Page 8 of To Ignite a Dragon's Desire

Lucan

Dragon Promises

She liked her eggs over-medium, but only if she was ordering from a restaurant, and that shouldn’t have been so hard to tell me.

I sipped my black coffee, watching Riley eat like she’d never enjoyed a meal in her life.

She was beautiful.

Not that I expected anything less.

The simple dress she wore left nothing to the imagination as it clung to her form. Her bony shoulders folded in on themselves, making her appear smaller, but I’d put her at about five-foot-ten.

The perfect height.

Everything about her was perfect.

Her honey-brown eyes darted around the room. They were large and expressive and I already knew one blink of those long lashes would have me rushing to do her bidding. Darker brown hair, rich like chocolate, barely brushed her collarbone.

Her beauty was classic, but there was something haunting about it. As if her cheeks had been rounded once and now sat sharply hollow. Or that the brightness in her eyes had dimmed.

“Where did you find bacon?” She eyed the last piece on the plate between us.

I pushed it over.

She shook her head.

“I’m full,” I insisted, trying to control the rage of my internal beast. “And there is plenty more.”

I will kill whoever put this fear in her.

“Okay.” She tentatively grabbed the bacon. Then she made that little moan again as she took a bite.

I adjusted myself under the table, mentally adding bacon to the grocery list. I’d feed it to her every day if she kept making those sounds.

Silence stretched between us as she chewed and I realized I hadn’t answered her question.

“I employ a butcher,” I said.

The color drained from her face as she looked up from her plate.

“For the bacon,” I explained. “All my meat comes from the ranch in the next valley. I keep them well stocked with supplies they need and they, in turn, keep my freezer full when I’m not in the mood to hunt.”

“So… You have… Lots of meat.” Riley nodded as she reached for her napkin. Her gaze nervously darted around the room. Skittish. Worried.

I swallowed the sound of my dragon’s growl.

Shell shock. Battle fatigue. PTSD.

They’d used many terms for it throughout the centuries and I was no stranger to the aftermath of war. There wasn’t a major fight on this soil or overseas that I hadn’t played some part in.

When you lived as long as I had with a beast as strong as mine, you learned to put that strength to use.

Over thousands of battles, I’d chosen a side. Giving aid and coming to the warrior’s call. I’d lost count of the times I’d been labeled as an “unidentified flying object” or a strange miracle, explained away by human governments keeping supernatural secrets.

I was numb to violence in a way most weren’t.

But it killed me to know my sweet Riley had demons I wouldn’t be able to fight for her.

---