I pull a gardening book into my lap and light a candle nearby. The moment I do, the door opens and Murr strolls inside. He’s got a cat on his shoulders, one under his arm, and two more trotting at his side like he’s the Pied Piper of felines. Murr’s expression brightens when he sees me, and he saunters over, flashing his teeth in that still-slightly-unnatural grin of his.

“Good morning,” I say, sitting up and extinguishing the candle immediately. If I’m not reading, I need to save it for future use.

“Dakotah.” He thumps down into a crouch, setting down one cat and then letting the big one on his shoulders climb down his arm. One cat comes to me, and another rubs against his leg. Murr immediately makes a “speak” gesture with his hand to his mouth, indicating that he wants to learn more words. “Yes?”

I nod. “Yes. We can do more lessons.” Just not about kisses. Not getting anywhere near kisses.

The gardening book offers some safe photos, so I point at the obvious objects that will apply to our daily life. He won’t give two shits about weeds or fertilizer, but the words sun and tree and flower are universal enough.

He points at an elderly woman gardening in one picture. “Dakotah?”

Jeez. That woman’s at least seventy if she’s a day, complete with gray hair and a floral grandma gardening scarf on her head. “Woman. Not Dakotah.”

“Wommn,” he echoes, studying the picture. He flips through the book to another page, his clawed fingertips cumbersome for finer movements, and finds another photo. This one is of a younger woman spreading mulch. He points at her. “Wommn not Dakotah?”

I nod. “Woman.” Flip back to the prior page to the older woman. “Woman.” I point at myself. “Woman.” Point at the first picture again, then the second. “Not Dakota, not Dakota.” Point back to myself. “Dakota.”

He considers this, then asks, “Ribbit no wommn?”

How do I answer that? She’s female, true, but is she a grown woman at the age of fourteen? The mother in me who’s raised her for the last eight years says absolutely fucking not. It was only yesterday that she was my little baby with pigtails and gap teeth. But how to give nuance to something like age when our words are so limited? “Dakotah woman, Rabbit girl,” I decide on. “Girl.”

Now to find a book with a young girl on it so I can show him the difference between the two.

Murr digests this information, then says, “Dakotah kith Ribbit.”

Did I? I’m sure I did. “Yes.”

I’m also pretty sure I know where this conversation is going.

“Dakotah kith…Murr?”

Yup, there it is. “No. Kith is special. I mean, kiss. You don’t kiss people just because they ask nicely.” Or because they have a pretty mouth. Or anything like that. “Kisses have meaning.”

“Meeng,” Murr says, and then gestures I should repeat myself. It’s clear he’s not following. His gaze is on my lips again, as if he wants to understand…or maybe he just wants to know what it feels like. It’s probably just curiosity, right? A human custom he doesn’t quite understand, since he doesn’t really seem to grasp our language, or smiling, either. When he laughs, his body shakes with amusement, but most of the time, no sound comes out. It’s like he’s having to learn so many things brand new, which is baffling.

But if that’s the case, then it would make sense that he’s curious about a kiss, right? I’m sure I’m reading too much into it.

I try to explain to him (using a cat that wanders past with her kitten as an example) that Rabbit is my kitten, more or less, and that mothers kiss their babies. As if to prove my point, the cat immediately sits down and starts to groom her kitten, washing the little face with her tongue.

The light clicks on for Murr. He lifts his hand and licks the back of it, then gestures at me. “Dakotah Rabbit?”

Was I grooming her? With a kiss?

Okay, maybe the light didn’t click on after all. “Not exactly.” I drum my fingers on my mouth, thinking. I’m just making this worse. “Maybe⁠—”

There’s a metallic crash outside.

Murr’s smooth golden eyes immediately shift to pitch black, and he tenses.

Oh shit.

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OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 22

DAKOTA

I’m not sure what to be more afraid of—the dangerous black eyes of the dragon-man sitting in front of me, or the noise outside that tells me the nomad has returned. I knew it was just a matter of time.

Murr surges to his feet.

I jump to mine, too. “No! Don’t attack!”

I appreciate his protectiveness, but I’ve learned through experience that the best confrontation is no confrontation at all. Someone could get hurt. Our home could get destroyed. He could be coming back to apologize.

The latter seems unlikely, but I don’t want to take chances. Plus, what’s to stop Murr from losing his mind and attacking us afterward?

I put a hand on his chest and shake my head. “Don’t change. Don’t attack. Just…let’s not do anything.”

“Mom?” Rabbit’s voice is nervous, and my daughter comes racing over, her sleeping bag still wrapped around her. She’s wearing her fuzzy bunny slippers she loves so much, and her black cat trails after her. “I think I heard something outside⁠—”

“I know,” I say quickly, putting on a smile. “Go hide and I’ll check it out. It’ll be fine. Take your weapon just in case.”

She looks at Murr, uncertain. “His eyes went dark…”

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’ll keep him under control.”

I hope.

Rabbit nods and drops her sleeping bag, then rushes in to hug me. I hold her close and press a quick kiss to the top of her head—she’s still shorter than me, thank goodness—and then she scoops up her cat and goes racing off to the bathroom at the back of the store, our designated “panic room.” I’m tempted to follow her, just to hover and make sure that she’s safe, but I need to keep an eye on Murr.

I keep my hand on Murr’s chest, watching his coal-black eyes and hoping that they’ll swirl back to a better mood color. They turn black when he’s agitated, and it’s terrifying to see. “Calm down,” I say, voice even. “Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was deer. We don’t know⁠—”

There’s another metallic crash, and then the front door shakes.

My heart leaps into my throat.

Murr growls and surges forward, and I grab him again before he can go. “No,” I whisper. I’ve seen what happens when dragons lose their shit. Entire cities burn down. I have to think of a way to get him to stay calm and stay with me. “I’ll kiss you if you stay here,” I blurt out. “Dakota kiss Murr.”

His eyes swirl orange, his gaze going to my face.

“Come on,” I say, and take his hand in mine, pulling him to the back of the store. I want to see what these intruders are up to. If someone’s just looking for a few books to snag, they’re welcome to them. If it’s that horrible nomad, maybe he’ll think we’re gone if he comes in and sees no one.

We can’t attack until we know what we’re dealing with.

I’m relieved that Murr lets me pull him along, and I race through the big, book-strewn store to a small back broom closet. It’s down the hall from the bathroom, but I don’t want to be in the same room as Rabbit, because if someone heads in this direction, I’ll sacrifice myself and jump out to keep her safe and hidden. But until then, I’m going to hide.

Pushing aside mops and a big wheeled bucket, I squeeze into the cleaning room with Murr at my side, and then I shut the door enough that there’s only a tiny crack of light being let in. I want to spy on them before they know I’m nearby.

Murr pushes toward the door, trying to nudge me out of the way.