Page 25 of Kidnapped By The Messy Dragon

Jules doesn’t push. They trade a look in the mirror and drop it. Brandy reaches into a drawer and hands me a silk scarf edged in gold instead. It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever held.

Somewhere between the blush and the lip gloss, it occurs to me that no dragon in this mountain can smell a thing on me with the door shut. No dragon can catch a tell in here. My shoulders come down a full inch.

“So,” Brandy says, folding the pile I picked. “Did Jay feed you?”

“He made pancakes,” I tell her. “Eggs and sausage too.”

Brandy’s hands stop on the sweater. In the mirror, Jules quits mid-dab and turns around to stare at her.

“What?” I ask. “Is that bad?”

“Jalen doesn’t cook.” Jules comes back to my cheek with a hum. “Dorian feeds this whole family. Jay has never so much as flipped an egg for company.”

So the dragon who never cooks made me a whole breakfast. I keep my face neutral for the mirror, and the warmth stays anyway.

“You know how I found out Malachi owned my building?” Brandy says. “My rent checks started coming back. Every month, returned, no note. I marched into the leasing office ready to fight someone, and the manager just pointed at the new name on the deed.” She shakes out a blouse. “I made him give that building to the town when we mated.” She points a hanger at me in the mirror. “These Carter dragons don’t do small, sister. Best you know that now.”

And under all the silk and the fuss, I miss Jalen. He’s one floor down. I’ve known this dragon a day, and I’m already listening for him.

I don’t understand it. Downstairs, a door opens and closes, and I listen harder.

11

JALEN

Iwear a line into my clean floor waiting for her. A sneeze catches me mid-lap, and I wave the smoke away without breaking stride.

“What the hell is this?” I ask my empty room.

No answer arrives. Every restless inch of me is aimed at the door, too busy waiting on a woman to care about a nose.

Footsteps reach me from the hall, and I stop pacing. The door pushes open, and her scent comes in ahead of her, burnt caramel with the chemical blank washed all the way off.

“Hi,” I say, and it comes out younger than I’ve sounded in years.

“Hi,” she says back from the doorway.

She’s changed out of her ruined work clothes. She’s in slippers, a long nightgown, a silk robe over it, and Jules’s handiwork soft on her face. She’s holding a shopping bag of clothes, and I hurry over and take it from her with hands that have interviewed alphas without one nerve.

“Brandy and Jules are very nice,” she says.

“They’re the best of us.” I carry the bag to my dresser and start making room, which means pulling my own shirts out by the armload and stacking them on top of whatever’s closest.

She sits down on my bed and laughs out loud at me wrecking the room I just cleaned. I’d wreck it nightly for that sound.

I fold her new things into the empty drawers.

“I didn’t thank you,” she says. “For saving my life earlier.”

“Well.” I square the last folded stack. “I’m not about to spend my days without my fated mate. Specially not after just finding you. I’d rather die first.”

Her scent goes warm and sweet through the whole room, and I grin at the drawer.

The sun is dropping behind the far ridge, so I cross the room and turn on the lamps. “You hungry?”

She shakes her head and touches her sore cheek. “I don’t want to eat anything right now. Just rest. It’s been a very overwhelming day.”

I nod. She turns toward the bed, and I stand there biting my lip.