"I dare not, Lord Warden," a deep male voice rumbled above Jett.
Then, two porcelain claws tipped in cobalt-blue nails emerged from the shadows, flanking him and dispersing the swirling white clouds. Each claw rose as tall as Jett himself. The guardian's white muzzle lowered as his massive body settled in the vast chamber. His silver-slit eyes bored into Jett, and his mouth—wide enough to shelter Jett and his maids—curved into a silent greeting.
It's a fucking dragon. I just talked back to a fucking dragon!
Even with his newfound powers and surging confidence, Jett couldn't stop his mind from racing at the absurdity of the situation. A week ago, he'd been a manaless human; now he was Warden, speaking above dragons—and he'd even made their guardian bow with a single question. He dared not glance at his maids but heard their collective gasp. Mia was particularly vocal. He tuned them out.
