Page 40 of Purring for Her Lion
Roarke’s mouth twitches in what might be amusement. “Dragons aren’t lizards.”
“NOT THE POINT,” I shriek, though I’m still cradling the creature with embarrassing gentleness. It’s nuzzling against my palm now, making tiny chirping sounds that squeeze something in my chest. “I’m not qualified for this. There has to be some kind of dragon adoption agency. Dragon foster care. Dragon boarding school.”
“There isn’t,” Roarke says, stepping closer. He reaches out one massive hand, carefully extending a single clawed finger toward the hatchling. The tiny dragon sniffs it, then immediately turns back to me, pressing its warm little body against my wrist. “It’s chosen you.”
“But why?” I’m not panicking. I’m just expressing reasonable concerns at a slightly elevated volume. “I’m a disaster. You know I’m a disaster. You’ve witnessed my disaster-ness firsthand.”
Roarke’s golden eyes meet mine, surprisingly soft. “Dragons see differently than we do. They sense essence. Core truths.”
The tiny dragon chirps again, then hiccups. A small puff of smoke emerges from its nostrils, dissipating harmlessly in the air. It looks as surprised as I feel, its eyes widening comically.
And just like that, I’m done for.
“Nugget,” I say, the name emerging from nowhere. “Its name is Nugget.”
Roarke raises an eyebrow. “You’re naming a rare, magical apex predator Nugget?”
“Yes,” I say defensively, already bonding with the warm weight in my hands. “Look at him. He’s literally a nugget-sized dragon.”
“Nugget,” Roarke repeats flatly.
I roll my eyes. “You not approving of his name is not important right now. Whatisimportant is that I am now apparently responsible for a baby dragon named Nugget, and I have absolutely no idea what to do next.”
Nugget chirps again, then yawns, revealing tiny, needle-sharp teeth. His eyes—which had been fixed on me with unnerving intensity—begin to droop closed. Within seconds, he’s fast asleep in my palms, his tail still wrapped securely around my wrist.
“What do I do?” I whisper, suddenly terrified of waking him.
Roarke steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. His comforting scent that always reminds me of a cashmere blanket wraps around me, making me calm and cozy.
“First,” he says quietly, “we check if your bread is burning.”
My eyes widen in horror. “The pandesal!”
I start to move, then freeze, looking down at the sleeping dragon in my hands. Roarke gently takes Nugget from me, his massive hands dwarfing the tiny creature. The dragon stirs briefly, then settles again, apparently accepting this substitute.
“Go,” he says. “I’ve got him.”
I race to the kitchen, yanking open the oven door just in time to save my bread from becoming charcoal. The pandesal is a deep golden brown—not burned, just on the edge of perfect. I set thetray on the cooling rack and lean against the counter, suddenly overwhelmed by everything that’s just happened.
I have a dragon. A real, actual dragon. Named Nugget. And he thinks I’m his mother.
When Roarke appears in the kitchen doorway, tiny dragon still cradled in his massive hands, I start laughing. I can’t help it. The absurdity of my life has reached new heights.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.
I gesture vaguely at everything—the kitchen, the bread, the sleeping dragon, him. “This is my life now. I left corporate America to raise chickens and dragons with a lion-man veterinarian in a town that isn’t on most maps. My lola would lose her mind.”
Roarke’s expression softens into something close to a smile. “In a good way?”
I consider this, looking at the tiny dragon sleeping peacefully in his hands. At the golden bread cooling on my racks. At the jars of vibrant ube jam lined up on my counter. At the home I’ve created, messy and chaotic and absolutely mine.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “In the best way.”
CHAPTER 14
ROARKE
Nugget has doubledin size in a week. This isn’t an exaggeration or one of Liana’s colorful metaphors—it’s a clinical fact.
