Page 22 of Kenna's Dragon

“I know. And tell Steph I said hi and congrats.”

“I will,” she says, giving me a wave over her shoulder as she turns to go.

Before the door fully closes behind her, Ruthie appears again, followed by the one person I’d been hoping and dreading to speak to today.

Like she can sense the tension that springs up immediately in the room, Ruthie leaves silently, shooting me a glance of concern as she goes.

The door closes behind her with the finality of a death knell.

As soon as Kenna and I are alone, a lick of that same flame from Friday kicks up in my veins. Hot and urgent and undeniable, I try to shove it down the best I can, even while I drink in the sight of her.

She’s wearing a dress today. It’s a little gray number that might almost be matronly with its high neckline and elbow-length sleeves, but the way it’s cut to hug every one of her ample curves undermines that modesty entirely.

My palms and fingers itch to reach out and touch, but I clear my throat and gesture toward the chairs in front of the desk. “Would you like to sit down?”

Kenna doesn’t budge, just tilts her head and studies me. “So, I’m going to get to speak to human Blair today?”

That little bit of sass makes my palms itch even more. “Yes. And I meant to reach out to you, to offer an—”

“I think we’re beyond another apology.” Her green eyes light with temper, and she walks over to stand across the desk from me. “Don’t you?”

Gods, the things that temper does to me. Just like Friday, her spark seems to catch against my own. Two lit matches that might send us both up in flames.

Shaking my head, I make myself concentrate.

“I was out of line,” I tell her. “And I take full responsibility for that. I was… not myself.”

She frowns. “What does that mean?”

“It means I should have had better control of my emotions and my instincts. I didn’t, and none of that’s your fault.”

Kenna’s eyes flicker at the admission, but beyond that she doesn’t give an inch. And good for her. She shouldn’t give an inch, not a single damn millimeter, not with the way I’ve behaved.

She lets out a short, humorless laugh before she speaks again. “I know it’s not my fault. I just want to understand why. Why is it me that’s got you like this?”

I don’t know how to answer her.

“Or, fine, whatever,” she continues when I don’t speak. “If you don’t want to tell me why and don’t want anything to do with me, fine. But that means you have to leave me the hell alone. Nothing like Friday night can ever happen again.”

Leave her alone? The dragon in me bristles with displeasure at the idea.

Coming out from behind the desk, I circle it to stand in front of her. “Is that what you’d like, Kenna? For me to leave you alone?”

“I’d like for you totalkto me and explain what’s going on here.”

The fact that I didn’t get an immediate ‘yes’ to that question is… bad. Bad for me, bad for her, bad for my self-control. I take a deep breath, trying to think how to even begin explaining my actions, when she speaks up again, changing the topic entirely.

“Do you know what was all over Twitter the last two days?” She fishes her phone from her pocket and flashes the screen at me.

There are photos, videos, news stories about the dragon kidnapping in downtown Seattle this weekend. Fortunately, all the images that have come out are grainy and blurred, with nothing other than the flash of red hair even hinting it’s Kenna.

I’ve seen all the coverage, of course, but confronted with it here, now, facing the woman who’s borne the brunt of my recklessness, hot shame washes over me once more.

“And that’s not even the half of it,” Kenna goes on, shoving her phone back in her pocket with a disgruntled huff. “Apparently my date must have reported it, because I had two cops show up at my house this weekend, asking me if I wanted to open up a case and press charges.”

A shot of ice moves through my veins. “What did you tell them?”

Kenna studies my face for a moment, keeping me on the hook before she answers. “I told them I didn’t want to. I kept your name out of it.”

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