“Later.”
Her eyelashes fluttered, sweeping his skin. “Lying.”
Kruger huffed. “Smart lass.”
“Cowboy—”
“Tomorrow,” he whispered, knowing she was right. He was lying. He’d been doing it his entire life. To his brothers-in-arms. To himself. And now, to his mate. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Promise?”
“Aye,” he said, not meaning it. No way in hell would he tell her. Secrets got out that way. Once one person knew, anything could happen. There’d be absolute hell to pay if Cyprus and his brothers-in-arms found out what he’d worked so hard to hide. “Let me enjoy having you in my arms.”
“Gorgeous.”
“Aye, you are.”
She hummed. “No, you are—beautiful… so beautiful.”
His chest tightened. “Fuck, Fergie.”
“You feel good, Kruger.”
His throat went tight. “Bonnie lass, you undo me.”
“Finally.” Her mouth brushed his skin. He closed his eyes as she pressed a kiss over his heart. “Getting somewhere.”
“Mm-hmm,” he murmured, drawing circles on her lower back with his fingertips.
She sighed.
He kept up the gentle touches, stroking his hands over her. Softly. Sweetly. Drinking her in, memorizing the feel of her, encouraging her to go back to sleep. Little by little, she sank back beneath the wave, into deep slumber. He relaxed along with her, but continued caressing her. His hands swept over her skin. His hum of enjoyment turned into a low rumble.
He should stop, let her sleep, maybe even join her. He veered off course instead and, cupping the back of her thigh, rolled onto his side. Her eyelashes flickered as she hooked her leg over his hip and snuggled closer. He pressed a kiss to her temple, watched her settle, then turned his nose into her hair. She smelled fantastic, like evergreens, candy canes, sex…and him.
An alluring combination.
He breathed her in, questioning his intentions along with his sanity. One circuit turned into two, three, then more as he stroked up her back, down her side and over her hip. Gorgeous curves pressed along his length, the beauty of her all around him. Unable to stop, he caressed her gently and time passed, pushing the clock toward two a.m.
Prime fighting time.
A fact he couldn’t miss as Wallaig knocked on his cerebral door. Knock, knock, knock, came every few minutes, making it difficult for him to ignore the persistent SOB rapping on his temples. His XO wanted a word. Not needing to hear “I told you so,” he centered his attention on Ferguson, refusing to give his friend any headspace, ignoring the demand he open a connection into mind-speak.
The knock turned into battering ram.
He winced. With a low growl, Kruger flipped the switch. “What?”
“You barking at me?”
“I’m gonna do more than that when I see you.”
“Any idea when that’ll be?”
Kruger snapped his teeth together. The sharp click echoed through mind-speak.
“Not done with her yet?”
Unable to pry his molars apart, he stayed silent.
Wallaig snorted. “I’ll take that as a nay.”
“Take it however you want.”
“Aye, laddie. Nowhere near done,” Wallaig said, sounding amused. “Gonna fuck her again? Should I tell Cyprus tae—”
“Bugger off, mon.”
“I want tae say I told you so, but—”
“I’ll rip yer tail off and shove it up yer arse, if you do.”
Wallaig chuckled.
Kruger bit back a curse, trying to control his temper. “Where are you?”
“Airborne. We’ve got movement.”
“Grizgunn?”
“Aye.”
“Where?”
“South,” Wallaig said. “I’m tracking a shite-load of trace energy. Two full fighting triangles. The bastard’s heading toward Edinburgh.”
“Outside the three-mile marker?”
“Aye. Cloaked and keeping a good distance. We donnae want him tae know we’re here. At least, not yet.”
“See what he’s up tae.”
“That’s the plan.” The sound of rising wind howled through the link. Scales rattled as Wallaig shifted course. “Got Levin and Ran with me. Cyprus, Tydrin, Vyroth, and Tempel are hugging the coastline, keeping an eye out.”
Kruger grunted. Not a bad plan, though, it was a hunt he needed to join. If he didn’t, his packmates would have all the fun and he’d end up—
“You gonna roll outta bed and join us?”
“Aye.” He set his mouth against the crown of Ferguson’s head. “Give me a minute or two. Five tops, and I’ll be—”
Magic sliced into the room.
Ferguson jolted against him. Her head came up. Her eyes opened. Her gaze fired, moving from normal green to emerald shimmer as she shoved up and away from him. The veil of sleep around her ripped open as she landed on her knees, bouncing on the mattress beside him.
“What the fuck?”
“Shit!” she said.
Frozen in place, he felt her focus sharpen. Starlight rolled overhead, flickering like an array of fairy lights. A tremor rumbled through the room. The lamps sitting on the bedside table rattled. He reached for her. Naked, pale skin dusted by the faint glow, she avoided his hand and swiveled on her knees, attention snapping to the bank of wide windows opposite the bed.
“Fergie—”
A low growl left her throat.
His mouth fell open.
“Move!”
“Lass, what—”
“Now!” Grabbing his wrist, she yanked him toward the side of the bed. “Intruders. There are—”
Boom!
The explosion slammed into the side of the building. The wall rocked. Shattering glass blew inward. Foundation stones crumbled, throwing shrapnel as a fireball exploded into the room. The smell of gasoline ate through clean air. Heat licked over his skin. He heard Wallaig yell through mind-speak a second before the shock wave struck. The bed flipped up and over, rolling end over end, sending him flying as wood splintered, and Ferguson gasped in pain.
14
Breathing in smoke, Grizgunn sliced through the layer of smog floating over Edinburgh. The noxious scent burned over his senses, seeping into his mouth and down his throat. He breathed deep. His mouth curved, baring the tips of his fangs. The toxic fog tasted good and felt even better, coating his acid-blue scales, sticking to the webbing of his wings like radioactive sludge, making him glow in the dark.
Particles of heating oil sparked against the tip of his tail. The muted flash-bangs made him grin.
He didn’t like humans, couldn’t abide close contact without wanting to slice one’s throat, but the environmental wasteland the assholes left in their wake was brilliant. The absolute best. A downward spiral beaten out to the rhythm of mess, mess, more beautiful, intoxicating mess.
Most Dragonkind hated the pollution. His venomous half reveled in it, soaring through poisonous clouds, drinking in the toxicity. The environmental movement should thank him, erect monuments to his prowess, give him a plaque that said Number One Poison-Eater for sucking in the foul brume and spitting out clean air. A living filter for their never-ending filth. One of a kind in their world…and also in the one he occupied. A fact the warriors he flew toward would learn tonight.