Page 6 of Red Dragon’s Flame

“Sheesh,” he said. “Hi, Mikah. Don’t have children. Do I have gray hairs? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve accelerated to aging in dog years.”

“Well, you are a wolf,” Mikah pointed out.

“I was a black wolf. Now I’m probably a fucking gray wolf. Will you please take my child off my hands for a few days? I’m begging you. I need a break.”

“She’s a good kid,” Mikah said. “Wild, but good.”

“I know that. But she’s going through what’s known as a Difficult Phase.” Rafe’s voice dripped with irony.

His mate Terin must have come up behind him and put her arms around him, because her face appeared just over his shoulder. “She takes after you,” Terin said to Rafe.

“Exactly,” he said. “I barely survived my adolescence. I’m never going to survive hers without pauses to regroup and drink heavily.” He turned his head and kissed Terin’s nose. “And don’t play like she gets all of this from me. I’ve seen you shoot grenades at people.”

“Only in a good way,” Terin said serenely. She was shy and soft-spoken most of the time, but she was an expert marksman and she did in fact wield a mean grenade launcher when necessary. She returned Rafe’s kiss. “You grew up okay. She will too.”

“No, she won’t,” Rafe said plaintively. “She’ll end up in jail. Dead on the side of the road. Pregnant with some narwhal shifter’s baby.”

Terin said, “Narwhals are cute. They have little horns, like unicorns.”

“They’re aquatic. What self-respecting wolf has aquatic grandbabies?” He turned back to Mikah. “So, can you please take Michelangela and lock her in the dungeon for a few days? Just until my heart attack subsides? I’ll send bourbon. We’re still in Tennessee, so I can get you the good stuff.”

Michelangela called from off-camera, “The good stuff is in Flynn’s basement.”

Rafe heaved a sigh. “Of course she knows that.”

Mikah laughed. “Go ahead, send her,” he said. “There are probably enough dragons here to keep her out of trouble.”

“It would take the human god and all his mythical angels to keep her out of trouble. Plus handcuffs. I won’t blame you if she comes back with a narwhal fetus in her belly.”

Terin said, “We’ll send her in the morning, through the portal down in the valley. Brock will come with her. He was planning a visit anyway.”

Brock Reilly was Michelangela’s unofficial big brother in the Silverlake pack. Even though he was five years older, they’d been tight since the day she was born. He couldn’t exactly control her, but he could sometimes talk her out of her crazier ideas.

“That works. We’re always glad to see Brock.” Mikah hesitated, then asked, “How’s he doing?”

Terin’s face sobered. “Not that well,” she said. “He broods a lot, and he won’t talk to anyone much. Noah and Mina are worried about him.”

“He’ll work it out,” Mikah said, hoping it was true. “Brock’s one of the strongest people I know. And you know he’s always welcome here. Emon and Mayah haven’t forgotten everything they owe him.”

Rafe nodded. “Thanks for taking Michelangela. Hopefully she won’t destroy the place before Tristan and Gerard get back.”

“That’s what restoration spells are for. To put shit back together that baby wolves destroy.”

“I heard that!” Michelangela yelled.

Mikah laughed and signed off.

Chapter 4

Late in the evening, Mikah abandoned his paperwork, stopped by the kitchens for some food, and went back to his suite of rooms on the third floor of the Al-Maddeiri castle. Zak was right—he was working too damn much. It wasn’t even like anyone was making him punch a clock—Emon really didn’t care where he spent his time, as long as things got done and he was in reach of a communication ball if anyone wanted to reach him. Which they usually did.

That used to not bother him—it made him feel needed. Now it just made him feel tired.

Practically all the rooms in the castle were huge—he had a ginormous bedroom with a cavernous bathroom, plus a sitting room that fit three rooms’ worth of furniture. Part of it held couches and a big-screen TV, part of it had kitchenette with a bar and dining table, and part of it held his computers and gaming chairs.

He sat down in the rolling office chair by the main computer, and opened the Realms message board to his private chat with Shadowfire.

Damn, he loved that name. She should be a black dragon, a fire-breather, with a name like that. He snorted at his fantasies. She was probably a middle-aged mother of six, with a house and a dog and a white picket fence.