It was a doorway meant only for me. I must assume Taron had left the ice land, a neutral territory for all berserkers, no matter their faction.
There were ten factions all together, each ruled by a different beast-king, and none welcomed intrusion. We did not enter another’s territory without permission.
If I did this, if I entered the US absent authorization from Malachi, King of Griffins, I would ignite a war. He would learn about my door and demand its destruction. But a formal request would have to go through the dragon ambassador stationed in the Hollywood Hills. Then, that ambassador would either petition for an appointment or wait for the next scheduled meeting, which could take weeks. Months even.
On the other hand, Malachi owed me a boon of my choosing, after I’d spared his brother’s life. But did I really want to waste such a prize on an encounter with a man determined to murder me or die in my flames?
Every cell in my body shouted, “Ja!”
As I slipped through the opening, I blew a thick cloud of white smoke, letting it engulf and cloak me, hiding me from humans. Below, the land unfurled in green forests of pine and small towns dotting hillsides. I followed the stretch of highway, the traffic growing heavier as I neared a town with shimmering glass towers. Three generations ago, the Lockes had left the mountains of Germany for the skyscrapers of Atlanta.
I continued past the sprawling city, the scent of something sweet adding to the pine. Peach perhaps?
As I zeroed in on my destination, my throbbing worsened, acting as a magnet, pulling me in a certain direction. Peach State University, where Taron taught and lived as a faculty-in-residence.
Guided by zinging instincts, I circled the campus within minutes. A patchwork landscape of green quads and red-bricked buildings. Rooftops glinted under the afternoon sun. I found a sprawling clearing, bright and open, and an invitation to land if I ever saw one.
I landed gently on my feet, already walking, letting the smoke melt and dissipate more with every step until only tendrils remained, concealing my weapons. Then, and only then, did I allow myself to be seen. I could have kept fully hidden to spy, no one aware of my presence, but I wanted Taron to understand how easily I could get to him.
As I strode inside the building, the humid Georgia heat evaporated into a frigid, air-conditioned blast fragranced with too many perfumes, anxiety and sugared coffee. The pulling sensation steered me along the hallways. Mounted maps and faded charts of empires and sea routes graced the walls. My booted feet echoed off time-worn tile, passing by oak-framed doorways, marked with brass nameplates.
Dr. Jenna Snowaiter, Ancient Languages
Dr. Gill Montrey, History and Folklore
Dr. Jane Landling, History and Geography Department Head
A closed door loomed ahead, but it did nothing to mask the tendril of Taron’s heavenly cedar and pine scent, luring me closer. My heart leaped into a wild gallop, and my blood heated at least a hundred degrees.
How would Taron react to seeing me?Let’s findout.
I opened the door and sailed inside, chin high and attitude higher. A crowd of students filled the tiered auditorium seats, captivated as Taron lectured from the front of the room, wearing a light-blue button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up showing his muscled arms. The straight-cut chinos and casual shoes would be a nuisance in a fight.
My mouth dried out faster than kindling in dragon fire. He looked good. Annoyingly good. Like he’d been formed from a mold of danger and desire and fashioned into one ridiculously charming package. Controlled power cloaked in a movie-star-worthy physique.
My dragon stirred, prowling the corridors of my mind with its usual demand:Trial by fire.
Nein!
Hmm. He had marks on his neck, jaw and cheek. My breath hitched. Those marks matched the blood splatter he’d worn during our battle. Now, the tiny, fiery dots glowed brightly on his bronzed skin. But. That was no natural glow. Except as I descended the steps, that glow faded.
No one else seemed to notice. Otherwise, there would be freak-outs. Few humans could handle a hint of the supernatural.
I bit my tongue, unleashing a metallic tinge. What did this mean? At least the pounding in my neck dulled rather than strengthened. Small mercies.
“...and that’s what is interesting. Whether you’re looking at the fire-breathers of medieval Europe, the river serpents of the East or the storm-bringers of the Pacific, a pattern emerges. The dragon isn’t just a creature, but a mirror for whatever a culture fears,” he was saying. His gaze snared mine mid-sentence and held fast, sharp as a blade. “But of course, mythology can also obscure the truth,which means we should be prepared for anything, always. Especially when it’s staring right back at us.”
As I descended the steps like I owned the place, passersby cast curious gazes my way. Curiosity electrified the air. “You invaded my territory,” I finally announced, interrupting his lecture. “I thought I’d return the favor.”
The professor ended class with crisp finality. “That’s all for today. Read chapters five through seven. Dismissed.”
“Shocked to see me?” I asked sweetly as students stood and shuffled out of the room in a tidal wave of body spray and growing curiosity.
Taron didn’t dignify my words with a response. Not until the last attendee vanished and the heavy door hissed shut behind them, leaving me alone with Professor Hotpants.
“Honestly, I expected you sooner,” he said, his voice low and dry as desert sand. “Though the intensity of the storm in your eyes is a surprise. As is the shirt.” He roved his gaze over me.
The air shifted, charged. His presence tugged me closer–magnetic and infuriating. I barely had the strength to stop before entering his personal space.
