Free Taken by the Dragon King by Caroline Hale Page A

says. I refuse to start wondering about another girl again. He would have just been a kid himself anyway and he’ll tell me if wants to. “The shaman that worked for my father, the one the Council spoke of.  He was a dear friend.”
    “Oh.” Poor Ash. And I’m such a jerk for being relieved. “Is that the one that you gave the fang to?”
    “Yes. I wonder what became of him. You never told me where you found it. Maybe he’s buried there.”
    “I doubt it. I found it in a museum.”
    “What’s a museum?”
    “It’s a… well, it’s a building filled with artifacts from the past.”
    “Maybe I should go live there,” he grumbles.
    “You’re not an artifact, Ash.” I slide my hand along his back, unsure if he can even feel it.
    He doesn’t answer me, just starts flying a little faster as I keep an eye out for hikers. The full moon is high above us, reflecting off Asher’s dark scales. I’ve never been out in desert at night before, it’s so peaceful. And so chilly, especially compared to the heat radiating off Asher’s body.
    We fly silently through the wilderness for a while, but then I feel a shudder roll through Ash’s body. “You need to get down,” he rasps, his voice strained. “I’m shifting back, I can’t help it.”
    “It’s okay, Ash,” I reply quickly, crawling out from between his spines and scrambling down his outstretched wing. It’s shaking.
    He screeches when the flames surround him, but I doubt it hurts. Not physically anyway, though I think it’s wounding his pride. My suspicions are confirmed with the fire subsides and he standing there, head hanging low. Even at his thinnest, he’s still so chiseled and gorgeous, but it’s difficult to enjoy the sight of him with his spirits so low. “We’ll figure it out, Ash.”
    Asher sighs, running his hands through his hair as his eyes scan the horizon. I give him his clothes, but he won’t have any shoes. “I landed on a rock first,” he murmurs, reluctantly admitting defeat by pulling on his pants.
    “I noticed.”
    Asher holds out his hand. “I’m carrying that bag. Give it to me.”
    “Thank you,” I say. He’s leaving his shirt off. Yum.
    I’m trying not to eye him because I know he’s doing this to tease me, so I spin around and survey the moonlit landscape. “I think I know where we are.”
    “I know exactly where we are. I’m not completely useless.”
    “Ash, that’s not what I meant. I don’t know a lot about the desert. Wandering around aimlessly isn’t one of my hobbies.”
    “That’s a relief. I was afraid to ask.”
    “But I do recognize that.” I point into the distance. “That’s Weaver’s Needle.”
    “That is called Picacho.”
    “Yeah, you’re actually right.”
    “That’s nice to hear for a change,” he grumbles.
    “It’s the Native name. But it’s a part of a legend. We’re in the Superstition Mountains.”
    “I don’t think the Native people would appreciate you calling the holy place where they ascend to the happy hunting grounds a legend.”
    “That’s not the legend I’m talking about. You’re not going to like this.”
    “I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me at this point.”
    “When I moved Uptop, I read a lot of human history books. There was this guy, some gold miner from like 150 years ago. He supposedly found this awesome mine and revealed the location on his deathbed. No one knows if he was serious or not, but they still look for it.
    Asher huffs, his nostrils flaring as he stares off into the distance. “Aside from the miner, no one has ever found it?”
    “Not that I know of.”
    “If anything, a legend from 150 years ago would increase the odds that it’s undisturbed.”
    “That’s true,” I reply, skimming my fingers across the back of his neck. Ash nods, reaching behind him to pull my hand around to his lips, kissing the back of my palm. He deftly hops down from the massive boulder and spins around, his arms outstretched to catch me.
    I