Page 96 of Feathers of Ash and Hope

She’s made it pretty clear what she thought of being told what to do, but I can’t just leave her here. The door opens and closes. Others go in and come out, but Ara doesn’t.

She’s a good fighter and probably has a lot of blades hidden under her dress, but … I need to know she is all right. I sigh.

I will take one look, and then I’ll go.

That plan goes up in flames as soon as I step into the room and see her. See them.

There is a man—no, a dragon—crowding Ara against the wall, much like I did earlier. He’s talking to her. She shakes her head and says something back that makes him laugh.

My knee-jerk reaction is to go over there and rip off the hand currently playing with her hair.

“Cool down. That is a fucking dragon,”Daeva pipes in, clearly alerted by my turmoil.“I’m coming your way.”

“No. Stay,”I tell her.“I’m keeping my cool, I promise.”

I have no claim on her, I remind myself.

But a dragon? Is she serious? Not that there is anything wrong with dragons—if you have a death wish.

I let my gaze roam over the other guests. They are all taking great care not to look in the direction of Ara and her fiery friend. They won’t lift a finger, even if he decides to sample her right here and now.

Shit, I probably should leave, but my eyes find their way back to Ara. Like they always do.

Is he scenting her? What. The. Actual. Fuck.

She jerks back, and her head hits the wall behind her. She doesn’t look scared and isn’t fighting him off either, but her pulling back is enough to have me reassess what I see.

Her smile looks brittle and jagged, missing all the teasing and fire I’m used to seeing by now.

Holy mists, I don’t know what game she’s playing here, but she doesn’t look like she enjoys having his hands on her. That’s all it needs to have the beast inside me screaming for blood.

His blood.

When he trails a finger down the soft skin of her neck, I see red and start moving.

I wind around tables, people muttering in my wake when I shove past them, but my eyes never leave Ara’s face.

She squeezes her eyes shut, bracing for something. His hand resting above her collarbone ripples. Scales form, replacing skin, and sharp talons appear, reflecting the light.

My daggers whisper against the leather of their sheaths when I draw one on each side. The dragon is focused on Ara now, not even looking up, showing no interest in the commotion I cause.

One black talon slices her skin, drawing blood.

Hell, no.

I throw both daggers, which come to a quivering halt on the wall next to his shoulders. That maneuver draws more than just the dragon’s attention.

Chairs scrape over the floor. People jump out of my way while my steps eat up the room, bringing me closer to her.

My throw did what I intended. His attention is on me now. There is no mistaking him for human anymore. Scales replaced his skin entirely, and his face twists into a feral snarl.

The way he positions himself leaves no question about him considering Ara his for the moment, and I’m not okay with that. She is… not his.

I palm another dagger. Even with people getting out of my way, there isn’t enough room for a sword in here.They move around me, careful not to come between us and hurry to the door, overturning chairs and tables in their haste. Smart.

I have no illusions. He will be spitting fire any minute now.

My gaze searches for Ara, meeting her wide eyes. The slip in attention nearly costs me. Her eyes widen a fraction more, and instinct prompts me to drop to the floor before heat cooks the air above me.

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