Page 62 of Born in Fire

Huge, broad; his shoulders, pecs, and abs gleam like molten metal.

He’s… he’s… he’s…

Beautiful.

Oh, my fucking God!

“May I?” I ask, though I don’t know where the words come from. Somehow, I’ve stepped closer, and I’m reaching toward his transformed arm.

What the hell are you doing, Juno?

Surprise flickers across his face. “You’re not afraid?”

I shake my head. “I’m terrified,” I correct him, “but not of you. Of what this means for… everything I thought I understood about the world.”

He extends his arm, allowing me to touch the scales that now cover his skin from wrist to elbow and beyond. They’re smooth and warm, harder than human skin, but not rigid. When I press gently, they yield slightly, like flexible armor.

“That’s… freaking unbelievable,” I murmur, curiosity overriding everything else. “Can you control the transformation? How much can you change? Is it painful?”

Dorian laughs, the sound tinged with relief. “Those… are not the questions I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Screaming. Running. Possibly fainting.” His eyes—still glowing softly—search mine. “Not scientific inquiry.”

I realize I’m still touching his arm and reluctantly step back. “I’ve always been analytically minded. Even as a child, I wanted to understand how things worked.” I return to the couch, needing to sit as the full implications begin to sink in. “So dragons are real. What else is real that I don’t know about?”

Dorian lets the transformation recede, scales disappearing beneath normal-looking skin, eyes returning to their usual amber. He sits across from me again.

“Many things. But those aren’t my secrets to share.” He leans forward, expression serious. “Juno, what I’ve shown you—what I’ve told you—you can never tell anyone about this; do you understand? The supernatural world remains hidden for goodreason. Exposure would be catastrophic, not just for my kind but for humans as well.”

“I understand.” And strangely, I do. The implications of such a revelation to the wider world are immediately apparent—panic, exploitation, violence. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear it.”

Relief softens his features. “Thank you.”

“How many are there? Dragons, I mean.”

“Fewer than there once were. Maybe a few thousand worldwide, organized into clans.” He relaxes slightly as I continue asking questions rather than fleeing. “The Craven clan controls the Pacific Northwest. My brother Caleb is our leader.”

I process this information, fitting it into the framework of what I already know. “That’s why you said your father’s death was ‘dishonorable’—a heart attack instead of battle.”

“Dragons value strength above all else. Dying at a desk rather than in glorious combat was considered… undignified.” His expression darkens slightly. “Our father built Craven Industries to adapt our clan to modern times, but he remained old-fashioned in many ways.”

Questions flood my mind—about dragon biology, history, culture—but one rises above the others.

“Why me, Dorian? Why reveal this to me when it’s clearly forbidden?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his fingers absently spinning the silver dragon ring. “Because from the moment I saw you, something in me recognized something in you. A connection I can’t explain and can’t ignore.”

The words resonate through me like a tuning fork struck at precisely the right frequency.

“I felt it, too,” I admit. “That’s what scared me most. Not the impossible things I saw but how quickly I felt drawn to you. After Tyler, I promised myself I’d never again fall so fast.”

“This is different,” he says softly.

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I’ve lived for hundreds of years, Juno, and I’ve never felt this before.”

---