Tattoo care is easier than I thought. I’m still nervous about it because this isn’t something I want to screw up. It’s more than wanting the tattoo to be perfect. Taran’s work is amazing and I can see, just from the outlines, that it will be everything I was expecting and more.

It’s also about not wanting to disappoint Taran.

That’s the crazy thing. Sure, I’ve been in love a few times, or what I believed was love. This feeling, this tickling in my stomach, the tightening when I’m around him, and the utter feeling of floating on air every time he looks at me, is amazing.

There is love in my past but it’s nothing compared to how I feel at this moment. It was so hard to tell him no last night and go home alone. Being a responsible adult was never so hard as it was when I got in the cab and left him standing on the curb. A few times I wanted to make the driver turn around and just tell the world to screw itself and spend all morning in bed with him again.

The funniest thing about it is how I can really see myself with him for the rest of my life. I guess that’s what fated mates are. That feeling that this person you’re with is someone who you’ll live out your days partnered with, having their children.

I never considered having kids before. I’m not very close to my family. I do love my folks. They claimed to be fated mates, too. When I was younger, I didn’t understand it. In fact, I used to think it was corny. There was no mistaking they both are still very much in love with each other.

That’s a bliss I can appreciate now, every time I think about Taran.

There was never a need for friends before but now I wish I had someone I could call and sparkle all over. I’m sparkling. There’s no reason to look in the mirror, I’m sure of it.

The speed that this occurred should probably worry me. It’s not within my sphere of experience and I have nothing to compare it to. To go from meeting and recognizing my fated mate to wanting to pick out china patterns is startling. This should bother me, right?

It’s not. I kind of like this feeling a lot. A whole lot.

Getting ready to go into the gallery takes my full attention, otherwise I’ll drift off into happy thoughts and lose track of time. I absolutely must go in today. Cassandra, my gallery manager, left a message on my voicemail that we need to talk.

She’s a fantastic manager. I couldn’t have lucked into anyone more suited to the needs of the gallery, or someone who shares my vision for the future of the business. I feel a little deceitful that she doesn’t know of my dragon heritage. Some humans are simply not ready to handle that knowledge. In any case, she’s not a lady who I want to piss off. I definitely don’t want to blow her off.

So, as lovely as thoughts of my days filled with Taran and many babies are, they have to wait while I deal with the real world.

Even though I actually got out of my apartment early, the traffic crossing the bay was dreadful. I couldn’t imagine driving in it, so I was content to let the bus driver handle the stress as I reviewed contracts for upcoming showings.

Cassandra meets me at the door as soon as I step in. “Morning,” she says, her mouth pressed in that perpetual line that I can’t distinguish between I’m pissed and resting business face. She is the consummate professional and the perfect foil to what she has identified on more than one occasion as my more ‘eccentric’ proclivities.

She still works for me so I must be doing something right.

“Sorry I’m late. There was a jam on the bridge.”

“I saw.” She falls in step beside me, holding out her tablet. “They’re saying they caught a jumper before he went over the edge.”

I swipe through the day’s agenda. “That’s a shame. It’s such a pretty day.”

“You’re in an unusually good mood this morning.”

I look up, startled at her observation. “Aren’t I always in a good mood?”

“Yes, but I said unusually. You got this glow about you.” She waves her hands around my face. “Like you got laid or something.”

“Not last night.”

She holds her hand up. “I don’t want to know the sex habits of my boss, thankyouverymuch.” The corner of her mouth curls ever so slightly, the only indication that she finds the whole situation amusing.

Great. She finds my sex life amusing.

“That’s good, I guess.” I grin at her and hand her the tablet. “I’d hate to think that’s what’s so important to talk about this morning.”

She snorts and follows me into the office. We settle into the chairs, me behind the desk to gather the messages I need to return this morning.

“Clients. We’re running into trouble finding artists to showcase here. And the ones we do bring in, their art isn’t converting to buyers much as it should.”

That has my attention. I lean back in my chair to consider that. “I’m not sure I follow. There’s a university just outside of Stell with a robust art department. Surely there’s talent there we can tap.”

“Robert,” she says patiently. I know I’m in trouble when she uses my first name. Sometimes, she’s just like my father. I’ve never been fond of my first name. It was my parents’ attempt to normalize me, make it easier for me to blend into the human population.

It works, sometimes too well, which is why I don’t go by my first name. I’m proud of my dragon heritage.

She continues. “You want a first class gallery, right?”

“Sure.” What’s the use of being in business if I don’t want the best?

“Many of the artists are good. They’re really good. And they’ll go on to great heights in their careers. But you want the best. I am just not seeing it right now. Apparently neither are customers.”

While I dislike considering art buyers as customers, she has a point. I wasn’t really seeing it either, but I thought I was simply being ultra picky.

“You’re not the kind of woman who comes to me with a problem without a solution. What’s on your mind?”

She sighs heavily and rests her elbow on the arm rest to prop up her chin. “That’s just it. I’m out of ideas at the moment.”

That is a problem.

My arm itches from the tape holding down the gauze covering my tattoo. As my fingers graze it, I catch myself.

The motion catches her attention and she leans forward. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No… no. I um, am getting a tattoo,” I reply sheepishly.

“Oh,” she says, and the disappointment drips in that singular word. “What kind?”

“It’s my gran…d idea of a dragon that I’ve had since I was a child.” Whoops. I have to be careful about that.

“Fantasy fan?” She nods as if she understands.

“Kinda. More a fan of the artist.” Thoughts drift back to Taran and almost grow obscene when an idea hits me.

“That’s it!” I say, almost rising to my feet. “Why not tap the city’s tattoo artist talent? I know a few who have some truly great pieces of art they’d love to show and possibly even sell.”

Cassandra’s face fixes back into that resting professional moue again. “Really? Tattoo art?”

Her distaste is pretty evident. It bugs me. My research while looking for an artist to handle my tattoo showed me a wide array of some incredible talent and art.

“Sure. There’s a lot out there the general public doesn’t see. I think it’s perfect.”

She sighs.

“What?” I ask. It’s obvious she’s reluctant.

“Robert.” There’s my first name again. “I just… I appreciate what you’re saying and I’m sure that’s what you’re seeing. Many people don’t consider it art, you know what I’m saying? That it isn’t real art and it doesn’t hold any artistic integrity.”

Okay, hold on. Not real art? The framed piece on Taran’s wall was magnificent. A true testament to his ability. I would love to sell stuff like that in my gallery and I’m confident it would easily find buyers.

Unable to hold back my irritation at implying that Taran has no artistic ability gets my dragon all in a dither and we spend the rest of the morning arguing about it.

I can’t shake that she does have very good business sense. Maybe she has a point, not from an artistic snobbery perspective, but from a business perspective. It’s why I hired her as the gallery manager, after all. Shouldn’t I trust her instincts on this?

I hold up my hand before the discussion turns heated. “Let’s table the issue for now and continue to explore other options.”

Mollified, she nods shortly and leaves my office. I think she’s pissed at me.

She may have reason.

I still believe my idea has merit. However, I’ll do a little more research before pressing the issue again.

By the time I shut my front door, I’m dragging. The day lasted longer than I anticipated but it’s over now. I can settle down with a glass of wine, cue up a movie on demand, and spend the rest of my evening floating in an alcohol-infused cloud of contentment.

It beats spending it thinking about Taran. Although Taran is a very nice subject to focus on, all things considered.

I smear more of the tattoo goo Taran gave me on my arm and check my calendar again to make sure I haven’t missed the appointment to finish it. Every day away from Taran weighs heavily on my soul. I miss him so much.

He’s held me close only a handful of times, yet the weight of his arm is comfortable and familiar now. So I miss it even that much more. His body warmth pressed against my back is sorely missed as well.

We’ve had one night (and part of a morning) together and the time we spent in bed is still fresh in my mind. I’ve had lovers in the past but none ever left me feeling as fulfilled as he did. I ache for him again.

Why do I have to be so stubbornly adult about this? Doesn’t seem reasonable right now.

I have to laugh at my petulant thoughts. Taran’s spoiled me already.

I can’t spend the evening pining for him.

Draining my wine glass, the warmth of the merlot settling pleasantly in my stomach, I strip out of my clothes and head for my balcony.

The moon is high in the sky and filled to the brim with light, illuminating the world in its silvery shine. It’s so bright it blots out the stars.

It’s a perfect night for a flight.

I breathe deeply, focusing like I was taught, and slowly, the shift follows. For some dragons, it happens at their feet and travels up, for others it happens quickly, in an instant. I take my time, allowing the shift to flow from deep inside and expand out like a bright ball of light.

Like the moon.

The concrete of the balcony, cold beneath my feet, disappears as the claws extend. My wings expand from my back with a soft whisper, flapping out. It’s been so long since I’ve flown, my inner dragon wants to croon to the sky.

Finally allowing my dragon instincts to take over, I launch into the air with mighty thrusts of my wings.

I can’t stay in the city. There are too many chances for humans to spot me. I head for the national park not too far from my apartment. There, I can swoop and whirl and wheel and spin to my dragon instinct’s contentment.

Things may be hairy for the gallery at the moment. I resolve that I will try to trust Cassandra’s initial instincts on this. I’m not letting my idea of a tattoo art showing go, though.

Enough of that. Time to worry for things tomorrow. Shaking the cares of my human world, I fly up as a free dragon.