Page 45 of The Dragon’s Good Girl

"Dragons where I come from have very particular ideas about what makes one of us strong. What we accumulate. What we can defend. How much territory we control and how effectively we make everyone else understand it belongs to us."

"And you weren't very good at that?"

"I was excellent at it."

Her mouth twitches.

"I simply didn't enjoy it," I continue. "I never understood the point of possessing something only to spend the rest of my life guarding it from everyone else."

"What did you want instead?"

The answer comes too easily.

"To look after what was mine."

Something changes in her expression.

I look down at my glass. "That was not considered an admirable instinct."

"What was?"

"Taking. Winning. Being feared enough that nobody tried to take anything back." I shrug, though there's nothing casual about the memories. "I preferred books, blankets and a quiet house. You can imagine the disappointment."

Margot smiles faintly, but it doesn't last. "So you left."

"Eventually."

"Because they thought caring about things made you weak?"

"Among other reasons."

She looks down at her hands for a moment. "Someone once made me feel weak for wanting someone to care about me."

I know.

I've known since I read her intake, but hearing her say it aloud is different.

"They were wrong," I tell her.

Her eyes lift to mine.

"So was your clan," she says.

A laugh catches me by surprise. "Yes, I guess they were."

Margot looks at me for another moment, then pushes back her chair and comes around the table.

Before I can ask what she's doing, she settles into my lap and curls against me, tucking her head beneath my chin as though this is a perfectly ordinary place for her to be.

My arms close around her on instinct.

The purr starts almost immediately.

I feel her smile against my chest before her hand comes up to rest over the rumble, and that only makes it deepen. She doesn't tease me about it this time. She simply settles closer, warm and comfortable in my arms, while I hold her.

Eventually, dinner is finished, her hair dries, and the hour gets late enough that neither of us can pretend she isn't going home.

I help her into the green dress and walk downstairs with her.