She murmured to him. Incoherent things. Precious little nothings. Secrets of the heart. The language of love. One she hadn’t learned and never would have if not for Rannock.
Her dragon. Generous beyond measure.
The way he treated her humbled her. The way he loved her made her glad to be the woman he’d chosen to mate. She liked everything about him—the edge he wore like armor, the sense of humor he hid strong feelings behind, how open-hearted he became when he knew he was loved.
Her throat went tight.
A month with him in her life, most of it spent on the phone… that was all. Barely any time at all. And yet he’d become so important to her Cate wondered how she’d ever survived without him.
Overwhelmed, she cupped the nape of his neck and whispered, “Thank you.”
He stirred. “Think that’s my line, lass.”
“Probably.”
His mouth curved against the side of her throat.
Winding thick strands around her fingertips, she played with the curling ends of his hair. “Ran?”
“Aye?”
“Are you okay?”
“Just loved you hard, Catie-mine. You really need tae ask?”
“You were hurt.”
“Not anymore,” he said, lifting his head. Warm eyes met hers as he planted one forearm on the mattress and raised his other hand. His palm settled against her cheek. Watching his fingers move across her skin, he stroked over her bottom lip with his thumb. “Got what I needed. What I’ll always need. She’s lying right here with me.”
A compliment. Big, bold, and beautiful. Bright and shiny emotion in his eyes. No attempt to hide how he felt about her.
Pleasure shivered through her.
He traced her lips with his fingertip.
She nipped him, teeth grazing his skin. “I was worried. Are you sure you’re—”
“Fully recovered, lass,” he said, holding her gaze. “Won’t lie, I was in a bad way when I first woke up. Verra shaky, but now, I feel good. Normal. No lasting weakness. The last few hours with you wiped it away.”
She breathed out in relief. “I had no idea what I was doing. Whether you were getting enough.”
“Got more than enough. Seriously, Bellmia. No need for you tae worry.”
She nodded, relaxing into his reassurance.
“I wanna make love tae you again.” Still inside her, Rannock pressed his hips into hers. Sensitive places quivered. She drew in a quick breath through her nose. Dipping his head, he kissed her. Once. Twice. A third time. Soft touches. Butterfly brushes. Lovely little sips. “But it’s already late afternoon.”
“So?”
“We need tae get up. Shower. Get dressed.”
“I don’t like that plan.”
He chuckled. “Me either, but my brothers are waiting, and we need tae talk before the impatient bastards storm in here.”
She blinked. Talk?
Her stomach clenched as her mood shifted from playful to serious. Rannock wasn’t joking. She saw it on his face. When he said talk, what he really meant was talk! Which all pointed to an issue so big he would’ve preferred to ignore it, but out of deference to her, refused to avoid.
“How much am I going to dislike this talk?”
“On a scale of one to ten?”
She nodded.
“Five thousand and fifty-seven.”
“Shit,” she whispered, closing her eyes.
“Cate, look at me.”
Drawing a fortifying breath, she did as he asked. The concern in his eyes cranked her even tighter. She wanted to look away, ignore his pain on her behalf, shove her rising suspicions away, but…
She’d never been big on denial.
The truth mattered. A lifetime spent living with a liar had taught her a few things. She faced challenges, instead of allowing others to fight battles for her. She managed the chaos and absorbed the pain. Sad to say, but somewhere along the line, minimizing the damage had become her specialty. Countless lessons over too many years informed the way she moved through the world, ensuring she never buried her head in the sand.
Like a Band-Aid. Rip it off like a Band-Aid.
Her motto. The hard and fast rule she lived by never steered her wrong.
Stroking her hair, Ran murmured, “Catie-mine.”
“It’s about my dad, isn’t it?”
He sighed. “Bellmia, I wish I had better news, but it isnae good. He’s—”
A knock sounded on the door.
With a growl, Rannock rolled across the mattress. Arms around her, he took her with him, tumbling toward the edge of the bed. His feet hit the floor. Tangled up in the sheet, Cate landed beside him. Shock thumped through her as she stared up at his stormy expression.
“Who is it?”
“Rathbone,” he said, a violent undercurrent in his tone.
A second rap, sharper than the first, rolled into the room.
Eyes narrowed on the door, Rannock muttered something. The temperature in the room dropped. Embers in the hearth flared as the air warped around him, exploding into metallic shimmer and…
Presto.
Wave a magic wand.
Jeans and a long-sleeved Henley appeared on his muscular frame. Boots settled on his feet. “Get dressed, lass.”
“Ah.” Shocked by his get-dressed-with-a-murmur magic, she stared at him a second. A muscle in his jaw twitched. She got with the program and, biting her lower lip, looked down at the sheet pressed to her chest, then around Emerald Room. Same pretty wallpaper. Same fourposter bed. Same armchairs in front of the fireplace. Neither of which held any of her clothes. “I left them in the vestibule.”
His dark brows popped toward his forehead.
“Long story,” she said, unwilling to go into details with Rathbone banging on the door. “Maybe—”
“Here,” he said, handing her something.
She grabbed the bundle without looking. Soft material settled in her hands. Surprised, she glanced down at a pair of black jeans and an oversized, periwinkle-blue cashmere sweater. A pair of ankle boots with wide side zippers and chunky wooden heels landed beside her feet. Expensive name brands. Designer gear. Pretty in a slouchy, I’m-a-trendy-girl-about-town kind of way.
Words escaped her.
Rannock kissed the top of her head. With a quick pivot, he left her battling shock beside the bed and prowled toward the door. Cate watched him a moment, then dropped the sheet and yanked the sweater over her head. She tackled the jeans next, doing a dance, wiggling into stretchy black denim, then grabbed one of the boots. Going commando beneath her clothes wasn’t ideal. Some underwear in the whole conjuring-of-stylish-clothes thing would’ve been nice, but…
Whatever. No time for splitting hairs. She needed to hurry. The way Rannock moved spoke volumes.
None of it good.
The second her dragon opened the door, the Shadow Walker standing on the other side was in for a surprise. A nasty one that would include a face full of pissed-off dragon warrior and lots of bloodshed.
24
Striding around the end of the fourposter bed, Rannock battled the need to level the male standing outside in the corridor. Magic sparked in his veins. He made some quick calculations. A lethal strike of magnetic force. Bronze combined with gleaming steal edges. Knives blasting through the heavy wood of the bedroom door… straight into Rathbone’s chest.