Page 60 of Sanctuary with a Dragon
I paused mid-motion, turning to look at him. “Alaric, that’s… Are you sure you’re not an angel?”
He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I don’t believe anyone’s ever asked me that before.” A pause. “But I want to be your angel, Everly. Only yours.”
Well. I had no words for that. How was this man even real?
I limped toward him and wrapped my arms around him as far as they’d go, hugging him tight. He smelled like campfire smoke, sticky marshmallows, and melted chocolate. In other words, a s’more, which honestly tracked.
I was still getting used to the whole mate thing. Alaric had explained that we’d be able to communicate mind to mind like Elandor and I could—and that we’d be able to sense each other’s location and emotions.
I thought that was how relationshipsshouldbe.
How many arguments could be avoided if your partner could feel your pain, your insecurities, your fears? Some people might still refuse to see what was right in front of them, but for most, I thought it would make relationships gentler—more understanding.
Of course, that only worked if the other person was decent. To feel the emotions of someone cruel or selfish would become a curse rather than a blessing.
Alaric still held me, and though I didn’t want to let go, my bladder disagreed. I eased out of his arms reluctantly. I wasn’t ready to move forward with the whole mating part of the bond, but each day, I could feel myself inching closer.
Alaric and Elandor were both wonderful, and I felt so blessed to have them.
Also—yes, I was insanely attracted to my mate. But I tried not to think about that too much?—
Elandor chuckled in my head.
—because that happened.
Pest.
Treasure, you know I can’t help but hear you.
As I dug through my luggage for clothes, I said,Can’t you, I don’t know, block me out or something?
Why would I block you out? I love hearing the thoughts of my mate.
I shook my head and laughed softly. There was no winning this battle.
“Everly, can I order something to eat for you?”
I paused at the bathroom door. “What sounds good to you?”
“Hmm, anything with meat. And potatoes.”
I started laughing, and he grimaced good-naturedly.
“Typical guy answer. What about something like chile verde with rice? Or maybe a chile verde bowl?”
“That actually sounds good,” I admitted. The rice might help my tender stomach. It didn’t hurt—it just felt fragile, like one wrong move would send it spiraling.
Living with illnesses was like walking a tightrope, blindfolded, over a pit of crocodiles, while others stood watching, wondering why you couldn’t just walk straight.
Alaric nodded. “I’ll order that.” Then, with complete, wide-eyed innocence, he added, “Are you sure you don’t need help in the shower?”
I sputtered and stammered, catching the playful curve of his mouth as he turned to leave. I laughed, shaking my head. If I’d had a pillow nearby, I would’ve thrown it at him.
In the bathroom mirror, my cheeks were crimson from his teasing, but I couldn’t miss the spark of happiness in my eyes.
Life was hard, but it was good. And I felt, deep down, that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
As I showered, my thoughts drifted.
