She squeezed. “I’ve made several questionable choices today!”
White suppressant exploded inside his jaws.
The dragon reared back with a strangled sound as his fire was cut off instantly. His grip on me loosened as he choked and coughed. He stumbled sideways, disoriented and furious, claws scraping uselessly against the concrete.
Free, I surged up, and for half a heartbeat, I forgot the fight entirely.
Everything narrowed to her. She stood on top of the couch, cardigan flaring behind her in dramatic defiance, hair flying in every direction, framed perfectly by the streetlamp outsidethe shattered wall, its light crowning her head like something holy.
A Valkyrie. A warrior. A librarian with terrible judgment and impeccable timing.
She looked unstoppable.
She met my gaze, chest rising fast, extinguisher clutched like a weapon she fully intended to use again.
She was mine.
The thought landed whole and undeniable, even as the fight snapped back into focus.
I didn’t waste the opening she gave me.
I finished it fast.
One strike sent the choking dragon crashing into a support beam. A second sent him through the remaining wall and out into the night.
When the ground finally stopped shaking, I shifted back, pain rushing in all at once.
I barely noticed. My gaze locked on. She was staring at me with open wonder, dust streaking her clothes.
“You’re a dragon,” she blurted.
I swallowed hard.
“Yes,” I said.
And for some reason, instead of running, she smiled.
13
ARTEMIS
I was thrilled.
Probably an irresponsible emotional response given the circumstances, but it was the truth. Somewhere between nearly being incinerated and watching a man I liked turn into a dragon, my brain had decided this was the best thing that had ever happened to me.
That was the part of me that had always wanted the world to be bigger and stranger than it was. Apparently that part had been waiting patiently for fire and scales.
Magic was real. Dragons were real. And my life had just become extremely interesting.
I stood outside the wrecked storage building with my hands shaking slightly from leftover adrenaline and a deep, buzzing sense of awe that refused to quiet down. In the distance, sirens wailed, but my brain barely registered it.
Concrete dust coated my shoes. The metal door was folded in on itself. I cataloged the damage automatically, because thatwas easier than cataloging the fact that none of this would ever fit back into my old life.
Arthur turned toward me. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I said immediately. Then, because my brain demanded accuracy, “Not physically. Emotionally, we can circle back.”
His hands hovered near my shoulders, clearly wanting to check anyway. He stopped himself, visibly choosing restraint, and that choice did something inconvenient to my heart.
