by Jaime Samms
Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
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Copyright
Sunshine in the Dragon’s Heart
By Jaime Samms
When Sunny retires to the northern Ontario wilderness to mourn his parents’ deaths, he’s hoping the change of scenery will afford him some peace and quiet.
His hopes are soon spectacularly dashed.
In self-imposed exile, dragon Emile runs across the Fold between his dimension and Sunny’s—and right into Sunny’s arms. Centuries out of touch with human culture, bright, beautiful Emile incinerates any hope Sunny had for an ordinary existence. With dryads and water sprites coming to life all around them, Sunny can’t deny the magic Emile brings to his life—or his heart. But that same magic leads the unrelenting dragon who would keep Emile captive right to them. To save his love, Sunny will have to reach deep and find some magic of his own.
For every dragon lover out there who always knew there was one more way to see them besides fire-breathing monsters.
Acknowledgments
THANKS, MARY. Just thanks.
Thanks, Mr. Blackwell, for reading us The Hobbit in grade six. My mom freaked out, but that door you opened into the world of fantasy and magic helped to make my life what it is. You’ll never know how much I appreciate that.
Thanks, Lynn, for giving me another chance to get this right.
And thanks, Gin, because this is a stronger book because you took the time to help me make it that way.
Chapter 1
THIS WAS all his.
More to the point, it was only his.
Sunny hopped out of his old Land Rover and surveyed his domain. He’d driven forty-five minutes to get here and appreciated that the spring thaw—and the resultant muddy mess—had dried to summer grasses. Once winter-bare branches now sprouted rustling leaves of early June, adding dancing shadows to the display. A grin spread slowly over his face. The front yard sloping gently away from the covered porch of the compact cottage would be ideal for his planned gardens. Behind that, various outbuildings waited under the eaves of towering pines.
Besides the city being almost an hour away, the nearest town, a small hamlet with a general store, an LCBO, and a mobile library, was a thirty-minute drive in the opposite direction. His nearest neighbour was ten minutes away. One hundred fifty-six acres all to himself. No one dropping by to borrow a cup of sugar. No media. No awkward questions about his parents or how he was feeling.
Isolated? Hell yes. Just the way he liked it.
He pulled the deed from his back pocket and unfolded it to take another look. Yep. There was his full name in all its hippie glory, right there, neatly typed on the line marked “Buyer:”
Sunshine Rainbow Barklay.
That had gotten him a skeptical look from the realtor, but his ID bore it out. He couldn’t help what his free-spirited parents had thought was a good name. At least he’d fared better than his little sister, Moonpetal Daisyleaf.
As of today, Sunny had everything he wanted or needed: his small spread, his tiny home, and the dog—Fernforest, because his mother could never resist, could she?
“Shit.” The familiar burn of anger and loss caught at his throat, stung his eyes, and he ground his teeth, blinked it away. After turning back to the Land Rover, he opened the passenger door and motioned to the dog. “Let’s go, Ferny. Time to check out our new place.”
The dog, a knee-high mutt with wiry tan-coloured hair and a skinny but deadly tail, yipped at him and, as was his way, tumbled out onto the grass.
“You’re an idiot,” Sunny chided, affection spilling into his voice. Ferny grinned at him, wagged his back half, and then his nose took over. He whipped his head around, gaze and nose trained on the bottom of the yard. When Sunny said his name again, Ferny’s ears pricked distractedly, but then he was off.
“Hey!” Sunny hurried after him to a trail that led along a short, crooked fence struggling to hold back a raspberry bramble. The path jogged over an arched wooden bridge, then disappeared quickly under the canopy of poplar leaves, taking his curious dog with it.
“Ferny!”
Not even a yip in response.
“Dammit. Asshole dog!” Sunny hadn’t brought the dog out here yet. If he took off into the woods with no previous introduction to the area, Sunny might never get him back. “Fernforest!”
He dug his hands into his hair, curls turning around his fingers and gripping them in their wild tangles. Why was today the day Ferny chose for a display of independence he’d never shown any inclination towards before?
“Shithead dog. Fernforest!” Sunny ignored the rickety creak of the bridge as he crossed it into the trees.
“BLAST.” EMIKKU—he was going to have to come up with a more human-sounding name—ducked behind a clump of foliage. He didn’t have the energy to run, and if he didn’t act fast, that dog was going to sniff out his hiding place.
Closing his eyes, he focused and managed to mask his scent as the dog plunged into the forest. The crackling of leaves and twigs gentled to snuffling as the animal discovered a chipmunk’s den. Emikku let out a breath, soft as the summer breeze around him.
Just don’t come any closer. Please.
The house had seemed like it would be perfect. For days he’d watched to make sure it was abandoned, and no one had come anywhere near. He hadn’t heard any activity or smelled any hint of recent human presence. He’d been so sure, he’d almost blundered out into the clearing around it—and then the noisy, smelly metal crate had roared up.
The auto, he thought it was called—his research hadn’t been terribly up-to-date—looked different from the spindly one he’d seen images of. When one of the panels on the side swung open and a man stepped out, well. Emikku had mixed emotions about that.
Now that he had a better view through the trees, he wished the man would turn his head to show his face hidden behind that thatch of curls. And like the wind and the wish were one and the same, a gust lifted the curls away.
“Oh!” He covered his mouth, the slip of sound causing his heart to race. He had to be careful. No one could know he was here. But oh! This was a pretty thing. Sun sank sweet, warm fingers into blond coils of hair and caressed high-boned cheeks it had already blessed with its touch many times over. Though his shoulders were broad, this human wasn’t so much bigger than what Emikku was used to at home. His eyes, though. They glowed gold as he tilted his head and the sun slid through them from the side.
“Oh my.” Emikku’s grasp on his magic slipped for a bare instant when his heart skipped. This was probably not a good thi
ng.
Careful to make no sound, he backed deeper into the shadows cast by the broad leaves overhead. The pretty human’s lips curved down as he approached his dog. He said something Emikku would have had to draw on his magic again to hear, but masking his scent had been about as strenuous as he could manage.
The human gripped the collar around the dog’s neck and led him back over the bridge to the clearing around the house. The dog kept glancing back, though, his interest fixed on the spot where Emikku crouched.
It was time to go.
Chapter 2
SUNNY WASN’T going to get any rest or peace of mind until he took Fernforest out, he could tell. The dog kept whining at the front door, letting out the occasional sharp, ear-ringing bark, then glaring at Sunny with reproach. He was glad now that Daisy had helped by hiring a moving company to do most of the work for him. His furniture was in place, right down to the bed made and the dishes and food in the cupboards and fridge.
Daisy had recommended her best friend’s moving company—and probably overseen the work through Skype, knowing her. His baby sister was the big sister he never had. Now he was overjoyed he’d let her have her way because all he had left to move in were his personal trinkets and clothes, and his gardening tools. Still, every time Sunny tried to bring in another box, Ferny made a dash for the outside.
“Fine.” Sunny kicked the door shut with one flip-flopped foot and made a face at his dog. “Fine. This is how it’s going to be?” He rooted in the box he’d just brought inside and found the leash he hardly ever used. “You play by my rules, mutt.” He snapped the leash to Ferny’s collar, receiving another sullen glare for his efforts.
“Hey. Don’t pout. You’re lucky I’m doing this at all. I have human things to do, ingrate.”
Fernforest licked his fingers, and Sunny smiled.
“I do love you. So first we take a look around on leash, and when I can trust you not to take off on me again, I’ll let you off.” With a flourish, he opened the door, and, true to the contrary beast he was, Fernforest sat at the threshold, politely waiting for Sunny to invite him out.
“Seriously?” The grin that stole over Sunny’s face couldn’t be helped. “You’re an asshole. Come on.” He gave a tiny wave of his hand, and Fernforest rose to trot out and stand by his side while he closed the door.
On the other side of the adorable arched bridge spanning the creek at the bottom of the yard, pleasant shade soon shrouded the trail. Fernforest led the way, nose to the ground, every inch of the fifteen-foot leash stretched out between them. Sunny wasn’t worried. Bears lived in the area, but if there was one around, the particular stench they gave off would alert even Sunny long before they crossed paths.
Just a few minutes into the bush, tall grass and ferns that reached Sunny’s chest overgrew their path. The dog wandered easily around their stems, casting this way and that for whatever had his attention. Sunny had to swim through the undergrowth, following the winding slash between the trees where no saplings had yet grown up.
Around them, the summer afternoon slept, but for the distinctive calls of a killdeer circling overhead.
“Weird.” Killdeer didn’t live in forests, and he’d been very young the last time he’d heard one in the region. But there was no mistaking that call. He stopped to look up, but the canopy, though broken, wasn’t open enough to let him find the bird.
He held his breath, trying to discern from which direction the call had come. He couldn’t see Fernforest anymore, only the thin tether of nylon that connected them, so maybe the dog had found a clearing and disturbed the bird. Nothing else in the bush around him stirred. The squirrels and chickadees, the crows and robins, all were quiet. A breeze stirred up the soft rustle of aspen leaves overhead, and Sunny took a few steps along the path, past the Balm-of-Gilead poplars and into the lighter, greener light of the aspens.
The sun was warm and the soft wind perfect. Goosebumps skidded down his back. A twig cracked in the silence, and he whipped his head around in the direction of the sound. “Ferny?”
Of course not, because the leash led off in a different direction. If the dog heard him, he ignored the call.
Slowly, Sunny wended through the ferns. He wasn’t trying to be quiet. That was impossible. But he sniffed every few feet and prayed there were no cougars in the area. He didn’t think so. Foxes, yes. Probably coyotes. Unlikely, there might be wolves, but it had been decades since anyone had reported such. The silence unnerved him, but the only logical conclusion was that his dog and his own presence had disturbed wildlife grown accustomed to not having humans around.
That was a good sign, because he’d come out here for precisely that reason. No humans. Not for miles. Just the way he liked it. He’d learned the hard way he was better off on his own.
Without warning, the stand of unusually tall ferns opened out into a clearing. Another creek, this one more boisterous than the lazy one near his house, laughed its way along the south side of the small meadow.
It flowed over the feet of some impressive cedar trees—tall for living this far north. The darkness under those trees differed from the pretty, sun-dappled shadow he’d emerged from. Under the cedars, it was moist, deep green, and old. In the corner of the clearing, a weeping willow trailed its delicate filigree leaves in the babbling water. Slanting rays of late-afternoon sun burnished the western edge of the clearing behind the willow to a golden glow.
“Oh wow.”
Fernforest stood on the bank of the creek, peering intently across the water. The light dashed off the fur the breeze tossed up, giving the dog an ever-undulating gilded halo.
“Ferny!” he called, though not very loud, reluctant to disturb the magical quiet of the space.
The dog’s tail waved in the air and one ear pricked in his direction.
“Ferny. Come here.” Sunny took a step into the short grass of the clearing. The ground gave like a sponge under his feet, and he glanced down. Green-on-green moss peeked between the short stems of emerald grass. He could lie down on this ground and sink into it like a bed.
The thought made him shiver again, and he called a little louder to the dog.
This time Fernforest glanced at him, barked once, and turned back to the darker forest under the cedars. He cocked his head, then whined and yipped, jump-hopping along the bank, tail flipping more energetically side to side.
“Ferny! Come!” A sudden fear that despite the leash, and Sunny’s death grip on it, the dog might jump the water and disappear into that strange wood turned Sunny’s heart over. Not his dog too. “Ferny!” The command was sharp, and Fernforest looked at him, completely unruffled.
“Come,” Sunny said, calmer now he had the dog’s attention. “Come on.”
With a last glance into the woods, the dog finally abandoned his vigil and dashed across the little lawn to Sunny’s side.
For about the millionth time even though they’d been out here for less than an hour, Sunny revelled in knowing everywhere he walked was his. No one else could walk these trails. No other person had the right to invade this space, and the thought made him practically giddy. He was so done with the demands other people made on him and the emotional strain of putting on a good face for Daisy. Moving out here had been the exact right thing to do.
He ran a hand along the foliage next to the path and smiled to himself. Just Ferny, wilderness, and the magical, quiet isolation of his forest.
No one could take that from him.
“Come on, Ferny. Let’s check out the stream.” He wandered across the spongy ground to the foot of the willow, where he stopped to stare into the tumbling water. Colourful rounded stones carpeted the bottom of the stream. “Wow. That’s awesome.”
Kneeling, he peered through the glitter of water where the stones tumbled over one another. “It’s like a mosaic.” The stones clinked and clacked over one another, reminding him of how pictures formed and reformed in the clouds on breezy days just like this.
“Check it out.” He
pointed, and Fernforest tipped his head at the water, ears propped far forward, eyes bright, head cocking this way and that. Sunny could imagine he saw a crude moving picture of a dragon in flight. Pink and purple stones shimmered along the edges of its legs. A golden ball gamboled along below the dragon, and Sunny couldn’t look away.
As he leaned closer, the brook’s laughter got louder and the water more tumultuous. He reached for a stone, but Fernforest yelped and snatched at his arm.
“Hey! Ferny!”
Fernforest barked and backed away from the stream.
Confused at his odd behavior, Sunny turned to him. A splash of water hit Sunny in the face, and he whipped back around to the brook. It tumbled along, almost placid in its course over the bed of stones that lay shimmering and still at the bottom of the little stream.
“Maybe you’re right.” He crawled away from the bank. He didn’t remember kneeling or getting so close to the edge where he’d been gripping the overhanging sod. “Let’s cross and see what’s past the cedars. I want to have a look at my land.”
He made a motion for Fernforest to heel, and the dog came to him, sticking close to his side now as he followed the stream to a spot narrow enough to hop across. An eddy of water swirled below him as he jumped. He decided it was a natural formation of the banks causing the flow, and not the stream laughing at him. Because that was crazy.
On the far side of the stream, he found a narrow path, probably a game trail, but he followed it under the cedar boughs. It wound along next to the little brook where the air felt cool and still, heavy compared to the open spaces. “What do you think, Ferny? How far you want to go?”
The dog seemed to be over his fright at the water’s edge and was casting about, sniffing and snorting like normal. For a few minutes, Sunny watched him, content to be walking his land, enjoying the warm June day. The cedars by the creekside gave way to more common spruce, pine, and poplar. Birches edged the open spaces, saplings fighting back from some scourge that had reduced their numbers in the area over the past decade. He was pleased to see the bright splashes of their white bark among the other trees.
