Page 42 of Purring for Her Lion
She blinks at me, a strand of hair falling across her face. “But he won’t stay with you. He’ll just scream all night.”
“He’ll have to learn eventually.” The truth is, I’m not sure how I’ll manage it either, but seeing her this exhausted makes something in my chest tighten uncomfortably.
“We could try,” she says doubtfully, tucking the hair behind her ear. “Maybe if you took one of my shirts or something?—”
An idea forms. Not just for tonight, but for the larger problem. “What if you stayed at my place?”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“My house is bigger,” I say, keeping my tone matter-of-fact. “More rooms. More space for Nugget. Better structural integrity if he decides to play with fire again.”
I don’t mention that I’ve already fireproofed my spare room in anticipation of this conversation. Or that I’ve reorganized my kitchen to accommodate her baking experiments. Or that I’ve sketched plans to connect our properties with a proper pathway that will eventually lead to the expanded dragon enclosure I’m planning to build.
One step at a time.
“Just until we figure out a better solution,” I add when she doesn’t immediately respond.
She looks around her chaotic kitchen, then out the window where Nugget is now attempting to roost with the chickens, his massive body comically dwarfing the entire structure.
“Just until we figure out something better,” she repeats slowly. “Okay. Yes. That makes sense.”
I nod, satisfied, and absolutely do not think about how my bed will smell like her afterward, or how my house will feel once she’s been in it, filling the spaces with her chaos and warmth.
“Tonight, then,” I say, already mentally cataloging what needs to be moved, secured, prepared.
“Tonight,” she agrees, and goes back to her jam, unaware that I’ve been planning this for days.
Nugget lets out a cheerful screech from outside, and we both turn to see him with all five chickens somehow balanced on his back, parading around the yard like he’s giving pony rides at a fair.
“You know,” Liana says, smiling despite her exhaustion, “for a solitary apex predator, he’s surprisingly good with roommates.”
I grunt, unwilling to concede the point verbally even as the evidence contradicts everything I thought I knew about dragons.
Just another way she’s changing what I thought were certainties.
Liana doesn’t even stirwhen I lift her from her kitchen chair. One minute, she’s talking about her plans, and the next, her eyes close and stay closed.
She’s been running on fumes for days, and her body has finally surrendered to exhaustion, going limp in my arms like a ragdoll.
I cradle her against my chest with one arm, her head tucked beneath my chin, while Nugget drapes across my opposite shoulder like an oversized, scaly cat. He makes a contented chirping sound, clearly pleased with this arrangement.
The walk to my house takes all of five minutes, but it feels significant—the first time I’ve carried her across this boundary, bringing her into my space not as a visitor but as someone who belongs there.
Nugget watches with curious eyes as I navigate the stairs to my bedroom, careful not to jostle Liana. She mumbles something unintelligible and presses her face against my fur, her breath warm against my neck. Something primal and protective tightens in my chest.
I lay her on my bed—a massive custom piece built to accommodate my size—and she immediately curls onto her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. She looks impossibly small against my dark sheets, a study in contrasts: her soft curves against angular furniture, her chaotic energy temporarily stilled in my meticulously ordered space.
I pull the covers over her, and Nugget immediately tries to climb up beside her, but I catch him before he can wake her.
“Not now,” I tell him quietly. “She needs rest.”
He makes a disappointed sound, his amber eyes fixed on Liana’s sleeping form. This is the first time they’ve been separated since his hatching, and I can feel him tensing, preparing for one of his tantrums.
But then an idea forms—impulsive by my standards, but somehow right. I grab one of the dish towels Liana left in my kitchen, the ones she uses to wrap bread she brings me. It’s infused with her scent—flour and sugar and that indefinable warmth that is uniquely hers. I offer it to Nugget, who immediately presses his snout against it, inhaling deeply. His body relaxes.
“Come on,” I tell him, heading for the door. “Time you learned about your town.”
I hadn’t planned on playing tour guide to a goat-sized dragon today, but with Liana finally getting some rest, it seems like the perfect opportunity. Nugget needs to learn that his world extends beyond Liana’s homestead. Beyond just us.
