Page 65 of Tempting Her Dragons

“Geesh, I’m not going to argue with my mate insisting on cleaning the kitchen,” she sasses, winking over her shoulder as she walks toward her room.

I chuckle and watch her ass disappear. Mav and I discussed the importance of each of us spending time with our mate alone. We are thrilled to share her, but our relationship with her won’t be the same. We are similar men; we share the same values and some of the same dreams in life. Even though we have some of the same experiences, especially early in life, our views are different. We need Saph to know us separately.

I load the dishwasher and clean the counters. Saph has a wonderful place. As I look around, I can see her touch in decorating. She is an interesting combination of soft and fire. There are pictures of her with her family everywhere. She is neat but not a fanatic. She has blankets thrown over the furniture and books scattered on the side tables and coffee table.

Her bedroom is messier. It’s her safe place, where she can be anything she wants.

“Ready.” I stop studying the room and study my mate. Stunning. She put on a bikini that I can see underneath the long, white, sheer cover-up. There is a ruffle at the hem that dances around her ankles. “I’ve got towels and a blanket we can sunbathe on.” She holds up the bundle.

“Sunbathe?” I ask.

“I’m sure you aren’t a man who does. For today, you are.” She grins.

I’ll do whatever she wants as long as she is excited. “Whatever you say, Firefly.” I walk over, take her stack of things, and grab her hand.

“Maverick isn’t doing anything dangerous, is he?” she asks as I lock the door behind us.

“No.” I take the lead down the steps.

“Would you lie to me?”

“Yes.” Mav is meeting with our mom. They will call Shade for an update on the twin and, if necessary, go hunting.

“At least you admit it,” she snorts.

“Mav shouldn’t run into any trouble,” I say, pulling her to my side. I slow my pace and walk beside her into the trees. “He’s looking into some leads.”

“If he finds something, will you tell me?”

“Yes. We are a team.” I glance at her face, and her smile is wide.

“Good. We are a team now,” she says with a pleased smile. My attention constantly goes to our clasped hands. She swings them between us while we walk. “I want to ask you something.”

“Go ahead,” I say, looking at her profile. She bites her lip and keeps her eyes on the water we are approaching.

“I don’t want you to be upset.” I stop, let go of her hand, and open the blanket.

“You can ask me anything.” I spread the fabric at the edge of the stream, take her hand again, and tug her down.

“Why do you have a rope around your wrist?” she asks quickly. I bend my right knee, turning to her.

I brush my fingers over it on my right wrist. “I never thought I would hold someone’s hand again,” I say, and she frowns. “When we were taken, I held Mav’s hand. I never let go. He wasthe only person I had left in the world, and I thought if I did, he would disappear, too. While we were in the closet, huddled together, our hands were clasped.” I pick up her hand and stroke her fingers. “It seems like such a simple touch, but not to us. We were boys who witnessed horrific things and were tossed into more terrible things. Our connection was born in friendship with each other and friendship between our parents, but it was formed in steel in that closet.” I keep my gaze on our hands, but I feel her sadness.

“When they forced us out of the house,” I say, swallowing harshly. “They tied a rope around our hands. It was tight and made our wrists bleed. One of the men held the end of the rope, pulling us so fast we could barely stay on our feet.”

“King,” she sobs, scooting closer.

“We were in shock and heartbroken. The rope stayed on for weeks until they separated us so they could try to convince us to shift. The first time, I felt like a piece of me was missing. Maverick was my anchor in this world. In some ways, he still is. We don’t like to be separated, even now. We have bled together.” I twine our fingers and touch the rope on the wrist that is connected to her hand. “This is part of the rope they tied us with.”

“What?” she asks faintly.

“I never take it off.”

“Why?”

“It’s a reminder. Our time there was hell. The blood that soaked in the strands is faint but still there. It reminds me of what is important and the evil of men. I never want to forget the things we lived through together. Maverick is not my blood brother, yet he is. We bled for our bond. No one else in the world can understand how we felt except him. He is my brother in every way that counts. I would die for him and protect him until my last breath.” I look into her distraught eyes. “Mom triedto hold my hand months after she rescued us. I screamed at her and ran away. I remember the hurt in her eyes and regret my actions, but I couldn’t help it.”

“You can hold my hand,” she whispers.

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