Page 48 of Kenna's Dragon

“You’re not alone in this, Kenna.”

She nods, but the doubt doesn’t leave her eyes. With nothing else I can say to convince her, and knowing I’ve already overstayed my welcome, I hold her gaze for a heartbeat longer before turning and heading out the door.

21

Kenna

The lobby of Blair’s building oozes money and class. Marble floors, expensive-looking artwork on the walls, an ornate fountain bubbling in the center of the space. A freakingdoormanfor crying out loud, one who eyes me with a bit of suspicion as the exterior door swings shut behind me.

“I’m here to see Mr. Blair. Ewan Blair.”

Though the doorman’s eyes flicker a little at hearing me use Blair’s first name, he nods and looks down at the tablet in his hands.

“Name?”

“Kenna Byrne.”

With another nod, he escorts me to the elevator, keys in a code on the touch pad next to the sliding doors, and they open immediately. I step inside and thank him as the doors close.

Inside the elevator, the silence is deafening.

I’m going to Blair’s penthouse. Ewan Blair. Director of the Paranormal Citizens Relations Bureau and 500-year-old dragon Ewan Blair.

This is probably a terrible idea.

No. Scratch that. This isdefinitelya terrible idea.

But after yesterday and today, I’m completely wrung through and turned inside out. I don’t know how I’m feeling or what’s the right thing to do, and no matter how this turns out, the one thing I do know is that I need to speak to Blair.

And, terrible idea or not, I don’t have much more time to think about it as the elevator glides to a smooth stop at the penthouse and the doors open into a large foyer.

The floor is laid in dark brown wood and the walls are painted a rich sapphire blue with inlaid trim and paneling. There are light fixtures of gleaming gold, and paintings on the walls with splashes of vibrant color. It’s so different from what I expected—more marble and neutral colors and cool, sleek finishes—that I simply stand frozen for a few long moments, taking it all in.

“Kenna.” Blair’s deep voice snaps me out of it, and I turn to find him entering the room from an arched doorway framed in more dark, intricately carved wood.

“Hi,” I breathe, drinking him in.

He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a deep maroon sweater. Not exactly casual, but way more relaxed than the suits I’ve seen him in so far.

“I’m glad you came.” His voice is still low, warm and inviting as he comes to stand in front of me. Close enough to touch.

“Yeah, I… you said you wanted to talk?”

Blair nods. “Would you care for a drink first?”

I accept the offer and follow him through the archway and into his kitchen. There’s more dark wood in here, with cabinetry to match rather than the white, modern chef’s dream of a kitchen I might have expected. Blair must catch some of the surprise in my expression, because he turns to me with an arched brow.

“Not what you thought it would be?”

Laughing a little, I sink onto one of the stools at the wide island in the middle of the kitchen. “Not exactly.”

“I told you on Saturday,” he reminds me as he pulls a few things from the fridge and from a built-in bar area at the side of the room. “I like color and beauty.”

Blair works at the counter, adding a few ingredients into a glass and muddling before pouring over with liquor. I watch him as he works with his sleeves pushed back to showcase the thick, corded muscles of his forearms and his eyes narrowed in concentration.

It feels… intimate. Seeing him like this. Being allowed into this space that belongs to him.

When he hands me the drink a couple minutes later and I take a tentative sip, flavor bursts brightly across my tongue.

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