The Heart of A Dragon Rider

Chapter 2: Jordan's Failed Cooking

Hello! Glad to see you're still reading, I hope you liked chapter one.

Lucy above.

Enjoy!

MAJOR EDITS AND CHANGES HAVE **MOSTLY** BEEN MADE.

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I bet if anyone told me they woke up in an extremely weird and unusual way, I could tell them I woke up in an even weirder way. You see, I was not awoken by my usual blaring alarm clock that is the thing that pulls me from my slumber almost every morning.

Oh no, I was awakened two hours early by something heavy falling flat in the middle of my face. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it was hard enough and surprising enough that I woke up to it. I grunted rather loudly and peeled my eyes open to see what caused my awakening.

My vision cleared and it evened out on an objected that was gray, spotted, and the shape of a paw. A tad bigger than a cat's but smaller than a large dog's. I used my index finger to lift it up by sliding it under his paw and hoisting it. I raised an eyebrow when I realized it belonged to none other than Tyrone, who was shamelessly sprawled across my chest and stomach while gnawing on the hem of my shirt.

"Stop that, you," I told the cub and gently shoved him to the side and off of my body. He responded by grunting in protest and twisting to the side to give me an annoyed look.

"Don't look at me like that," I mumbled, grimacing and looking over at the clock. With a wave of irritation, I realized it was only four thirty in the morning, but I wasn't wanting to go back to sleep. "This is your fault," I accused the cub, who continued to stare at me.

With a heavy sigh, I throw the sheets off of my legs and stand up, stretching my back. I was a bit tired from taking care of the horses yesterday, but it wouldn't last once I splashed some water on my face and got my energy going. I did my usual hygiene routine of getting ready in the morning, taking my time since it was early as hell.

When I had no more excuse to linger in the bathroom, I reluctantly shuffled back out to the bedroom and sent a withering look at the clock that had only ticked by fifteen minutes. I usually spent less than five inside the bathroom every morning, but it still felt agonizingly slow as the time passed.

I grumbled a curse under my breath and went to my closet to pick something out to wear. I sat down and tucked my legs by me and began to lazily look through some shirts, my mind not really caring what I wore at the moment. Eventually I settled on a long sleeved turquoise shirt, some jeans, a white scarf, and white flats. Good enough.

I spent the rest of my free morning time cleaning up around the basement, which I haven't done for a couple of weeks. I was happy with the result of my work by the time I was done and smiled, my eyes gazing across the now neat basement.

By that time, now, it was around six. I blinked, starting to feel my sleepiness return because it decided to be a jerk. But I quickly pushed it away and grabbed my phone and tucked it into my back pocket before climbing up the stairs to go get some breakfast.

I, however, was not greeted with the wonderful smell of pancakes. No, instead I was nearly gagging at the smell of burnt eggs and bacon all the way from the kitchen. This could mean one thing and one thing only:

Jordan was cooking.

I sighed heavily and prepared myself for the hazards I would be facing in the kitchen as I walked through the halls to the kitchen, muttering under my breath about how my sister shouldn't cook or she'd burn the whole damn house to the ground. I thought it was bad from the top of the basement, but it was nothing compared to the kitchen itself when I arrived there.