Page 41 of Devoted to the Dragon

Their warm laughter is the last thing I remember.

Chapter 19

Randi

The scent of coffee wakes me. I disentangle myself from Gunnar’s side and wrap the sheet around me as I search for the source. Fennik is in the outer chamber of the suite, already clean-shaven and dressed in one of his black suits. He carries a tray laden with plates, cups, and a carafe.

“I thought we agreed no trips outside the wards,” I say, leaning against the door jamb.

“Worried about me?” he teases, a smug curve to his lip.

“Always.” I shrug.

“I called the kitchen and had them deliver it.” He covers the distance between us, leaning in to brush a kiss against my forehead as he passes. “Come sit and eat.”

I eye my bossy wolf, climbing back into bed and sitting cross-legged while he busies himself with the tray.Gunnar groans behind me, and the bed shifts with his weight. Warm lips press feather-light kisses along my neck, sending a shiver up my spine.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he says before nipping at my shoulder, his tongue following the sting.

I grip his neck, stealing a morning kiss. It’s sweet and playful like he is—and full of curiosity.

Fennik’s hand threads through my hair, tugging until I look up at him. He’s done the same thing to Gunnar. His silver eyes are hooded, but his smirk is playful, and he holds the two of us in his stinging grip. “Not this morning. We need to eat and get to the Council meeting early.”

Gunnar sighs. “Food or sex. It’s an impossible question.” His stomach growls, undoubtedly angry that we missed dinner last night.

“Food,” Fennik says sternly. He releases his grip and hands out plates as Gunnar sidles up beside me.

The movement draws attention to the swollen red mark on his back. I set my plate on the bed, staring at it in shock. I remember raking my nails along his back, but this isn’t a sexy scratch. My finger traces the mark, and Gunnar shivers, his scent thickening with arousal.

“Fuck, that’s sensitive,” he hisses.

I don’t have words, and my eyes feel as if they might pop out of my head. Last night, my dragon was at the surface, sharing my skin while Fennik and I worked over our pup. Blinded by lust, I didn’t realize in the moment what that meant.I swallow around the desert in my mouth.

“What is it?” Fennik’s rough voice asks.

“Take off your shirt,” I whisper, unable to stop tracing the raised, angry skin on Gunnar’s back. If I’m right, this mark won’t heal. It will scar.

“What? Why?” Fennik asks even as he unbuttons the starched white fabric.

Gunnar looks at me over his shoulder, his eyes knowing and a small smile on his lips. He lifts his chin the slightest bit, letting me know he thinks my suspicions are correct.

Fennik clenches his jaw. His hands go to his wide hips, the dress shirt falling open and exposing his thick chest dusted with salt and pepper. “Someone tell me what is going on.”

I stand, turning Fennik around. He moves begrudgingly, letting me shift him until his back faces me. I go onto my tippy-toes to reach, tugging on the collar and kissing my way down his shoulder and arm. The white fabric reveals his tanned skin, and over his right shoulder blade and down his muscular back is a thin pink welt, the scar already taking shape.

The other night in my office, I scraped my nails along his back, just as I did last night with Gunnar. If they had been ordinary marks, Fennik’s would have healed by now.

I brush my lips along the claw mark on his back, my heart thumping wildly. My dragon nudges me, her thoughts echoing my own. “You’re wearing my claw. My dragon has marked you both as contenders.”

“That’s good, right?” Gunnar asks as he rises from the bed to crowd in behind me.

My eyes water, emotion clogging my throat. My dragon has taken the first step in making them mine. I can feel her hesitance, her doubt that this plan will work, but she sends me a burst of love anyway.They are worth fighting for.

“Yes,” I say, my voice quaking and my eyes hot with unshed tears.

“I mean, what isn’t there to like? I knew once you let your dragon get a good look at me, I was a shoo-in,” Gunnar jokes, his chest puffing and his smile wide.

“Exactly, little wolf. You’re perfect.” A watery laugh tumbles out, and I squeeze Fennik’s hip.

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