Her words crack open my chest, releasing a flood of memories: my father flinching every time I came near; my mother’s mournful eyes, their vertical pupils blown wide as she studied me, as if she could find a way to fix my fractured magic if she only looked hard enough; my sister… who always tried to act as if nothing had changed, as if she loved me as much as always, even though I knew it couldn’t be true.
I certainly never made myself lovable.
“Did your aunts ever express any such demands of you?” I bark. “That you be lovable?”
Skye’s startled eyes meet mine. “No, not for a single second.”
“And they love you?” I mellow my tone.
Her expression softens, growing sweet. “They love me very much.”
“That’s all that’s important,” I say. “Whenever you feel this need to please others in ways that don’t make you happy, you should remember you are already loved. You have nothing to prove.”
Shock and confusion flicker across her face, followed by another of her soft smiles. “Thank you.”
Her phone chimes, and Skye hurries toward the door to Grounds for Celebration, another of the shops I’ve never tried. An earthy scent dominates the warm air inside, undercut by a layer of cream and spice. The inside is all dark wood and globe lights that suffuse the room with a golden glow.
“Skye, your usual cinnamon latte?”
“Devina, hi!” Skye greets the woman behind the counter. “I’d love to try one of your Valentine’s specials. Howabout a chocolate strawberry love latte?”
“Coming right up.”
My magic flicks outward, assessing the new woman, who’s dressed in bright colors such as Skye might wear, even though the clothing style is quite different. She has medium-brown skin and straight black hair, and she isn’t a witch—or she’s at least not one tied to the magic of Faerie. Long have dragons theorized there might be other magical systems than ours, but with travel between the realms impossible for the past three-hundred years, we couldn’t test the theory.
Skye accepts the mug of steaming liquid readily, wrapping her hands around it. She takes a sip, her eyes fluttering closed as she makes this little sound of pleasure that goes straight to my cocks.
I tug the hem of my shirt down in the front to hide the double bulge and attempt to distract myself. “How will this beverage help you this evening?”
“It’s got caffeine, which is a stimulant and the best thingever.” Skye takes another sip, then points to a chalkboard with hearts drawn all over it. “Devina makes amazing coffee. You should try one of the Valentine’s drinks, since they’re only available for a short time.”
Valentine’s. There’s that word again, the one Shadow harped on about. I eye the room more carefully, this time noticing all the red and pink hearts plastered to the walls and windows. Metallic ones dangle from the high ceiling, like a new form of butterfly caught mid-flight. As much as I hate to admit it, it appears the werepanther is right. I will need to understand this human holiday.
At her prodding, I sip at something called a cocoa kiss cappuccino as I settle at one of the small wooden tables with Skye. It’s a bit too sweet, but has a rich earthiness that matches the scent of the room. Surprisingly, I quite like it. After draining half the cup, I feel my heart beat a little more quickly and my senses sharpen. I like its stimulant effect even more than its taste.
Kayla strides into the coffee shop, a large cloth bag slung over one shoulder. The purple-haired witch glances at me without expression before giving Skye a small smile. Kayla sits on one of the chairs and holds the pack in her lap, her hands splayed across its surface protectively. “Okay, so… you gotta be careful with this setup. They don’t make Wii’s any longer.”
“Oh, I didn’t know!” Worry clouds Skye’s eyes. “We don’t have to borrow it. We’ll find something else. We can watch YouTube videos or something.”
“Nah, I don’t use it much these days. I’m just being…” The witch shrugs, but her hands still stroke over the bag.
“You’re protecting a rare resource that’s important to you,” I say. “It’s a perfectly reasonable response.” Far be it for a dragon to argue with the desire to hoard.
Kayla’s shoulders relax, and she opens the bag and begins removing various parts, a long string of instructions pouring from her.
I pull parchment and quill from my storage pocket and take copious notes, sketching quick pictures of the various boxes and wires as I go.
Which is how I find myself an hour later, dancing in the middle of my sitting room, Skye keeping pace beside me,buzzing with caffeine and the sugary cinnamon candies I now carry with me everywhere. Her glowing face beams with a smile so bright it takes my breath away every time I look at her. In our previous dance lessons, I’d been so focused on learning the steps I hadn’t noticed how much she loves to dance.
Even though we’re not touching, moving in sync together makes me hyperaware of her body, the way her lovely breasts bounce, the sway of her generous hips, so hypnotizing. My hands tingle with the desire to touch, and I curl them into tight balls to keep them still, my claws pressing into my palms. My tail proves less easy to control, constantly reaching out to glide over her thigh, her buttocks, her calf, whichever body part it can reach during that particular move.
Her scent fills the air, redolent with sugar and spice. My blood thrums through my veins, my heart pounding. I could lie to myself and say it’s the coffee or the exercise, but it’s her and the way her joy and youth and beauty light up the room. Skye’s laughter echoes from the stone walls, ringing through my soul, opening up parts of me I thought forever closed.
She gives another laugh and does the complex spin demonstrated by the animated character on the television screen, the exuberant movement of her body exploding with joy.
I feel more alive than I have in hundreds of years. It’s intoxicating.
She’sintoxicating.
