“Are you okay?” she asked.
He blinked open his eyes and saw two of her, their gazes scanning his face, concerned.
“Doubly beautiful,” he slurred.
“Oh my goodness, I think he concussed you.” She touched his forehead, and he winced and shied away from her fingers. All ten of them. On one hand.
Griffin reached out and flapped his hand several times until he caught hold of hers, and then he brought it to his lips, kissing each finger and thumb in turn. “Only five,” he murmured, relieved that she hadn’t mutated.
“Okay, I think it’s time to go,” Sofia said, grunting as she struggled to pull him to his feet. She let out a shrill whistle that made him squawk and press his hands to his ears. “Sorry,” she said. “But it’s the easiest way to get Penelope’s attention.”
After a few moments, he became aware of another presence, and then Penelope was at his other side, apparently helping her mother guide him away from the playground. “What happened, Mommy?” she asked.
“He fell,” Sofia said, “and bumped his head.”
Yeah, he bumped his head on an asshole dragon. “Who was that?” Please don’t say he’s an ex-boyfriend. Or worse, a current one.
They were a good half a block away from the park by now, and Griffin was pretty sure they were headed back to Sofia’s house.
After a long moment of silence, she sighed and said, “My brother.”
Chapter Six
Darius coming ‘round never boded well for Sofia. That was why she’d seized the opportunity to make a deal with the devil—aka her brother—four years ago. She’d needed to ensure he was out of her life, and Penelope’s, at whatever cost.
They’d happily co-existed in the same city yet kept a wide berth ever since. Until now.
She’d heard through the grapevine that Antoinette Dupré, who was the new reeve of the Rojo dragon colony, had cut off his drug trade and ousted him earlier this year. Sofia had been worried he might show up back then, but he hadn’t, and all indications were that he’d left town, so she’d figured he planned to honor their deal and go on about his life.
Why was he making contact now?
The timing was a crazy coincidence, but surely that was all it was. He didn’t even know about Sofia’s existence, so there was no way he knew what she was. Besides, it was unlikely Darius even knew what a Daughter of Light was, and even so, how could that possibly connect to whatever devious plan he had up his sleeve this time?
First things first, though; she needed to make sure Griffin was going to be okay. Darius had hit him pretty hard. She’d witnessed him pull that routine on other dragons before, and it had damn near killed them. To be honest, she wasn’t sure he hadn’t killed one or two, but she’d never stuck around long enough to verify, and she certainly never asked after the fact.
Being Darius Redd’s illegitimate younger sister tended to cause one to be well versed in self-preservation.
Part of the deal she’d struck with him was that she’d never, ever tell a single soul of their connection, which was why she kept her job as a waitress at Mitch’s bar instead of, oh, going to the reeve’s mansion and demanding she be given her rightful share of Trennon Redd’s fortune. Or at least a job within the colony’s ranks that paid a decent wage.
Except now she’d told Griffin that he was her brother, which meant she’d broken the terms of the contract. Maybe he wouldn’t remember, given the concussion and all.
By the time they reached her house and she gently sat Griffin on the couch, the fog in his eyes was already clearing, the goose egg on his forehead receding and turning an ugly shade of yellow. Gargoyles healed as fast as dragons, apparently.
“Let me get you a glass of water,” she said. Penelope climbed onto the couch and sat down next to him, tucking her purple dragon into the small space between them.
“Whisky would be better,” Griffin said, gingerly touching the bump on his head. “It’ll dull the pain.”
“I don’t have any whisky. I have rum and tequila.”
“Tequila? How did I miss that last night?”
She shrugged. “It’s in the freezer.”
“You drink tequila?”
“I like tequila sunrises. And margaritas.”
With his eyes closed, he nodded. “That makes way more sense. Had a feeling it had to be fruity. Yes, tequila would be great. Minus the mixers.”
She hurried to the kitchen, grabbed the bottle and a lowball glass, and poured a couple of fingers before handing it to him.
He put it back in one swallow and then grimaced before opening one eye. “You have good taste in tequila.” And then he held out the glass, apparently wanting another shot.
“So what’s the story with you and your brother?” he asked after the second drink.
“Ahhh…” She cleared her throat. “There isn’t really one to tell.” That was a lie. It was a long, convoluted story, and if she were to ever tell it, she’d better start hoarding the tequila left in that bottle because she would definitely need it.
“You were clearly surprised by his presence, and equally as scared by it. Which is totally out of character for you. And that headbutt pretty much came out of nowhere. I’d say there is definitely a story there.”
She poured him another drink. Maybe he’d pass out before he pressured her too much into divulging information she could not share.
“I’m not a lightweight,” he informed her. “You can hand me the bottle if you want, but I’m still going to demand you tell me what the hell is going
