Page 327 of Dragon Slayer

When she’d stood in her shower, and looked down at her feet on the stark white tile, the difference had always seemed glaring. The success of the surgery, the fact that her body had accepted the new limb, had been miraculous. She’d been grateful.

But now…now her legs looked the same. The scar was still there, but the leg washer ownin a way she’d never thought possible.

She went through the inner doors into the soaring atrium as Jake walked across it toward the grand staircase, head down, brows pinched with unhappiness. Discontent rolled off of him, a detectible aura that was part smell, part vibration along her nerve endings.

He paused when he saw her, hand suspended above the bannister, and offered a bare smile. “Good run?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He turned away, but not before his smile turned brittle and fell away. A part of her wanted to reach out, ask him why he looked and smelled and felt this way. But they’d never been close; just coworkers and team members; their only bond was military service and their place in the drug trial.

He started up the stairs, calling over his shoulder: “Vlad wants to see you. He’s in his study.”

Her stomach flipped. “’Kay. Thanks.”

She looked down at herself again, her dusty sneakers and her orange tank top glued to her skin with sweat. She should shower first. But she knew that delaying the meeting would just make her jittery stomach worse. So she headed for his study.

Which she realized was a horrible, horrible idea the moment she rapped on the open doorframe and crossed the threshold.

His head lifted immediately, his nostrils flared, his gaze snapping up, a predatorial gleam in his dark eyes.

She hadn’t showered, and her skin was slick with sweat, and her scent had to bepotent.

She could smell him, his particular rich scent, like dark woods with deep shadows, cool streams on a mountainside a half a world away.

The moment stretched, long and tense, and she thought, at first, that she had intruded. Vampires – herself, even, she was realizing – were prickly about territory. Like big, solitary cats. Only mates and family and those they needed for some reason were welcome in their personal environs.

But then his head tipped, and his pupils expanded, and…oh. This wasn’t about territory.

“Come in,” he said, and dropped his head over his desk again, seemingly disinterested. He buzzed with energy, though, tightly-checked.

She’d never been a coward, and now didn’t seem like a good time to become one – even if she was in over her head. So she walked up to the desk, head held up, strides sure. She would never cower, not for anyone or anything. If Vlad could tell that her insides quavered, so be it.

She didn’t take the chair there, because she didn’t think antique fabric and sweat were a good combo, instead stood at parade rest. “Did you need me for something, sir?” He held a fine-tipped green Sharpie and was tracing routes on the map with it. “I’m really better with weapons and battle tactics than I am with logistics.”

He made a sound, and it took her a moment to realize he was chuckling. When he lifted his head again, he was almost smiling. His eyes were bright, if nothing else, the lines at their edges touched with humor. It was such a subtle thing, but it lit him up; he even smelled amused, if there was any such thing.

She bared her teeth in knee-jerk defense.

His chuckle tapered off into a purr, and it soothed her. A helpless, automatic reaction.

“What?” It came out softer than she’d intended.

“You are very different from the major,” he observed, easing back in his chair, hands braced lightly on the desk’s edge. “He wants to be rid of me, but you want to impress me.”

“No, I don’t,” she scoffed, but her breath quickened. Betraying her. “We’re both soldiers. We’re both just following orders.”

“Yes, but even the best of soldiers has his own ideas about the war he’s fighting in. About his commander.”

“Do you read minds, sir?” she snapped. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

Unbothered, he said, “No, I can do no such thing. I’m merely well-studied in the art of observation.”

“And you think I want to impress you.”

“I think you want to impress everyone.”

She’d already been preparing a rebuttal, but it just sort of…froze up in her throat. She swallowed it down. “What?”

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