Page 36 of Princess Seeks Dragon

“Both sound like cheesy romance book plots. My mother would eat them up with a spoon,” I mutter, stepping into the extravagantly huge bathroom next to my temporary bedroom.

I’m sweaty and I smell like tomato plants, which is oddly grounding for me. Both of the aforementioned scenarios make no damn sense, but the earthy green smell of tomato plants and the memory of their little yellow flowers with green fruit turning red? That’s undeniably real.

I look down at the amulet as it dangles between my bare breasts, water dotting my skin.

Holy shit. Tomatoes equal reality, and that means...

Graham is really a dragon, and I’m on the run from Mr. Mafia.

I’m not stuck in one cheesy romance novel, I’m stuck in a two-for-one special.

No matter how hard I scrub (and the body wash is really nice and there’s a new loofah in a little net bag for me), I can’t wash off the growing realization that I’m stuck in some alternate dimension where magical creatures are real—and a bunch of them hang out at the local lawn and garden center.

I have to get out of this place. Away from Graham.

***

“CAN I COME IN?” GRAHAMknocks on the door of my room as I’m still in my towel, having belatedly realized that I only have two sets of clothes with me, and both are dirty. My great escape is going to have to wait until after I can do a load of laundry.

“Um. I’m not exactly dressed, but that’s not going to change.” I dump out my bag in desperation, but that’s just further proof I’m not thinking straight. I know what I packed. Aside from a spare pair of socks and panties, there’s nothing to wear. “Can I use your washing machine? I packed light. Maybe too light.”

“Surely, but in the meantime, I think you might fit into something of Vanessa’s. Hold on.”

In a few minutes, he’s back outside the door. “I have some sweatpants and one of her shirts.”

“Thanks. Come in,” I open the door, and he steps through it, invading my space. “What’s up?” I ask, voice tight.

“I imagine you’re thinking this is all some sort of dream.”

“Well, maybe a little.”

“And I’m thinking you’re wrong about what you said, even as sweet as you are, as easy to open up to as you are,” Graham says in a rush, voice almost bitter and expression angry.

“Uh...”

He seems to swell with anger, shoulders flexing. “Dragons are real, not that anyone will believe you. That’s a monster’s greatest protection these days. Most humans can’t see us unless they’re forced to by some strange chance, and once they do—who can they tell? Everyone would think they were drunk or off their heads.”

I back up and sit on the bed, nodding. “Okay.”

“But we are real, and you think we’re not scary?”

“I just meant I wouldn’t be scared ofyoubecause I know who you are,” I protest, still trying to figure out why he sounds so upset. Does hewantme to think he’s scary? Did I insult his pride? Or has he been hurt by others rejecting him for how he looks?

“Because you're so sweet, Angela. So kind. But you’d never make a dragon’s mate. A dragon’s true form would repulse you. You’d hate having a husband who could turn into something like me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What’s this about marrying a dragon? I just said I wouldn’t be scared.”

“And I’m just trying to explain why I have to marry a dragoness if I want to be able to keep my powers, my identity. The dragons who marry humans are the ones who can’t shift, or the ones who slowly stop shifting, stop being able to after years of hiding their true forms for months at a time, or never leaving their human skin. They’re weakening our kind. Ian got lucky—but I’m the smart one.”

“Not so sure about that,” I mumble as he carries on, wondering why in the world he’s telling me all this. My stomach tenses with nerves as he paces once, a short, tight line in front of the doorway. What if he’s right? I’ve never seen a dragon. I’m picturing some majestic thing with jewel-like scales, big wings, and maybe the ability to breathe fire. What if that’s the fairytale, and the truth is much uglier? Slimier? Or all teeth, claws, and bloodlust?

It’s only now that I realize Graham’s feet are bare and he’s wearing his long leather coat in the house, held shut across his waist. Is he naked underneath?

That’s unsettling, right? Him barging in, naked underneath black leather, while I’m naked underneath pale peach cotton?

So why am I not too unsettled?

“Sometimes I let myself believe that I could have what my brother has,” he says, voice a low snarl. “Better to stop fooling myself early on, don’t you think?”

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