So…
Only one thing left for her to do—figure out how to kick the effing dragon out of the parlor so she could settle into her new home.
4
The spacious suite smelled of new paint…and powerful magic.
Dragging his fingertip along the antique table doubling as a desk, Kruger allowed his gaze to roam. The rambling flat with rooms that opened one into another didn’t really qualify as a suite. More like a three-thousand-square-foot home kitted out with the best money could buy.
A male who enjoyed creature comforts, he appreciated the attention to detail: not crowded with furniture, fourteen-foot ceilings, ornate moldings, dark, wide-planked wooden floors, an army of windows that celebrated light, bright and airy. A recently designed space, no doubt with the new innkeeper’s personal taste in mind.
Not that she’d be at The White Hare long. Less than twenty-four hours, if he got his way.
Mavis might’ve been a pain in the arse, but that didn’t mean her replacement needed to become one. He had a plan. A good one that didn’t include subtlety.
He wanted her off balance the second she stepped inside her new home. Mavis had warned him with her note: the heir apparent wouldn’t be a pushover. In his experience, females rarely were, which meant he must attack before she managed to raise her guard. She needed to understand the magic surrounding the Parkland wouldn’t stop him. He was a dragon warrior, one who could get to her anytime, anyplace.
Wandering out of her study, he paused between a set of black, steel-framed French doors. A long, low-slung couch stood opposite him. Navy-blue velvet with thick cushions. Two wide-bodied, rust-colored lounge chairs flanked it in front of a mantlepiece that, if he had to guess, was over a hundred years old.
Perfection everywhere he looked. Nothing out of place in a living room with paneled floor-to-ceiling walls painted a fresh, creamy white. A space that leaned toward feminine, but in which he felt comfortable, totally at home.
An odd thing for him to think.
Boots planted besides a wall of built-in bookcases, Kruger frowned at the colorful area rug, wondering about the female who planned to call the flat home. Foolish thoughts, a complete waste of his time. He knew it, and yet, curiosity kept speculation alive, making him wonder about a lot of things since his last visit to The White Hare. So many questions, too few answers. The one bothering him most, though, was: could he go through with it? Or was he doomed to fail?
The more Kruger examined the plan, the less he liked it. He was ruthless by nature, without mercy when going after what he wanted. A fact his brothers-in-arms enjoyed about him, and yet, right now, standing inside The White Hare, he hesitated to put his plan into play. He’d never frightened a female on purpose before—or contemplated killing one, either.
Flexing his fingers, Kruger glared at the chaise longue sitting in front of windows set in a circular alcove. More blue velvet. Annoying as all fucking hell. If only he’d been made in the image of his sire—remorseless, with a heavy lean toward duplicity. If only he didn’t feel—
Static clawed across his temples.
A link into mind-speak flared, allowing a deep voice to roll into his head. “Target inbound.”
“How close?”
“Inside the lobby.”
“What’s she look like?”
Rannock chuckled. “Yer about tae find out.”
“Ran—”
“Donnae ruin my fun, Ruger.”
“Fuck.” The loose hold Kruger had on his temper slipping. Why? No bloody idea. Rannock lived to give him shite. The feeling was mutual, bordering on pathological most nights as he and his packmate attempted to one-up each other. Tonight, though, he could’ve done without the usual aggravation. “I’m kicking yer arse when we get home.”
“If you decide tae come home, then I’m game.”
Kruger frowned. “What the fuck’s that supposed tae mean?”
“Brace, brother.”
Clenching his teeth, Kruger flicked at a throw pillow. The thing went flying, tumbling the length of her couch as he stepped off the area rug. Ancient floorboards creaked. Heavy footfalls echoed against high ceilings. The door latch clicked. Hinges murmured a second before the scent of gorgon drifted into the room.
Gaze riveted to the mouth of the hall, Kruger crossed his arms and waited. A wave of violence shimmered around the corner. An instant later, Hendrix came in. Shimmering yellow eyes narrowed on him. Hands curling into twin fists, the male bared his teeth.
A blatant show of disrespect. The gorgon knew better, was tempting fate… and doing it on purpose.
Kruger snarled, the lethal sound coming from deep inside his chest.
Hendrix’s shoulder-length dreadlocks twitched. The weave of dark strands thickened at the tips, threatening to grow into serpent heads. “You are not welcome here.”
“Like I give a shite.” His attention strayed to the space beyond Hendrix. “I warned you, gorgon. I told you what would happen if—”
“Don’t you dare.”
Soft voice. Firm tone. An accent with lyrical notes Kruger couldn’t place, but made him vibrate like a tuning fork.
“I’ve been traveling for twenty hours straight. I’m tired. I’m hungry. I’m an inch away from annihilating everyone in my path, so cut the effing crap. I’m not in the mood for your threats, or anyone else’s.”
The owner of the voice came around the corner.
He lost his ability to breathe.
Hearing his reaction, Rannock laughed.
Unable to look away, Kruger stared at her. She glared back, making his mind spin. Struggling to keep up, he shook his head. Whatever he expected, it hadn’t been her. Nobody like her.
Fuck.
She was power at full speed. A high-energy female with an aura the color of Christmas—bright greens, fiery reds touched by hints of gold. Long hair the color of sunset piled in a messy bun on top of her head. Light green eyes so pale, the irises looked colorless. Freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. Tall. Curvy. Carrying more weight than modern society dictated a female should, but on her? Perfection. Sheer beauty that worked in amazing ways.
Everything about her worked, making him yearn to get closer.
“Forgive me, my liege,” Hendrix murmured, keeping his eyes on him but talking to the innkeeper. “If you’re hungry, I can—”
“Chocolate. Anything with chocolate in it.”
“A fresh croissant? Some coffee with chocolate syrup, perhaps?”
“That’d be great. Thanks, Hendrix.” Thick binder pressed to her chest, she shifted behind the gorgon.
Her scent drifted into Kruger’s air space.
Desperate for any part of her, he breathed deep. Evergreens and candy canes spiked with a hint of female musk. Delicious. Tempting. Maddening as primal need avalanched into full-blown arousal. Already taut muscles knotted as his dragon rose, begging to be let out of its cage—to touch and taste, to experience the fullness of her.
A catastrophe in the making.
He wasn’t like other Dragonkind warriors. His bloodline ensured it. His sire was Silfer, the dragon god—a full-blooded beast, not a drop of human in the male. And his mother—half wood nymph, half human, which made Kruger one-quarter shy of a fully balanced load.