Fired by my Grumpy Dragon (Grumpy Monster Bosses #3)

TWO

Kivrayn

In all my four hundred and fifty-three years of life, I’ve never met a more infuriating person—human or monster—than Loren Carandang. For one thing, she’s brash and rude. Being outspoken and always ready with a witty comeback helps make her one of the best auctioneers in the business, but it does not make her a pleasant employee. What’s worse is that, in the two months, seven days, and three hours since I hired her, she’s made me more money than the other five auctioneers I employ combined, so I would be a fool to fire her. Which means I have to put up with the way she is constantly insolent, snarky, and stubborn.

Worse still is the fact that despite all this, I can’t seem to leave her alone. That’s the fuel on top of this dumpster fire inferno. About a hundred times a day, I find myself lingering at the door to her office or eavesdropping on her conversations in the staff kitchen.

Today represents a new low. Stalking her to her dinner date to confirm that she is, in fact, meeting a friend and not some random guy, is the nail in the coffin of my self-respect, which began dying an agonizing death the day I hired her.

What if she’s gay? Maybe it was a date after all.

I let out an irritated puff of smoke at my own stupidity. It doesn’t matter if she’s gay or straight or only interested in centaurs. She’s off-limits. And I’m not interested anyway. I’m just making sure she’s not taking unnecessary risks.

I don’t even believe myself.

I tuck my wings closer behind me as I stride down the street, conscious that if I’m not careful, I’ll knock someone over. What I really want to do is shift, stretch them to their full span, and take off into the air to work off the hours and weeks of frustration. Apparently there’s something in Ms. Carandang’s scent that erodes my self-control and detracts about a hundred points from my IQ.

Luckily, I’m off to my country estate this weekend, and I have plans to take the next week off after that for some much-needed alone time with my hoard. Unluckily, my whole team is joining me for the first night to help with the private elite auction I’m running from the estate for twenty of my highest-flying regulars. Which means Loren Carandang under my roof, filling my rooms with her sweetly spicy scent, driving me wild with her sass, and inspecting my hoard. If I’m honest, I’m a little scared of how I’ll react.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no fledgling. I can control my temper well enough that even if someone was to accidentally lay a finger on something precious, I wouldn’t go blasting them with fire or biting their head off. No, where Loren’s concerned, it’s the opposite reaction I’m afraid of.

Trying not to think too hard about it, I throw caution to the wind. I leap onto the side of a nearby building, using the balustrade of an overhanging balcony to cling to momentarily. I tuck my feet under me, push off the building, and fling myself into the air, shifting mid-fall, feeling my bones stretch and crack and my body shape itself into something else. My wings stretch as if on their own, and my snake-like neck curves as I haul myself higher into the air, ignoring the screams of witless humans on the street who—despite years of monsters being out—aren’t prepared to see a dragon in four-legged form in the middle of a downtown nightlife district.

I’m instantly more relaxed, though a tiny niggling feeling in my spine and low down in my belly has my nostrils flaring, my breath drawing in to seek that all too familiar scent I know is down there somewhere.

I beat my wings faster, driving myself higher. Further from the road, further from the bar and from the feisty little human who has had me distracted for weeks. It’s not the first time my fire has burned hot for a female, and it won’t be the last. I ignore the little voice in the back of my mind that reminds me it’s the hottest flame I’ve ever felt. The most unsettled I’ve been in centuries. It makes no difference. I won’t take a mate. So no matter how much my blood boils with awareness of her, I won’t give in to the need to sink my teeth into succulent flesh, to lick all over her body and taste every secret place.

My roar echoes down trendy alleys filled with couples walking to dinner or lining up outside the Grand Theater. I wheel around the spire of the town hall and toward the harbor, chasing the warm updraft of the sea breeze. It lifts me higher still until the city lights become dots below me and my nose finally stops seeking the scent I crave, and I can forget. Then I pump my wings and dive low over the waves, blasting fire into the cool depths safely out of reach of humans and monsters. The surface of the ocean boils as my flames lick the white-capped waves, but below that, she’s calm and cool as ever. Perfectly unmoved by my petulant rage.

I wish it was easier for me to channel some of that energy, to resist the urge to burn everything around me in the hunt for what I want. I’m normally far better at maintaining at least the facade. But this human has me shaken. And if I can’t pull myself together, this weekend is going to be hell on everyone. Me especially.