He cursed the manner of his birth, his own name along with his violent nature. He wasn’t an honorable male. He knew that, had never claimed to be anything other than he was—a corporate raider, a cold-blooded warrior without mercy or conscience. Somehow, though, Ferguson made him want to be more. A good male instead of one tainted by self-interest and ruthless intent.
Too much to ask? He scowled at the tongue-and-groove planks overhead. Probably. Ninety-five percent likely, if he allowed himself to think about it too long. Which meant he needed to go. Right now. Before she woke up armed with expectations.
Self-preservation screamed, Go! Get out before it’s too late.
His body refused to heed the warning, forcing him to stay when all he wanted to do was go. Rolling out of bed, slipping away, taking to open skies was the right thing to do—the only way forward before he lost his mind, did the unthinkable, and took more. Got in too deep and accepted what she offered—sanctuary, a place for him to belong, everything he wanted but knew he didn’t deserve and could never have, but…
She smelled good, and felt even better pressed up against him. A stark slice of paradise with her gorgeous curves, candy cane scent, and petal-soft skin.
Fucking energy-fuse.
He’d always thought the bond between mates was a good thing, the be-all and end-all for a Dragonkind warrior, the missing link a male searched for his entire life. His brothers-in-arms provided excellent examples. All his packmates yearned for a female, someone to claim and call his own. For his perfect match—body, heart, mind, and bioenergy. To be well fed every night, loved every day, and accepted despite his shortcomings.
Most Dragonkind felt the same way.
Why, then, did the idea make him sick to his stomach? The pitch and roll threw him off balance, bashing him against mental rocks, drowning him in uncertainty, making it hard to breathe. Stay or go. The pleasure of holding her versus the pain of leaving her behind. Two sides of the same coin, now working like allied forces inside him, pushing, pulling, dragging him one way only to shove him in the opposite direction.
The seesaw made him want to break things. And yet, like a child with his favorite toy, he cradled Ferguson, holding on tight, listening to her breathe, watching over her while she slept but trying to talk himself into letting her go.
No word of a lie, he was going to kill Wallaig.
His friend should’ve known better. The male was mated, for fuck’s sake, was well versed in the power of energy-fuse and what it meant for a Dragonkind warrior. Wallaig had sent him headlong into danger anyway, landing him in the middle of a battle he didn’t know how to fight. Now, he was stuck, mired in an emotional wasteland, so far from his normal mental state his mind fogged.
Goodbye, comfort zone; hello, confusion.
The second he touched Ferguson, the lines had blurred. She became his sole focus. Her comfort was his greatest wish—her needs, his fixation. Her well-being jumped to the top of his list, becoming all-important as his dragon locked on, accepting her as the one made for him.
The way she affected him blew past boundaries.
Watching his brothers react to their chosen females should’ve clued him in. He’d chosen to embrace obliviousness instead, watching without truly seeing. Now, he stood neck-deep in trouble, struggling to comprehend how it happened while trying to negotiate with nature and find a way out.
Out of wanting her. Out of needing her. Out of disappointing her if his better angels won, and he managed to leave her hale and whole, untarnished by the likes of him and the memories they might’ve made together. One night was enough. It would have to be enough, but…
Having had her—touched her, loved her—Kruger didn’t know if he was strong enough to let her go. He knew what she felt like in his arms, how she sounded when she came, still had the taste of her on his tongue. He’d fallen hard, way too fast, becoming enthralled by her. Her temper. Her intelligence. The spirit she showed when she went head to head with him. Ferguson gave as good as she got, challenging him, sparring with him, obeying his commands in bed with such joy he couldn’t believe his good fortune.
She was passionate, forthright, bold, and beautiful. The four pillars males searched for in a female, but rarely found.
Hugging her closer, Kruger breathed deep. His chest expanded, drawing the scent of her into his lungs. Contentment stole through him. His dragon purred, soothed and settled for once, instead of wild and restless. Being well fed by the brilliance of Ferguson’s bioenergy was part of it. Being well fucked, riding the buzz of sexual satisfaction, was another. His emotional ties with her, though, took a bigger piece of the pie, leaving him so relaxed he slid into repletion against his will.
A dangerous drift, given he already knew he wasn’t built for connection. His history proved it. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t ignore the evidence.
A lifetime of file folders filled with damning proof piled up inside his head. As he flipped through the pages, his thoughts spiraled, pointing to an unavoidable conclusion: pursuing a relationship with Ferguson was folly. It would end badly. For him, sure. But mostly for her. Claiming her in the way of his kind wasn’t a good idea. No matter how well intentioned, tying her to him would hurt her in the end.
The realization caused icy needles to poke into his skin. He laid out all the reasons he must roll out of her bed and never return.
The filth running through his veins sat at the top. His sire hadn’t left him much: abandonment, disdain, betrayal. Nothing good sat on the branches of his family tree. His true origin turned the sliver of hope he clung to into disillusionment. Ugliness crept in from the edges, painting his insides with a filthy brush. It always did when he thought about Silfer—and what the Dragon God had done. The male’s legacy tainted his son’s, making Kruger feel dirty.
And worse, Ferguson had asked him about it.
Spirit bright with honesty, she’d invited him to share, handed him the perfect opening—tempted him with the idea that she might be able to wash him clean, wipe away the filth he lived with every night and each day. His mate knew he was hiding something. Something huge. Something so big, she’d read the shame in his eyes, and no doubt seen the slime smeared on his soul.
Hell, she’d gone a step further—guessing the reason he’d targeted The White Hare in the first place.
Smart. His girl was so bloody sharp.
Without effort, she boiled the situation down to its basic elements, picking through the threads, tugging at the most sensitive stings, urging him to tell her the truth when he knew it would be the end of him. The end of her too, if he wasn’t careful, and—
“Kruger?”
Her sleepy voice swarmed his senses. Pleasure buzzed down his spine.
Kruger exhaled and reached for calm. “Shh.”
“Whaz—”
“Nothing, fazleima.”
“You—”
“Go back tae sleep, lass. It’s all good.”
“Uh-oh,” she mumbled, one-quarter awake, three-quarters asleep.
His lips twitched. “What?”
“Big thoughts.”
“Nay, baby. I’m just—”
“Tell me.”
“Fergie—”
“Can’t sleep,” she said, slurring her words while hitting the nail on the head. He couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to close his eyes and miss a moment of holding her when he might never get another chance. “Tell me.”