Chapter 10 #2
The thought should horrify me. Should break something critical in my understanding of who I am. Instead, I’m transfixed. Staring at scales that shimmer when he moves. At wings that could carry him anywhere. At power made visible and terrible and magnificent.
Dragonfire blooms in his throat. Blue-white core. Copper edges bleeding into gold. He turns toward the ridge and releases it. The control is stunning. Not a wildfire. Not destruction. Just enough to scatter the snipers. Precise. Lethal.
Even in this form, he’s thinking. His head swings toward me. Those burning white eyes lock on mine.
Now.
The word resonates in my skull. Not sound. Something deeper. Dragon speech that vibrates through bone.
How—?
He moves before I can form the question in my mind. One massive, clawed talon reaches for me. The smart thing would be to flinch, pull away.
I don’t.
He lifts me carefully. His grip is impossibly gentle despite talons that could slice through steel. He tucks me against his chest, where scales radiate heat like a furnace. His heartbeat thunders against my cheek. Fast. Triple time. Dragon hearts beat differently from human ones. Harder. Faster.
I can feel every beat.
Wings spread. The sound is like wind through sails.
Through caverns. Something massive displacing air.
One powerful downstroke and we’re airborne.
My stomach drops. The ground falls away.
Wind whips past. I can’t breathe for a moment, can’t process that I’m flying, that I’m pressed against scales and heat and muscle while the world becomes tiny below.
His arm—foreleg?—holds me secure. Not tight enough to hurt but firm enough that I know I won’t fall. The careful strength is somehow worse than violence would be.
Because it’s tender.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
My hands find purchase against his chest. Scales beneath my palms. Warm. Solid. Each one distinct. I feel his breathing—deep, powerful movements that make his entire body expand and contract.
The scent wraps around me. Inescapable. Pure beast. Primal male.
My wolf whines.
We fly east. Low enough to stay under cloud cover. High enough that details blur below. Anyone looking up would see little more than a shadow against the clouds. My shoulder throbs. Blood drips through the coat. Wind makes it worse. Makes everything worse.
But I don’t care.
Because pressed against him like this—his heartbeat against my ear, his heat seeping through my clothes, his careful grip that says he won’t let me fall—
It feels safe. It feels right. It feels like something I’ve been missing without knowing it existed.
Wrong. This is wrong!
But my body doesn’t listen. Just keeps responding. Keeps recognizing. Keeps trying to convince me of something I can’t accept.
Minutes pass. Ten. Maybe more. Then descent. Angle changing. Trees rising up to meet us. A clearing. Beyond it—buildings. A town. We land. The impact jolts through me, but his grip stays secure. Keeps me from being thrown.
He sets me down immediately. Releases me the moment my feet touch ground.
The shift reverses. Wings fold into nothing. Scales recede. Muscle compresses. Dragon becomes man in heartbeats.
He’s breathing hard. Sweat on his face despite the cold. Shifting costs energy. Flying costs more. But he’s standing. Steady.
“You’re hurt,” he says.
His voice is rough. Deeper than usual. The dragon still close to the surface.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding through your coat.”
I look down. Blood has soaked completely through. Dripping.
“It’s not that bad.”
He doesn’t argue. Just watches me with concern I don’t want to see. Don’t want to acknowledge.
He’s also stark freaking naked!
Of course he is. He lost his clothes in the shift. It happens to me too. But it didn’t occur to me that I’d be facing this now. And…
Dear God!
He’s… He’s…
My brain stutters trying to process this.
I tear my eyes away. Too late. The image burns behind my eyelids.
Tall. Lean in the way fighters are lean—nothing wasted, everything functional.
Tanned skin pulled tight over muscle that speaks of a lifetime of training.
Abs carved deep. Thighs solid as granite. And—
My wolf whines as my eyes drop lower.
Holy shit!
The man’s hung like a horse. Long, thick… semi-erect. Heat floods through me. Not subtle. Not ignorable. A full-body response that makes my knees weak and my breath catch.
Stop.
I turn completely around. Face the trees. The hills. Anything except him standing there like some ancient god stepped out of the heavens.
Pull yourself together, Nadia. Focus.
I breathe in slowly and take in our surroundings. We’re at the edge of the small town. Logging community. One main street. Gas station. Diner. General store. Motel with a vacancy sign flickering. Civilization. Communication. A way out.
“We should go into the town,” I manage, my voice huskier than it should be. “We need clothes. Supplies.”
“Agreed.”
Professional. Calm. Like he’s not naked in the snow with a woman whose biology is screaming at her to turn around and—
No.
I pull the ruined coat tighter. Pain flares in my shoulder. Good. Pain, I understand. Pain makes sense.
This doesn’t. None of this does.
“My bag,” he says from behind me. I nod quickly, suddenly remembering that I’m still clutching it. I drop it somewhere in the vicinity of where I think he’s standing. There’s the hiss of a zip as he opens it, and then the rustle of clothing.
Breathe. Just breathe.
“I have a pair of sweats if you need them,” he says.
“What?” I can’t get my wits to function.
“Pants,” he says.
“Oh. Right. Yes,” I say stupidly. I’ve been bare-legged for so long I’ve stopped noticing it. I reach a hand back, still keeping my eyes fixed ahead, and feel the fabric pressed into my palm. I fumble as I pull them on. They’re way too big, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“Are you… um… decent?” I ask, feeling like a fool. What self-respecting shifter would even ask such a thing?
“Depends on your definition of it,” he says, humor in his voice for the first time since I laid eyes on him. I turn around cautiously, just in time to see a flash of amusement in his eyes. It makes him look… softer?
Stop thinking about how he looks, dammit!
“I need to contact Aurora,” I say.
“All right.” Again. Agreement without question.
I start walking before I can examine why this unsettles me more than resistance would.
The gas station has a payphone mounted to the wall outside. I dig for coins. Blood loss makes my fingers clumsy. I breathe a silent prayer when I find some loose change in the inside coat pocket.
He stands ten feet away. Not hovering. Not crowding. Just present. Watching the street. The parking lot. Scanning for threats.
Being useful without being asked.
I hate that I notice. Hate that even bleeding and exhausted, I’m aware of exactly where he is. How far. That if I turned around, I’d see—
Stop.
I feed coins into the phone. Dial the emergency protocol number. It rings. Four times. Long enough that panic starts creeping in.
Then: “Parlance.” Viktor’s voice. Clipped. Professional.
“It’s Frost.”
Silence. Long enough that I wonder if he heard.
Finally: “Where are you?”
“Cascade range. Small town called—” I squint at a sign “—Timber Ridge. About forty klicks from the convoy site.”
“The convoy site that was ambushed. Where Jericho Allon was being transported.”
“Yes.”
“Are you alone?” Careful. Loaded.
I pause. “No.”
The silence stretches longer this time.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
I hear him breathing. Thinking. Calculating implications.
“Nadia.” His voice drops. Goes cold. “Do you plan to kill him?”
The question shakes me. My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
Because the answer should be yes. Should be immediate.
Should be the only truth I have left. But I’m standing here bleeding from a wound he could have let kill me.
After he shifted—became something terrifying and beautiful—and flew me to safety when he could have just left.
When he could have dropped me mid-flight.
When he could have done anything except tuck me carefully against his chest and keep me safe.
I see Chance’s face. His smile. The bond between us that snapped like a rope cut mid-flight and left me drowning.
I see Jericho offering his wrists for the cuffs last night. The way he didn’t fight back. The way he’s been letting me decide everything because my choices somehow matter more than his survival.
I see hate crumbling under the weight of biology and proximity and something I don’t understand.
“I don’t know.” The words are quiet. Broken. They escape before I can stop them. Before I can pull them back and replace them with the lie I should be telling.
Silence on the other end.
My chest feels too tight. Like I’ve confessed something unforgivable. Betrayed everything Chance deserved. Everything I came here to do. Everything I am. Because if I’m not the woman who kills Jericho Allon—who am I?
“Jesus, Frost.” Viktor finally speaks. Low. Surprised.
“The Syndicate is still hunting him,” I say. Pushing past the confession. “There was a sniper team at the convoy site. We barely got out.”
“Define ‘barely.’”
“I’m hit. Shoulder. Not serious.”
“And Allon?”
“Uninjured.”
“Is he restrained?”
I look at Jericho. Standing there uncuffed. Watching the street with an awareness that says he’s protecting me even now. Could walk away. Could kill me. Could do anything.
He doesn’t. Just waits.
“No,” I say.
“Nadia—”
“He got us out. Shifted. Flew us clear of the ambush. The cuffs had to come off.”
Silence. Then: “Are you safe?”
“For now. We need extraction. Syndicate knows our general location. We need to get back to Aurora.”
“You’re coming back?” There’s no sarcasm in his voice. But the reminder of my resignation still hangs between us.
“If that’s acceptable to you?” I hold my breath.
Pause. “We’ll discuss that once we have you out.”
“How soon?” I ask.
“Weather’s bad. Storm system moving back in. We won’t get a team in the air until it passes. Could be a day, could be two.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Forty-eight hours?”
“Maybe.” He stops. “Can you maintain position that long?”
“Do I have a choice?”
He ignores my sarcasm. “There’s a motel?”
I look down the street. “Yes.”
“I’ll wire funds. Secure a room. Stay out of sight. Keep Allon contained.”
I look at Jericho again. Uncuffed. Unrestrained. Standing there like he’s waiting for me to decide his fate. Like he trusts me despite every reason not to.
“Copy.”
“Nadia.” Viktor’s voice softens slightly. “Don’t do anything you can’t undo.”
The line goes dead. I stand there, the receiver pressed to my face. Unable to move.
Do you plan to kill him?
I don’t know. I should know. Should be certain.
Should still want him dead with the same conviction that brought me into these mountains.
But I’m bleeding. Exhausted. Standing forty feet from a man who saved my life twice today.
Who could have killed me a dozen different ways.
Who transformed into something magnificent and terrifying. Who my wolf recognized.
And I don’t know anything anymore.
I hang up the phone.
Turn.
Jericho is exactly where I left him. Ten feet away. Watching. Waiting.
Forty-eight hours.
Two days trapped with him in a civilian town while my body betrays me and my certainty crumbles, and everything I thought I knew rewrites itself.
Two days to figure out who I am when I’m not the woman who came here to kill him.
I meet his eyes.
And have no idea what comes next.