Her dragon snorted. They're all taken or not interested.
Well, maybe not all. There are a few MacKay brothers still single.
And they all live on Seahaven. It's too bloody cold that close to the sea for me.
Seahaven was a smaller splinter clan, the members originally from Lochguard but banished decades ago for having human mates. Cat had only recently started giving art lessons to a few of the Seahaven children. Which, in a way, works in my favor that they don't live on Lochguard. At least for now. With our regular duties, plus the joint human-dragon project, I don't have time to waste on dating regularly. But a trip once a month or every two weeks, that I could do.
That's not enough.
It's all I can manage right now, and you know it.
Her dragon sniffed at her reply. She clearly didn't want to argue about this yet again.
She did feel a little guilty about denying her beast sex—inner dragons craved it. And it wasn't that Cat didn't want to find a male to claim as her own and start a family one day. She loved her own family dearly and wanted that for herself too.
However, now wasn't the right time for it. She was twenty-six; Cat had plenty of time left.
The small warehouse came into view, and she realized they'd walked the entire time in silence. Hoping to give a better impression of Lochguard's hospitality, she stated, "If you have any questions, you can ask me any time."
He grunted, bobbing his head but never looking at her.
And for some reason, that irritated her.
Her clan had scrambled to help out Cat's mother with running the restaurant so that Cat would have enough time to plan and set up the joint art program between humans and dragon-shifters. And he couldn't even bloody bother to look at her, let alone say a sentence or two.
But more than that, Cat wasn't used to being ignored. She rather enjoyed being liked by all, and she couldn't recall doing anything to upset Lachlan MacKintosh. She'd teased him, aye, but no more than she'd done with any of the others during that exhibition about a year ago.
Her dragon spoke up. Why don't you tell him? Fuming isn't your way.
I was trying to be nice.
Her beast snorted. Aye, because that won't backfire eventually, when your temper flares in all its glory.
Her dragon was right—Cat liked tackling things head-on. It was better to say something now than later. She didn't yell often, but it wasn't pretty when it happened.
So even though they were nearly at the warehouse, she stopped and reached out a hand to take his wrist. Lachlan could've kept walking, but he stopped. He still didn't look at her but asked, "What?"
She stood directly in front of him and demanded, "Do you have a problem with me?"
His eyes finally met hers, the blue much deeper than she'd noticed before. There were also flecks of gold around the center, almost like the embers of a fire.
And for a split second, she thought she saw heat there.
But if so, all she could see was a hard, cold look the next second. She asked, "So, do you?"
"I'm not the most loquacious of individuals. If I have a question, I'll ask."
She leaned closer, raising her head to meet his eyes better. "Can you stop with all the fancy talk? It drives me mad, and I can assure you that it'll annoy everyone here. And I'm fairly sure that's the opposite of what you're supposed to do, aye? Annoy a large clan of dragon-shifters?"
He hesitated a moment, but then determination flashed in his eyes, and he said, "What the fuck should I say instead, lass? That I'm not a talkative bastard, I don't like blabber, and that you should stop your bloody pestering?"
She blinked at the change in him. It was the first time she'd heard any emotion from Lachlan MacKintosh.
And she much preferred it.
Not one to back down—to do that in her family spelled disaster and ridicule—she moved her head even closer to his. "Aye, I'd like that better. Gets to the point and shows me and my dragon a bit of who you are."
Her dragon snorted. Leave me out of it.
If Lachlan noticed her flashing dragon eyes, he didn't show it. Instead, he narrowed his gaze and murmured, "Be careful, lass. Because you may not like what you see."
And she stared at him a minute, trying to figure out what the bloody hell that meant.
Lachlan rarely slipped up when it came to his carefully crafted demeanor, but something about Cat's words had released the dam he'd been holding back.
The way he'd once spoke, full of fire and swear words, had rushed forth. And then the bloody woman had to go and say she liked it.
Fear, anxiety, or both should've rushed over him at the dragonwoman's words. He'd worked so damn hard to change who he'd been, to be something better.
And usually, when his carefully constructed façade cracked, he caught himself and quickly locked away that former version of himself.
Whenever he hadn't been able to do so, in the early weeks and months of his recovery, he'd panicked, constantly afraid he'd relapse and go back to hurting everyone around him.
Despite the years and years of control, Lachlan should also be panicking now at his slipup. Because controlling his behavior and resisting addiction was a lifelong endeavor.
And yet deep down he knew he could put up the mask of refinement and control back up again without much effort. As soon as he wasn't around Cat, at any rate.
It was almost as if he wanted to drive her a wee bit mad on purpose.
Which was ridiculous.
And so to try and dissuade her, he murmured, "Be careful, lass. Because you may not like what you see."
But rather than answer, she stared at him. Not in an angry or disapproving way. No, more like she was trying to reach inside and discover what made him tick.
Aye, it could merely be her studying him the way artists did. He'd been around enough to know they stared as if to puzzle out how a face was made, often without thinking.
However, he didn't think Cat did that now.
Lachlan barely resisted shifting his feet. He was the one usually in charge, directing everything about his job and his life, only showing what he wanted to show.
Even just the whisper of "what if she discovers those secrets?" running through his mind was enough for him to hurry up and compose himself again. The less he showed her, the better.
He was about to apologize for his outburst and hopefully restore the formality from before when Cat's pupils flashed between round and slits and back again. Hoping to change the topic and steer the attention away from him, he asked, "What does your dragon have to say?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it DDA training 101 to not ask something so personal to a dragon-shifter you barely know?"
He shrugged. "If we're to work together, I suspect I should learn how to not anger your dragon."
She rolled her eyes. "Back to being formal, I see."
Good. The distance would help protect him. From what, he didn't know. However, he sensed he needed to keep formality and distance between him and this woman.
Ignoring her comment, he repeated, "Your dragon? What did she say?"
Cat's eyes flashed again, and then she smiled. "You really don't want to know."
Maybe he shouldn't react given how he wanted to be formal. However, if she was going to try unsettling him, he'd do the same. She might think twice about doing it again in the future. "Given what I've learned about dragon-shifters, I suspect it's about me, and maybe even my lack of clothes. And perhaps a bed?"