His laughter is deep and rumbly. He pulls me close and kisses my temple.
“Not at all, but it does make you very sleepy. Come, you shall go to bed.”
I settle my weight against him, my eyes closing against my will. “I’ll move in a minute,” I mumble.
The world suddenly tilts, and I force my eyes open. “Oh my god, you’recarryingme.”
“You are exhausted.”
“Well, I don’t need carrying. This is all very emasculating.”
“You shall take it up with the manager when you awake.”
My next yawn feels like it might dislocate my jaw. “You’ll hurt your back.”
“I am a dragon, Cary. I have carried far heavier loads than you.” He kisses my head, and I think I hear him say, “But not one more precious.”
I want to question him, but then I’m being lowered into warm, soft sheets that smell of him. I feel my jeans and jumper being removed, and I give a sigh of pleasure as I roll over and the duvet drifts over me.
“I can’t believe you’re a dragon,” I mumble. “There one minute and then pouf, gone the next.”
He laughs softly and then cards a hand through my hair, the movement soothing. “Sleep well, Cary,” he whispers.
“You won’t leave?”
He stills, and then he murmurs, “I couldn’t even if I wanted to, and I don’t. I will be here. Waiting for you. Come back to me soon.”
Any further questions are lost when I snuggle into the warm sheets and fall asleep.
When I wake, the room is lit by moonlight. It’s bright and cold, touching the dark shapes of furniture and limning them in silver. Sigurd isn’t in the bed beside me. The other side of the mattress is cold, and the pillow shows no one has slept there. Where is he?
I sit up. I’m wide awake now, with none of the earlier fog, and I need to talk to him. I have so many questions buzzing through my brain. I marvel for a second that I’m not doubting what I saw. I should possibly be thinking about checking myself into a hospital for evaluation. I’d hoped to see some unusual sights on my Cornish holiday, but seeing a dragon was never on the list.
However, I feel a curious lack of panic. It’s as if my whole life I’ve been putting one foot in front of the other, plodding on determinedly, because this was always at the end of my journey—this man and that extraordinary secret.
I climb out of bed and slide into the clothes that he’s thoughtfully folded on the chair. I make my way out of the bedroom, pausing for a second in the corridor. The house is quiet, apart from the howl of the wind and the distant sound of the sea hitting the rocks—no sound of music and no light apart from the moonlight.
I start down the corridor and freeze when a door swings open. It happens smoothly, as if someone on the other side opened it for me, but when I peer around the wood panel, there’s no one there. The door appears to have opened as a gesture to coax me inside the room. I step over the threshold and breathe a sigh of happiness. It’s the library. Nothing can harm me here.
The room is cloaked in moonlight and shadow, and candles give off the familiar scent of amber and sandalwood, mingling with the aroma of leather and old paper.
I look around for the light switch and jump as a lamp on the table switches on.
“What the hell?” I breathe. A rustle goes through the room as if a thousand pages just turned over. “Sorry,” I whisper. “My bad.”
The rustling stops, and I feel a warm gust of air blow gently through the room. It ruffles my hair and seems to twine around me, and then it’s gone. Did I just get hugged by a library?
I shiver suddenly, rubbing my hands as I notice the coolness of the night air. Suddenly, a fire roars to life in the grate, flames licking over the stacked logs. Within moments, the room fills with the warm, smoky scent of apple logs. It reminds me of the smell when Sigurd shape-shifted earlier.
“Thank you,” I breathe, and the flames gutter and shift before burning steadily.
I hover close, rubbing my arms as the warmth spreads through the room. A flicker of movement catches my eye, and I turn to see a book on a table open, its pages turning slowly at first and then faster and faster.
I gulp and edge closer, watching in fascination as pages continue to flip, like someone is searching for a place in the book. It’s the Roland chronicles. I step up to the table. The pages settle, and I crane my head to see what they’ve decided on. Then I let out a chuckle. It’s the section on dragons.
“Very funny,” I mutter.
I startle when a basin of water, a cake of soap, and a towel appear on a table nearby.
