Page 5 of To Ignite a Dragon's Desire

I inhaled slowly, trying to calm down. The masculine woodfire scent filled my nostrils. It was oddly soothing, reminding me to focus on the positive so I didn’t spiral out.

I looked down at my chest.

At least I was still clothed, wearing the dress I’d worn to Ember’s wedding/bonding thing. That meant that the dragon who’d taken me last night wasn’t some rape-y beast.

Hopefully.

The scent of bacon drifted into the room as I inhaled again, making my stomach rumble in protest. I couldn’t remember the last time I had bacon.

Or the last time I’d eaten at all. From the growls of my stomach, you’d think it’d been weeks.

I crawled the width of the bed before I swung my legs off the side. My bare feet touched the stone floors that were somehow warmed and pleasant. I stood, smoothing down the rumples of my dress despite my heart racing a mile a minute.

Drew would’ve told me to change before going out like this. But my narcissistic ex was the least of my worries now. The current threat was out there––probably somewhere with the bacon.

The dragon.

If he was like Kieran, he could shift into a human male. That thought made me shiver. I’d honestly rather face a dragon, but I knew it wasn’t reasonable to expect the beast that’d taken me to be able to fit inside what looked like a normal house judging from the size of the bedroom.

I spotted my purse on a chair in the corner of the room and felt a rush of relief.

Cross-body bags for the win.

He’d probably gone through and taken the knife, though.

I opened the clasp and dug inside, frowning when I saw everything as I’d left it.

Was this dragon guy stupid?

Why would he leave me armed?

And my phone was still in there.

I picked it up, cursing when I saw it was dead.

That made sense. He wouldn’t be able to search through the phone without a charger. Not that I’d give him my passcode anyway. That was one of the first things I’d done after leaving Drew, added a new passcode he didn’t know or have control over.

It felt liberating.

Holding the pocketknife in my hand gave me a bit of the same powerful feeling. I tested the blade, opening and closing it before taking a breath.

I wasn’t a victim. Not anymore.

And I’d never be one again.

∞

I tiptoed out of the bedroom, careful not to make any sound, and inched down the hall toward the smell of bacon and noise of pans clanking.

The knife was still in my hand as I rounded the corner to the kitchen.

Granite countertops, sage green cabinets set off with wood undertones, and plants on every window pane turned the kitchen into a cozy little space made even smaller by the beast of a man standing in front of the stove. He had almost a foot on me and was wider than two of me put together.

His bare back and broad shoulders rippled with muscles and tapered down into a trim waist, hugged by a pair of light gray sweatpants.

Ink in an intricate Celtic knot pattern crawled up his right shoulder and dipped under his ribcage. His long dirty-blond hair was messy as if he hadn’t bothered to style it this morning. He was barefoot too.

Barefoot and bare-chested and making bacon.

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