Page 2 of Hungry Like A Dragon
“Why don’tyougo down there? She’s your mother.”
Oops. Petra leaned back in her chair, spurred by the intense scowl on his face. That may have been a step across the line, talking to her reeve like that.
He placed both hands on the smooth wood and narrowed his eyes without taking his gaze off her. “First of all, I’ve never even met the woman, who gave birth to me and then handed me off to my father and disappeared from my life. And second, I am the reeve of this colony, and therefore, I’m needed here, to take care of my brethren. Not that I need to justify myself to you in any way, shape, or form. If I tell you to go, you go. Do you understand me?”
“I’m probably going to fail,” she grumbled, her shoulders slumping.
His anger dissipated as quickly as it came, and he leaned back in his chair, blowing out a breath before suggesting, “If you’d stop with the negative thoughts, I suspect you might surprise yourself.”
She stared out the window of his home office. The lake was empty; the trees beyond had begun the transition from green to gold and red and orange. The children were all in the schoolhouse on the other side of the water, learning how to be dragons.
When she was seven years old, Petra had stood up in the middle of that very same building and announced that she would be reeve someday. Instead, Gabe stole that job from her—okay, okay, the Elders had given it to him—and her jealousy had been the reason she’d accidentally damn near killed Talia and Jasmine.
She definitely needed that chance to prove she wasn’t the terrible fuck up most in the colony probably thought she was.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
Gabe walked around his desk and patted her on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.” Grabbing her hand, he pressed a flat bit of plastic into her palm. She stared down at an American Express card. “Use this for your expenses,” he said.
Well, there was that. Definitely a shopping trip in her future. With a sigh, she said, “When am I supposed to leave?”
“The sooner the better. It’s been thirty years, Petra. The colony wants answers.”
She left his office, veering left toward the kitchen so she could head out the back. A brisk walk around the lake sounded like a damn good idea at the moment. She’d rather shift and go for a calming fly, but that was generally frowned upon during the middle of a sunny day. Humans tended to question things like flying objects that looked like dragons.
Noah Ladon, Gabe’s personal chef, stood at the counter, chopping an assortment of vegetables. Red, yellow, and orange peppers, onions, broccoli, sugar snap peas. Must be making a stir fry. He glanced up, nodded, and returned his focus to his task. She was reaching for the doorknob when he said, “Hungry?”
“Yes, actually, but it looks like it will still be a little while.”
“Not too long,” he said without turning to look at her.
She dropped her hand. She wasn’t in the mood to make small talk, but she had skipped breakfast and it was nearly noon. Plus, Noah didn’t talk much, so maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with a chatty companion, and she’d get fed in the process. Win, win.
She headed over to take a seat on one of the stools parked under the counter. “Drinks are in the fridge. Help yourself,” he said.
She grabbed a bottle of water. “Want anything?”
“I’m good.”
She plopped down and drank her water while watching him work. He wore a black T-shirt that was so tight it might as well have been painted onto his muscular back. The tail of what was probably a dragon tattoo snaked down his left arm, ending at his wrist. His forearms flexed while he chopped. Petra had never considering the act of food prep to be attractive before, but damn, he made it look…sensual.
She seriously needed to get laid if she was looking at Noah in this way. Which probably wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, since she was heading down to the Rojo colony for who knew how long. She’d heard nothing but bad things about those dragons; she doubted she’d find one she was willing to spend time with, even if it was only for mutual physical pleasure.
Noah looked like he could provide some serious pleasure.
They’d grown up together, more or less. Petra’s uncle had been reeve her entire life, until he died and Gabe took over; and Noah’s grandfather had been Uncle Blake’s personal chef until his passing, at which point Noah had stepped up and taken over the task. Thanks to her desire to become reeve one day—and to avoid her constantly arguing parents—Petra had spent a great deal of time at the colony leader’s mansion.
So she knew as much as anybody did about Noah: he was quiet and he kept to himself. He spoke only as much as he needed to and, as far as Petra had been able to decipher, had no close friends.
Oh, and he was a damn fine chef. Fine one to look at, too.
The water was doing nothing to cool her—she didn’t realize she was overheated until now—so she slid off her stool and headed to the fridge in search of…something more refreshing.
Ah. She pulled a bottle of rosé out of the shelf in the door. Now, where might the wineglasses be kept? Noah glanced at the bottle, raising his eyebrows before nodding at the cupboard to his left.
“Thanks,” she said, stepping next to him to retrieve a glass. “Gabe just informed me he’s sending me on a mission down to New Orleans. That sounds like justification for day drinking, don’t you think?”
“Don’t need to explain yourself to me,” Noah replied while he heated oil in a pan.
