Storm Dragon — Frances Pauli

I never should have let Steph drag me to that Psychic Fair. Metaphysical nonsense doesn't suit me, Seattle doesn't suit me, and I think I might be allergic to patchouli. I'm definitely allergic to car accidents, to giant elk falling from the sky, and most importantly, to the huge, blue dragon that's attached its obnoxious tail to my navel. Just try having a smart-ass dragon nattering in your brain twenty-four-seven. Better yet, don't try it. I recommend skipping the entire, batshit crazy, ordeal. Avoid black cats. Don't get that Reiki treatment, and definitely don't wake up alone, surrounded by other dragons who know way more than you do about what the hell is going on. I can handle it, though. I got this covered. Just as soon as I figure out how to get away from the urban highlander who thinks I'm his mate. Just as soon as I work out how to detach… I wouldn't recommend that. You see what I mean? Crazy. Now I have to escape, to convince the nutty dragon clan that I am not their leader, and to come up with some way to get rid of… You could try exorcism? I get the feeling this isn't going to be easy.