Day Thirty-three of PDP. I think the more I learn about Dakh and his people, the more I worry we’re not compatible. They seem so different from humans. Not that we’re great, of course. But I was reading a book—a romantic suspense—and the bad guy was taken in to the cops and sent off to jail. Dakh was incensed that the heroine did not “honorably” kill the bad guy. Said it was her duty as a protector and that those that are a threat to the nest are dealt with at once so they do not become a threat again.

I tried explaining to him that people just don’t kill people willy-nilly, and he didn’t seem to understand why. I guess I’m lucky that he loves me and I care for him, but I worry. What if we run into other people and Dakh decides he doesn’t like them? Is he going to straight up murder them because he wants to “protect” me? What will I do?

Sometimes I look at him and he’s just so human, and sometimes I wonder if I’m out of my mind, because there’s no way he’s ever been human. Not even close. His eyes aren’t like mine. His skin isn’t like mine. He breathes fire. I know he loves and talks and laughs just like I do, but I wonder if I’m attributing too much to him? Maybe he’s too wild at heart to ever truly understand what it is to be human. Maybe I need to quit trying to see him and the drakoni as misplaced humans who happen to be stuck here on Earth.

Maybe I need to see them as they are—dragons that happen to shift into human form for mating.

Day Thirty-four of PDP. I asked Dakh if drakoni ever mated in their “battle form,” which is what he calls the dragon form. He seemed appalled at the thought. Maybe humans are the freaks, because I’m pretty sure if we had a second form, someone would be out there getting their rocks off like that. Something to think about, I guess.

Day Thirty-nine of PDP. Been a quiet few days. Kinda stormy, so haven’t seen Emma a lot lately. Just Dakh and me, which means lots of snuggle time, lots of sex, and lots of me trying to prod his memory. Dakh doesn’t care for it, I think, because it makes the “ravens” appear in his mind. I think that’s his way of separating his crazy—it comes in the form of ravens. Which makes me think there are ravens in his world, but I suppose that’s neither here nor there. He only tolerates my questions because he loves me and wants to make me happy, but I know my endless harping on them upsets his mind. I can feel it. I’m starting to wonder if I’m not better off leaving things as they are. If we’re happy together, why does it matter where he came from?

I guess what matters is where we’re going together.

32

DAKH

My Sasha is writing in her “journal” again. I move behind her and put my arms around her waist, nuzzling her neck from behind. I love her scent, love the way she gasps every time I touch her, as if it is a surprise that I wish to caress her. Our days are full of joy, but I am starting to hate the journal. With it comes questions that make my mind hurt, and it allows the ravens to circle once more.

She puts it aside as I drag my tongue over her neck, sighing with pleasure at the touch. “Done hunting already, baby?”

Done, I agree. I still find it amusing that she picks strange things to call me in an affectionate way. I always call her the same thing—my mate, my fire, my Sasha. Never my infant. Never my pie. Come to bed with me, I tell her. I missed you.

“You were gone for an hour,” she says with a giggle, but her arousal perfumes the air. Now that my Sasha is used to my touch, it does not take much to produce her mating scent. She likes it when I caress her, and she especially enjoys mating. I make it a point for us to touch every day, even the days when she is bleeding. She does not like that, but I will eventually convince her that her body is beautiful to me, no matter what happens.

It was a long hour, I tell her, tracing my tongue over her ear. And there is a storm on the way. It will rain soon.

“Oh no, is it?” She pulls out of my arms, concerned. “Emma’s coming by later. I hope she doesn’t get rained on.”

Do you wish me to go fly her here? I can track her by her smell. Though the stink has changed, the overpowering scent of it has not. It irritates my nose, but I endure it for my Sasha, who loves visits from the other human. She comes by on a regular basis, often enough that she does not blink when she sees me naked.

Which is good. I do not enjoy wearing the “pants” that my mate likes to insist upon when the human visits. Human customs are strange.

“No, I think she wouldn’t like that.” When I caress her throat, Sasha nips at my thumb-claw. “She’s still scared of you, you know.”

It is because I am a fearsome drakoni warrior. Of course she fears me.

“Well, try not to ‘warrior’ too much at her when she comes over. She said there should be some tomatoes ripe in the garden center, and we’re going to try to figure out how to can them for the winter.”

From her thoughts, I can tell she is talking about preserving food. My Sasha is obsessed with food. Since she has become my mate, she has filled out, the hollow look gone from her eyes. I can no longer count her ribs, and enjoy the rounded curve of her bottom now more than ever. Do I not feed you enough? Shall I go and get meat for you?

“You feed me plenty. It’s just that we need to be prepared in case things run low.” She pats my arm. “Just humor me, babe.”

Very well. I know she worries over foods and having enough. It will take time for her to realize I can care for all her needs. I rub my nose along the column of her neck. Tell me what to do so I can help.

“Just your company is enough for now,” she tells me with a bright smile and then impulsively reaches up and kisses me.

Her spontaneous affection is a gift. I rub my nose against hers, locking my hands around her waist. Your friend is not here yet. We have time…

Sasha chuckles, but I can smell the bloom of her arousal. “Maybe…maybe just a quickie.”

The human Emma arrives a short time later, and my mate still smells of my seed, her cheeks still flushed from our quick, intense mating. I have put on the annoying pants that she requested, and scratch at them absently as Sasha hugs Emma in greeting. They chatter, my mate’s thoughts scattering here and there as they talk about a red fruit and things to eat. Emma is another obsessed with food. I suspect it is because humans are poor hunters.