Vampire Dragon Read Online Free PDF

major missus. Stay there, take care of yourself. I’ve got it covered, ambulance and police. My brother’s on the force. You all right? Need the ambulance?”
    “I’m fine, thanks.”
    Ogden nodded and went back to his task of settling the injured on the Phoenix porch steps, though they all stood when the ambulance arrived. Darkwyn was relieved he’d taken the brunt of the blow along with the part of the building in which he’d landed.
    He examined Bronte’s face for injury, the worst being her blue lips, which he’d like to kiss warm.
    He realized, then, that being a man, again, made you want . . . well, man toys . . . like women whose hearts opened to yours, whether they wanted them open or not. Women who might be evil incarnate. Please not.
    True, Bronte did not appear evil, but neither did Killian, unless she wanted to.
    On purpose, he believed, Bronte slapped him in the face with the icy wet cape she wrapped tighter around herself, dousing his longing and distracting him until he nearly dropped her, the hellcat.
    Maybe he should rethink the evil bit.
    She tried to kick him. “You tossed me in icy Salem Harbor in October, Neanderthal! Me and two cats in Cat Cove, of all places. What a sick sense of humor.”
    Despite Bronte’s bruises and her foul mood, Darkwyn held her tight and liked it. His dragon liked it, too. Maybe too much.
    A lesson: his inner beast rose to attention and sought release when he was wounded and in lust. The two must be equal.
    He didn’t care what Bronte called him, but he cared a great deal when the spikes of her heels made sharp contact with his man-parts. She brought him to his knees, a feat the heavy sarcophagus failed to do.
    He shouldn’t respect her for that, but he did.
    She took the opportunity to roll free, spread her cloak on a bush to dry, and turn to stand over him, arms crossed, while he tried not to die in front of her.
    She wrung out her skirt over his head. “My boots!” she screamed, while he tried not to enjoy the length of her legs.
    Bronte examined a gaping hole in the knee of one boot, while he blew a bit of warm air her way, not enough to make him smoke, just enough to dry her off.
    Scumduggers, he guessed he would stroke this woman, this cracker of man parts, in any way he could.
    Jagidy blew purple smoke directly at her breasts.
    The pocket dragon must have warmed her, as well, because Bronte raised her gaze and fast, then she scowled down at him as if she saw the real him—horns, scales, wings, and fire, except he wasn’t using them. “Are you out of your mind?” she asked.
    He frowned. “What mind?”
    “Ex-actly!”
    Her ire shot through him while his middle finger throbbed. He held it up to examine and saw Bronte’s was cut, not his. Also, his right knee smarted where hers, behind the boot tear, dripped blood and bruised blue. He’d felt the icy water as she . . . He felt what she felt? Was this some unknown dragon magick, dragon torture, or the work of an evil sorceress? If the latter, in which of the forms around him did Killian the sorceress hide?
    Did she know he made it to earth? Did she stand before him in violet hair and eyes? Could ruining those boots cost him his life?
    “What were you thinking?” she asked. “How far can you throw, anyway?”
    “I was saving you.”
    “Saving me? You nearly drowned me. And don’t go giving me the finger. Do you know how much these boots cost? Puck you, too.”
    Darkwyn lowered his throbbing finger.
    “You rang?” Puck landed on his head with a squawk. “Siren,” the bird said. “Any lady of splendid promise, dissembled purpose, and disappointing performance.”
    “I don’t like that bird,” Bronte snapped.
    Darkwyn realized, as he moved Puck to his arm, that he did like the bird. It amused him. Except when it perched on his head.
    He regarded Bronte. “Your boots matter more to you than your bloody bruised body?”
    “My clothes and hair will dry. My body will heal. My boots will do