Lord of Destiny (The Dragon Demigods #6) - Charlene Hartnady Page 0,6

bad idea.”

“I can take him….in my sleep,” Rage says. “Somewhere private. I’d unleash a smidgen of my power on him, and he’d be toast.”

“You mean dead.” Jarrod turns back to look at Rage.

I glance in the rearview mirror. “I have some control,” he mutters. “Enough to bring that asshole down a rung or two. He needs it. He couldn’t fight me without his superhuman strength.” He grunts.

“That’s how he got those first punches in,” I say.

“Damn straight,” Rage mutters. “He used his superhuman strength, and I didn’t. He needs his ass whipped. Arrogant little prick!”

“They’re leaving town. It’s for the best.” I feel a pang as I say it. I would have liked to have gotten to know Raven. I’ve never seen eyes that color before.

“I agree,” Jarrod says. “It’s absolutely for the best.”

“I thought I saw scales for a moment,” Rage says. “On West. I might have been mistaken. My head was ringing after he snuck in a power-riddled punch. It was for a split second, but…” He scrunches his eyes up in thought. “I could have sworn…”

Jarrod pulls in a breath. “There’s a good possibility that they are dragon shifters.” There are stories about small dragon weyrs that no longer have any contact with the main weyr. The one we were born into. They’re just stories. Then again, where there’s smoke, there is sometimes fire.

Rage shakes his head and scratches his jaw. “Part shifter…I think. West was too strong. I don’t think he was pure dragon. There was more there.” He shrugs.

“That’s interesting. Do you think they could be…?” I shake my head at the thought.

“Who knows.” Jarrod shrugs. “More and more, we’re coming to realize that we share this planet with various creatures. That harpy, centaur shifters, those cyclopes… Then there’s Death…us…who knows what else might be out there.”

“Straight up demigods?” Rage adds.

“Yep…those too.” Jarrod nods.

“We can talk circles around this for hours.” I look in the rearview mirror for a second. “They’re leaving. We’ll never know.” Again, I feel an unexpected pang at the thought of Raven going. I’m being an idiot. I don’t know her. I met her for all of a minute. Dating her would never have worked, since she can read me. If she’s anything like me, she doesn’t like touching people she can read. Me being one of them. I know that I purposely stay far away from humans. I hardly know any non-humans. There are so few of us. My dating pool is seriously small. I need to forget all about it and concentrate on getting us home. I have work to do. A pile of work. I’ll focus on that instead of a certain curly-haired beauty.

The next morning…

Pancakes.

I’ve woken up with pancakes on the brain. Blueberry pancakes with whipped cream, lashings of butter and maple syrup, to be precise. I can’t seem to get them out of my head. Bolt’s girlfriend’s family owns a bakery in town that makes the best plate of pancakes I have ever tasted. They started as a special a couple of weeks ago and have become a fixed item on the menu. That’s how popular they are.

I’m on a deadline and working like a dog, so I’m fully aware that my pancake craving is also a good dose of procrastination.

“Fuck it!” I mutter to the empty room. I’ve been working for hours. I can take a break. I push my chair back, grab the keys to my Jeep, and head out. The bakery closes at the end of today for renovations. That might be the other reason I have this unexpected craving.

I’m only a few minutes from home when I spot them on the side of the road. “What…?” I almost can’t believe my eyes.

The car is an old rusted piece of shit. I’m shocked it’s even licensed. That thing should be condemned and sent to the scrapyard. The hood is open, and that asshole, West, is leaning over the engine. I pull in behind the broken-down car. Two things shock me off the bat. One, there are five of them – two guys who weren’t at the fight yesterday, and two, how beautiful Raven is in the morning light.

I know. I’m a fucking loser, but I can’t help but notice. Her hair is a wild tangle of black curls. It’s loose. She’s wearing a pair of messed-up boots – the kind you would wear on a building site or to a moshpit – and a floral sundress. The contrast is stark, and yet it