Lolita Lopez - Dead Sexy Dragon

“My last name isn’t Wyvern. It’s just a name I picked years ago.” He got up for a glass of water and brought Cora a can of soda and a glass. The tab snapped and the soda fizzed as it spilled into her cup. He returned to his seat and took a sip. “Do you know what a wyvern is?”

“It’s one of those things on those old family flags, right? Like a snake with wings,” she said uncertainly.

He nodded. “Close enough.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“More than you probably want to know,” he grumbled. “Every three years, I go through a phase. It’s violent and dangerous and I lose control. That cell in the basement is the only thing that keeps me from harming others.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Every three years?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve gone through this before?”

“Yes. Hundreds of times.”

“That would mean you’re—”

“Substantially older than I look.” Stig picked up his fork and tucked into his dinner. “If you want proof, I’ll show you later.”

“I do.”

Stig sensed Cora was trying to wrap her mind around his brief yet cryptic explanation. She hadn’t accused him of being crazy or run from the house. So far, so good. He figured breaking the news about his immortality was the best way to ease her into the truth. The dragon business could wait.

He decided a change of topic was needed and gestured to his plate. “This is good. Not that I’m surprised,” he added with a smile. “You should think about opening a restaurant.”

Cora snorted. “Really, Stig? How do we go from you trying to convince me that you’re, like, some immortal Jekyll and Hyde to talking about me opening a restaurant?” She twirled her fork between her fingers. “Besides, restaurants are hard work.”

He grinned at her willingness to go with it. “And a bakery isn’t?”

“It’s different. I know the ins and outs of running a bakery. A restaurant? Not so much.”

“You will reopen your bakery, right?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure how or where.” A look of shame clouded her face. “My insurance agent isn’t sure the policy will pay since I’m kind of a criminal. I mean, that’s if I don’t end up in the pen.”

“You’re not going to prison, Cora. I won’t let that happen.” Stig hadn’t considered the effect her poor choices would have on her ability to rebuild. She’d made a mistake but didn’t deserve to be punished forever. “I’ll loan you the money to start over if the policy doesn’t pay.”

She squirmed in her seat. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Stig. Money between friends has a way of turning ugly.”

“We’ll make it work.”

Cora didn’t fight him on the issue. She ate in silence. He could almost hear the turning gears as she processed their bizarre conversation. Whether she believed him was still to be determined.

They finished dinner and cleaned up the kitchen together. Tense silence stretched between them. Stig eyed the window and gauged how much time he had until the change. Knowing the time was coming, he reached for Cora’s hand. She stiffened at his touch but he kept hold. “Come with me.”

Her fingers relaxed in his. “Okay.”

Stig led her upstairs to his bedroom. He’d imagined taking Cora to his room before but never under these circumstances. It seemed almost anticlimactic to sit her down on the side of his bed. She looked so young and fragile with her hands clamped between her knees. He hated himself for what he was about to do. In just a few moments, he’d shatter everything she’d ever believed to be true.

“I don’t know why I’ve kept all of these things.” Stig removed a keychain from his bedside drawer and unlocked the door to the corner closet. He dragged a large trunk to the edge of the bed. He handed Cora the keychain. “The skeleton key opens this trunk.”

She took the keychain and stared at it. “What’s inside the trunk?”

“My history.” Stig cupped her cheek as he bent down and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. “I’m going to lock myself in the basement. Promise me you’ll stay out of there tonight.”

She gulped and bobbed her chin. “I will.”

“When you’re done, close the lid on the trunk. I’ll put it back tomorrow.”

“And the key?” She lifted the keychain he’d never let anyone else but himself touch until now.

“You keep it. I trusted you with my house key. I trust you with this one, too.” His fingertips trailed along her jaw. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Stig cast one lingering glance at Cora before leaving his room and rushing downstairs. The sooner he was in chains tonight the better.

Cora turned the keychain over in her hand. Everything Stig had told her at dinner seemed so implausible. He’d insinuated he’d been alive for quite a long time. And what was all that business about going through violent phases?

Apparently the answers to those questions rested within the antique trunk. With great trepidation, she stuck the skeleton key in the lock. It clicked loudly as the tumblers spun. She lifted the heavy lid and gazed down at the contents.

There were yellowing photos and official-looking papers on the top. Layer by layer, she dug through his mementos. Cora uncovered military commendations and medals from Vietnam and World War II. Immigration paperwork from Ellis Island in 1893 showed him as a Norwegian male aged thirty-four under the name of Stigandr Wyvern. There were photos and daguerreotypes of Stig throughout various eras. He looked so strange in fashions of the Edwardian and Victorian ages. Farther down, Cora uncovered painted portraits and pamphlets from the Regency era.

Cora stopped when she found bits and pieces from the sixteenth century. The more she dug, the more bewildered she grew. Her brain screamed that all of this was impossible. There was no way a person could live for six or seven centuries and yet the proof was there in black and white.

Surrounded by Stig’s history, Cora tried to reconcile all this evidence with the reality she’d lived in her entire life. It wasn’t possible for a human being to live for hundreds of years. Cora had always been a big fan of paranormal romances and urban fantasy novels. The heroines of those stories always seemed to deal with the discovery of their lover’s supernatural existence with such grace. But she felt like running out to her car and racing away from the house as fast as the car would go. She’d stepped into some bizarre reality where suddenly things that were fantastic and fictional were a possibility.

So what did that make Stig? Vampire? Werewolf? Some other kind of creature she’d never heard of in her entire life? And what about the dream last night? Was that Stig’s doing? Was he the shadowed man?

Cora rubbed her face in both hands. This was all so complicated. Had Hector known about Stig’s secret? Would he have told her? She didn’t know. The bond they’d forged at war had seemed unbreakable. Perhaps these kinds of secrets fell within the purview of that bond.

What did she do now? Cora took a good look at the trunk and its contents. Everything had changed between them. It wasn’t as if they could just pretend none of this had ever happened. She would never forget what she’d seen. Where did they go from here?

She sensed the ball was in her court. If she packed up her things and left right now, Cora felt certain Stig would understand.

But she didn’t want to leave.

The realization that she really didn’t care what Stig was knocked her for a loop. Whatever his secrets, Cora wanted to uncover them, bring them into the light. Once everything was on the table, they could move forward. Whether they’d move forward as friends or lovers she didn’t know. Her hopes were pinned on the latter.