Chapter Seven
Jaspar suggested to Liza that she fly on his back to the Suisse Chalet, a luxury restaurant on a mountain peak overlooking town.
Liza probably could have insisted that they take his hovercraft, but she didn’t. She loved the feeling of pressing against his enormous warm body, his muscles sliding underneath her fingers and his mighty wings slicing through the air.
The weather plan predicted clear skies until one a.m., and then a light snowfall overnight, with temperatures in the mid-thirties. They’d be home well before then.
There was still a crowd of customers in the parking lot, and Jaspar walked out into the road to shift.
She watched again as black-shaded scales rippled over his body like falling dominoes. Claws sliced wickedly from his fingers and toes, and wisps of smoke curled from his nostrils as his face pushed forward into an elegant, lizardlike muzzle. Delicate scales flashed from his temples over the skin of his face as his body grew and shifted. In humanoid form, the silver cast to his skin was a subtle shimmer. Now his scales glowed like moonlight. He stretched his wings wide and his tail lashed the road’s surface.
She slid onto his back, clutching his bundle of clothes to her chest, and pressed against him. His body heat kept her warm as they soared through the sky.
The Suisse Chalet was quaint and pretty, like a remote alpine cabin, and mossy pathways winding into the trees around it added to its rustic charm. It looked like something from a picture postcard or the lid of a chocolate box.
As Jaspar spiraled lower, the beating of his wings sent ripples shuddering through the needles on the trees, and they were greeted by the pungent scent of pine resin and the tempting smells of the best cooking anywhere on Far North.
Not that Liza would dream of sharing that opinion with Mawmaw. Not if she ever wanted to see another batch of sugar cookies.
The snow had apparently started early. There was a light sprinkling as they walked up to the chalet’s front door, dusting them like powdered sugar. The Weather Control Station controlled the weather patterns extremely well, but there was generally some slight variation. Snow might start a few minutes earlier or later than predicted; temperature might be off by a couple of degrees.
Liza didn’t really mind, though. She loved snow.
The restaurant was only a quarter full that night. She’d been there twice before in her entire life, as a treat for her sixteenth and then her twenty-first birthday, and she remembered having to make reservations a month beforehand.
The food was delicious, however. Liza ordered lobster. Jaspar ordered five racks of rib; apparently the Drakken ate a lot to fuel their flame.
As they ate, Jaspar described his home world to her.
“There’s a portal relatively near us, only a few hundred thousand miles from our planet, so it’s not too far to travel,” he explained. “The FTL ships exit through the portal and make it to our planet in no time flat. And it’s beautiful there. The sky is a deep, deep blue, and we have five moons that are strung like pearls in the sky. Our buildings are hand-carved stone; they look somewhat like your ancient medieval cities, but with much broader roadways to accommodate us landing and taking off. The skies are always filled with flying Drakken.”
“That sounds amazing,” Liza said. “I bet my sister Geneva would love to see that someday. She’s never even made it to Terra 2. She’s in business school on a nearby mechanical moon, hoping to find a career that will let her travel.”
“She is welcome to visit you,” Jaspar said.
Liza quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Or we could always split our time between Far North and my world,” he added, with a roguish twinkle in his eye.
“You just don’t give up, do you?”
“Not where you’re concerned,” Jaspar said, and he reached out and stroked her hand with his thumb. “Did you know that the Drakken have an amazing sense of smell? You are aroused by me. The scent of your arousal is like sweet nectar.”
Liza jerked her hand away, her cheeks flaming red with embarrassment. “Is not!” she muttered, and quickly downed half her glass of red wine, then spent the next couple of minutes staring down at her plate as she ate.
“We have not talked about children yet,” Jaspar said. “When a human woman marries a Drakken, the babies must be raised in a special incubator. Her eggs are combined with her mate’s sperm and then gestated in the incubator for ten months. Do you think that you would feel any less attached to children who were conceived in that manner?” He looked slightly worried as he asked that
She shook her head in exasperation. “Just playing along with this fantasy scenario, I would love my children no matter how they were conceived. And I want lots of kids. I’ve always wanted a big family. My parents died when they were going off-world in a second-hand spaceship to buy more supplies for our business. Geneva was only one year old. They never had a chance to have more children.”
Jaspar folded his hand over hers, and she sat there drawing strength and comfort from it for several moments before she pulled her hand away again. She could not let herself get used to this. Must not. Dared not.
Jaspar glanced at the enormous picture window and frowned. She followed his gaze and felt a jolt of alarm shoot through her. She’d been so distracted by Jaspar that she hadn’t noticed, but the light snow had turned into a driving blizzard.
“How often does your Weather Control Station malfunction?” Jaspar asked, looking puzzled.
“To that level?” She shook her head. “Never.”
Jaspar frowned. “Hmm. I cannot fly in a blizzard. We may be stuck here.”
