Page 32 of Owen

“Dragons guarded the treasure after that. It was considered their sacred duty.”

He was completely out of his mind, or he was pulling my leg.

“Okay…”

“To this day, the treasure still exists,” he murmured, staring at me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. “And it still requires guarding.”

“I don’t understand.”

His face practically scrunched in on itself. “I’m trying every way I know how to make this easier for you, lass, but you insist on building a wall in your mind. You need to listen to what I’m trying to say. Actually listen and hear me. Can you do that?”

“So long as you agree to stop talking to me like I’m a child,” I muttered, pulling my hands away. “I don’t like this. I don’t like any of it. I had a bad feeling when you walked into the room, and it’s only getting worse.”

“Do you not trust me now? Have I lost your trust that easily?”

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you—not exactly.”

“What is it, then?”

I got up, wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs before walking to the bathroom door and back. That didn’t do anything to ease the turmoil in my head.

I wouldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. If I believed it, that would make me crazy. I wasn’t crazy.

And I wasn’t stupid, either.

“What you’re talking about right now isn’t real,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No way. Either I’ve been very wrong about you, or you’re playing a trick on me—which I guess also means I was wrong about you. I didn’t think this was the sort of person you are. Taking advantage of me like this.”

“Never once have I tried to take advantage of you, lass, and I never would.”

“I find that hard to believe, since you’re asking me to accept the existence of dragons. God, I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

“Say it again. Dragons. They’re real, lass. You might as well speak the word.”

I wanted to weep. To kick and scream and throw a tantrum like an overtired toddler. Stupid Molly. I should’ve known better than to think someone as perfect as Owen existed. There had to be a catch.

And I had just found it.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t believe this. You’re asking me to trust you when what you’re telling me is patently impossible.” I shrugged it off and tried to laugh, but it came out sounding more like a stifled sob.

“Is it impossible?” he asked. “You ought to know. Evidence of the presence of dragons pervades ancient history. Civilizations which by rights should’ve had no contact with each other—before the existence of long-distance sailing, you ken—all shared a common legend surrounding dragons. The dragons they spoke of, the ones they drew on papyrus and stone and linen, all bore similar characteristics. Now how is that possible, when none of them had any chance of speaking to or learning from each other? Entirely cut off from each other, yet they shared the same tales of the same creatures. How did they do it?”

I wished I knew. I wished like hell that I could argue with him, but he was right. Dragons, like certain other mythical creatures, did share a history across civilizations separated by oceans at a time when crossing an ocean simply wasn’t done.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“But you do,” he murmured. “You do know it. The problem lies in not wishing to admit it.”

“Oh, do you know how ridiculous this sounds? Jesus, Owen. Do you understand what you’re asking me to accept? It’s too much.”

“You accept the existence of witches,” he pointed out.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I? I had a witch in my brain.” I tapped the side of my head.

“What you’re telling me, then, is that you need solid proof before you’ll accept reality?”

“Proof? Come on! What, are you telling me there are dragons living here in this mountain? To this day, thousands of years later?”

“A thousand years later,” he confirmed in a soft voice.

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