Page 7 of Hot for the Dragon

"You clearly don't understand what you're asking." Archer's voice dropped lower, taking on the edge that used to make lesser dragons tremble. "Carmen's not just some upstart with sharp teeth. She's spent years building her power base, gathering followers. And now?" He gestured toward town, where wisps of smoke still curled into the autumn sky. "Now she's showing her true colors. If she's moving this openly, she's got something bigger planned."

The witch - Daphne - shifted her weight, drawing his attention. The motion sent another wave of her intoxicating scent his way. Damn it. Even his dragon noticed, rumbling with interest. He needed them gone before his beast got any more ideas.

"I haven't involved myself in wing politics for years." Archer crossed his arms again, the henley pulling tight across his chest. "I have a perfectly good life here. Quiet. Peaceful. Zero dragon drama. And you want me to what - throw myself back into that cesspool because you can't handle your own problems?"

His dragon bristled at the mere thought of dealing with Carmen again. She'd always been a powder keg waiting to explode, and he'd been smart enough to walk away before the blast. Now these two wanted him to wade right back into ground zero.

"Thanks, but no thanks." Archer reached for the door. "I suggest you figure out another plan. Preferably one that doesn't involve disturbing my solitude."

"I watched them burn everything." Daphne's soft voice cut through Archer's dismissal, stopping his hand on the door. "My shop, my neighbors' shops, people's homes - all gone in minutes."

Archer's dragon stirred at the pain in her voice. He kept his back turned, fighting the inexplicable urge to look at her.

"Do you know what burning flowers smell like, Mr. Hawke?" Her voice gained strength. "It's not just smoke. It's the death of everything I've worked for, everything I've grown. And the screams-" She paused, drawing a shaky breath. "The screams weren't just from fear. People got hurt. Real people."

Damn it. Archer's jaw clenched as he slowly turned back. The morning light caught the unshed tears in her eyes, but her chin was lifted defiantly.

"I helped set up a triage center while we waited for ambulances. Children with burns. Elderly people who couldn't run fast enough." Her green eyes locked onto his black ones. "And you're telling me you'll just sit here in your mansion, carving your wooden models, while real dragons torch our town?"

His dragon roared inside him, demanding he prove his strength, his dominance. But something else stirred too - something he thought he'd buried years ago.

"You don't know what you're asking," he growled, but the words lacked their earlier bite.

"I know exactly what I'm asking." Daphne took a step forward, close enough that her scent - flowers and earth and determination - wrapped around him. "I'm asking if you can live with yourself, knowing you could have helped and chose not to."

Archer's hands flexed at his sides. The witch had nerve, he'd give her that. And worse - she had a point.

He glanced at Hugo, who watched the exchange with barely concealed hope, then back to Daphne. The dragon within him paced restlessly, drawn to her fearless challenge.

"Fine." Archer finally replied, already regretting what he was about to say. "I'll think about it. Now get off my property before I change my mind."

4

ARCHER

Archer's Corvette purred to a stop in front of City Hall, its glossy black finish reflecting the morning sun. He adjusted his leather jacket and deliberately took his time stepping out. Let them stare - he'd learned long ago that fear had its uses.

"Is that him?" A woman's whisper carried across the street. "The dragon who used to-"

"Shh! He'll hear you!"

Archer's lips quirked. His dragon hearing picked up every word, of course. He strode toward the building's entrance. His boots clicked against the concrete as he walked up the front steps.

"They say he once took down three rival dragons at once," a teenage boy whispered to his friend, excitement coloring his voice.

"I heard it was five," his companion replied.

"It was seven, actually," Archer muttered under his breath, though he'd never admit it aloud. His dragon prided itself at the memory.

The security guard at the metal detector visibly swallowed as Archer approached. "Mr. Hawke, sir. You can, uh, go right through."

"What, no pat-down?" Archer's black eyes glinted with amusement. "And here I was, looking forward to it."

The guard's face went pale. "No, sir. I mean- we know who you are."

"Do you?" Archer passed through, his dragon satisfied with the guard's discomfort.

Inside, the bustling lobby went quiet. A clerk dropped her stack of papers. Another nearly walked into a wall. Archer couldn't help himself - he winked at her, causing her to flush scarlet.

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