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“Doesn’t matter.” Granny shrugged. “Your heart got involved just the same, otherwise when you found out the truth you would have dragged his muscly tattooed hot bod back to the pub and saved yourself a day of painful misery until the spell wore off, instead of putting as much distance between him and you as possible.”
Heartbeat ratcheting up to match the constant boom-boom-boom in her aching head, she lashed out. “You’re full of shit.”
“No. I am full of knowledge, that’s why everyone calls me Granny. We all know it’s not because of my age, seeing as I’m only... ” She coughed, the sound eating whatever fake age she had chosen this time.
“It’s not love.” Red’s cheeks burned as she fidgeted with a loose string on the couch. It was true. It had to be true. All it had been was a momentary magical indiscretion—nothing more.
“Maybe not, but it could be—someday. That’s what these spells do; they lower your inhibitions and open you up to the possibilities. They can’t make you feel anything you don’t feel already. Maybe you should give this sexy wolf another chance.”
Before Red could answer, a loud screech sounded, drawing their attention to the window. It was nearly pitch dark on the other side of the glass, but there was no missing the hot-pink dragon staring a hole into her.
“What in the wide world of wizards is that?” Granny asked, her hand pressed firmly against her chest.
“That is Harold.” The sight of him was all it took to drag her away from the edge of admitting something she didn’t want to acknowledge and right back into the familiar territory of being really pissed off.
Granny got up from the couch and sashayed closer to the window. “What does he want?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
Harold tapped on the glass with one long acid-green nail. Red flipped him the bird.
“I think he wants you to open the window,” Granny said.
It was good to want things. She wanted to go back to the time before she’d ever laid eyes on Liam MacTíre and his ass so fine you could bounce quarters off it. “Not gonna happen.”
The dragon narrowed his beady little eyes and plumes of smoke puffed out of his snout.
Granny backed up. “We’re not insured for dragon damage, you go talk to him before he lights up the whole building.”
She didn’t want to. Every instinct in her roared for her to stay the hell away from that window. But Granny would kill her if Harold the hot-pink dragon went all medieval on the pub and turned it crispy.
Red opened the window. “What’s wrong? Did Liam get trapped in a well?”
Harold hovered right next the open window and jerked his chin toward his back.
The lying dirtball Liam had sent his pet dragon to fetch her. Crossing her arms, sticking out one hip and putting enough sass in her voice to play the part of the best friend in a poor excuse for a TV show, she responded in full bitchy glory. “Oh no. There is no way I’m going with you.”
More smoke from his softball-sized nostrils.
This time even she backed up. “This is blackmail.”
The dragon opened his mouth wide. Red braced for the worst. But instead of shooting flames at her, he spit out the Caladbolg sword. It clanged against the floor at her feet.
Her heart jerked to a stop before revving back up to warp-speed levels. Liam’s future depended on that sword. If he didn’t have it, then something had happened to him.
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She sprinted to the window, not giving a damn about the dangers of dealing with a ticked-off dragon or the ever-increasing pounding in her head. “Where is he?”
Harold turned to the side again and motioned toward his back.
“He got captured didn’t he?”
The dragon gave a quick nod.
“I knew it.” Few things in the world felt as good as vindication, but this time being right didn’t do a damn thing to make her feel better. It did just the opposite.
“Are you going to go?” Granny asked.
