Chapter 5
Chapter Five
CONNOR
L ooking back, I should have had a contingency plan, but I’ve never been much of a wait-and-see kind of guy. I’m a man of action. Coming here on my own to read Stefan’s mind made sense. I never suspected a scenario where the man wouldn’t attend his own son’s wedding. He’s conspicuously absent. Something is definitely off, and I don’t like it.
Once I’ve registered that my target is missing, I turn around to leave. It’s the obvious next step. Every moment on this property increases my risk of being detected and captured by the Order. The four will want to know about Stefan’s absence. We all need to go back to the drawing board and come up with a new plan.
Only, the second I notice the woman at the altar, I can’t move. Oh hell do I notice her. My dragon slams into the wall of my skin like a tiger leaping for its prey. I burn, my mouth goes dry, and my wings twitch with the desire to take her. Everything has changed. My world, my priorities, everything that I am and will ever be is different now.
Because of her .
The woman standing on the dais is the most perfect specimen of a female I’ve ever laid eyes on. And she’s staring straight at me. Even wrapped in all that French lace with her gorgeous auburn hair bound in a bun that looks painfully tight, I see something wild in her amber eyes, something flinty, as if the right word could spark a fire in her that would send this entire event up in flames. My dragon twists and chuffs, a vivid image of the dress burning off her filling my mind. Nothing but creamy flesh and palpable tension would be left between us.
This is Roman’s fiancée?
No. No. No. I refuse to believe it. It’s a travesty. She can’t be with him. What must he have on her to force her to dress in this costume and jump through gold hoops for these people? I close my eyes and get control of myself. I’m not here to be distracted by a woman, especially not one who’s chosen to marry my nemesis. For Creator’s sake, I have no business even looking in her direction.
My dragon disagrees. His desire to claim her is a drum whose beat grows louder in my ears. Thump. Thump. Thump . I fist my hands. Breathe deep. Close my eyes so I can’t see her. Count to ten. I take a step back, then another. I can do this.
And then I hear her in my head . I’m not trying to hear her. I haven’t made any effort to enter her mind. But I feel her inside me and I realize she’s projecting a mental plea, a panicked plea, so intensely she might as well be screaming it. If you’re out there and I’m not supposed to do this, if I’m not meant to be with Roman, stop this wedding from happening. Send an earthquake or a storm. Anything! Send me a sign.
She’s praying to her god, not to me, but she wouldn’t be thinking those words if she didn’t want the earthquake, if she didn’t want to stop this wedding from happening. She’s having second thoughts. And this, this is why I can’t leave. The beast within me has a carnal, primal need to answer her call, to save her from this travesty of a ceremony.
She’s begging for a storm. I am the storm.
Fiona . I breathe deep as I mentally repeat her name. I know it from Remus’s research. Fiona Morrow. Fiona. My dragon sings her name inside my head.
For all intents and purposes, I’m invisible, camouflaged in the shadowy recesses of the garden, but her amber eyes look directly at me. I swear she can see me.
The Saint’s Order only initiates men. There are women who know about the Order—wives, girlfriends—but they don’t wear the rings. The rings possess the magic necessary to detect cloaked dragons, but even with one, the order members have to be actively using the rings to see us. Fiona has no ring and shouldn’t be able to see me, but her eyes widen slightly and there’s recognition in them. She sees me. She sees me. The deepest part of my soul. And I see her.
Mine , my dragon growls. Claim her. Claim her .
My dragon is me, and I am my dragon. We are two halves of the same soul. But my dragon half is far more impulsive. Far more driven by instinct. At that moment, the moment my dragon decides this woman is mine, the entire world constricts to three irrefutable facts. One, I want this woman more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life. Two, the mere idea that I allow her to marry the piece of shit standing across from her is unacceptable and worth dying to stop. And three, the pain and discomfort ratcheting up inside me is mating sickness, and she is my only hope of relief.
She’s my only hope because she is, undeniably and unmistakably, my mate.
I am so fucked.
“Fiona? Fiona?” Roman is trying to get my mate’s attention, but her eyes are on me. It’s time for her to say her part, her vows. That won’t be happening.
I hold out my hand to her. I’m cloaked, invisible, but I call to her with my mind, my soul. Lips parting, she takes a half step toward me, the pointed toe of her shoe extending over the edge of the dais before Roman grabs her arm and says her name again.
A growl rumbles in my chest. I can’t let him touch her. He can’t have her. It can’t happen. Heads turn, one by one, to look in my direction, each face more confused than the last.
I charge up the aisle. No one can see me, but the Order members sense me. They jump to their feet, knocking over the white folding chairs and pushing each other out of the way. Their rings glow to life, morph into neon-blue swords and crossbows .
She’s in my arms now, wide-eyed and breathless. Once she touches me, she can see me, and her eyes lock on my face as I launch into the air with her cradled against my chest. Her arms shoot around my neck, clinging to me as we soar higher, and I fucking love it.
A blue bolt skims past us. A bit of lace falls from Fiona’s side, and I glance back to see Roman holding a crossbow. Fuck! It’s one thing for him to shoot at me, but how dare he risk hitting Fiona! He aims again, but then the dark-haired woman who’d been holding my mate’s bouquet knocks the crossbow aside and the shot goes wide.
I pull the key I wear around my neck from my shirt. The talisman holds ancient dragon magic, allowing us to fold space. I close my fist around it and fly toward the sun, muttering the spell we all learn as children. I pass through the portal that forms just as another bolt narrowly misses us, and I dive and roll into the light. The next second I’m hurtling through the sky above a remote stretch of forest. Fiona’s clinging to me, her body rigid. She’s clearly terrified. Fuck, I’ve stolen this woman off the altar and carried her through a portal in time and space. I need to take her somewhere safe where we can talk, and thank the creator, I own just the place.
I land in the woods outside my secluded hunting lodge and set her down, taking my time to make sure she’s steady on her feet. Who am I kidding? My arms around her are as much to indulge my need to touch her as to help her balance. Her skin is soft and warm. Fuck, I want to taste her. I want to bury myself in her.
“You’re safe,” I assure her, my hand gliding up to cup the back of her neck. My wings are out, and I wrap them around us for warmth. It’s cold here. At least for her. I bring my lips close to hers. “I have you.”
She blinks twice, taking me in as if she can’t quite believe I’m not a hallucination. Then she opens her mouth and screams.