The Assassin
I ask him.
He stops, taking a breath. “You’re right,” he says, cupping my cheek. When he’s tired like this, he’s less restrained with me and I love it.
“You’re always right. Let me go wash up. I’ll brush my teeth too. I wouldn’t want our new girl passing out because I have dragon breath,” he says and then stops, his eyes going wide. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay. Dragons can have really horrible breath,” I tell him.
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