Page 8 of Gold Sector
Does she?I wonder as her scent curls around me like a welcome kiss.Maybe.
A strange sensation, one I’m almost certain is the result of some sort of enchantment.
Hopefully, Doctor Taylor will be able to provide more insight.
I turn the corner, nearing her examination quarters, and almost collide with Savan. He jumps back with a curse, his dark eyes finding mine and then flicking away an instant later. “Sorry, My Prince,” he mutters, shaking himself.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, searching the hallway for thesource of his agitation. Because he’s practically huffing, his inner beast clearly ruffled by something.
“The Omega,” he grinds out, his teeth clenched. “She’s terrified.”
My brow furrows. “Terrified of what?”
But as soon as the question is out, I hear her whimper. It’s soft. So soft that it barely carries. However, it’s the clearest sound in the world to my senses.
I move around Savan and open the door without knocking.
And find Taliana stark naked on the examination bed.
My lips part, stunned by the sight. Then fury quickly replaces my shock as I see her tiny hands curl into fists, her eyes squeezing shut.
Terrifiedis an understatement.
Fuck.
“Where’s Doctor Taylor?” I demand, then wince as the Omega visibly trembles.
“She’s gathering all her supplies, My?—”
“Tell her I’ll call her when we’re ready,” I reply, cutting off Savan before he can finish his formal address. The last thing Taliana needs right now is to hear my title. She’s obviously upset enough. “Take a walk, Savan,” I add before shutting the door.
The Omega can no doubt sense his agitation, as well as mine. Drakonian Alphas are designed to protect, and this female is clearly in need of safety. Savan’s inner beast is likely rioting right now with the intrinsic desire to destroy whatever has this woman so spooked.
Only, I suspect it’susshe fears.
Which makes it an impossible task to annihilate the threat.
At least in terms our dragons understand.
No, this is going to take a careful touch.
Leaning back against the door, I evaluate the shivering woman, my brow furrowing. “Where’s your patient gown?” I finally ask her.
It’s such an inane question. But I’m hoping it’ll entice her to speak.
Her slender throat bobs, drawing my attention to her collarbone and down?—
No.
I force my gaze back to her chin and then to her full lips as she whispers, “I know it’s not needed, so I opted not to wear it.”
My eyebrow arches upward. Not that she sees it. Her eyes are still closed. “Why isn’t it needed?”
“Because I know what’s expected of me.” She spreads her legs slightly, the movements rigid and not at all sensual. Yet my gaze is drawn to the apex between her thighs on instinct, her scent hitting me with dizzying power.
Now it’s my turn to swallow becausefuck, she smells amazing. It takes centuries of restraint to force my attention back to her beautiful face.
The worry etched into her angelic features is enough to ground me in the moment and sharpen my focus. “And what’s expected of you?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
