Dragon's Curvy Firefighter by Annabelle Winters

Author:Annabelle Winters [Winters, Annabelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rainshine
Published: 2020-05-19T16:00:00+00:00

9

FRANNIE

“Careful!” I scream as my Storm Dragon almost takes out a flock of seagulls somewhere off the coast of Italy. Or maybe it’s South America. How the hell should I know? I’ve barely been East of the Mississippi. Or is it West of the Mississippi. Whatever. Every country looks the same when you’re ten thousand feet above the ground.

You aren’t doing much for the stereotype that women suck at directions, my Dragon coldly informs me.

“OK, so I know you’re grumpy because I didn’t let you eat those seagulls. Or those storks. Or those dolphins. Or those fisherfolk in their boats,” I say. “But that’s no reason to start insulting me. And insulting yourself too, by the way. You’re flying this thing, remember?”

Am I? Sure doesn’t feel like it, grumbles my Dragon. Talk about a backseat driver.

“Just shut up and fly,” I snap even as I feel myself smile through my animal. I am in a hurry to find my mate, but I’m also learning about what it feels like to be a Dragon. Clearly a lot of being a Dragon means wanting to kill and eat every living thing you see. And clearly I’m getting used to the feeling, since I think I was drooling a little when those fat juicy seagulls squawked at us . . .

We fly high above the Earth in silence for a while, and soon I feel us start to descend to familiar territory. I’d wanted to come back to my hometown, back to where I’d last seen Fikus. I figured we could pick up the trail there, since I had no other ideas about how to track down our mate.

Thankfully it’s dark by the time we descend close enough to be seen. All traces of the semi-truck and the dead Black Dragon are long gone, and I marvel at how efficiently the government can operate when it wants. Still, I feel my Dragon perk up as we come in for a landing, and I know she’s picked up the scent.

“I knew that big snout would come in handy,” I say, pleased at how this plan is working out so far. Now we follow the trail like a bloodhound, and when we get there we just send a rainstorm in through the windows and then bust in through the front door. Shouldn’t need to kill anyone, even though I’m kinda getting used to that intoxicating energy that feels like thirst but much more . . . violent?

It’s called bloodlust, honey, growls my Dragon. That’s how Dragons roll. Shoulda explained it to ya, but I thought it would be self-evident. Clearly I underestimated how much control you’d be able to exert over my primal instincts. Not to mention your own primal instincts.

“What the hell does that mean?” I say. “Which of my own primal instincts was I controlling?”

Never mind, grumbles my Dragon. Let’s just hunt for our mate, and then you’ll see what I mean.

I almost feel the woman in me blush when I realize what my Dragon means.

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