Page 5 of Fallen for the Two-Headed Dragon

“I’m here to bring you home.” The rumbling voice sounded simultaneously like thunder and a melody, like the banging of tribal drums in the pouring rain.

“Wha—oh!”

She was thrust over a scaly shoulder, a claw-tipped hand firmly positioned on her ass. The next moment, they burst through the roof of the brick building and took off into the air.

She watched as the wings elongated. Broad shoulders lengthened along with the entire expanse of his scale-covered back. A tail she hadn’t noticed before now spanned thrice her height. She grasped at pointed spikes and turned to see two heads at the end of long, thick necks, and then it hit her.

She was riding on the back of a literal dragon.

Chapter Four

Rathym

The flight home was a frustrating one. The human’s honey and ambrosial scent taunted Rathym with every flap of his wings, the female’s pheromones heightened by her adrenaline. She had no right to smell as enticing as she did. Humans were nuisances. He’d never considered one might smell so delectable, yet here she was, throwing that sweet scent in his face.

The effect she had on him was beyond a mild annoyance. It was utterly undeniable while in his downshift, requiring him to immediately expand into full form the moment they reached the bottom of the tunnel. The absolute overwhelm of all his senses could only be a sign of one thing.

There were very few species still around that relied on mate bonds. Even back when he was young, the dependence of mate bonds was fading. Too many mates were rejected, cast away in favor of true love. Just because two bodies are compatible biologically doesn’t mean their hearts will align.

When dragons encountered their mate, it wasn’t unusual for one of their shifts to have a stronger reaction than the other. The flooding of the senses signified they were in the presence of their ideal partner. But a dragon had never mated with a human, as far as his knowledge. A dragon and a human could not conceive, so how could the mate bond perceive them as biologically compatible? He was not about to break centuries of tradition for a fluke.

Nor would he allow his belongings to stray from their designated places. He shoved aside the irksome matter of her scent and mulled over what pile he would assign this new, shiny, delicious object to. He maintained his full shift to dampen the mating urges as he glanced between the female and the towering heaps of treasure in deliberation.

“Oh! You saved them for me!” the human squealed.

Her lack of fear surprised Rathym. He’d sniffed the faintest trace of it upon initial retrieval, and again when they were in flight, but since returning her feet to the ground, it had faded.

He scanned the woman’s face for a hint as to what she referred to. Her gaze was fixated on the claw still clutching the spectacles he’d used to track her scent. She gingerly pried them from his claw and surveyed the damaged lens, her mouth pursing tightly as she wiggled the frames. She produced a small rag from her knapsack and rubbed the unbroken lens with fervor. When she placed them on her nose, the right side protruded from her brow.

“I’m sure I can get them fixed.” She shrugged and folded them on her collar. She beamed at him. “Thank you.”

Taken aback by her gratitude, he allowed her to believe he’d done as she said. Intelligent critters like this needed assurances, as they were easier to keep safe when they were aware of their dragon’s care for them.

Returning to the task at hand, Rathym considered each mound of stuff, occasionally glancing at the woman to compare her against them.

“What are you doing?”

“Appraising my new treasure.”

“What’s your new treasure?” she inquired with an innocent lilt that would be endearing if it didn’t annoy him so much.

She would be the first talking treasure he owned—well, other than the enchanted smock, but that ego-bruising cloth was overpriced and underwhelming. A painful mockery of art. He would toss it out with the compost if it didn’t rightfully belong to him. Whether worn for cooking duties or oil painting, nothing he created was ever good enough to please the damned thing. It made for poor company.

Although, that did give him an idea. Perhaps the human would be happiest in the area allocated to enchanted items. If she became lonesome, she need only activate the smock. Humans thought highly of their clothing, using it to appease their prudish nature. In all of his centuries, he’d yet to encounter an uncovered human, all of them body shy and excessively modest.

With a deep breath to ease his annoyance, he gestured to her.

“You trespassed into my home. That makes you mine.” He ground his teeth against the twinge of pain that came with having to repeat himself. He hadn’t had to speak so much in centuries, and he was a great listener—alas, to himself, at least. “Have I not made that clear?”

Her eyes expanded wider than the silver elven platters that leaned against the armoire behind her, which stole Rathym’s attention over her shoulder. That was not where the elven silver belonged. He would remedy the oversight.

The human made a strangled sound somewhere between choking and laughing. She pinched the air beside her temples. Was that a tic? A malfunction? She fidgeted a moment longer before lifting her spectacles from her blouse and scrubbing the good lens with the little slip of cloth. All the while, she blubbered strange, incoherent nonsense that had Rathym’s eyes slamming into slits.

“Out with it, human.”

“I’m sure we can figure this out. This is—this is all, all a misunderstanding.” She laughed again. “I don’t belong to anyone. I’m a person!”

“A person who undeniably crashed into my lair.” How irritating. He narrowed one set of eyes at her, the other drifting back to his task. “I know the code. You are mine. All of my things belong here, in my home, with me. At all times.”

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