Ron wondered how much the tall girl’s nonstandard healing process would complicate matters. She sat in the back of the police car, holding her side. If she’d been unclaimed, and their story true, she should be bleeding, but a green growth had closed the wound. The smell, somewhat like freshly cut grass, was odd in this context, but unmistakable.
Her companion caught Ron’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, and held them.
“So, what kind are you?”
The assumption he had to be claimed, too, just because he had not sided with the locals whom she accused of taking pot shots at her and her friend, irritated him. However, he cut the lecture, on the basis that she’d had a really bad day. Besides, her assumption was correct.
“So, do you turn into a big shaggy monster on fullmoon nights?”
“He’s not that insistent.” Well, if she wanted to talk… “What about you? Dragon?”
She rolled her eyes a little. “Wyvern.”
“So, do you turn into a venom-spitting flying lizard on occasion?”
She rubbed her cheek self-consciously. The scales had faded to something resembling giant freckles, her eyes to an unspectacular hazel. “I try to avoid it.”