Not His Dragon Read Online Free PDF

the injury.
    Eoin left the room and moved down the hall. The cold stone made him step quickly since he was still barefoot. He slammed the bathroom door open and a flock of pigeons flew out the open window. Stunned, he watched them take flight before seeing the mess of bird shit everywhere. The birds must have been living in here. When had he opened this window? It must have been years since he’d used this bathroom.
    The birds didn’t matter. The wound on his back did. He twisted to look in the full-length mirror. “Fuck.” He must have a bad case of scale rot for it to have manifested to his human form as a scabby rash. Real sexy.
    He grimaced at the mess. Once the rot got this bad it would take some real elbow grease to pick it out. He ran his hand over the short buzz on his head and snarled. If he ignored it, his scales would fall off and wouldn’t grow back, leaving a big weakness in his best defense.
    Scale rot. The trouble with being so big was the inability to care for his own hide. If he’d mated, his female could do it and likewise he’d return the favor.
    In the old days, he’d train a human squire for his scale care and other needs. His last squire died recently at the ripe old age of ninety-eight. Eoin hadn’t been prepared. He’d been in denial of his friend’s mortality. Training someone new, so soon after Jasper, his squire, had died, seemed like a betrayal.
    He rubbed at the dull ache in his chest. Where would he look for a new squire? The modern authorities would bomb his home if he swooped upon a playground and chose one of the many urchins running around. Things had changed quickly over the last century. Maybe he could buy one on eBay? No, he’d never seen that category while browsing.
    Absentmindedly, he scratched his lower back and paused. The pretty little not-dragon girl who scratched backs for a living. He wouldn’t have to keep her or feed her. He’d just have to pay her on an as-needed basis, and he’d better do it soon. Hurrying to his sleeping chambers in the next tower, he paused in the center of the room. Where had he left his cell phone? The fucking thing needed a bell or an app that would beep when he clapped. He barely used the bed and kept this space to store his clothes and gadgets. Tearing his drawers open, he dumped the contents until something shattered on the stone floor. He blinked at the cracked screen. Fuck, he swiped it on but it refused to respond. He hadn’t plugged it in for days. Stupid technology. These things were worse than babies. As soon as he turned his back they died.
    He searched through a pile of clothes on the floor, sniffing at them until he found something that wouldn’t knock out a shifter from the stench. When he returned home, he would order more clothes online. Much easier than going to a Laundromat. Whenever he went to one of those there was always so much screaming.
     
     
     
    Angie eyed the box of muffins a regular customer had dropped off on his way to the office. Her stomach growled. She’d skipped breakfast.
    “Wow.” Beth bit into one. “These are fantastic. I think he added pineapple chunks with the blueberries.” She pushed the box closer toward Angie. “You have to taste this.”
    Shaking her head, she retreated a few steps, the hunger plaguing her suddenly replaced by nausea. “I’m watching my diet.”
    Beth frowned. “Don’t be silly. You’re perfect.”
    “Not diet, as in weight loss, but what I put in my body. Eating healthy.” Yeah, that sounded sane. Better than the truth. What would Beth think if she found out Angie couldn’t eat anything cooked by a man? Ever since her parents had died, she couldn’t stomach food touched by male hands. Didn’t matter what race. That had gone over well with the foster homes when she was growing up.
    “Okay, more for me.” Beth hugged the box to her chest. Werewolf metabolisms were incredible. Her best friend could out-eat a high school football team and still remain a size