Chapter Sixty – The Dragon’s Favorite Strays
Chapter Sixty
DAKOTA
“Where walk?” Murr asks me. “Where go?”
“No place in particular,” I say. I move to his side and take his hand in mind. “Just to walk around and talk, and think.”
Murr nods slowly. “Think…good.”
“Thinking is good,” I correct. Thess spoke so well that I wonder if I’m doing a disservice to Murr as his teacher to not constantly correct his English. It’s just…I understand what he’s conveying when he speaks, so I don’t feel the need to push him to speak properly. I don’t want the other drakoni thinking he’s less intelligent because his language is a bit more broken. If anything, the blame falls on me. “I’ll try to be better at teaching you our words.”
He smiles at me, but it’s a vague sort of smile, and I realize he’s a million miles away. That’s all right, too. A lot just changed for all of us with Thess’s visit, but I imagine seeing her again made his world tilt on end. He’s going to need to work through it all. So I stroll around the parking lot with him, not speaking. I want to give him the space he needs, and just be at his side in case he wants to talk to me.
We circle around the parking lot maybe three times in a row, a few of the cats trotting at our sides as we head in for another lap. Murr lifts our joined hands and studies them, then looks at me. “Dakota cold?”
“No, I’m fine. Are you cold? You’re not wearing much.” He never does.
He just lifts our joined hands again and pats my fingers. Oh, they’re cold. “That’s just me. I guess I have cold hands. You don’t have to keep holding it.”
I try to pull my hand from his and he shakes his head, continuing to hold onto my hand and petting it like it’s a kitten. “Murr like Dakota hand.” He pauses. “Murtades. Not Murr.”
“How does it feel to have your full name back?” I ask. I wonder how he could forget it, but I also don’t know what he’s gone through. Thess said the Rift made the dragons crazy through their psychic links. Maybe now that it’s closed it took a lot of the memories with it.
He thinks for a moment, and then pauses in his walking. I stop with him and gaze up at him as cats twine around our legs. His mouth works for a moment, and then he shakes his head. “No words.”
I nod. “Strange feeling? Too much feeling?”
Murr stops petting my hand and indicates his brow. “Murtades here…big. Many.” He puts his hand to his mouth and mimes speaking. “Here…small.”
“It’s not the same when it’s spoken as when it’s thought?”
He nods at me, and manages a little smile. “Here, I Murr. Feels good.”
“Whatever you want to be called, just let us know.” I give the hand I’m still holding a squeeze. “I can call you Murtades or Murr or something else entirely.”
Lifting my hand to his mouth, he smiles and nips on my fingertip, surprising me. “Murr happy. Not broken.”
Now I’m the one that’s confused. It takes me a moment to remember what he’s talking about. The conversation with Thess about how he thought he was broken because he couldn’t communicate, and it turns out all the drakoni are cut off. “Did you really think you were broken?”
“Long time, yes. Quiet, quiet, all quiet.” He shakes his head. “Bad quiet. Murr broken, hide from other drakoni. No belong anymore.”
“Of course you belong,” I say softly, my heart hurting for him. To think he’s been carrying all this fear and doubt and I had no idea. I hate that. I feel like such a bad friend – and a worse girlfriend. “Just because something changed with how you talk doesn’t mean you’re no longer drakoni. It just means they have to listen a little harder.”
He kisses my fingertips again. “Dakota listens. Always, Dakota listens.”
A heated flush curls through my body. I can’t stop staring at his lips as he nibbles on my fingers. “Of course I listen. We’re friends.”
That makes him pause. Murr’s expression changes, and then he tugs on my wrist, dragging me closer to him. His eyes are swirling with a dark, rich gold and he pulls me in close enough to wrap his arm around my waist. My breasts press up against his bare chest, and I stare at his clavicle before looking up into his face again.
“No friends,” he says. “Murr want Dakota wife.”
And then he kisses me. His mouth is on mine, hot and claiming, and his tongue sweeps against mine so boldly that it makes my toes curl in my worn shoes. I gasp when he pulls away, dazed at the ferocious, brief kiss. “W-what has Rabbit been telling you?” I ask, because I certainly haven’t taught him the word ‘wife’. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Murr not wife. Broken. Now not broken.” His hand slides to my buttock and grips it tight. “Now wife.”
Oh sweet lord have mercy. “You don’t want a dragon woman?”
“Want Dakota.” He leans in, his nose brushing against mine in the lightest of caresses. “What Dakota want?”
