, just tell me!” Sam whined over a hefty bite. “I’ve been dying all day!”

Dana giggled and launched into her true story. Sam’s expression traveled between shock, awe, and envy. Dana wrapped up the story with a shrug and a little yep. Her cheeks hurt from grinning at Sam’s priceless reaction, eyebrows practically invisible in her hairline, the pie forgotten.

“So basically you’re in love with a fucking dragon and if you don’t get home to him tomorrow he’s gonna come kill us all. Asu edan! Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?”

“Jesus, Sam. He would just come get me.” Dana paused. “I think.”

Knowing his anxiety and the difficult day he was enduring, it might be less pretty than she wanted to admit. Still, she had faith. She wanted to believe he would be understanding, given the full scope of her current situation. She plucked her glasses from her nose and rubbed them with the bottom of her shirt.

“I hope you’re right because this shit with Jackson is just getting started. Nothing goes quickly through this small town’s law system.” Sam patted her knee. “But it’s the right thing. That bajingan would just prey on another woman, and she probably won’t have a fierce new dragon boyfriend to vanquish herfoes.”

A sad truth. Dana scooped another chunk of chocolate mousse, her bright mood diminishing quickly.

“Hey, does your man have any friends?” Sam nudged her elbow and wiggled her brow.

Dana snorted. “If he does, I’ll introduce you. But only if you don’t tell that embarrassing story about my ninth birthday just to make people laugh.”

“But it’s a great icebreaker!”

“It’s really not.”

Dana chuckled. Did Rathym have friends? Turns out he was a high-ranking official, which wasn’t surprising at all. He had the authoritative demeanor of someone used to giving orders. She tried to picture him at a social event, his brooding stare a warning to anyone considering approaching him. In her mind’s eye, a former acquaintance offered him a drink. Perhaps he took it and downed it in one gulp, his sneer returning the moment it left his lips. In her daydream, the acquaintance morphed into a beautiful female dragon with four boobs and the perfect hourglass silhouette.

Now I’m just making shit up. Dana glowered at the next forkful of pie.

In the morning, Sam drove Dana back to the station, where she repeated her long-winded half-truth. The police chief listened thoughtfully, taking notes here and there, but mostly retaining eye contact. Behind him, his comrades picked apart her hiking pack with white plastic gloves.

Something felt off. What were they looking for? It all felt…wrong. Like she was a suspect and not a victim. The suspicion in the chief’s eyes when he’d asked to photograph her injuries and she’d explained they weren’t visible anymore had only ramped up the sense of wrongness. She kind of wished she’d lied about the whole thing. Or never brought it up to begin with.

“Here’s the deal, Ms. Gretchens.” The chair squeaked under the large man as he shifted forward. He rubbed a fat set of fingers over his gray-speckled beard and cleared his throat. “We can take this to trial. Or we can set up a meeting with Mr. Willsburn and try to work something out.”

“What does that even mean?”

The portly older man tapped his pen against his notepad. “Mr. Willsburn approached us earlier. Some of these things don’t add up to what Mr. Willsburn reported—”

“Of course they don’t. If they did, that would mean he turned himself in!”

“All right, all right.” He leaned back and raised his palms. “Suit yourself. I’ve already spoken to Judge Larson. Lucky for us, he has time this Friday. Let’s just give mediation a shot. What could it hurt?”

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