Page 118 of Centaur Bolt

Marcus’s gaze rose to my own. He looked like hell, with dark circles around eyes that flared chaotically with more colors than was surely good for him. But sitting in his sketchy combination of fur and scales with the skin showing through—he also looked delicious as hell.

Havoc’s scales offered far more complete coverage, but even with blood smeared almost everywhere I looked, he was, as Kiko would surely put it, scrumptious.

“Why don’t you wash off all that gore,” I suggested. “It isn’t very appetizing.”

He glowered at me. But then, he rose and walked to the stream.

Moments later, I was kicking myself and trying to rip my eyes away from the tantalizing sight of him rubbing water over bare human skin. The dude was so seriously ripped it had me drooling.

His copper eyes slid my way. “Like what you see?” he drawled.

Marcus growled behind me, low and deadly serious. I turned to see his eyes had gone jet-black.

“Cut it out,” I snapped at him. And they flashed white before going purple.

What the hell? If that was any indication of his mental state—I tore my gaze away, swallowed, and decided I needed food. And something else…

“Do you have any crystal dust on you?” I asked the Dragon.

His brows rose as he extricated himself from the pond, his naked skin gleaming in the moonlight, defining every contour as the scales chased back across it. My mouth went dry. But all he said was, “You eat dust?”

I managed to squeak, “It helps me with my energy after Jumping.”

“I could really use some, too.” Marcus’s voice was hoarse and filled with snarl.

“The cave in the rockridge we passed on the way here,” the Dragon said, “might have dust.”

We both stared at him. Then I asked, “Don’t you want some, too?”

He glowered at me. Then he grabbed a handful of leaves left over from wrapping the meat and stomped off down the trail we’d come in on.

“He’s one angry dude,” I said.

“He’s a scaly bastard” Marcus growled.

“Saved us, though.” When his now gold-shot eyes flared, I added, “You did, too.”

He sighed and looked away. “Dires would have had us if it weren’t for him.”

“They wouldn’t have found you at all if it weren’t for me.” My hand moved to the ring on the chain, and I crouched beside him. “Your mom gave me this.”

He regarded the ring, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. “That ring belongs to another person, and another time.”

“Your mother told me about it.” I swallowed. “William.”

He flinched. “That person no longer exists.”

“He’s still there. A part of you.”

“No. I gave up on William a long time ago.”

The note of finality in his voice—I held up the ring. “Someday, you will find peace with William. I used the ring, and what I saw in the dream, to find you. But I didn’t count on being so damn weak when I got here. I’m sorry, Marcus.”

The warrior in him was braced against his past, but the artist in him heard something beneath my words. “Hey,” he said, and reached an arm out to pull me down next to him. “It’s amazing you found us at all. Once you rest tonight, maybe you can get us back to the academy, and we won’t need to find the Witch.”

The heat of his body fired more of the same in mine. I leaned into him, my gaze fastened on his lips, my mind on what I’d like them to be doing to me…

His arm tightened around me. But when I reached to run my fingers along his jaw, dark scales chased across his cheekbones.

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