Page 61 of Kidnapped Plus-Size Mate

“So that’s where you were…” my grandmother observes as she inspects Stryker from head to toe through narrowed, skeptical eyes.

“What are you doing?” I whisper through grated teeth so Abuela doesn’t catch me talking to him.

“It’s okay, Camilla,” Stryker assures as he whispers in my ear without being discreet. “Abuela knows what I am.Dragon man,”he sticks out a hand toward my grandmother.

She inspects his hand ruefully, then mumbles under her breath as she shakes him. When the formality is over, she doesn’t let go of his hand, and I hear his sharp intake of breath as she tugs him forward.

“Fuiste a ti a quien sentí todo el tiempo, ¿no?”she asks in the deepest accent, questioning if he’s the one she felt before.

She’s probably referring to the time she called me and warned me to take heed to the warning of my dream the previous night.

Right now, she’s calmer than I would have expected. Over the phone back then, she made it sound like I was in grave danger.

Stryker straightens up, remaining equally calm as he replies, “Culpable como acusada, Abuela.”

I gasp in surprise. Not because he told my grandmother that he’s “guilty as charged”, but because Stryker’s Spanish is flawless, his accent so distinct. This isn’t the time, but a flicker of awareness rushes through my spine.

“You speak Spanish?” I implore softly.

He nods with a proud smile spreading across his face and twinkling in his eyes. “Amongst other languages.”

“Of course,” I lament. For someone who’s lived as long as he has, he’d obviously be fluent in all the languages known to man. I turn to my grandmother, who wears a look of expectation on her raised brows.

“Well… You know what this one is,” she punctuates with a dismissive wave toward Stryker as she turns on her heel and saunters to her rocking chair. She lifts the walking stick from where it’s perched on the side—reminding me that she conveniently didn’t need it when she reprimanded me just now.

When she turns, she says, “Now it’s time to learn who you really are.”

“Hombre dragón…respirador de fuego…” I insist, pointing at Stryker. “He—We already know that he’s the dragon man. The firebreather.”

Abuela clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes before pointing the knobbed top of her walking stick at me. “Not him, butyou,Camilla.”

“Me?” I ask with an astonished frown, pointing at my chest this time. “What do you mean?”

“That’s why you came here, didn’t you?” she asks with a fleeting glance at Stryker. “To get answers, no?”

My jaw drops when I turn to Stryker, but all he offers is a nonchalant shrug while his lips toy with a smile he’s clearly trying to stifle.

He knows something that he’s not telling me…

“Y-yes,” I murmur when I turn back to Abuela. She has the knob of her wooden walking stick between both hands when she nods at Stryker.

“Watch the door,” she instructs him firmly, then taps the tip of her stick three times, drawing my attention to the floor.

My breath hitches in my throat when I see soft whiffs of golden smoke emerging from the base of the walking stick and coiling in warm, lively tresses toward the knob in Abuela’s hands.

When the mystical smoke slips through Abuela’s fingers, it sighs and disappears, leaving behind a golden staff in her hands.

“Abuela… What was that…?” I gasp in wonder.

Abuela stretches out her arm and beckons me over with a nod. “It’s called magick,” she smiles. “Come,mi hija. It is finally time.”

“Time for what…?’ I murmur, stupified by what I’ve just witnessed but too bewitched to protest as I saunter forwardon feet that move of their own accord. Slipping my hand into Abuela’s delicate one, she turns to the window and lifts her staff to tap the glass with the knob that has now become reflective.

The gentle tap causes a ripple in the glass, but not from its shattering. Instead, a holographic image forms on the glass, turning into something I recognize.

Those green vines that slither like a serpent from my dreams appear right before my eyes in the window. The room around us fades as if it wasn’t made from bricks and mortar. My eyes remain fixed on the moving vines, and just like in my dreams, they slide away to reveal the gorgeous scenery of a moonlit sky.

The Aurora Island. It’s almost as if we’ve been transported thanks to Aubela’s walking stick—or staff, or whatever it is—that opened up a portal in the mortal world. Somehow, I’m not merely surprised by what’s happening when my grandmother releases my hand and saunters off toward the crystal body of water, where the waterfall flows down in whispers that suddenly make sense. Gentle whispers that beckon me forward in no particular language except its calm, cool tone.

---