Page 13 of Dragon Slayer

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It wasn’t until they were down in the parking lot, standing beside her truck, that she realized maybe someone born in 1435 and kept as a prisoner most of his life wouldn’t know anything about modern transportation.

“This is yours?” he asked, nodding to the dusty blue Ford with the Everdale sticker on the window and the trailer hitch set under the bumper. A single crease had formed between his brows, his mouth set in a neutral line.

“Yes. Do you know what a car is?”

“Yes,” he snapped, before she’d even finished speaking. Then the neutral line became a frown, and the tips of his ears turned a delicate pink. “I just…it’s rather large, isn’t it?” A note of doubt crept into his voice, and paired with the pink ears, she had to bite back a smile.

“It’s a standard size for a truck,” she explained. “You can’t tow a horse trailer with a sports car.”

“Of course,” he saw, but the groove between his brows deepened in puzzlement. He clearly had no idea what she was talking about at all.

“Look at it this way,” she said. “If you’re not really here, you can’t really fly through the windshield if I slam on the brakes, right?”

His head whipped around, braid flying. “What? That happens?”

“Only when people don’t wear their seatbelts. And don’t worry, I’m a very good driver. It won’t happen at all.” She prayed she hadn’t just jinxed herself. “You’ll be perfectly safe.”

His brows shot up. “As you pointed out, I’m not here. What about you? What if you throw yourself through the – the – wind…thing?”

Oh damn, he was too cute.

She suppressed her smile into something soothing, or so she hoped. “I’ll wear my seatbelt. And I won’t slam on the brakes. It’ll be fine. Come on, I do this every day.” She tried to nudge his arm, forgetting she couldn’t until his elbow was swirling like smoke.

He frowned and turned back to the truck. “Traveling by horse is much safer.”

“That is not even a little bit true.”

“It is!”

“Val, if you’d rather not go–”

“I’m going. How dare you take back your invitation?” Before she could tell him that she’d done no such thing, and that he was being ridiculous, he melted through the passenger door like something out ofCasperand situated himself in the seat. He shot her a narrow-eyed, challenging look through the window.

Mia chuckled and went around to get behind the wheel.

He held himself stiffly, head pressed back against the rest, hands folded together in his lap, back ramrod straight. She didn’t know how it was possible to be so uncomfortable when you weren’t even really here, but he seemed to manage that.

When they were out on the road, headed toward the farm, Mia said, “Have you ever ridden in a car before?”

He made an unhappy sound in his throat. “I’ve been transported in vehicles, yes.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she cast a glance across the cab and saw that he was staring out the window, expression withdrawn.

“What sort of vehicle?” she asked.

“I was blindfolded, I didn’t get to see.”

“Oh.”

“I wasn’t given a seat. I was thrown in like luggage.”

Because he was a prisoner.

Mia swallowed and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Yes, well, being sorry doesn’t change anything.” He took a quick, deep breath, and his tone sounded forced afterward. “Tell me about the farm.”

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