Finally, I spend the rest of the evening back at I Touch My Shelf, surrounded by all the Witch Bitches. Since there’s no real progress on breaking my spell, we even talk about our latest book, a spicy romance with a shadow daddy fae. We end the night with Hannah declaring Severin’s fae attributes far better than fiction, and as we shrug into our coats to go home, Kayla says, “So about this aphrodisiac seed…,” setting us all laughing again.
Everyone gives me an extra hug, with Hannah saying, “Do you want to spend tonight at the palace? Luke won’t bother you there.”
“Nah, I need to get back to researching in the morning.My spell isn’t going to break itself.” It’s more important than ever that I end it. I don’t think I could survive him touching me again, knowing it’s the book’s plot making him do it.
“If you’re sure,” Kayla says.
“I am.” A day with my friends is exactly what I needed.
I take their love and wrap it around my squishy jelly heart like armor as Naomi leaves me and Princess Buttercup standing in front of Luke’s castle.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lukendevener
The morning after our trip into the book does not go at all according to plan. I expected to finish asking Skye questions about human sexuality, to discover why the male opened up so quickly.
Yet there’s no Skye in my kitchen, even though I dawdle over breakfast, no Skye in my library, no matter how long I wait.
I stalk through the halls, tail lashing from side to side, batting against my suits-of-armor trophies and setting them ringing like struck gongs. No Skye emerges, asking what’s wrong. My nose carries me from her room to the kitchen, where I find a note attached to the front of the refrigerator, written in her looping handwriting, all graceful lines and decorative swirls.
Going to spend all day with the girls. We have a Witch Bitch Spicy Book Club Meeting this evening, so I’ll be back late.
—Skye
“All day?” Did she really need to get away from me that badly? What about our research into breaking her spell? What about my questions about human sex?
If she’s not going to answer them, there’s only one thing to do—I’ll simply research the subject on my own.
I stomp back to the reading room, activate the portal window, and step out into a hallway buried deep in the area dedicated to humans. It’s a brand new aisle, the wooden shelves not yet budding any vines. The books are similarly new, gathered via a spell Severin arranged for me that orders them through the local bookstore. Paper spines covered in an array of colors surround me, each with improbable titles, such asHot Werewolf NightsandHis Bite Is Forever.
Never have I wished more for Skye’s ability to sort books, yet these books are the last thing I want her to know about. How would I explain owning several aisles of human romance books? My eyes continue to search, first one bookshelf, then the next. Then I spot it:This Dragon of Mine. Humans write romances about dragons? I grunt and add it to the pile in my arms.
Instead of returning to the reading room, I settle into thesmall reading nook I created specifically to keep Skye from discovering I’m researching human romances. A padded chaise lounge sits tucked between a pair of bookcases, a small table placed nearby.
I begin speed reading, crunching my way through a continuous stream of the cinnamon candies Skye loves so well.
I will become an expert in this human “romance.”
Several hours later, the angry growl of my stomach interrupts me as I scribble another set of notes. Not that it will do me much good.
I let out an annoyed breath, taking in the books and pieces of parchment scattered all around me. I’ve read over twenty books and am more confused than ever. Some stories were funny, while others contained battles and warfare. Some had male leads who were criminals, while others were heroes. Men were harsh in several of the books, the sex fiery encounters fueled by hate. In others, the men were gentle and loving and willing to do anything for the women.
I shuffle through the parchments again, looking for any sign of cohesion, and growl when I find none. Clearly, I need to find a way to hone in on which types of romances I should be reading. Which type of romance is the book we’re trapped in?
The dragon romances… I shake my head. Most are humans first who can turn into a dragon, instead of it properly being the other way around. I read one entire book where the man never shifted into a dragon a single time. Imagine denying yourself such a superior form! Many of the others have inaccuracies as well: the so-called dragons don’t have fire, or they don’t have two cocks, or they don’t havelibraries, for goddess’s sake!
I also read a couple of normal human romances without any magic or mystical beings. One of them offered some insight into what might have happened yesterday, with a male lead who “fell first and harder” and constantly expressed his feelings before the woman. Yet the next I read had a male character very concerned about “playing it cool.” He didn’t want to show how much he liked the female in case she didn’t return his affections. In another, the people don’t actually care a great deal for each other when they first have sex but grow to love one another after—an example of “casual sex” that leads to them “catching feelings.”
Which of these is it? Which will help us complete the plot ofDance of Desiresuccessfully, if we can’t break the spell? Even more importantly, what type of romance does Skye prefer? I need to read more romance books.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. By the goddess, who even am I right now? What would the other dragons think if they saw any of this?
I stack my parchments on the reading nook’s side table and rise, my stomach insistent. Once outside, I fling myself into the air, the blue deepening to purple overhead as the sun sinks below the horizon, painting the western sky with pink and orange. The cold wind of evening makes my internalfire flame higher, and the lights of downtown beckon me forward, promising food and drink and company.
Not that I need company. I’m perfectly content being on my own. It was downright relaxing to have the castle to myself after so many days spent with Skye and Princess Buttercup.
Liar, the knotted muscles between my shoulder blades tell me, twinging with each wingbeat. I growl, at war with myself—my brain insisting I’m fine, my body speaking of tension and unease.
