Chapter Two

Poppy.

Dale Earnhardt had nothing on me.

I honestly didn’t think my little CR-V had it in her, but she pulled through.

My tires spun as I pulled into my apartment’s parking lot, and jumped out. My nerves were all over the place, my heart thumped wildly against my ribs, and my neck hurt from staring over my shoulder to see if the thing—man—followed me home.

Not that it actually happened.

I couldn’t let myself believe that it had.

It was a dragon man. They didn’t exist and believing in him put me in the realm with Uncle Joe and his alien talk.

I took the stairs two at a time and fumbled with my keys to my apartment door. My cat, Bingo, greeted me at the door with his usual hiss and followed me as I ran toward my bedroom and sat down on my bed.

Bingo jumped up beside me, most likely feeling my need for comfort, and sat down. I needed comfort all right. I bet the therapist down the street had a comfy loveseat I could sit on.

Sliding my palm over my face, I pulled my vibrating phone from my pocket, not looking at the screen before I answered.

“Poppy,” Jennifer whispered. There was an echo that told me she was hiding in the bathroom at The Voice. “Where are you?”

I chuckled, at first it was humorless, and then it turned hysterical. “Jennifer, I need you to come over here. Now.”

“Uh, Tommy is looking for you. He says you disappeared, and you two need to talk.”

“Tell him I’m sick.”

Jennifer scoffed. “After you stormed out of here pissed off? Yeah right. He’s going to see right through that—,”

“I don’t care! Tell him it’s a fungus. I’m pregnant. I have diarrhea. I was hit by a shooting star. I just need you to come over here.”

Jennifer was silent for a few moments. “What happened? Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” I said exasperatedly. “I would definitely say something is wrong.”

The bathroom stall door shut on the other end. “Okay. I’ll take an early lunch and come over. Do you have anything to eat?”

I scoffed. “I’m the takeout queen. I have leftover sushi.”

“Deal. I’ll see you soon.”

I had the sushi out with a bottle of wine when she made it. I’d already drunk one glass and was on my second when she eyed the kitchen counter. Putting her hands on her hips, she glared at me. “It’s the middle of the day. Why are you drinking?” She marched over and put her palm against my forehead.

I swatted her away. “Sit down, Jennifer.”

She snagged a piece of sushi and poured herself a glass of wine. “Okay, shoot.”

The story unfolding in my head made me nervous, so I began to pace. Jennifer watched me as she ate. “I went to Bridget’s Canyon to prove to Tommy that I could make a story out of it.”

She nodded. “Right. Right. I remember.”

“And I got there, I slipped underneath the rope and looked inside. Same ole’, same ole’, and then I felt an earthquake.”

Jennifer’s brow lifted. “In North Dakota? Near White Butte Mountain? Poppy, are you okay? There were no earthquakes—,”

“It wasn’t an earthquake. It was a ... man. Sort of.”

Jennifer tossed another piece into her mouth. “Poppy, are you okay—,”

“He had wings, and he was staring at me, Jen. He was hovering with his giant wings like a dragon shifter that you read about in those stupid romance books.”

Jennifer chewed slowly, swallowing a gulp of wine and getting off the bar stool. “Sweetie,” Jen said, putting her palms on my shoulder. “Did you fall? Hit your head—,”

“No,” I pleaded. “I know what I saw. He smiled at me.”

The look on Jennifer’s face screamed pity. She didn’t believe me. “You don’t believe me.”

She shrugged and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Poppy. Dragons aren’t real, babe. Especially not ones that are half-human. I think you hit your head. Did you fall?”

“I tripped,” I admitted.

Jennifer put her palms out as if we’d solved the cure for cancer. “See. Maybe you need to go see a doctor. Here,” she said, digging out her cell phone, she turned the flashlight into my eyes.

“Hey—,”

“Your eyes aren’t dilated. I think you’re fine now.” She glanced at the time on her cell. “I need to head back. I saved you some sushi. I’ll call you after work. I’ll tell Tommy you aren’t feeling well.”

Jennifer hurried out of my apartment, leaving me with the aftermath of what I felt was a nervous breakdown.

Maybe Jennifer was right ... I had tripped. Maybe I hit my head and didn’t realize it.

Bingo jumped onto the counter and I swatted him down. I just needed some sushi, another glass of wine, and a little nap.

***

The sound of my neighbor’s door woke me. The empty to-go box on my chest fell to the floor when I sat up and knocked over the empty wine glass beside the couch. Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms, I stumbled to my feet and glanced at the wall clock.

7 pm.

I slept most of the afternoon.

My cell phone brightened from my coffee table. There were too many notifications to count, but nothing pressing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Bingo meowed and scratched at his bowl in the kitchen.

I snagged his cat food and poured him some before heading to the bathroom. I stripped from my clothes and found myself needing the warm shower more than I thought. My knees were dirty from my fall, and there was a dried blood trail on my leg.

Once I finished, I dried my hair and slipped into a silk pair of pajamas. Pizza sounded good. Comfort food after one Hell of a morning. Bingo hissed from the living room, which wasn’t a surprise.

The cat didn’t like me most days.

I’d found him half-dead in an alley one night after our Friday night outing, and brought him home. He didn’t appreciate it obviously.

“Shut it, Bingo,” I said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. It was the only thing, besides wine, that I consistently kept in my house.

I walked barefoot into the living room, finding Bingo sitting on the back of my sofa, pawing and hissing at the glass doors leading to my balcony.

I titled my head. Probably another stray cat.

“Stop it,” I said, walking over to glance out.

There was only a breeze blowing the dying plant on my balcony, and the neighbor’s shadows dancing from the apartment across the street.

“You’re so weird,” I said, ordering my pizza with my DoorDash app.

Bingo raced from the couch and hid underneath the china cabinet in my dining room.

Turning on my TV for background noise, I went into my room to grab a brush to untangle my hair. That’s when I felt the breeze. I glanced over at my window, which was open, my curtains blowing in the growing wind.

What in the ...

I’d never opened it before.

I was hardly home to enjoy an open window. That was what the balcony was for. “Hello?” I asked stupidly.

I grabbed the baseball bat my dad forced on me when I moved out and gripped it tightly.

Slowly, I checked my closet door, and under my bed.

Nothing.

Swallowing my nerves, I walked back into the living room and stopped.

There he was.

The dragon-man.

Standing in the middle of my living room as if he lived there. I blinked, my fingers tight around the bat, my body humming with electricity. I blinked again. And again. Was I dreaming?

It was the wine. It had to be.

His chuckle slid under my skin and melted me to my spot on the floor. “You’re not dreaming, Ember.”

Not dreaming. Lifting the bat slowly, I gathered myself into a swinging position. “You’re not taking me into that crater, you demon.”

The corner of his lush mouth lifted into a smirk. “Demon. That’s a new one. You can put that down. We won’t be needing it.”

“I should have got a dog,” I whispered to myself.

The dragon man began a slow circle around my apartment, giving me time to size him up. He was tall—way taller than me, —and his wings weren’t there. He wore jeans and a simple T-shirt. His shoes looked plucked from a military base, and not something I would put on a dragon-man. “Where are your wings?” I asked as he slid his fingertips along the counter of my kitchen.

“Retracted. Where are yours?” he teased.

I gripped the bat handle tighter and moved around the room to keep away from him. “I ordered pizza. It will be here soon.”

He turned and looked at me. His ivory-green eyes sparkled with mischief. “Are you inviting me to dinner, Ember?”

“My name is not Ember, and the delivery driver will call the cops.”

“I’m scared,” he said, faking a shiver. He stopped several feet away from me, and glared, giving me a once-over. “We’ll be long gone before then. Do you want to wear that?” he asked.

I stupidly looked down at my pajamas, and when I looked back up, he was inches from my face. A woodsy scent overtook me, and I stumbled back, dropping the bat, but he caught me before I fell.

His touch shot shivers down my body, and a warmth gathered between my legs. It’d been years since a man made me feel that good, and of all the people for it to be, my kidnapper.

Which, I assumed was where this was going.

A kidnapping.

A murder.

The pathetic life of Poppy Sanders.

Disappeared into the hole where her next story could have been. And just to think I could have written about this dragon and made history—if anyone believed me.

“Your eyes are so deep,” he said.

He looked mesmerized, and it did things to me that shouldn’t have happened. “What do you want?”

In all seriousness, he said, “You.”

In one second his shirt was on, and the next, it ripped into shards, and those godawful wings sprouted out. I yelped, my legs growing weak as someone knocked on my door.

“The pizza,” I whispered as he pulled me into his arms, and walked toward the balcony. “Help!” I screamed, waving my arms and legs, but it was too late.

He dove off the railing, like a professional diver in the Olympics, and my voice deafened in the wind. Cool air sent my hair into a tornado around my face as I clung to his man’s deltoids.

Somewhere along the way of him jumping from my balcony and shooting us into the night sky, I blacked out.

Because it seemed flying through the air with a dragon-man was just too much for me.