Dragon's Touch (Book 1 Linty Dragon Series) by J.M Griffin, Kristina Paglio Page B

come in.
    At the door, she turned, gave the books a quick, but strange glance and then said she’d be back in the morning. I smiled, offered a slight wave and wondered at her reaction. Was there a secret I shouldn’t know? Had I become completely barmy to think there was danger here other than Gran’s demise? Good golly, if I wasn’t careful, my relatives would try to commit me to the nearest funny farm.
    Uncertain over what had happened to Gran, a slew of questions had become my newfound friends. I didn’t like it one bit and poured a glass of wine, chugged it down like water, and poured a second. I picked up the glass, decided sipping was healthier than chugging, and headed back to the living room.
    All was calm and quiet, Drake soothed me by merely being nearby. I spread the books out over the coffee table, checking to see if they were labeled by date. The earliest book of the bunch was encased in dark brown leather, edged in gold, and was heavy. I hauled it onto my lap, crossed my legs and settled in to view the photos.
    My mother and father stood arm-in-arm. She was a tall woman with a great smile, brown hair and green eyes, and had a happy expression on her face. I realized how much I resembled her and was nearly her height. My father looked about the same as he did now, but without the wrinkles and slackness added to his skin. His hair was darker than my mother’s and his blue eyes were filled with happiness. Words scrawled underneath were in Gran’s handwriting and were brief to say the least. Just their names and the date the photo was taken. It was four years before I was born. I studied the picture, wondering what my mother was like. The brief description left me feeling that Gran hadn’t thought much of her, though she’d never said as much.
    I flipped through the next few pages, realized many of the people were strangers to me, but then, I hadn’t been born yet, either. After I’d arrived and my mother had passed on, I’d lived at the estate until I was old enough to go to boarding school and hadn’t been included in the close family circle due to my father’s inability to be a family man, but an adventurer instead. I’d had a nanny until I reached school age and then I was packed off to St. Augustine’s private school in Boston.
    By the end of the first album, I’d become a tad pensive. How much family life had I missed? A lot, I guessed from browsing the pages of our history. Anger, an unusual state of affairs for me, simmered alongside a goodly amount of resentment. According to the descriptions and names of those in the pictures, I knew this was my kin, how could my father have prevented me from knowing about this proud family? The next couple of books were filled with old photos of hunting parties, fish caught and held up for display, and crowds of folks lounging on the property, dressed in party attire. No one had ever spoken of these events, and the more I browsed the photos, the more cheated I felt.
    I slumped back against the sofa pillows and slid the book from my lap. Had my life been so bad? Hadn’t I met people from all over the world and made fast friends with them? I’d been invited to spend long weekends with families of publishing magnates, senators, and film stars in places like New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles. I’d even gone to the Cayman Islands and stayed at a Congressman’s estate with his daughter for a few weeks on a spring break from Harvard. Would I have had those opportunities if I’d been here on the estate my entire life? Likely not, but would Drake and I have become closer? Could I have been more aware of what was truly happening to Gran if I’d lived with her, or if my father hadn’t been such a wanderer and we’d been a real family? Eventually, I’d ask those questions and see what his answers would be.
    The mantel clock struck the hour and was joined by a rap on the door. I jumped off the sofa, sent books flying and knew Cullen had arrived. Shit, I