Page 41 of Saving Her Dragon

The physical contact didn't just register; it detonated.

The biting, impossible cold of the metal instrument collided with the heat of the pure Dragon Fire…

HAN ROARED.

The sound wasn't a mental whisper. It was a massive, deafening bellow that tore through Garrett’s throat, echoing violently against the kitchen walls.

Garrett doubled over, his eyes flying open as he clutched his chest, gasping for air as if the wind had been violently slammed out of his lungs. Sydney bolted from her chair, her hands flaring with a sudden, protective spark of White Dragon Magic. Outside, the screen door flew open as Grey and Carrick went into full Guardsman mode, their hands instinctively pulling their weapons from the ether as they breached the kitchen.

Darcy backed off instantly, raising her hands in a calm, non-threatening gesture, her eyes wide with shock.

"Garrett!" Sydney cried, dropping to her knees beside his stool, her hands locking onto his trembling shoulders. "Garrett, breathe! Talk to me!"

Inside his head, the thunderous storm had completely cleared. The unyielding wall that had blocked the dream last night was fractured, smoke rising from the cracks. Han was panting, his massive golden eyes wide with a terrifying, sudden clarity.

"Han..." Garrett choked out, his voice a raw, ragged whisper as he gripped Sydney’s wrists. "Han, what is it?"

The kitchen went entirely silent, everyone holding their breath as Garrett stared blindly into the empty air, listening to the voice echoing from the deepest structures of his soul.

“I remember,” Han whispered, his deep tone trembling with an ancient, chilling awe. “Lad... I remember.”

"What?" Garrett demanded aloud, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. "What do you see?"

“It was a place,” Han rumbled, struggling to piece the fractured images together. “Fragments. Cold stone beneath us. The sound of rushing water nearby. Darkness... but it wasn't true darkness, because something was faintly glowing. A low, pulsing light.”

Garrett relayed the words to the room, his voice shaking. "A place. Stone and water. A glowing light."

“And a circle,” Han pushed further, his mental claws digging into the fresh memory. “There was a circle, Garrett. Massive. Heavy.”

"What kind of circle, Han?" Garrett pressed mentally, his tactical brain desperate for a grid coordinate, a landmark, anything. "Were there markings? Symbols?"

“I don't know,” Han struggled, the memory beginning to fray at the edges under the strain. “There were stones. Massive stones. Arranged around me. Around us.”

"Where?" Garrett asked aloud, looking at Carrick and Grey. "How many stones?"

“I can't see the number,” Han growled in frustration, the image fading back into the shadows of his mind. “But there was something else... right before the void took us entirely.”

Garrett leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "What?"

“Something burning,” Han whispered into the dark. “And I could smell you.” His voice trembled with a rare, raw vulnerability.

Garrett felt his own breath hitch. “Me?”

“Aye,” Han rumbled, the ancient entity shifting restlessly within his psyche. “I could smell your scent—the leather, the rain, the ash. But I couldn't feel you, Lad. You weren't there, but I could smell that you had been there.”

The admission shattered Garrett's final, desperate line of defense. The physical timeline was a puzzle. The stolen tie tack had been terrifying. But this cut deeper than either. Through years of captivity, solitary confinement, and Leviathan's experimentation, Garrett had survived because he and Han shared one soul. They were an absolute unit. If the world went black, they faced the Darkness together.

But during those missing thirty-second intervals at 3:42 AM, even his Dragon King lost him. Sydney couldn't feel him through the Mating Bond. Han couldn't feel him from the inside. Garrett remembered absolutely nothing.

Whatever happened during those missing thirty seconds, Garrett wasn't simply asleep. Somehow, even Han lost him.

Garrett abruptly stood up from the kitchen stool, his chest heaving as the air turned suffocatingly thin. He didn't look at Darcy, his brother Carrick, Ginnie, or even Sydney. He needed air. He needed a perimeter where the walls weren't closing in on him. Turning on his heel, he marched straight through the screen door, letting it slam shut behind him.

When Sydney stepped out onto the porch, Garrett was standing near the edge of the gravel drive, his hands gripping the wooden railing, his head bowed against the morning sun. He knew she had sat counting down from thirty before she left the kitchen. He didn’t have to listen to her thoughts filling the Mating Bond; he just knew his Mate, and more than that, knew that Sydney knew how to handle him.

She walked down the steps, her bare feet silent on the grass until she stood directly beside him, her shoulder brushing his arm. It was just another of the wonderful familiarities he shared with his Mate.

He just wished he could enjoy the feeling instead of worrying about what might happen next…