Read Never Again for Free Online Page B

been so overwrought by his wife’s betrayal, so weakened by her attempt to kill him, that he was no longer capable of fulfilling his duties in the House of Dragons.
    It was part of the truth. The other part was something he had never admitted. He’d never spoken to anyone, not even his own mother, about his death and resurrection. Those secrets were his burden alone. What did it matter? He had a life of his own making, one that satisfied him, even if he sometimes felt as though he was in hiding, or, worse, running away.
    Lucinda Rackmore.
    Why had she even bothered to seek his protection? And to ask him to marry her ? Was she insane? He barked out a harsh laugh. He’d been doing fine. Just fine. Now his past was mucking about in his present and he didn’t like it.
    “You gonna finish this spell?” called his grandfather, still as cranky as ever. “I ain’t got time to sit here all day at your beck and call.”
    “Yeah, dude. If you’re done being mean to the babes, we could totally use your help.”
    “All right, already!” called out Gray. It wasn’t like Grit or Dutch could go anywhere—they were soulimprinted books. He’d inherited his grandfather, who’d befriended Dutch while doing the requisite year in the Great Library. When the time came for Gray to claim the old man, Grit hadn’t wanted to leave his friend. So now Gray was stuck with two smart-asses. “Don’t get your pages in a ruffle.”
    “We heard that, dude!”
    Gray rolled his eyes as he pushed away from the door, and strode toward the kitchen. His mind churned with the images of Lucinda trudging through the rain toward downtown Nevermore. Midway through the living room he stopped. Shit.
    He told himself she was strong. She’d made it this far, and she could find her way out of town on her own. He wasn’t responsible for her. She wasn’t a kid anymore. But he had an excellent imagination, and playing out was scenario after scenario of all that could go wrong for a Rackmore witch in Nevermore.
    “I’m going to town,” he yelled as he pivoted. He needed to change clothes and put on shoes, not to mention rustle up a suitable coat.
    “Dude!” called Dutch. “Bring us back some doughnuts.”
    “None of them sissy jelly doughnuts, neither,” added Grit. “But them cake ones are all right.”
    Gray ignored their requests and hurried up the stairs to his bedroom. In their current forms, neither Grit nor Dutch could eat. But they liked the smell of food a lot, especially desserts.
    He stripped off his clothes and redressed in a pair of faded Levi’s and a gray cable-knit sweater. Miraculously, he found a pair of clean socks, and after a search through the mess littering his closet floor, he was able to extract his black cowboy boots.
    The coat was the issue.
    He’d misplaced his usual “I’m the Dragon Guardian” garment. It was an informal hooded black cape with a gold dragon stitched on the left front side. He hadn’t seen it in a while, not since he’d ventured to town. . . . He frowned. He hadn’t been in Nevermore since the wintersolstice celebration. Crap. Had it really been that long?
    The problem with the way that he lived was that he tended to drop whatever he was taking off where he was standing at the moment. Every so often, he spent a solid week digging himself out of his mess, but the debrisfree look never lasted long. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done a thorough cleaning, which was probably why he couldn’t find a damned thing.
    As the Guardian of Nevermore, he had to meet certain . . . er, dramatic expectations of the townsfolk. Nevermore had always been a Dragon town, and not only had his family helped to found it along with a few hundred humans, but they’d also been the appointed protectors.
    Unfortunately, the Calhoun line had dwindled down to . . . him. When he returned to Nevermore five years ago, only his grandfather was left, and the old man was in no shape to perform the minimum