Page 62 of Dark Dragon’s Mate

The sound started low, and then slowly grew until it seemed to fill the whole room, every cell of her body, every beat of her heart. There were words, but in a language she didn’t understand—and yet she did. Longing. Desire. Hope. Love.

Slowly, as he sang, the lump of rock changed shape. Rough, at first, but then she saw four protrusions becoming legs, and paws. A feathery tail, lifted high. A head with a muzzle and pointed ears, raised in pride and defiance.

A wolf.

The statue grew in detail and expression, until Trish almost expected it to come to life and run right off Emon’s hand. And then the song rose to a crescendo, and ended.

Emon opened his eyes, looked at the wolf, and smiled. Then he held it out to her. “Here. This is for you. It’s Layla.”

Tears spilled down Trish’s cheeks. “She’s beautiful.”

Emon caught the tears with his thumb, wiping them away. “Yeah. She is. And I wanted you to have this, so you can look at it and see her the way I see her.”

Trish took the wolf, cradling it in her hand. This was a gift from his hoard, and from his heart. The most precious thing her dark dragon could give her.

She wrapped her other arm around his waist, leaning her head on his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered. For much more than the gift. For giving her a part of himself.

Emon cleared his throat. “So, you want to see the mine?” he said. “It’s not far—not if we fly there. And I have to check on the production and talk to the miners.”

“I’d love to,” Trish said.

“Great.” He looked pleased. “Only, fair warning. The Wild Dragons who mine it are a fucking pain in my ass, and they used to work for Ragnor. They shouldn’t be dangerous, because they know I’ll fucking kill them if they try anything, but just because I’m paranoid, stay where I can see you. And watch yourself.”

“Yes, my prince.” She saluted.

Emon shook his head, muttering something about Mayah’s influence and women who had no respect.

Trish kissed him on the shoulder and put her wolf on the shelf for safekeeping, before following him up to the roof.

Chapter 30

The flight to the mine was no less fantastic than the flight the other morning. “This is never going to get old,” Trish said happily, snuggled into the palm of Emon’s giant dragony hand.

his dragon said.

Trish kissed one of his huge fingers, where it wrapped around to keep her from falling, and he gave a pleased little grumble.

The mine was on the side of one of the tallest mountains that ringed the perimeter of Emon’s domain. From the air, she could see it was mostly bare rock and dirt, with a few scrubby trees here and there.

It was easy to see where the mine was—a vast dark cave entrance surrounded by a fence that glowed faintly blue with magic. At one side, in a sheltered nook, she saw a rough camp surrounded by smaller caves, still big enough for a dragon to sleep in.

“Are the Wild Dragons stuck in there?” she asked Emon. “Inside the fence.”

No, he said shortly. I don’t cage people—even criminals. And they have to be able to get out, to hunt for food.

She rested her cheek against his hand for a moment.

“Then, do you think it’s them that have been killing the sheep? And breaking into Ragnor’s study?”

Whoever it was, they were cloaked like a dragon. It’s the only explanation for why you couldn’t hear them, or scent them.

“But what would they want with Ragnor’s research?”

Sell it? Emon said. They were circling down now, to land in front of the mine. They’re magically bound here to this domain, as part of their punishment, but a powerful enough Draken or sorcerer could break that. They might want the research to buy their way out—and to find out how to make a portal to contact an outsider.

“You’d think they’d just steal some atherias and buy their way out, if it’s that valuable. Instead of risking themselves breaking into the castle.”

Depends who they’re dealing with. If it’s Gen-X, they might not have a use for atherias. They’d want the research.