Page 6 of Hot for the Dragon

While the machine hummed to life, he studied the collection of finished pieces lining the walls. Dragons in flight, perched, fighting – each carved with painstaking detail. Each one perfect, or nearly so. The imperfect ones had met their end in his fireplace.

The coffee maker sputtered its last drops. Archer inhaled the rich aroma, letting it chase away his frustration. He'd get the wing right. He always did, eventually.

"Just you and me," he said to the unfinished dragon, returning to his bench. "And you're not leaving until you're perfect."

His chisel caught the light as he raised it again. Time to make things right.

The scent hit Archer's nostrils before the crunch of footsteps on his gravel path - flowers and earth, mixed with something distinctly human. His chisel stopped mid-stroke, suspended over the dragon's half-carved wing.

Two heartbeats. Both elevated. Both unwelcome.

"Seriously?" He set the chisel down and brushed wood shavings from his black henley. After two and a half years of blissful isolation, some idiots had the nerve to march up his driveway. The last time someone dared venture onto his property, well… the town still whispered about that.

The doorbell's chime echoed through his workshop. Archer's jaw clenched. He could ignore it. Should ignore it. But the dragon inside him bristled at the intrusion, demanding he establish dominance over his territory.

"Fine." He stalked through the side door, taking the connecting passage through his garage. The smooth marble floors of his mansion cooled his temper slightly as he moved silently through the house. Let them sweat it out on the porch for a minute.

Another ring. More insistent this time.

Archer's enhanced hearing picked up a feminine whisper: "Maybe he's not home?"

A deeper voice responded: "He's home. His car's here."

"Oh great, they've been casing my property." Archer rolled his shoulders back, drawing himself to his full height. The dragon within him stirred, sending warmth coursing through his veins.

He yanked open the heavy oak door, ready to tear into whoever had the audacity to disturb him. The words died in his throat.

A middle-aged man in an expensive suit stood on his doorstep, radiating the self-important air of a bureaucrat. But it was the woman beside him that caught Archer off guard. Dark waves of hair framed a heart-shaped face, and those green eyes... they met his gaze without a hint of the fear he was accustomed to seeing.

The autumn breeze carried her scent to him more clearly now - roses and rainfall, with an undercurrent of something ancient. A witch. Both of them were witches.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Archer leaned against his doorframe, arms crossed, as the man launched into introductions. The wood grain pressed against his shoulder, its familiar texture doing little to soothe his growing irritation.

"I'm Hugo Throne, Council member," the man said, straightening his already perfect tie. "And this is my sister, Daphne."

Not a Council member then, Archer noted, studying the woman. Her presence here made no sense. She held herself with quiet determination, but there was a softness about her that had no place in dragon politics. That scent of crushed petals and earth clung to her clothes - a gardener, maybe?

"Carmen Kane attacked the town yesterday," Hugo continued, his voice tight with barely contained urgency. "She brought a dozen dragons. They burned buildings, terrorized citizens-"

Archer's dragon stirred at Carmen's name. Of course it was her. He remembered her from the old days - always circling, always pushing boundaries. The blue-scaled menace had spent years trying to prove herself the strongest, the most ruthless. Back then, she'd been all talk and posturing.

"She's declared her intention to take control of Saltwater Grove," Hugo pressed on. "Says the Council is weak, and that dragons should rule."

A muscle twitched in Archer's jaw. Typical Carmen - still spouting the same tired rhetoric about dragon supremacy. The only difference was now it sounds like she had the numbers to back up her threats. His enhanced hearing picked up Daphne's quickened heartbeat as Hugo described the attack.

The autumn wind shifted, carrying the acrid scent of smoke from town. Beneath it, he caught another whiff of the witch's unique fragrance - not just flowers, but something deeper. Rich soil after rain. Growing things. Life itself.

Archer's dragon rumbled with interest, and he ruthlessly suppressed the reaction. He didn't need complications. Didn't need to get involved in town politics or dragon power plays. And he definitely didn't need to notice how the morning light caught copper highlights in Daphne's dark brown hair.

Archer pushed off the doorframe, his dragon's heat simmering just beneath his skin. "And this concerns me how, exactly?" The words came out in a low rumble that made Hugo's adam's apple bob.

Hugo straightened his spine. "We need your help to stop her."

A laugh burst from Archer's chest, deep and sardonic. The sound echoed off the mansion's marble floors behind him. "You want me to what?" He shook his head, running a hand through his auburn hair. "Let me get this straight. Carmen Kane's out there burning down your town, and your brilliant solution is to drag me into it?"

The morning sunlight caught the polished wood of his door, reminding him of the half-finished dragon waiting in his workshop. That's where he should be right now - working in peace, not dealing with town politics.

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