Page 19 of Hex and Scales

Sabine stood in the entrance, backlit by the porch light like an ethereal vision. The black sweater dress hugged every curve, ending mid-thigh above knee-high boots that made her legs look endless. Her honey-blonde hair cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders, beckoning his touch.

Their eyes met. Magic crackled in the air between them, and his dragon roared to life with such force his fingers flexed with the need to reach for her. Without conscious thought, he glided across the room. She held her ground, meeting his gaze with such trust it stole his breath.

His hand moved of its own volition, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The simple contact sent lightning through his veins. She smelled like jasmine and sunlight and everything he’d denied himself for centuries.

“Ren,” she breathed, and oh gods, his name had never sounded like that before.

In that moment, losing himself in those bright hazel eyes, he knew. There was no resisting this. No denying her. His dragon had chosen, and for the first time in eight hundred years, Ren found he didn’t want to fight.

The flames leaped higher in the hearth, bathing her in golden light. His dragon rumbled deep in his chest, a sound of pure contentment he hadn’t made in centuries.

The war between duty and desire had never felt more futile—or more inevitable.

SIXTEEN

Sabine hesitated at the cabin’s entrance, her fingers hovering over the brass doorknob. The drive up the mountain had given her plenty of time to second-guess herself—maybe too much time, given how many scenarios her mind had conjured. Most of them ended with Ren’s trademark cold shoulder. A few more interesting ones involved significantly less clothing, but she tried not to dwell on those.

Drawing in a steadying breath, she pushed open the door. Rich aromas of spices and roasting meat enveloped her, making her mouth water. Then she saw him, and every coherent thought scattered.

Ren stood by the massive stone fireplace, light playing across the planes of his face and turning his eyes to molten gold. Those eyes captured her with such intensity, such raw possession, that her pulse stuttered. Her feline nature rose with a purr of pure satisfaction. Mate.

Her feet carried her forward without conscious decision. The crackling hearth, the mountain wind outside, everything faded except the magnetic pull between them. When he reached to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, electricity sparked downher spine. His fingers lingered at her jaw, and for one wild moment, she thought he might kiss her.

“Would you like a drink?” The roughness in his voice sent warmth cascading through her.

“Yes, please.”Because if I don’t get something to do with my hands, I might grab you instead.

She watched him move to a wooden cabinet, appreciating how his shirt stretched across broad shoulders. When he turned back with the wine bottle, she couldn’t suppress a delighted laugh.

“That’s my absolute favorite! How did you know?”

“I didn’t.” Something flickered in his expression—pleasure mixed with something deeper. “It’s from my winery, actually. I created the blend for the town.”

“Your winery?” She accepted the glass, trying to ignore how her skin tingled where their fingers brushed. “Is there anything you don’t do?”

“Cook badly?” His lips quirked. “Speaking of which, dinner’s nearly ready.”

“Should I be concerned?” She couldn’t resist teasing. “We’re awfully high up this mountain to call emergency services if you poison me.”

The laugh that burst from him was unexpected and beautiful. His entire face transformed, stern lines melting away to reveal dimples she’d only glimpsed before. Her heart performed a complicated gymnastics routine in her chest.

“I assure you,” he said, eyes dancing with mirth, “I’ve had centuries to perfect my culinary skills. Though if you’re truly worried...” He gestured to the kitchen with exaggerated gravity. “You’re welcome to supervise.”

“Oh, I absolutely am.” She followed him, claiming a stool at the massive kitchen island. “Can’t trust these ancient dragons. I hear they get forgetful in their old age.”

He shot her a look that was half-amusement, half-challenge. “Careful, little tiger. I might take offense to that.”

“Prove me wrong then, old man.”

His eyebrows rose at her boldness, but she caught the pleased rumble in his chest. She watched, entranced, as he moved through the kitchen with fluid grace. He heated roasted potatoes that smelled divine, pulled out an elaborate salad, then produced a tomahawk steak that could have fed her entire pride.

“That’s... quite a piece of meat you’ve got there.”

“Dragon appetite.” He handled the heavy cast iron with casual strength that made her mouth go dry. “We tend to run hot.”

“I bet you do,” she murmured, then felt heat flood her cheeks when his head snapped up. The look he gave her could have melted steel.

“You look incredibly handsome cooking,” she blurted, immediately wanting to sink through the floor. “I mean—that is—you seem very competent. In the kitchen. With the... cooking things.”

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