He was a dragons-damned treasure hunter. She had known he was too good to be true. Should have let him drown in his stupid little plane. It would have been such a waste of all that lean muscle and amazing hair, though. She couldn’t stop watching his hands and lips as he ate, imagining he was plucking and nibbling at her.
She almost wished he did have contraband or weapons. This journey he was on was far more dangerous to her people.
So why didn’t she destroy him and his equipment on the spot?
Or shift and give him a taste of the legend he’s looking for?
The image of him alone in the water pleasuring himself under the starlight slid into her mind. The broad shoulders, muscular arms, defined chest, narrow hips and long strong legs built for carrying a woman around, image. Desire spiked through her body even in her dragon form.
This wasn’t good.
Not good at all.
She finished her patrol and reported back.
At her desk, she read the briefs from the other reports waiting for her approval. They all detailed the man’s location on the island. She sighed. This will have to be resolved one way or the other, she couldn’t just leave him there. If she waited too long, the matter would be brought to Council and they would decide his fate.
At least now she knew what he was doing in their territory. She could confiscate his equipment and send him on his way.
If she sent him away, would the desire also go away?
That would be fantastic. She hated being so distracted all the time.
This isn’t me.
She’d always been hyper-focused and driven. Clear.
Unable to stop thinking about him from the second she pulled open the door of his wrecked plane to ensure he was alive, his scent was unshakable, imbedded in her dragon brain.
She’d seen this before. With others. It was a heat. Was this why her mother had become more insistent? Or had the woman triggered it in some way? Could that happen? It didn’t happen to everyone. She tried to think of those that it had, and what had happened to them. She swore, unable to remember who they were, it was so long ago, and her super focus on her work left her knowledge sparse when it came to social connections outside her small guardian circle. She knew who key figures were, but she wasn’t like her mother, who knew who everyone on the island was.
Kymri was anti-social, her mother had said. She needed to mingle more, make friends and more acquaintances, she said.
Realizing her mind had gone on another tangent, she slammed the reports down on the thick surface and got to her feet.
Kolina must have triggered whatever was happening to her. Did she know about the man on the beach? Maybe she saw an opportunity and it was bloody well working out to her agenda. She didn’t realize she was pacing until she found herself in front of her window staring at the tower across the city where her mother resided with the Queen’s Guard.
She was on the brink of going over there to demand Kolina remove whatever dragon witchery she’d cast on her when a little voice at the back of her mind stayed her.
What if she hadn’t?
Kymri would die before she gave her mother the satisfaction of knowing what was happening to her. If this was what was happening—a heat—she had to deal with it on her own.
She needed to visit the archive. Everything known to dragon kind was in the archive; there would be something in there. There had to be. There would be.
She nearly collided with Marli on her way out of the office, “Kymri, there you are, I have some more reports for you to review and-”
“Put them on the desk.”
“But I—”
“I’ll be back soon.”
“It’s—”
“Can wait.” She said from mid-way down the corridor.
“Are you alright?”
“Fantastic.” She called back when she reached the curving stone stairs. “Going to the archive.”
“Do you even know where it is?” Marli’s voice drifted down the stairs after her.
5
Jori was already tiring of fish, even with the mystery herb Kymri had introduced him to. Still, he refused to raid the supply from the plane in case he needed it. He hadn’t found anything other than coconuts on the island yet. The snails he was keeping as bait for the fish. He loved escargot, but without the garlic, mushrooms and butter, it just wasn’t the same.
Each of the days following Kymri’s last visit he went to the place where her footprints disappeared into the ocean. He watched the horizon, fishing while he did so, since he needed to eat anyway. All he saw were the endless rolling waves and the regular mystery bird flying overhead.
This time when she came, he’d be ready. Without knowing which way to go, it made no sense to take her boat. He’d have to subdue her and make her direct him to her island.
This is stupid.
He had no idea how much longer she’d let him rot here.
He had, however, had plenty of time to think about their conversations.
“She knows something about the legends,” he muttered. There had to be truth to it. Why else would she be so protective of a myth?
Maybe he could get her to tell him about it. Maybe. He was running low on toothpaste, so he wasn’t sure how charming he could be without clean teeth, if she took too long to come back. If she came back.
Holding the fishing rod between his knees, he pulled his t-shirt off, pulling a tail of it through is belt loop to tie it in place, ran his hands through his hair to free it of tangles and resumed the fishing.
Eventually he caught a few good-sized fish, saw the mystery birds a couple of times and was disappointed there was no Kymri, again. Gathering up his things, he headed back to camp, following the foot path he’d tracked Kymri with.
He was surprised with the sight of her when he emerged from the woods. Looking over his encampment, she stood by his equipment boxes, peering into the top one. He had a perfect view of her ass. His hands itched to slide up her hips and grip her narrow waist.
“Welcome back, Kymri.”
She spun around at the sound of his voice, her eyes widened, hands behind her back, which fortunately for him pushed her chest out, stretching the cotton across her generous breasts.
“Oh, hello Jori.”
“What are you doing over there?” he set the fish and rod aside, approaching her.
She shrugged, her gaze sweeping him from head to toe, lingering on his bare chest. “What do your markings mean?” she said after a moment.
Glancing down, he realized she meant his tattoos.
She stepped forward to get a closer look, lips parted. “Very intricate and colorful.”
She smelled amazing.
“Just some artwork my mother did when I was a kid, and I had it made into tattoos.”
“There is something familiar about the designs.” Her eyes drifted across his chest. “Who are Jonathan and Elora?”
He glanced down at the entwined names, “My parents.”
“It’s lovely. I knew an Elora, once—a long time ago.” One of her hands reached out, stopping just inches shy of his skin, “May I?”
“Sure.” His pulse tripped.
Her fingers tentatively slid over his skin following the lines.
His breath stilled at the electric sensation traveling along her touch. The hairs rose on his arms along with immediate arousal.