Page 29 of Dragons' Mate
“Tonight?” Tavias shakes his head. “No. It would mean pitting his pack against us directly, and those aren’t odds he’s comfortable with. He’ll want things skewed in his favor first.”
As he’d tried to do earlier.
“What if we strike first?” Hauck offers. “Shove his machinations up his ass, and be done with it.”
“And would you propose we take Kit along on this crusade, putting her in the middle of a dragon battle?” Tavias inquires. “Or leave with one guard and proceed with only three of us against a pack at full strength in its location of choice?”
Neither of those sounds like a good idea to me.
“Don’t forget that Geoffrey cares about us losing as much as he cares about him winning,” Tavias adds. “He won’t hesitate to sacrifice Bianca if need be.”
“Won’t that take him out of the running?” I ask.
Cyril’s lips press into a thin line before he answers. “Not if he secures another pack’s human to replace her.”
My gaze darts to the horizon, catching momentary flashes through the verdant veil of trees. An eruption of golden flame here, a streak of iridescent scales there, the gleaming crimson orbs of a dragon's eyes.
“Geoffrey is not taking you.” Quinton says. I’d not seen him move, but he is suddenly crouching in front of me, his hand on my chin. “No one is. I won’t let them.”
The bite mark on my breast flares with heat, as if imprinting Quinton’s vow on my flesh.
In the distance, the echoes of the dragon brawl strike another note in their disconcerting symphony. I swallow, unable to look away from Quinton’s face. His silver eyes darken, flickering with a flame that makes my breath hitch.
Then he moves closer. An emotion stirs over his face, something potent and raw, something that isn’t just the instinctive tug of our bond.
With a languid grace that belies the strength coiled within his frame, he leans forward. His large hand cradles the nape of my neck, tilting my face up to meet his. His thumb brushes against my skin in a feather-light caress that I didn’t know him even capable of.
Sparks dance along my spine, taking my breath.
Quinton tips his head to the side, scraping his canines gently over my neck. The tiny prickling sensation shoots through me. My mouth parts, my held breath turning to a gasp.
His lips cover mine then, moving slowly. Carefully. His lips are soft against mine, a stark contrast to the hard planes of his body. He tastes like the forest after a storm, wild and refreshing. An intoxicating blend that sets my senses alight.
It isn't like any other kisses we've shared—the desperate, instinct-fueled kisses that stemmed from our bond, from the primal need of dragons. No, this one is different. It is a slow burn, a gentle exploration that stokes a fire in the pit of my belly.
I brush my tongue against his in answer, my hands bracing on the solid muscles of his shoulders.
In the distance, the dragon skirmishes continue to play out. But to me, they are muffled now, muted by the beating of our intertwined hearts.
CHAPTER13
Cyril
The morning of the first trial day started with deceptive quiet. The sun was well above the horizon, the bells had yet to sound, and Cyril was escorting Kit to the stream to wash up. She’d always have an escort now. Two, if any of the other packs were around. Not that spending more time beside Kit was any hardship. In fact, it was quite the opposite.
"Did you get any sleep?” Kit asked as Cyril held back a leafy branch, letting her pass ahead of him to the brook. The burbling water was just a dozen paces away now. It sparkled like a thousand tiny gems, creating a rippling pathway that raced over the moss-covered rocks.
"I did." It wasn’t a lie exactly. He had gotten sleep, if only a few hours of it—the ones when it had been his turn to sleep with Kit pressed against him. But not sleeping was nothing new. Sleep brought too many memories. In some, he was caged like an animal, unable to spread his wings for years on end. In others, it was… worse. He’d been shocked the first time Kit’s presence in his bed had quieted his mind. It was the only thing that ever did.
He'd never told her—or anyone— that. And it didn't seem like something to mention now either.
“Did you?” he asked. “I know the skirmishes made things difficult.”
"I’d have gotten more if I hadn’t spent an hour arguing with a bullheaded dragon,” she muttered. Quinton hadn’t let Kit put more of the Dragon Tears tonic onto his wounds, and she hadn’t been happy. Cyril had left before that particular argument ended but apparently the discussion hadn’t gone in Kit’s favor. “He told me that if he wished to feel his flesh melting again, he’d toss himself into the flame and save us all the trouble," she confided.
"That sounds… descriptive.”
"That sounds like a load of horseshit.” She took off her boots to step in the water, but retreated after dipping her toes into the freezing water. Cyril stifled a laugh.
