Silver Basilisk: Silver Shifters - Book 4 by Chant Zoe

Author:Chant, Zoe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-08-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

GODIVA

At first it startled her when Rigo shifted, and she watched, fascinated as his eyes lanced a glowing shaft of green light at a rock. She sneezed violently at the smell of burning stone, but when his huge body blocked that howling wind, she scooted gratefully as close to the glowing stone as she could get, her toes tucked under his armored tail.

“Thanks,” she sighed, thankful for Rigo’s smooth, scaled back blocking the wind. “Number 5,437 on the Getting Old Shit List is temperature changes. I used to be proud that I could endure any weather. Maybe it’s not age. Maybe living in Southern California has made me go soft.”

She looked to either side, where Rigo’s legs formed protective columns, and slid her hand along the smoothness of Rigo’s scales. They were steely, cool to the touch. She leaned over to study more of him, admiring a huge claw the size of a manhole cover that looked like it could shred a tank. Potentially fierce—Rigo’s basilisk looked like he could personally take on an entire tank regiment, even with close air support—but he sat so still and quiet, curved around her like her very own fortress.

She turned her head up the other way to admire more of him, her admiration turning to dismay when she saw his magnificent crested head bent at an awkward angle. “That cannot be comfortable,” she exclaimed. “Go ahead and change back. This mega-heat you made is more than warm enough. Anyway, it’s raining out there again. The temperature has to be coming up a bit.”

He blurred, and with a brief whispery sound he was human again. He dropped down next to her, one forearm propped on his bent knee, hands loose. She’d always liked his hands, the palms rough from work, but gentle even in their latent strength.

She eyed his profile as he peered out at the rain slanting down, smooth skin over strong bones, eyelashes long and gold-tipped. Was that from working out in the sun? What did he do, anyway? She had yet to ask.

As she reveled in the warmth from the stone, she let her gaze travel down over the white shirt molded by the shape of his arms. His look had changed so much from the old days, when he switched between two very worn pairs of jeans—this was back in the days when jeans belonged to the working person, before they became a fashion—sun-faded cowboy shirts, ragged kerchief, and a battered, low-brimmed hat. The only thing shared between then and now was riding boots.

Godiva knew nothing about labels. Her fashion sense had firmly stayed in the hippie era. But his slacks looked expensive without being flashy, and his cotton shirt fit well over his broad shoulders and that long torso as flat as when she’d known him. She liked the idea that he stayed in shape . . .

Wow, that stone was sure putting out the heat.

Or was the heat inside? She was suddenly aware of a stirring way down deep, where she’d thought the ashes had long gone cold.

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