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... tched into the history books as charcoal No. 472, cremated not in honor, but by proximity to a pissed-off, ancient dragon with identity issues.

The moment those glacier-blue eyes locked on to me, my throat went dry, heart flatlined, and life insurance policy metaphorically screamed in terror. But fate, or perhaps whatever cosmic entity enjoys dangling me over cliffs for fun, spared me.

Because I wasn’t the dragon’s target.

Its gaze passed over me like I was a discarded th ...

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