Feral Ice: Paranormal Fantasy (Ice Dragons Book 1)
Page 22
I may have mapped these lakes, but I’d had no idea they’d be so beautiful.
Not much point looking back, though. That life was lost to me.
Besides, thinking about Erin or the Darya were diversionary tactics. What I had to do was dig deep and figure out if I could open my metaphorical arms to a dragon and mean it.
Unsure what the result would be, I set off at a trot for the nearest lake half a kilometer distant. I was a proud man. Maybe too proud, verging on arrogance. And independent as hell. Peeling back the layers of a persona I’d cultivated for my entire adult life wouldn’t be easy.
The prospect scared the holy crap out of me, but the other alternative—the one where I forfeited my memories and returned to the world I’d left behind—held very little appeal.
Maybe I was making this too hard, but I had to carve out a spot for my dragon. One where it would feel cherished. A short bark of laughter startled me until I realized it had come from me. I wasn’t used to sharing anything with anyone.
How in the hell would I share my innermost everything with an arrogant, critical dragon?
A snort followed the laughter. Might not be as impossible as all that. When you chopped the fluff away, dragons were a lot like me.
Short-tempered. Opinionated. Sure of themselves.
I reached the lake shore and dropped onto a flattish rock. As I stared at the mirror-bright surface, a plan took shape. The longer I gazed at the lake, the surer I was I could pull it off.
“Serious alterations in the status quo,” I mumbled.
But what else was new? My previous circumstances had vanished when Russians forced me off the Darya. I’d be an idiot to long for the impossible. My past was deader than dead. The sooner the reality of that sank in, the better for everyone.
Especially me.