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“And . . .”
“Three,” we called out together.
I gave way like an avalanche sliding down the hillside.
He shuddered inside me, his body tight, and the cords on his neck standing out like thick wires.
I came again, my body quivering as it climbed up and shot back down again.
When I collapsed against his chest, he held me and stepped back until we tumbled onto the bed. He dragged the covers up over us and kissed my temple.
“I’m Averill. That’s my true name,” he whispered. “And with my power, I can sometimes call lightning.”
“What does that mean?”
“Dragons have true names they only share with their mates. Mine’s Averill.”
“And lightning?”
“Well, in all honesty, that’s supposedly the magic that came to me with the iridescent scales that formed on my dragon’s body when I mastered flight.” He tightened his arms around me. “Legend says that knowledge of a dragon shifter’s true name can grant immense power over them if wielded correctly, but some of us know that’s not true. The true name gives us power.”
“I hope you never need to wield it.”
“I will if I need it to protect you and Asher.”
A sense of foreboding came over me, but I shrugged it off. The threat from his past had been eliminated. Nothing bad was going to happen to us.
We had a bright future together to look forward.
Chapter 22
Gravor
We spent the next few days together. And when Mazie worked her three long shifts, I stayed with Asher.
Her mom came by each day and sat on the sofa, watching me as I told Asher stories, helped him build with blocks, and when he and I baked cookies, as if she worried I might not be good enough for her grandson—or her daughter. On the third day Mazie worked, after we’d put Asher to bed together and before her mom ducked out fast like she’d done the other nights, I waved to the kitchen.
“Have a seat at the island,” I said. “I made cake last evening,” After she left. “And I’d love to get your opinion on how it tastes.”
Her eyebrows lifted, but she placed her purse on the counter near the door and came over to sit at the island.
I got out plates and cut generous slices, bringing them over with forks and napkins.
“I heard you enjoy chocolate,” I said as I sat beside her.
“Who told you that?”
Mazie. Since her mother had been cool, I’d picked her brain about what her mom most enjoyed and made this cake especially for her. I was a chef. It was in my nature to woo someone with food. “It’s flourless, since I also heard you have a gluten intolerance. It’s my own recipe.”
She stared down at her piece. “It does look good.”
“Taste it before you decide. And if you don’t like it, I won’t be insulted.” I’d cringe, because I wanted to smooth things out between us, but I’d smile, nod, and tell her I’d make something different next time.
And the time after that if need be.
“I’m rather picky about cake,” she said carefully.
So I’d also heard.
