Page 30 of Saving Her Dragon

Stepping up to the jacket, he slid his right hand into the deep side pocket. His knuckles brushed against the heavy denim, his fingers sweeping the bottom of the lining until they collided with a small, cold piece of hard metal.

Wrapping his fingers around it, he pulled his hand out of the pocket. Lifting it into the bright afternoon light filtering through the bedroom window, Garrett froze.

Resting in the middle of his palm was a small, exquisitely crafted piece of jewelry. The deep red center caught the sunlight, throwing fire across his palm.

“Not a gemstone,” he breathed. “A Dragon scale.”

It was beautiful. It was expensive. “It’s familiar… I think,” he whispered.

Garrett’s stomach dropped.

Then, like a physical blow to his temples, Carrick's gravelly voice from seven o'clock that morning echoed perfectly through his head: “Emma made it for me years ago... I only wear the damn thing for official Council business, and on my surcoat for Mating Ceremonies.”

Garrett stood completely rooted to the hardwood floor. His breath hitched sharply in his throat. All the air in the sunny bedroom suddenly sucked away.

“Lad?” Han’s voice rumbled deep inside his mind, a sudden wave of sharp, draconic alertness spiking through their shared consciousness. The Dragon King had felt the instantaneous, violent spike of adrenaline flooding Garrett's system. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Garrett didn't answer. He couldn't force his jaw to move. His tactical brain was already doing what it was trained to do– calculating the variables, running the timeline, analyzing the physical perimeter.

The jacket. He hadn't worn it in four days. He hadn't touched it since the night his boots were caked in gray clay. He hadn't been in the upstairs guest room in... Well, ever. He had absolutely no logical, conscious reason to touch anything on that cedar dresser.

Bam!

Darkness.

The scent of cedar and old leather.

His own hand.

A tiny flash of deep red.

Something cold against his palm.

Prick. Sharp metal bit into the pad of his thumb.

Then, the shutter snapped shut.

The bright bedroom rushed back into view. Garrett was left staggering back against the dresser, his heart hammering violently against his ribs like a trapped bird.

The tie tack was in his hand as he whispered, “I've held this before.”

Inside his psyche, Han was shifting restlessly, his great golden eyes scanning the mental dark in absolute confusion. The Dragon King hadn't seen the flash. He hadn't witnessed the room or the hand closing around the golden object. The barrier inside Garrett’s mind had kept the memory entirely sequestered from their shared Bond, leaving Han to feel only the raw, suffocating wave of Garrett’s horror.

“Garrett, talk to me,” Han demanded, his voice turning dark with rising panic. “What did you find? What is that in your hand?”

Garrett stared down at the glittering red scale resting against his skin, his knuckles trembling. "I've seen this," he whispered aloud, his voice barely a breath.

“When?” Han pushed fiercely. “Where, Lad?”

"I don't know," he murmured, the cold dread locking around his throat. "I don't know."

Sydney walked out of the bathroom, a smile on her lips, but it vanished the instant she saw him.

Standing by the closet, his posture stiff, Garrett’s eyes were entirely fixed on his open palm. The ambient light in the bedroom seemed to dim around him, casting sharp, severe shadows across his face. "Garrett?" she asked, her voice dropping into a quiet, alert register.

He didn't speak. He simply turned his hand over, extending his palm toward her.

Resting in the center of his skin was the heavy gold mount, its deep red Dragon scale catching the afternoon light like an open wound. Sydney froze. He knew the exact second that she recognized it from Carrick's frustrated description that morning.