Naked Dragon

by Annette Blair

  “Okay,” he said, as Vivica instructed him to say when, as Vivica put it, he had no clue. He accepted his Creamsicle and took a bite. It burst cold in his mouth with a flavor reminiscent of ory flowers. The long, thin center, also flavorful, reminded him of his days of foraging on the island when meat was in short supply.

  “Uh, you ate the stick,” McKenna said.

  “Okay.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance and offered him her own long, chewy center.

  “You do not want it?” he asked.

  “No. Go ahead.”

  He accepted it, enjoyed its special flavor, and licked his lips. “I like this part best.”

  “What planet are you from?”

  “Ah, planets and solar systems. I studied them.”

  “As did we all. You really take the fiber thing seriously, don’t you?”

  “Okay.” He admired the sparkle in her eyes.

  During his acclimation at Works Like Magick, he had looked for the heart mate Andra meant for him. He looked in the women who buffed his nails and tried to groom his hair—though he would not let them slice it with those double-edged swords. When he and Vivica walked to restaurants for eating lessons—not his favorite sport, juggling knives and other pronged weapons not fit to slay pixies—he looked for his heart mate in the women on the streets and in restaurants, as well.

  On their way to Boston, in a tube car in a long underground cave Vivica called the T, a fast-moving place with body odor and cranky humans, he made the mistake of asking one woman if she had a heart. His face still stung remembering her slap.

  While being acclimated into the mainstream at Works Like Magick, he had examined every woman who came looking for a job or for an employee. But they all seemed ordinary and of little interest . . . until the day McKenna visited.

  Vivica had popped him a computer note on top of his lesson. “I see you watching. Can you work for this woman?”

  He had replied: “I can do anything for the right woman, and the one talking to you is the first who sparks me.” He wanted to come right away but took several more days of lessons, at Vivica’s urging, before he set out to find McKenna, Jock cavorting about his head and Dewcup, the unwanted, cursing him all the way. If Dewcup’s curses came true, he should have three man lances by now.

  As he had neared McKenna’s house, the spirits who witnessed his arrival, and more, showed themselves, some more stern in their warnings while others slapped their hands together or cheered.

  He did not understand any of it.

  Warnings aside, given McKenna’s pure and beautiful heart, he would be as careful with her as the spirits protecting her were.

  From McKenna Greylock herself, she who he did not yet know, what he wanted he could not yet name. Something larger and wider than his dragon being—which had been enormous—an undefined connection as remarkable as his tumble through the planes, but greater, deeper, and connected to the region of his chest.

  Bastian feared this want with a different kind of dread than of failing Andra and his brothers.

  In meeting McKenna, he feared that he had found another he dared not fail. Failing her implied a consequence worse than death.

  TWELVE

  Bastian studied McKenna’s actions as she fastened the hard blue blanket she called a tarp over their foundation puzzle repair using objects she called a hammer, nails, duck tape, and two-by-fours. When her actions made sense, he worked with her.

  When they did not, he stood back, watched, and learned. “How do ducks make this tape?” he asked, pulling some off the roll. “Or is it made for their use? Ducks are yellow and quack, are they not?”

  “Literal,” she said with a sigh. “Ask me when I don’t want to crown you.”

  “I have already been crowned, thank you.” With three horns.

  She raised both brows. “Sure you have.”

  He did not appreciate her tone.

  After they finished, he admired their tarp wall. “Should we not fasten another on the opposite side, outdoors, to keep the blocks in place? The wind, it frolics today.”

  “It frolics?”

  The sound of McKenna’s lilting mockery astounded him. He should be outraged, an alpha warrior mocked by a female with fiery hair and flowers on her gown. “What do you call what you are wearing?” he asked. He had not stayed at Works Like Magick long enough to study women’s clothing, not that he cared to learn, except perhaps about the clothes McKenna took off.

  She looked down at herself. “It’s a flower-child dress, high waist and hem to the ground. It was my mother’s. Why?”

  “You look good.”

  She made a noise like a swooping bustard and shook her head as she went upstairs, and he followed. “Be honest,” she said. “You’ve been in prison, haven’t you, for, like, skady-eight years? You were the fall guy. Not guilty, but you took the heat, because you have a big heart.”

  Big and getting bigger. And not only his heart. “Okay.”

  “When you say okay, I feel as if you’re patronizing me, like you’re smarter than you let on.”

  “Define patronizing.”

  “All right, so you’re a mystery man, an enigma, and you like it that way.”

  “Define enigma.”

  Near the top of the stairs, she turned back to him. “You’re a pain.”

  “Pain, I understand. I apologize.”

  She waved off his apology. “On the way outside, I’ll give you an abbreviated house tour, and after we secure the foundation, I’ll show you the property. I intended the bed downstairs, covered in drywall and dust, for my handyman, but until we can fix that mess, I’ll find you a bedroom upstairs.”

  When they got to the top, she bit her lip, and Bastian could swear that he felt how hard she did, because his bottom lip hurt in the same place. Unusual, that. He coaxed her bottom lip from between her teeth, and looking wide-eyed and surprised, she let him. His lip stopped hurting. “I hate to see you hurt yourself,” he said, puzzled. “I thought you would draw blood.”

  She backed into the edge of the open doorway leading to the basement and he caught her by the shoulders so she would not fall. They stood fast heartbeat to happy man lance for a minute before she pulled to the side and smoothed her dress. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  As they turned into a hall, a meowing snack jumped out at them, a swirled one, almost as ruddy as his scales had been, Dewcup riding it, though Bastian did not think this snack was meant to be ridden. It reminded him of a smaller and rounder version of Vivica’s Isis, with swirls in its fur, instead of spots.

  McKenna caught the silly snack to her heart. “No matter how many times she attacks like that, she still makes me laugh.”

  Good thing McKenna could not see the faery on her snack’s back. “I like her color,” he said, never having seen anything quite like it.

  “She’s a red mackerel tabby. I tried to name her after some shade of red, but she’s more of a dark terra cotta. Then when she tilted her head and looked at me, I named her.” She held the snack up and looked it in the eye. “The name Jaunty popped into my head, and it fit, didn’t it, sweetie?”

  The ruddy-colored snack crawled into his arms, so he held on while McKenna petted the striking, whisker-faced beastie, accidentally swiping Dewcup off its back. Bastian could no longer see the faery, but he could hear her insults from across the room. Meanwhile, he enjoyed having McKenna so close that her arm stroked his chest as she scratched her pet behind an ear.

  “Why does your snack wear a hat? Vivica’s does not.”

  “This is a cat, not a snack,” McKenna said. “She’s been playing guerilla warfare for days. I think her tissue-box helmet is a hoot.”

  “A helmet? She is crazy, your snack—cat?”

  “You can’t blame a kitten for bonding with her bed,” McKenna said, “after she’s left on your doorstep in a tissue box at the ripe old age of newborn runt.”

  McKenna looked up at him, expecting his underst
anding, so he nodded, thinking he could get lost in the green of her eyes as deep as the sea.

  “I guess I made her tissue-box-dependent by continuing to give her fresh boxes and tissue mattresses.”

  “I do not understand,” Bastian said. “Why did she stop using them as beds and start wearing them as hats?”

  “She got too big, split every box she tried to climb into, but kept trying to nudge new boxes into compliance. One day, she accidentally got her head stuck in one. When that happened, she stopped crying, and walked away happy. Now she’s a pouncing, head-butting kitty warrior that sneaks up on me at every turn.” McKenna petted her Jaunty. “She loves the half-full boxes best—the kind she grew up in. She thinks Mommy’s in the tissues.”

  Bastian nodded. “A mother figure.” Mothers. He had learned about those in his lessons. “I must have had a mother at some point.”

  McKenna paled. “I lost mine a few weeks ago.”

  “Then we should find her.”

  THIRTEEN

  “You do take things literally,” McKenna said, her eyes bright.

  Unable to think beyond wanting to make McKenna smile again, Bastian was almost relieved when Dewcup remounted Jaunty, and McKenna’s hat-wearing cat pounced from his arms, hit the floor, and ran up a wide set of stairs yowling, Dewcup screaming in delight.

  “This way to your bedroom,” McKenna said. “Don’t expect much. This is an ancient old Victorian. My mother called it the house that Jack built, though Angus was the ancestor who built it a couple hundred years ago. My great-grandparents, on my mother’s side, the McKenna side, did a big remodel in their day, and turned it into a primo Victorian, which will look cozy and inviting on my website brochure if I ever get the house painted. There’s practically a porch off every room, which is perfect for a B and B.”

  “I like your house. It is a beautiful and wondrous home like I have only ever seen on Vivica’s computer.”

  “A home, yes,” McKenna said, “but wondrous? I think not. For one thing, I barely have time to clean. For another, I’m making a terrible mess trying to fix it, and while I try, it’s falling down around me, which is where you come in. You’re going to help me turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. This is one of my favorite rooms,” she said, stopping. “The library.”

  “A grand room.” Bastian went to the bookshelves lining the walls, loving their scents and textures. He anticipated learning from them, books being his favorite earth gift, so far, and reading, his best new skill. He chose a book. “A Girl’s Guide to Plumbing,” he read, and looked at McKenna for an explanation.

  “Those are my how-to books on home repair.” She shrugged. “While I normally shun reading material that assumes a female’s lack of knowledge, I detest admitting that I don’t understand construction jargon, so the Girl Guides to everything in home repair work for me. Never tell Steve.”

  “The man who will help me learn? I will not tell. This plumbing is something I should know, then?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Bastian flipped slowly through the book, wholly absorbing its knowledge at dragon warp speed. “Imagine that I know nothing about fixing a house,” he said, “and pick out all the books you think I should read, please. Stack them here by the chair for later.”

  “First, I give the orders. Second, you do know how much, or how little, I’m paying you, right?”

  “Yes, but you forgot to ask if I know anything about what you hired me to do.”

  “Oh.”

  He sensed her disappointment. “I will do the job. I learn fast. Vivica says I am a quick study. And I take my responsibilities seriously. I will know what to do when it is time. Show me the rest of your home.”

  “Again, I give the orders, though I do like the way you say home. You make me feel good about the place, as if I can do this. I haven’t been proud of it in ages. You’re right, though—it’s more than an impossible project; it’s a home. My home. My family’s home. I nearly forgot.”

  Bastian followed her into a room where the spirits of two females stood beside a bed. Both wore dresses similar to McKenna’s, the eldest woman’s darker with long sleeves and a high neck, in contrast to the younger woman’s bright short-sleeved dress. He recognized the spirits from among the deceased men and women who had acknowledged his arrival on earth and again today. “This room has a sense of love that lingers,” he said with a nod to acknowledge their presence.

  They thanked him telepathically and introduced themselves as McKenna’s mother and grandmother.

  Bastian realized then that McKenna lost her mother to death, and he felt bad for not understanding. He wished he could communicate in English as well as he could think in dragon or communicate telepathically.

  He asked them to help him get to know McKenna better.

  “This was my grandmother’s room, then my mother’s,” McKenna said, unaware of her ancestors’ presence as she touched random items with reverence. “This picture is Gran, and this is my mom.”

  The spirits radiated as much love for McKenna as she did for them.

  Bastian looked closely at a set of tiny statues lined on a shelf. “Dragons?”

  “The McKenna women have been collecting them for years. Some are as old as the family line. I believe that Ciarra carved that one herself.”

  “Ciarra had the Sight,” the older of the two spirits told him without McKenna’s knowledge. “Ciarra knew you would come.”

  Bastian’s heart quickened. “Then I do belong to McKenna? Or, she to me?”

  “I said we knew you would come. We canna’ promise that she will keep you.” The elder spirit winked. “She’s stubborn strong, is our McKenna.”

  FOURTEEN

  “ What do you think of dragons, Miss McKennal? ”

  “I’m either Miss Greylock or McKenna. You can call me McKenna, as long as you remember which of us is boss.”

  “You are the boss. You give the orders. I am the grunt. I remember.” Though he was the alpha meant to tame her. “So what do you think of dragons?”

  “I find them fascinating. I always have. They’re a creature you wish existed. They’re . . . I don’t know . . . magical. I grew up loving them. Do you know how to make a dragon stew?”

  “What!”

  “Keep him waiting! Hah! Sorry, I don’t know why that came to me,” she said. “It’s a joke. My friend’s son told it the other day. His name is Wyatt. He’s five.”

  Bastian thought he should probably smile, and he tried, until McKenna turned back to the collection. “This dark red dragon is another Ciarra carved. It’s the oldest. Gran rubbed its belly every night for luck. And I have to be honest, with time running out on getting my bed-and-breakfast up and going, I’ve taken to coming in here every night to rub his belly myself.”

  Bastian’s man lance thickened. The lucky wooden figure could be a carving of himself as a dragon, though something had broken off the top. He only wished McKenna would take to rubbing his belly, instead.

  McKenna’s mother and grandmother chided him for the thought.

  “Take your time with her,” McKenna’s gran said.

  “Yes, be gentle,” her mother added. “McKenna has been hurt by men and she’s skittish. She needs to be accepted as she is, flaws and all.”

  “Well, who would not,” he told them. “I, too, need to be accepted in that way.”

  The elder nodded. “She needs you to be her friend first.”

  “As my daughter’s employee, becoming her friend will be difficult. Try to get her to relax once in a while.”

  “But don’t try too hard. My granddaughter will dig in her heels and work that much harder if you try to steer her from her course. Take her on a picnic.”

  “But make her think it’s her idea. She melts at a kind word, but she can smell a false compliment from across the valley. My daughter is no fool.”

  Gran sighed. “And she likes to laugh. Make McKenna laugh, and often. It’s a beautiful sound.”

  Bastian shoved his hands in hi
s pockets and pretended to be looking over the dragon collection. “Assuming I stay longer than two weeks,” he told the women, “I will try to make her laugh.”

  McKenna’s mother shook her head. “Don’t be silly about it. Kenna can’t abide foolishness. Laugh with her.”

  “Not at her.” Gran shook a finger his way. “She’s sensitive about her size.”

  “So am I. I feel like a clumsy ox, especially beside McKenna. I started as a small Roman, I became a huge dragon, and now I am a big man. Frankly, none of my skins fit right. I have been uncomfortable in all of them.”

  Her mother smiled. “McKenna needs a man willing to help shoulder her burdens, someone as tenacious as her and strong enough to breach the barrier around her heart.”

  “Bastian,” McKenna said. “Are you listening to me?”

  “Of course.” He gave McKenna his attention while continuing to speak telepathically with her female ancestors. “As you see, I have already met the barrier. She can be stubborn and bossy.”

  McKenna’s mother crossed her arms. “I hope you know how to back down from a disagreement, because McKenna won’t.”

  “Don’t misjudge her as weak,” McKenna’s grandmother countered. “She’s prepared to meet her most dangerous enemy alone. Don’t let her. She needs you.”

  “But she will never admit it, will she?”

  The spirits smiled with approval.

  Wonderful. McKenna, who did not know what she wanted, came with ancestors who read his deepest yearnings and disagreed with each other about how he should treat their descendent.

  He did not stand a chance.

  “Oh, but you have every chance. My daughter doesn’t know yet, but I believe she’s meant for you. Tell her as much and you’ll never win her.”