Page 39 of Red Dragon’s Flame

Chapter 18

Devon managed to keep herself together until she and Mikah got out of Emon’s office and he was walking her to her room.

“It’s kind of a long way,” he was saying apologetically. “And no elevators.”

“It’s okay,” she murmured. Or something to that effect, because really she was concentrating on walking in a straight line.

Everything that had happened that night—from her near-death experience, to being brought to another world, all the way up to being interrogated by a self-proclaimed monster whose dragon mind bored into you and tried to scoop your brains out with a spoon—washed over her all at once. Her brain stopped braining and her knees did something truly weird, and she was sinking to the floor.

Only she didn’t get there. She was suddenly swept off her feet, cradled in Mikah’s arms.

“Put me down,” she said, unconvincingly. She tried to squirm out of his grasp, or anyway she thought about trying, but she was so, so tired. Like all her body parts had just gone on strike, with her brain as the leader.

She was tucked up against his rock-hard chest with her arms around his neck, and it was much more comfortable than it had any right to be.

Not to mention Mikah smelled amazing. Like cinnamon spice cookies, only more delicious. Devon’s arms somehow had wrapped themselves around his neck, and her nose was buried somewhere under his ear.

Mmm.

Did all men smell this heavenly? She’d never actually been this close to one before, on account of she might set him on fire. Not since she was a little girl and her dad carried her.

And this was very, very different from that. She was morphing into molten a semi-liquid state, and most of it seemed to be pooling in her lower belly.

She snuggled closer, and she could have sworn she felt his lips on her hair.

She shivered.

“Don’t worry,” he said, the vibrations of his voice lighting up her skin. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Devon caught a confused jumble of images as they walked upstairs and through the castle—a huge gallery with rooms opening off it, stone stairs, lots of paintings and tapestries of battles, and wall sconces along the halls that looked like they should hold torches, but instead were topped by glowing globes of light.

Finally, Mikah stopped and pushed open a carved wooden door. The sound of his footsteps was suddenly muffled by a rug, and then she was deposited gently on a soft, comfy mattress.

Devon was pretty sure she gave a little moan of happiness. “I’m never moving again,” she mumbled.

There was a soft whump sound across the room, like a gas jet lighting only bigger, and then she saw the flicker of flames in a huge stone fireplace.

Apparently, Mikah could light a log fire with the power of his mind. Sweet.

She lay there, looking at the green velvet canopy over her head, feeling relaxed and safe for the first time since Auntie May had died. Maybe even before that, when she realized her elderly guardian was losing her powers. “I always wanted a four-poster bed,” she said dreamily.

She could feel the bedspread being moved around, and her shoes being pulled off, and then Mikah said, “Let’s get you under the covers.”

“My pants are icky,” she said, thinking about blood and sweat and soot. “I have to take them off.”

“Bad idea,” said Mikah’s voice, closer now. “You’re too beautiful, and I’m an evil dragon. I might ravish you.”

“That would be okay,” she mumbled.

There was a short silence, and then, “Maybe when you’re awake. Here.”

He put his hand on her shoulder, and suddenly a clean, white, totally grandma-worthy nightgown rippled down her body, chasing her other clothes magically away. The thing even had ruffles. And lace, for fuck’s sake. Devon didn’t remember ever wearing lace, or ever wanting to.

Mikah scooped her up and tucked her under the covers, and then made a motion with his hand. All the globe lights in the room went out, leaving only the fire burning. “You’ll be all right now,” he said. “And the bed is fireproofed. Just go to sleep. I’ll be back in the morning.”

He was leaving. An irrational panic swept through her, and she reached out and grabbed his arm. “Stay with me,” she said. The panic had woken her up some, and she could see him looking down at her, indecision on his face.

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s impossible to ravish a woman wearing a granny nightgown. Guaranteed lust crusher.”