Page 56 of Her Dragon King (Her Dragon King Duet 2)
And somehow I doubt these dragons will understand or appreciate our excuse: Hey, it wasn’t your real king who shut you down, but a version of him…from the future. Also, as upsetting as I’m sure having the project shut down was for all you dragons, my whole race becoming your hunting dogs while you guys go back to eating up all the humans is even more terrifying for me.
“No, I wasn’t aware of that,” I say out loud to African Robes in lieu of that truth. Then I taper off. I mean, what else is there to say? Sorry your plan to save your planet and using Earth as a farm didn’t work out? Better luck next multi-millennia lifetime?
“We weren’t aware of the reason behind his decision,” African Robes informs me, crossing his massive arms over his chest. “Not until we arrived for what was only described to us as ‘a celebration’ and heard you introduced as our new queen. We also weren’t aware of the existence of a half-drakkon hatchling sired by our king until you ferried your progeny around the party.”
His voice is so dark and sinister, my wolf raises her head, sensing an imminent threat.
I grip the two gold dragon heads at the front of my throne chair’s armrests, my whole body shaking with Mama Wolf rage. “He has nothing to do with this,” I growl at the dragon interrogating me.
“On the contrary, that little hatchling has everything to do with this,” African robes answers, his voice becoming even harder. He slits his glowing blue eyes at me. “That hatchling is the reason our mating project was shut down. It is the reason I am standing in this room with one question and one question only for you.”
Okay, forget this civil shit. I come all the way out of my seat to inform him, “If you even think to hurt my son, I will fuck you up in every single way—”
At the same time, he yells at me, “Will you arrange introductions for us?”
We both stop. Look at each other.
“Why would you think any of us capable of hurting a hatchling?” he demands.
“What do you mean by introductions?” I ask.
One of the dragons wearing a tailcoat with a kilt steps forward and slams a fist on his chest to yell out, “We too would have partners to bear us drakkon sons!”
“And perhaps even drakki daughters!” another dragon shouts out.
“Yes, introductions to your kin must be arranged forthwith!” another dragon calls out. He’s wearing a colorful poncho with a golden headpiece that puts me in mind of an Incan king. Wait a minute, is he an Incan king?
“For example, the one called Koko and her sister, Sarah, the queen of Wyoming,” African Robes says. “According to your WolfNet, they are both without mates. Sarah is a bit thin, but the one called Koko appears to be strong and broad, the same as you. And perhaps you have other cousins or she-wolf friends with the same dimensions as you?”
I raise both my hands in the air. “Whoa face emoji, by introductions, do you mean you want me to hook you up with, like, all my cousins and friends?”
“Why do you sound so incredulous?” the possible Incan king demands. “Do you think we do not deserve mates and progeny, the same as our king?”
I jerk my head back, surprised by his insulted tone. “No, I’m just getting flooded with floating surprised face emojis, that’s all.”
“Why would you be surprised?” African Robes asks, with a truly befuddled shake of his head.
I glance at Damianos, then back to them. “Um…Damianos wasn’t crazy excited about getting with me in the first place. I figured all you dragons are a bit…I guess you’d called it speciest?” I answer. “I didn’t think you’d be so eager to mate a she-wolf. I mean weren’t we originally supposed to be your hunting dogs?”
A beat of shocked silence.
Then so many hisses and screeches go up, that Damianos calls out a bored-sounding reminder: “She cannot understand our language. You must compose yourself and answer her in English if you wish her to indulge questions as I never would.”
I turn to look back at him. “You don’t let them ask you questions?”
“Would you, given the interaction you’ve had with them this eve?” he retorts.
Before I can answer, the possible Incan king calls out in English, “Do you think after so many millennia we would care about such history?”
“We want nothing more than to fate our own mates!” one of the dragons in tailcoats shouts, his voice quavering with indignation.
“By the by, the twin daughters of your cousin Alisha? The Princesses of Colorado. There is not much about them on your WolfNet,” another dragon calls out from the back of the room. “Do you think they would be open to meeting with us?”
