Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
I ce replaced the heat in Ren’s veins. His dragon nature snarled at the thought of causing her pain, scales rippling beneath his skin in protest.
“Think about it,” Kaito said. “Oh, and there’s something else we need to discuss. I’ve been tracking a shadow witch. His magical signature keeps appearing near sites of sabotage—including here in Mystic Hollow. We should talk tomorrow.”
“Stay in town,” Ren commanded. “Help us investigate.”
Kaito nodded. “Tomorrow. Tonight...” His lips quirked. “Try not to set anything else ablaze when she arrives.”
The door closed behind him just as headlights swept across the windows. Ren’s pulse thundered against his ribs. His dragon essence rushed forward, scales shimmering beneath his skin in anticipation.
The door opened, and his world shifted on its axis.
Sabine stood in the entrance, backlit by the porch light like an ethereal vision. The black sweater dress hugged every curve, ending mid-thigh above knee-high boots that made her legs look endless. Her honey-blonde hair cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders, beckoning his touch.
Their eyes met. Magic crackled in the air between them, and his dragon roared to life with such force his fingers flexed with the need to reach for her. Without conscious thought, he glided across the room. She held her ground, meeting his gaze with such trust it stole his breath.
His hand moved of its own volition, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The simple contact sent lightning through his veins. She smelled like jasmine and sunlight and everything he’d denied himself for centuries.
“Ren,” she breathed, and oh gods, his name had never sounded like that before.
In that moment, losing himself in those bright hazel eyes, he knew. There was no resisting this. No denying her. His dragon had chosen, and for the first time in eight hundred years, Ren found he didn’t want to fight.
The flames leaped higher in the hearth, bathing her in golden light. His dragon rumbled deep in his chest, a sound of pure contentment he hadn’t made in centuries.
The war between duty and desire had never felt more futile—or more inevitable.