Daegan hesitates at the loaded question. He’s never outright confirmed or denied if they can shift or not. “Not always.”
I release a breath as Daegan’s fingers move through my hair.
“You can still shift into dragons,” I whisper out loud, more to myself. “And you guys kept that secret for a thousand years.”
He doesn’t respond as he continues working. My mind flashes with images I’ve seen of them in books. They are unimaginably huge. And frightening. And the male sitting behind me braiding my hair gently is one of them. Somehow, it doesn’t scare me though.
“You can breathe fire.”
“Yes.”
“You did it in the forest. But… there’s no possible way you shifted into a dragon fifty times your size right behind me and I didn’t sense it…” I’m thinking out loud, processing.
He answers anyway. “No.”
“Then… how?”
I hear another heavy sigh from him, and the smoky aroma becomes a little stronger in the air. His legs tense and move in a little closer, his black pants just barely brushing against me now. “We can… partially shift.”
My head cocks to the side, my brows pinch in confusion. He places a firm but gentle hand on the side of my head and pushes it straight again.
The gesture shouldn’t be so hot, but somehow… it is.
“Like… you have a dragon head attached to your body?” The image in my head is ridiculous.
“No. It’s not really a change that you can see with the naked eye. It’s something that happens internally. In our throats and within our torso. It takes many years and a lot of patience to master.”
“Oh. That’s… terrifying.”
He chuckles, low and smooth.
“It’s no more intimidating than a fire-wielding elf.”
“True.”
“Don’t tell Meela that,” he says smoothly.
I laugh, just as he finishes up the braid, ties it, and lets it fall over my shoulder as he runs his hand along it one last time. I try really hard not to focus on it too intently.
“I won’t.”
I stand, turning to face him with a smile of appreciation.
Big mistake.
I find myself standing directly in front of his large, relaxed body, his legs still spread wide and his arm resting over the seat. He looks up at me with his lazy eyelids, and my lower stomach turns into an aching, burning distraction again.
If he had shown even a single bit of interest in me, it would be far too tempting to crawl onto his lap right now and straddle him.
Who am I kidding? It’s still incredibly tempting. But I’m not about to make a fool of myself. I think a large part of him still hates me, deep down.
Also, what in the curses has gotten into me?
He still won’t look anywhere else but at my face or my hair, so I try not to let my gaze wander, but I know he noticed me looking. Checking him out.
“Thank you,” I say, turning away. I’m certain my cheeks are flushed.
“You’re welcome,” he murmurs.
