Chapter seventeen
Power Play – A man advantage caused by an opponent's penalty
Theron
I held him close, breathing in the scent of him—sweat and adrenaline and something uniquely Dante that made my dragon rumble with satisfaction.
But beneath that satisfaction was terror, because there was still so much he didn’t know.
So much I needed to tell him that could change everything, and I didn’t know where to start.
“There’s more,” I said quietly, my lips still against his temple. “Things I need to tell you. Things that will explain why I’m so afraid of putting you at risk.”
He pulled back slightly to look at me, his dark eyes searching mine. “Okay. Tell me.”
I led him to the couch, settling us both down before I lost my nerve. He sat close, our thighs touching, and I took his hand in mine because I needed the anchor of physical contact for what I was about to say.
“I lost someone,” I started, the words harder than I’d expected.
“My wife. Quite a few years ago.” The lie about the timeline tasted bitter—it had been over a hundred years, but I couldn’t tell him that yet.
“She died because people wanted to control me. Wanted to use her as leverage to make me do things I didn’t want to do. ”
Dante’s hand tightened on mine. “Theron, I’m so sorry.”
“It was my fault.” The confession scraped my throat raw. “Sounds ridiculous now, but it was arranged. She was from a respected family.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It is.” I looked at him, making sure he could see the truth in my eyes. “The same risks exist now. With you. There are people who would use you to get to me if they knew what you meant to me. And I can’t—” My voice cracked. “I can’t lose someone else that way. I can’t be responsible for—”
“But you’re a hockey coach,” Dante said, bewilderment clear in his voice. “Not a gangster. What kind of danger could there possibly be?”
Here it was. I should tell him now. I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Wanted to tell him that being a forge-born dragon made me more dangerous than any gangster, that Odin Clark wasn’t just a businessman but something far more predatory.
A hundred years ago, it had been radium.
A man in an expensive suit had crossed an ocean to find me. Because Clara had trusted someone she shouldn’t. Radium had been worth fortunes then. More precious than gold in some circles. I'd never cared about the money, but other people had. Clara had paid the price for that.
Decades after her death, the interest in radium had faded. New technologies had replaced old obsessions, and I’d convinced myself the danger had passed.
Now I wasn't so sure.
Dragonsteel ore changed everything.
For centuries no one had known it even existed.
The rare metal was almost impossible to locate, buried in thin veins so deep and scattered that conventional surveys missed it entirely.
Yet a single deposit could be worth billions.
Aerospace companies would want it. Defense contractors would crave it. Governments would kill for it.
And forge dragons could find it.
I knew there were other forge dragons, but their existence was hidden and remote. I’d hidden in plain sight for years.
Odin Clark wasn't moving to Denver because it was good for business.
He was moving because someone had finally connected the dots.
A forge dragon. Dragonsteel ore. Billions of dollars in military contracts.
The same greed that had killed Clara a century ago had simply found a new name.
“It’s not illegal,” I said carefully. “But it’s complicated.
There are... aspects of my life that I can’t explain right now without putting you at risk.
I need you to trust me. Please. Just a little longer, until I can figure out how to keep you safe.
” Until I could speak to Ignatius. I’d determined at the rink I was going to tell him everything, but was I being fair putting that on him?
He stared at me for a long moment, and I watched him process what I wasn’t saying. Watched him try to reconcile the man sitting in front of him with the vague threat I was describing.
“This is about your eyes,” he said finally. “The copper. The way you threw Odin across my apartment like he weighed nothing. There’s something you’re not telling me about who you are.”
My heart stuttered. He was too perceptive, too intelligent. Of course he’d noticed. “Yes.”
“And you’re not ready to tell me what that something is.”
“It’s not about being ready. It’s about keeping you safe until I know how to protect you from the consequences of knowing, and how to manage a forbidden relationship between a coach and his player.”
He was quiet for another moment, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. Then he shifted closer, his free hand coming up to cup my face. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I trust you.” His eyes were steady on mine. “I don’t understand what’s happening, and I’m not going to pretend I’m not curious about what you’re hiding. But I trust that you’re trying to protect me. So I’ll wait. Until you’re ready to tell me.”
The relief that went through me was profound. “Thank you.”
“But,” he said, and there was something in his voice that made my pulse quicken.
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you keep pushing me away.
You said you were attracted to me, and I know that’s true.
You brought me here. You told me your wife died because you got involved with her, knowing it was dangerous.
” His hand slid from my face down to my chest. “So either you’re going to make the same choice you made with her or you’re going to send me home.
But you don’t get to do both. You don’t get to keep me at arm’s length while telling me I matter to you. ”
He was right. I’d been trying to have it both ways—keeping him close enough to protect but far enough away to deny what was between us. And it wasn’t fair to either of us.
“I’m terrified,” I admitted. “Of losing you the way I lost her. Of being the reason you get hurt.”
“I know.” He leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a kiss so gentle it made my chest ache. “But I’m here anyway. I’m choosing this. Choosing you. Even with the danger you won’t explain and the secrets you’re keeping.”
His hand slid lower on my chest, and I caught his wrist before he could go further. “Dante—"
“Do you want me?” he asked, his voice low and intense. “Not as your player. Not as someone you’re trying to protect. Just... me. Do you want me?”
“Yes.” The word came out rough, honest. “God, yes. But if the league found out, then—”
“Then stop talking about all the reasons we shouldn’t do this,” he said, and pulled his wrist free from my grip. “And just... be with me. Please.”
His hand found the hem of my shirt, fingers sliding beneath to touch bare skin, and I felt my last shred of resistance crumble. He was here, in my home, choosing me despite the danger, despite the secrets, despite the risk to his career.
My hands caught his hips and pulled him onto my lap in one swift motion. The startled gasp he made went straight through me, and then his thighs were straddling mine and we were kissing again—harder this time, desperate, two months of denial combusting between us.
His hands were everywhere. Sliding under my shirt, nails scraping lightly across my chest in a way that made me groan. I grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head, breaking the kiss just long enough to get it off before my mouth was on his again.
“Theron,” he breathed against my lips, and hearing my name like that—breathy, wanting—made my dragon surge forward with enough force that I had to fight to keep my eyes from shifting.
I stood, lifting him with me. He made a sound of surprise that turned into something else entirely when I pressed him against the nearest wall, using my body to pin him there. His legs wrapped around my waist instinctively, and the friction of him against me made coherent thought nearly impossible.
“Is this okay?” I managed to ask, even though stopping now might actually kill me.
“God, yes.” His hands were in my hair, tugging hard enough to sting. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
I kissed down his throat, feeling his pulse hammering against my lips. Bit down gently where his neck met his shoulder and felt him arch into me with a moan that was going to replay in my head for the rest of my life.
My shirt was in the way. I held him effortlessly with one arm just long enough to tear it off—heard a button ping across the hardwood floor—and then he was pressed against me again, skin to skin, and the sensation was overwhelming.
“Bedroom,” I growled against his mouth. “I need—we should—"
“Don’t care.” His hands were working at my belt, fumbling with the buckle. “Here is fine. Here is perfect.”
I caught his wrists, pinning them above his head with one hand while the other went to his jeans. “Let me.”
The sound he made when I popped the button was obscene. I worked the zipper down slowly, deliberately, watching his face as I did. His eyes had gone dark, his lips parted, his whole body trembling with want.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, because it was true and because I’d been holding those words back for two months. “So fucking beautiful.”
“Theron, please.”
I kissed him again, swallowing whatever else he’d been about to say. Got his jeans and briefs down his hips, then lifted him again so he could kick them off. The wall was cold against his bare skin—I could tell from the way he gasped—but he didn’t seem to mind.
“Yours too,” he panted, his hands going to my belt again. This time I let him, watched him work my jeans open and off with shaking hands. When he wrapped his hand around me, I saw stars.
“Fuck,” I breathed, pressing my forehead against his. “Dante—"
“Need you,” he said, and his voice was wrecked.
I knew what he needed. Knew what we both needed. But we were pressed against a wall in my great room with no supplies within reach, and as much as I wanted to just take him right here, I had enough functioning brain cells left to know we needed to slow down.