Another yellow eye attached to a shadowy figure a little smaller than the first one.
Elowyn was right. It’s another dragon.
“Now what?” Rominy asks.
“I don’t know. Tharios didn’t tell me what happens next.”
Rominy’s eyes swing toward her. “He what?”
“He’s the one who read all the books about dragons.”
“Elowyn! You mean this is all second-hand knowledge?”
“It worked, did it not? Besides, isn’t most knowledge gleaned from the teachings of others?”
As the dragon watches them, its eye narrows slightly, and Rominy shuts his mouth. It doesn’t seem to like them arguing.
“I’ll be honest. I thought we would wake by now,” Elowyn says. “We’ve been here for longer than we normally are.”
Rominy frowns. She’s right.
Thoughts of her state in the real world gnaw at him. Is that why they haven’t awoken?
“Stay with me, my love,” Elowyn says softly as she approaches him and trails her hand along his cheek.
Rominy watches the dragon from the corner of his eye, but Elowyn’s show of affection seems to have satisfied it. It remains wary as it returns to its mate and curls up beside her.
They did it. They communicated with the dragon. Sort of. In any case, they didn’t die.
“Elowyn, you are amazing,” Rominy whispers as a grin slips across his face. “You were perfect.”
“So were you, my love. We did it together.”
“Perhaps we should let them rest. They look tired.”
“I agree. We should return to our cottage.”
Something in Elowyn’s eyes makes Rominy’s heart beat faster, and he nods. Taking his hand, she tugs him along, and he glances back at the dragons once more, but they seem to be drifting back to sleep already.
Even in the dark, Elowyn knows where to step and when to turn, and Rominy blindly follows as her pace quickens. They break out of the fog of the labyrinth into their garden, their little cottage glimmering like a beacon, beckoning to them.
Elowyn’s own heart is racing now, propelling his to an even faster rhythm as she pulls him along. At the door to their cottage, she drops her bow and quiver, her back to thepainted wood, and looks up at him with a heat that steals his breath away.
She whispers something, but he can’t make out the words. Then the door opens behind her, and she tugs him through it, barely pausing to kick it closed.
Once inside, she kisses him with the same fiery passion as earlier, and he doesn’t hesitate. His hands are in her hair, and he returns her kiss with all the hunger he’s been suppressing.
As natural as breathing. This feels as natural as breathing.
She doesn’t let go of him or their kiss as she pulls him toward the bedroom. Or he pushes her.
The sparks are back, though they’re less overwhelming than earlier, and as she leans against the bedroom door to close it behind them, a nervous thrill fills him. Can her magic handle this?
When she reaches for the hem of his shirt, he helps her pull it over his head before tossing the leather aside.
“Your magic,” he whispers between her kisses as she slides her hands over his chest. They’re warm—getting warmer by the second. And stars above, her touch awakens his own heat as shivers race to his fingers and toes.
“I have a plan,” she breathes. “Trust me.”
