Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Indeed, I feel the stirring of thoughts on the far edge of my mind. A second presence joins the first. Another male. Both are attempting to reach out to me—and simultaneously warn me away—and I ignore them. They will have to fly to us to see who we are.
A few minutes pass, and Emma chews her thumbnail worriedly. “Think they are coming? Should I set off another round?”
I sniff, and the smell of the male drakoni grows stronger. It is accompanied by that of a human—a mated female with a paired scent, like mine is paired with Emma’s. I smell someone coming, I tell my mate. They will be here soon.
To my surprise, she fluffs her hair and straightens her clothing. “Do I look okay? I don’t look like a hobo, do I?”
You look fine. Why?
“Typical man,” she mutters, and then pats my foreleg. “Because my friend is coming and I don’t want her to think I’m a disheveled mess. I want to look like I’ve got my shit together.”
What shit is together? I nose her, curious. I do not understand.
She finger-combs her hair back into place now that I’ve nosed it. “Just an expression. Should you change to human form?”
No, I tell her firmly. I can defend you better like this.
“Hopefully that won’t be necessary, but you might have a point. Maybe we should save the nakey-nakey balls-out thing for, like, the second date.”
Now she is just muttering more gibberish. Before I can comment on such things, the air grows thick with scents—and sendings—and I instinctively put a protective wing over my mate, shielding her. They come. Stay at my side.
She sucks in a breath and points. “I see them.”
Against the horizon, there is a dot of gold growing steadily larger. The dragon wings closer to us, and I can see a rider on his back, covered in many of the strange skins that my Emma loves to wear on her body. This one does not just wear them on her torso, though, but all over her form, even on her head. Very strange. I study the drakoni male as he closes in, wondering if I will recognize him. If memory will return and I will see the face of a familiar warrior. But the dragon that issues a trumpeted warning is a stranger. He has a proud horned brill and a scar across his snout, evidence of past battles won. On his body, across his chest, I see what look like ropes that crisscross his scales, and when he lands a short distance away, I realize he has tied his female to his back somehow.
Very strange.
I lower my head and sound a warning growl at his challenge. I can feel his mind sweep at mine, trying to lock on to my thoughts, but I will not allow contact. His eyes narrow, whirling from a cautious mix of gold and black to near-black. He sees me as a threat. His scent changes to one of anger.
I bare my teeth, pushing ahead a bit more so I can shield Emma from his sights. I do not care how angry he gets; he is not even looking at her unless she wishes it.
My mate cups a hand to her mouth and bellows out. “Sasha, is that you?”
Stay back, I warn Emma when she tries to push forward.
“Babe, it’s cool. That’s Dakh, isn’t it? And Sasha?”
I do not know. I am not speaking to them.
“Who’s there?” calls a feminine voice. I can feel my mate’s surprise at the sound of the woman’s voice—it’s not Sasha. The female on the back of the dragon pulls off the skin on her head—the hat, Emma’s thoughts tell me—and shakes free bright red hair.
Emma pushes against the wing I have in front of her. “Babe, let me out. Seriously.”
No.
She sighs. “Come on, chacho. Ease off already.” She pushes at my wing again, her thoughts growing irritated, and I reluctantly let her move forward. She raises a hand in the air even as I lower my head, ready to push her back under my wing at a moment’s notice. “Hi,” she calls out. “Are you Sasha’s friend? I’m Emma. I’m looking for her.”
The red-haired female responds and gives her name as Claudia. She strokes her hand on her dragon’s neck and studies my Emma, then asks her why I will not talk to them. Am I still crazed, she wonders. If so, why am I not attacking Emma?
“Oh, he’s mine,” Emma says cheerfully, unbothered by such questions. “This is Zohr. Sasha knows about him. And he’s not talking because I told him not to. We needed to make sure who we were talking to first.”
The one called Claudia gives my mate a perplexed look and asks if it’s safe now. My Emma studies her for a moment. “Can we trust you? Against Azar?”