“He was, and you are.”
She evidently thought that over for a few seconds, her expression running a gamut of emotions, from disbelief to curiosity to acceptance. “Jian had a special quality about him that I thought meant he was my soul mate, but I suppose… goddess, I was a dragon’s wife. I’m a dragonette. Why am I not freaking out at this?”
“Because you’re also a smart woman who knows that you aren’t just a mere mortal,” Rowan said, suddenly feeling each of his thirty-six years. When had his life become so complicated? Had it been the night when he was sixteen, and he had inadvertently killed four innocent dragons? Or had it been the following day, when the demigod originator of all dragons who ever were, and who ever would be, had called him before him to pay for his crime?
“I thought I was perfectly normal, but I’m not. I’m a she-dragon,” Sophea repeated, clearly having a bit of trouble wrapping her brain around that fact. “It’s really true. I squashed that burning bit of paper with my mind. Jeezumcrow! This is amazing! I’m a dragon in human skin!”
“Human form is, I believe, the preferred nomenclature,” he told her, wondering what he was going to do. If she wasn’t with Mrs. P because she, too, sought Bael’s ring of power, then it had to be the most colossal bit of irony that the two women found each other. And what stance would Sophea take when she found out just how desired the ring was? Would she use it to further her own interests? Or would she understand that it had to be destroyed?
“I’m a dragon. Mrs. P, I’m a dragonista,” she told the old woman. “You were right! Jian was a dragon dude.”
“Anyone could see that,” Mrs. P told her dismissively. “Do you have any dollar bills?”
“I have like a thousand questions,” Sophea said a few minutes later, after their meals were deposited in front of them. “But I’ll start with the most important one. Are you a dragon, too?”
“No,” Rowan told her, looking up from his plate. “I’m a sociologist. I believe I mentioned that.”
“Now your man is lying,” Mrs. P said, making kissy sounds at Edvard as he hurried past them out of the dining room. “Tell the gel the truth.”
“Yes, Rowan,” Sophea said with a biting asperity, “tell me the truth.”
“I’m not a dragon—that is the truth,” he insisted. “And that’s what is important right now.”
“Hrrmph.” Sophea didn’t look convinced, but she let the subject drop in favor of peppering him with other questions. “How did you know I was dragon lite? Boy, oh boy, I can’t believe that I’m saying that without having a major mental breakdown. But that fire thing was pretty convincing. Except… I don’t feel any different.”
“You aren’t any different,” Rowan answered around a mouthful of sausage and sauerkraut. “You are exactly the same person you were five minutes ago when you hadn’t the least idea of your heritage. And I knew what you were because you looked to me like a dragon, although I’ve since been corrected as to your real status. I’m told that mates appear as dragons to the rest of the world.”
“Really?” She touched her hair as if it was signaling him. “How? Do I have dragon babe stamped on my forehead that only people in the know can see? Do I look different from other people? Do I smell different? Oh, I hope it’s not that, because I’ll be paranoid for life that I stink or smell weird or something like that.”
He managed a rusty chuckle. “You don’t smell of anything but—” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “I’d like to say something pleasant like wildflowers or honey, but all I can smell at the moment is dinner, and I don’t think telling you that you smell like sauerkraut is going to flatter you.”
“You don’t have to flatter me,” she said with another of those fleeting smiles to which he was beginning to look forward. “So you just look at me and… know?”
“Basically, yes,” he said, pushing around a bit of boiled potato. “Also, I am a sociologist. I’m trained to study people in order to better understand them.”
“Do I have wings?” Sophea asked, absently toying with her food. “Do I breathe fire and hoard treasure and chase hobbits?”
“Not that I can see, you can, that’s a question only you can answer, and has one been pestering you lately?”
Her smile turned into a full-fledged giggle. “Not really, no. But I’m still coming to grips with the fact that I was the wife to a mythical creature, and am now a quasi-one myself.”
“Not so mythical, and not so different from anyone else. You simply have the ability to handle fire, and possibly have a deep love of gold.”