Page 41 of Dark Dragon’s Mate

A bright shining star, that made him feel good just by being near him. She could make the lamb feel better too.

But his dragon sounded hesitant, almost unsure.

She wouldn’t do that.

Emon stood in the sunlit field, holding the lamb to his chest.

What if it’s not? he said. What if the bond could heal us? What if it could heal the Nightmare Wolf?

his dragon said. But he sounded even less sure.

Trish is a healer. What if she can put us back together? Make us whole?

His dragon said nothing, but Emon could feel him thinking. He remembered Brock’s words.

You’re not scared, are you? he said. It was a cheap shot, but it worked.

You’re right. So there’s nothing to be afraid of. Even if you were afraid, which you’re not. So let’s go see Trish.

Dramatic, dragon-sized sigh.

Emon set off to carry his lamb back to the castle—back to Trish. Apparently, he was taking life advice from a six-year-old after all.

Trish was in the med lab, pretending to work, but she couldn’t focus. Last night had been an emotional rollercoaster, ending up with crazy hot wild sex that had done things to her she’d never even dreamed of.

She’d even thought, like an idiot, that she’d felt the beginnings of a bond with Emon. A deep, magical bond—the real thing.

And then she’d had a dream about a dragon in a cage like a laser grid made of blue magic. He filled the cage, and he was pushing against it, not even caring that it burned through his scales.

he’d said. And then he was gone.

And she’d woken up this morning alone on a rooftop, cold and naked, no Emon anywhere to be found. She’d had to sneak down to her room wearing nothing but a blanket.

And now it was hours later and still no Emon. No Tristan or Mayah either. Everyone had disappeared, and no one seemed to have given her another thought.

So much for bonding.

Just then the door burst open, slamming against the wall like someone had kicked it.

And in walked the Dark Prince, looking hot and delicious and arrogant as ever, and he was carrying—not a bouquet of flowers or some other morning-after gift, but a blood-covered lamb.

Her life was not a romance, or a gothic novel. It was officially a farce.

Chapter 21

Luckily for Emon, Trish was in the med clinic when he got there. Just seeing her made something loosen in his chest that he hadn’t even realized was knotted up.

She looked sexy as fuck—her hair tied back in a long smooth pony tail, her jeans hugging her ass perfectly, blue v-neck t-shirt under her white lab coat, showing just a hint of cleavage that made him want to kiss her right there.

his dragon said. Emon wasn’t sure if he meant that in a good way or not.

He smiled, tentatively.

Trish did not.