A Shade of Dragon by Bella Forrest Page A

fine.”
    “Okayyy… How’s Zada doing?”
    “Usually pretty good, after a meditation this long.” Dad turned over his shoulder to wink at me. “If you ask me, it’s basically drugs for people who don’t drink caffeine anymore.” He grinned and turned back to his pan of eggs. “I’ll see you when you get back, dumpling. The keys are on the ring beside the garage door. Can’t miss them.”
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    T he mall at Beggar’s Hole was obviously not named Beggar’s Hole Mall. We called it the Emporium at Shoreside.
    Beggar’s Hole, contrary to the name, was a small, but well-off town centered around a few classy boutiques and eateries before spreading into a smattering of beach houses and then becoming nothing but woods and highway again.
    It was named Beggar’s Hole for the natural phenomenon which occurred at Beggar’s Lake, found deep inside Beggar’s Woods. The endless whirlpool was the real beggar’s hole. It was a marvel of nature. It would take and take whatever you gave it. There was a video on YouTube of a guy putting his sofa onto a boat and sending it into the hole, which sucked both items into its depths. No one knew how deep into the Earth it traveled; people like Zada probably considered the whirlpool to be some kind of spiritual landmark. Daredevils had been known to drown there, bodies never found.
    The Emporium at Shoreside struggled with great success to divorce itself from the word “beggar.” From the fountain in the plaza, which illuminated itself at night, to the price tags on the designer lingerie, nothing about Shoreside spoke of beggars, or even of charity, for that matter. At this time of year, unsmiling mannequins stared out of storefront windows, simultaneously wreathed in snow made of cotton and Navajo-printed cashmere. During the night, a fine crust of real snow had fallen, but the vendors had already salted the cobblestone walk for the droves of last-minute shoppers.
    I roamed Shoreside for two hours before finally confessing to myself that I was a Christmas failure of Seussian proportion. I’d fondled the reindeer ladles. I’d gotten a price check on a set of Stylus pens, which could’ve been further monogrammed with his initials. I wasn’t totally sucking at this. I’d found a reasonably priced ergonomic desk chair. Augh!
    I sat down at the fountain and tears stung my eyes. I never cried, and never, ever in public. Why was I even crying? I was trying hard. I was doing a good job… or a decent job, anyway.
    I brushed my hand over my eyes, swiping the tears away, then absently rubbed them onto my sweater. I decided I’d better get back to work.
    I’d just finished purchasing the set of Stylus pens—which I would then take to be monogrammed with his initials, so the gift didn’t seem quite so impersonal—and stepped back onto the cobblestone walkway when I recognized Theon lurking by the fountain.
    “Theon,” I cried, rushing over with a big, stupid smile. Why couldn’t people control their emotions when it counted the most? I patted down the thick braid looped around my shoulder. I hadn’t combed it quite as carefully as I normally did, and you could tell. “Hey.”
    Theon was wearing an azure blue silk shirt with woolen pants of dirty gray, and a thick, heavy matching coat. I smiled, bemused, as I noted the vest he was wearing with that overcoat: it was made of a light chestnut fur. The man owned a vest. Of fur.
    “Hey,” I repeated breathlessly as I closed the space between us. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
    Theon smiled down at me warmly. “And yet here I am,” he said. His voice was so rich and sensual, its sound could overtake a woman, like a warm bite of chocolate.
    I shook my head dizzily before I dared even attempt to find my tongue. “What are you doing at Shoreside? On December twenty-third, of all days?”
    “Learning,” he replied. I tilted my head. Why did he have to be so strange? “Finding you. And what of you? What do these shops