Page 121 of My Monster’s Keeper

“What is this kokomo dragon?” Puppy snarls and twists his arms, breaking the grasping grip of Coby so he can hold the guy by his throat. “Show me a picture of a kokomo dragon, now!”

With a resigned sigh, I Google an image and hold it up so he can have a look. He narrows his eyes and studies the image with an intensity that is mesmerising.

“How deadly are they?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Eh. They can kill humans.”

“Not good enough. I’m ten kokomo dragons,” Puppy snaps at Coby. “How dare you.”

“Tell me what the look was,” I growl in Puppy’s ear. His eyes flash with warning, the yellow growing brighter before it deepens to a gold.

“No.”

“Why not!” I snap at him.

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Tell me now, Puppy!” I shout.

“Excuse me, but if you’re going to have a lovers’ quarrel, can you let me go? He’s got sharp claws.”

“Shut up, Coby!” We both snarl at him.

Puppy abruptly tosses the human to Stix, who catches him easily, but it doesn’t matter because his hands are on my chest, shoving me back into a wall. I grunt, but shadows lock me in place. I did not know Puppy could do that.

“I will tell you when I’m ready to tell you, and not a moment before,” he growls into my mouth. “Stop pushing me.”

I bare my teeth, but his mouth claims mine, his tongue pressing forcefully into my mouth and down into my throat. I panic as I always do until the drugging nature of his kiss stops the fight instinct and leaves me pliant and hot for him.

“You can’t just kiss me into submission,” I say when he pulls away. I watch in pure frustration as he shifts shape and meanders up the wall to the ceiling, where he watches me balefully.

“There’s no submission in you,” Frost says from the other side of the room. “You just turn one battleground into another.”

“Wow, I sound bloodthirsty,” I snap at them, offended.

Frost turns, a smile ghosting his lips. “It’s not a bad thing, Becks.”

I slowly turn towards him, stunned at the shortened version of my name, but loving it.

“What’s wrong?” Frost says, looking around in alarm.

“No one’s given me a nickname of my name before. I always hated my name, but I could get behind Becks.”

“Why do you hate your name?” Frost asks.

I shrug. “It’s the one I came with. Becky, it’s so common. Not even Rebecca. Just Becky on the birth certificate. No parents. No last name. Just one single name. Becky Doe.”

“That’s not your name.”

“No, I chose Dawson,” I say and smile when Stix laces his fingers with mine.

“Becks Dawson?” Frost says. “It’s a strong name.”

“Are you really going to stand here and discuss the origins of her fricken name while I’m about to die?” Coby suddenly shouts.

He’s a young twenty-one, and he’s wearing clothes that I could not afford. Even on a cop salary, I couldn’t afford brand name items. His brown hair is cut in the latest fashion, longer on top, with it short at the sides. It’s styled to look like he just crawled from his sexnest. Except we know this poor guy’s only action is he, himself, and Mr Palmer. He looks like your average kid.

“Well, you aren’t talking, so we were just going to kill time until whatever killed all the people in the basement came back,” Wilder purrs.