Page 23 of The Dragon at the End of This Pregnancy

"Well, Mac doesn't think betas have fated mates, but some do, when they're mated with dragons."

Punky's frown turned to shock. "The priestess never said betas mated with dragons." He squared his shoulders. "It doesn't matter what she said or didn't say. The truth is all alpha and omega kobolds have fated mates. That hasn't changed in the last two centuries we've been mixing genes with humans. If it hasn't changed for us, it shouldn't change for you."

His logic was sound. I only wished I believed him enough to risk the future of dragonkind.

* * *

We stopped at a sorcery shop on the way back to the hotel, but instead of spell components, Mac handed me a bag that smelled like fresh bread. He pushed down on the center of the seatback to create a divide between us. I hated it, but the new furniture contained two reservoirs for the drink cups he carried.

"What kind of sorcerer is a sand witch?" I asked. "Do they make bread from sand?"

Mac stared at me for a moment, and then he laughed. And laughed. And laughed some more.

"It's not funny. Tell me!"

"A sandwich," Mac chuckled again and wiped his eyes. "Gods. Sorry. Sandwiches are food. A burger is a type of sandwich. Instead of grilled meat, these have thin slices of deli meat and all your favorite vegetables. You're going to love it."

"Sandwich," I said, cramming the two words together the same way he did.

He laughed again and nodded, and I had to laugh with him. It was an absurd play on words.

Sandwiches were delicious, I decided when we shared the tiny table in our hotel room. The hotel's touch lamp and strange handset contraption took up most of the surface area. We had little room for our paper-wrapped sandwiches, bags of chips, and drinks. I didn't need room. Once I picked up the meat-and-veggie-filled bread roll, I couldn't put it down.

"There must be sorcery involved," I told Mac when I finished. "Nothing back home tastes this good."

"Now that you can change forms whenever you want, I can bring you sandwiches from the fortress."

"You have these at the fortress?"

He laughed. "Yes."

"Why have I never had one?"

"You didn't like burgers, remember? You hated the bread."

"It was different," I admitted. I thought "hated" was too strong a word. I hadn't spit it out, unlike something called "I'll live." After I had one, I was pretty sure I wouldn't live. The nasty-tasting green thing got stuck between my teeth and I had to spit it out.

"This is wonderful," I said.

"I'm glad you like it." Mac tried to take the paper wrap from me, but it was still covered with lettuce, sprouts, and bits of other vegetables that had fallen while I'd eaten. I picked off every last scrap before I let him have it.

"Try the chips," he said. "You're going to love them."

I pulled at the sides of the bag the same way Mac did, but nothing happened. The bag was filled with air, so I reversed the technique, popping it instead. Pieces of fried potato flew up into my face. I licked them off my lips. Garlic and vinegar. Delicious.

"These taste like the tubers back home," I said.

"They're the closest I've found on Earth," Mac agreed. "I like corn chips, too, but these are my favorite."

When we finished eating, Mac grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door.

"Where are we going?"

"Let's check out this PrideFest everyone is talking about."

After a quick drive on multi-lane roads Mac called freeways, we slowed to a crawl through side streets and finally parked in a strange cave-like structure Mac called a parking garage. It was cool inside, but outside, the moisture in the air made it uncomfortably muggy.

Once again, I was disappointed there were no lions. People milled about in clothes that reminded me of Tuft, the yellow-striped omega who had organized the sports park outside The Spike. He often dressed in bright colors and accessorized them with suspenders, ties, and bowties. He'd even named their children after types of tie knots.

---