Page 10 of Red Dragon’s Flame

The next morning Mikah walked down the grassy hillside from the castle to a spot in the valley at the edge of the forest, where there was a magical portal terminus in an area secured by spell wards and a 24/7 rotation of guards.

They’d had some bad experiences in the past, with invaders.

Michelangela was late, of course. Mikah chilled out in the sun next to the guard hut, shooting the shit with the on-duty guards and shoving away all thoughts of the paperwork piling up on his desk.

Finally an eight-foot-tall funnel opening appeared in the air, filled with swirling gray clouds like a sideways tornado, and sparkling with magic at the edges.

Three tiny figures appeared in the distant end of the funnel—two tall and one shorter—and seemed to rush towards them at unnatural speed, until they grew to normal size and stepped out of the portal.

“Mikah!” Michelangela ran forward and threw herself on Mikah in a hug, the weight of her plus her bulging backpack sending him staggering back half a step. Over her shoulder he caught a glimpse of Rafe’s face, quickly hidden hurt flickering across it before he pasted on a smile.

Dammit, they were still fighting.

Mikah disentangled himself from Michelangela—whose enthusiastic greeting had probably been half for Rafe’s benefit. He greeted Brock, and clasped Rafe’s hand, giving him a quick bro hug. “How you holding up?” he murmured.

Rafe shrugged.

Michelangela, her shifter hearing on the alert, said, “Oh, sure, feel sorry for him. Make sure you get his bribe for taking me off his hands.”

Mikah wasn’t getting in the middle of this. He just said, “If you think I’m turning down his bourbon, you’re sadly deluded.”

Michelangela snorted.

Rafe said to Michelangela, “You’re lucky Mikah agreed to let you come, so do us all a favor and don’t make his life a misery. Do not steal any magical items. Do not sneak into anyone’s dragon hoard, or ‘borrow’ any of it. Do not base jump off the castle towers. Do not base jump off the cliffs. Do not scare the wolf pups. Do not bite anyone. Do not let your wolf chase Emon’s sheep. Do not destroy anything. Do not—”

Michelangela rolled her eyes, making the Charlie Brown Adults All Sound the Same noise: “Wanh wanh wanh wanh wanh wanh wanh…”

Rafe gritted his teeth. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t come crying to me if a dragon flames you into ashes for being a royal pain in their ass.” He handed Mikah a shopping bag that clinked in a satisfactory manner. “She’s all yours.”

He hesitated before turning back to the portal, and said to his daughter, “I don’t suppose I get a hug goodbye?”

Michelangela was inspecting her nail polish. “No.”

Rafe hesitated, then walked over and put his hand gently on the back of her neck and kissed her forehead. Michelangela stood stiffly, staring at the ground.

Rafe sighed and made a small helpless gesture at Mikah. Mikah said, “I’ll look after her.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she muttered resentfully.

Brock snorted. Michelangela gave him the finger, and he grinned.

Rafe clapped Brock and Mikah on the shoulder, and walked back to the portal, pausing just before he stepped inside. He said almost inaudibly, “Love you, Ninja Baby,” before he stepped into the portal.

The words were too soft for humans to hear, but Mikah knew Michelangela’s wolf hearing had picked them up just fine. She bit her lip and dropped her gaze.

Mikah shook his head. Michelangela was Rafe’s princess and the apple of his eye. They’d been inseparable when she was a little girl, and nobody could adore their daughter more than he did. This must be killing him.

As he turned around Michelangela lifted her head and dashed away a tear.

“He hates me,” she said. “Everyone does. They treat me like I’m five.”

Mikah stopped himself from saying that if she’d stop causing so much trouble, everyone wouldn’t be so pissed off at her. She was growing up, and feeling trapped, and trying to bust out of the cage of childhood. She was just going about it in the worst possible way.

Brock came to the rescue, slinging his arm around her shoulders and ruffling her hair. “I don’t,” he said. “I treat you like you’re at least eight. Maybe even nine.”

She shoved his hand halfheartedly away and said, “You’re a dick, Reilly.” But she smiled a little. Brock did too, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes, which were bloodshot and looked tired. Too little sleep, or too much alcohol? Or both. But Brock was an adult—twenty last birthday—so he was entitled to make his own choices.

Instead Mikah said to Michelangela, “Well, it’s a good thing you came. Shadowfire and I have a quest coming up, and tonight is recon. We need your skills. You up for it?”