Page 5 of Purring for Her Lion (Harmony Glen #5)

LIANA

The truck jolts over a rut and I clutch the dashboard, heart pounding, mind spinning faster than the tires on gravel.

A dragon egg. A real one. On my property. The truth hasn’t sunk in yet—it’s like hearing the worst news of your life, except this is the kind that could set your whole world on fire. Literally.

I glance at Roarke, sunlight streaking through the windshield, catching in his golden fur. He’s all serious lines and focus, hands steady on the wheel. How the hell is he so calm? We’re driving toward a magical, possibly fire-breathing disaster, and he looks like he’s just running errands.

“So,” I say, voice a little too loud in the silence, “on a scale of ‘baby lizard’ to ‘call the National Guard,’ how worried should I be about this dragon situation?”

Roarke’s ear flicks. His version of an eye roll, I’m learning. “Dragons aren’t lizards.”

Of course that’s what he latches onto.

“Noted,” I say, fingers drumming against my thighs, nerves crackling. “But seriously. How much should I be freaking out right now?”

“Freaking out solves nothing.” His eyes never leave the road.

“Easy for you to say. You’re, what, seven feet of muscle and claws? I’m five-seven and mostly made of bad decisions and bread flour.”

His mouth twitches. Not a smile, but close.

We hit my property line, truck bouncing over the uneven dirt. My stomach lurches with every jolt. Part rough terrain, part the realization that my life is about to get even weirder. As if failing at chicken husbandry wasn’t enough.

I lead Roarke toward the back field, the treeline where I found the egg. The morning dew is gone but the grass is soft, cool underfoot. I glance back to make sure he’s following. I don’t need to. He’s impossible to miss, solid and silent behind me.

“It’s just through here,” I say, pushing past a tangle of overgrown brush. The clearing is unchanged—the egg still nestled in its hollow, the blanket I left fluttering in the breeze.

Roarke moves past me, fluid and sure. He kneels, peels the blanket away with careful hands. In the full daylight, the egg is even more magnificent. Dark green, speckled and gleaming, the surface iridescent, shifting as the sun plays over it.

“Beautiful,” I murmur.

Roarke nods, just once. He digs into his field kit, pulling out a thermometer and other tools I don’t recognize.

“Don’t touch it yet,” he says without looking up.

I freeze, arms half-raised. “I wasn’t going to…okay, I totally was.”

He gives me a look. Then turns back to the egg, hands precise as he checks temperature, texture, something that makes one of his instruments glow blue.

“Is it healthy?” I ask, suddenly anxious. I shouldn’t care about a dragon egg, but I do.

He’s quiet for a long moment, expression unreadable. Finally, he sits back on his heels.

“It’s healthy,” he says. “Blue mountain dragon. Rare. Endangered. And not native to this region.”

My heart skips. “So it was… placed here? On purpose?”

He nods, golden eyes meeting mine. “Yes.”

The word hangs between us, heavy.

“But why?” I look from the egg to Roarke and back. “Why would someone leave a rare dragon egg on my land? I can’t even keep chickens alive.”

“That,” he says, packing up his kit, “is what we need to figure out.”

I drag my hands through my hair. “Oh my god. I’m responsible for an endangered dragon egg. Me. The woman who set her kitchen on fire making toast.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“It was a complicated toaster,” I mutter.

He stands, towering. “We need supplies. Proper incubation. The egg can’t stay out here.”

“Supplies. For the dragon egg.” I’m nodding too fast, like a bobblehead. “What kind of supplies? Can we get them at the general store? They have a surprisingly good selection of?—”

“No,” he cuts me off. “We need to go to Crystalline Springs.”

“Crystalline Springs?” It sounds made up. “Where’s that?”

“Two hours north. Magical community. They’ll have what we need.”

My eyes widen. “A magical community? Like, with actual magic? And magical people? And magical stuff?”

“Yes.” He’s already lifting the egg, cradling it like it’s spun sugar. “We need to leave now if we want to get there and back before dark.”

I’m torn between excitement and panic. Panic is winning.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I say, hurrying after him as he heads for the truck. “Shouldn’t we call someone? Magical authorities? Dragon protective services? There has to be a protocol.”

“There is,” he says. “Proper incubation until we determine why it was placed here.”

“But—”

“Get in the truck, Liana.”

He uses my name like a command. I obey, climbing into the passenger seat.

Roarke secures the egg in a padded container, buckling it in with a stabilizing harness. Every move is deliberate.

“Is it going to be okay?” I twist in my seat to look at the egg.

“Yes.” He starts the engine. “If we get the right equipment.”

And just like that, we’re off. Road trip to a magical town with a dragon egg in the back seat. Not how I expected my Tuesday to go.

We leave my property behind, roads growing less familiar, my panic slowly giving way to a bubbling excitement. I’m going to a magical town. With a magical lion-man. For a magical dragon egg. I’m living in a fantasy novel.

“So,” I say, bouncing in my seat, “what’s Crystalline Springs like? Is everyone magical? Are there wizards in pointy hats? Fairies? Gnomes?”

Roarke gives me a sidelong glance. “It’s just a town.”

“A magical town.”

“With magical residents,” he concedes. “But no pointy hats.”

“Disappointing,” I mutter, grinning. “What about you? Are you magical? Besides the whole…” I gesture at him, “…lion thing.”

He exhales through his nose. “I’m Rodinian. Not magic. Biology.”

“But you work with magical creatures?”

“Yes.”

“So you must have some kind of magical ability? Or special training?”

His tail flicks against the seat. “Special training.”

Apparently that’s all I’m getting.

As we drive, the landscape shifts. Trees grow older, trunks thicker, leaves deeper green. The sky is bluer, more vivid. I roll down my window, breathing in air that tastes different. Cleaner, but also… charged.

“It smells like…” I inhale, searching for the word. “Rain before it falls. Honey. And something sparkly.”

“Sparkly isn’t a smell,” Roarke says, but he doesn’t sound annoyed.

“It is here,” I insist, leaning out the window to catch more of it. Wind whips my hair, cool and wild. I close my eyes, let it wash over me.

A large hand grabs the back of my shirt and yanks me back in.

“Hey!” I protest, turning to glare at him.

“Keep your head inside the vehicle,” he growls.

“I wasn’t going to fall out!”

“You were halfway out the window.”

“I was experiencing the journey!”

He gives me a look that would shrivel most people. I just cross my arms and pout.

“You’re no fun,” I mutter.

“And you’re a safety hazard,” he counters, eyes on the road.

But he doesn’t let go of my shirt.

“Are you seriously going to hold onto me the whole way there?” I ask.

“If I have to.”

I try to wiggle free, but his grip is steady. “This is ridiculous. I’m not a child.”

“Then don’t act like one.”

I gasp, offended. “I am not acting like a child! I’m acting like someone who’s never been to a magical town before and is appropriately excited!”

“Hm,” is all he says, not releasing my shirt.

After a few more futile tugs, I slump in my seat. “Fine. You win. I’ll be a model passenger.”

He finally lets go. I sit up straight, hands folded, face serious.

“Better?” I ask, voice dripping sarcasm.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Much.”

We drive in silence, the landscape growing more enchanting. Trees shimmer, leaves glinting like they’re dusted with diamonds. The road narrows, winding through hills that don’t show up on any map.

“Almost there,” Roarke says. “Stay close to me. Don’t wander.”

“Why? Is it dangerous?”

He shakes his head. “Not dangerous. But easy to get lost. Literally and figuratively.”

Before I can ask, we crest a hill and Crystalline Springs appears.

“Oh,” I breathe. “Oh wow.”

The town nestles in a valley, surrounded by vibrant hills.

Buildings range from quaint cottages to elegant Victorians, lining winding streets that make no sense.

The color is what gets me: everything is vivid, alive.

Rooftops gleam, some shifting hues as I watch. Gardens burst with impossible flowers.

And everywhere, crystals. Jutting from the ground, built into buildings, adorning the streets. The whole place glitters like a living jewel.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, unable to look away.

Roarke grunts, steering the truck down. As we enter, I press my face to the glass (carefully, this time), taking it all in.

People—or beings that mostly look like people—move along the sidewalks. Some have pointed ears, odd skin, folded wings. Others look human, until you catch the glow or the way plants lean toward them.

Roarke parks in front of a shop: “Mortimer’s Magical Menagerie,” the sign says, letters shifting and swirling.

“Stay close,” he reminds me. He grabs the egg, handling it with care.

“I’m glued to your side,” I promise, but my eyes are everywhere, greedy for magic.

Inside, the shop is a wonderland. Shelves from floor to ceiling, jars and boxes filled with things that glow, shift, or puff colored smoke. Instruments hang from the walls, ancient and futuristic at the same time. Glass cases display eggs, none as large or dazzling as ours.

A tall, willowy person with silver hair and faintly blue skin looks up from the counter. Their eyes widen at Roarke, then nearly bug out when they see the egg.

“Dr. Khoran,” they say, voice melodic, echoing. “This is unexpected.”

“Mortimer,” Roarke nods. “We need incubation equipment. Blue mountain dragon.”

Mortimer’s gaze shifts to me, one eyebrow arching. “And this is…?”

“The egg’s guardian,” Roarke says, and my heart stutters at the word.

Guardian. Of a dragon egg. Me.

Mortimer studies me, their iridescent eyes seeing right through me. “Interesting choice,” they say at last, not clear if it’s to me or Roarke.