VAAN

My mate refuses to challenge me. This is disappointing.

No matter how much I prod at her or snap to raise her ire, she will not shift forms. There must be a reason behind her reluctance, so I will let it rest for now. Just being in her presence helps steady my thoughts. Without her at my side, I felt as if my mind was constantly drifting from breeze to breeze. With her here, I have something to focus on.

Gwen. My Gwen.

I like the sound of her name. It is strong and fierce, like her spirit. I like the golden brown of her soft skin. I like the soft brown of her eyes. I like the thick, winding curls of her dark hair that spill over her shoulders and down her back.

I love her scent. I love that the fear tinge has bled away, leaving nothing but curiosity and the musk that is purely my mate. I want to bury my face in her hair and breathe in her scent, but she watches me with wary eyes.

If she will not challenge me, perhaps I need to tease it out of her. So I repeat her name and the gestures she's given me, making sure to touch her as I do. Each caress is never long enough, but if I leave my hand for too long, her fear-smell returns, so I make sure not to scare her. I touch her chest, then her stomach.

Then, because I am feeling sly, I guide her hands to my hair. Let her touch my chest and stomach. I will play her games. As long as I get to touch her and drink in her presence, I will do whatever she needs.

To my surprise, her cheeks turn a darker shade of that lovely golden brown and her lips part. She looks shy, which is fascinating. It is not an expression I have seen on fierce drakoni women…I like it.

"Vaan," she whispers, and I bite back a groan. I like the way my name sounds on her lips. It would sound better if her thoughts were merged with mine, but that will be soon enough. I am not letting her escape me again.

So I wait for her to touch my chest, for our little game to continue. My cock is hard and aching, fangs throbbing with the readiness to give her my fires.

She hesitates and then puts one hand high on my chest, so high she practically touches my neck. "Vaan." And she goes no lower.

Ah, where is her boldness now? I snag her hand before she can pull it away, holding it in my own. She feels cool against my skin, and I realize her fires are much, much fainter than mine. Perhaps that is why she does not respond to my attempts to speak to her. I nudge her mentally, trying to coax her to open up to me, but there is no response.

I cannot give her my seed until she takes my fires. A female is always cooler than a male, but this human is even less heated than a drakoni female. She would be scalded by my seed. Even now, her flesh reddens against my touch. I study her hand, the palm that is reddish-brown after touching me. Her fingers are puny and have no claws, and her bones are delicate and fragile. Curious. Is this why she won't fight me? Because she is afraid I would hurt her in the challenge? Surely she knows I would be fierce only in the conquest, that after she has given in sweetly, I will be tender with her.

Let me claim you, I send.

No response. She looks at me with big, dark eyes, scarcely breathing. Her fear-scent is beginning to creep up again.

I want to smell her arousal scent, though. So I take her hand and place it low on my stomach, below my navel. Almost to my cock.

She gasps, and the sound makes my body jerk in response. Seed coats the head of my shaft, and I fight back the growl rising in my throat.

My mate. Mine. Possessiveness floods through me.

She snatches her hand away, her cheeks dark with that flush, and I bite back the snarl of response that rises in my throat. Her retreat makes the storm in my mind grow stronger. As it lashes at my thoughts, I feel the toeholds of sanity slipping away again.

If she hides from me—retreats—is that not a concession to my strength? Is that not her giving in to my challenge?

I should take what is mine.

Claim my mate.

My fangs throb with the need to sink into her pretty brown throat.

She slaps my hands away and skitters backward a half step. Before she can go farther, instinct takes over. I snag her ankle and stop her retreat, then slowly crawl over her body until she is lying pinned under me. I do not rest my weight on her—not yet. She is not on her belly and I cannot mount her until she is.

And she is wearing things that cover her body from my sight. I do not like them. They stink of the other humans. With an irritated snarl, I grab a handful of the strange yellowish skin covering her chest. It tears at my touch, shredding under my claws, and I pull it away from her. The storm rolls in my mind, thundering harder and faster.

Claim her. Take her.

She puts a hand on my jaw, pushing my face aside. "No! Vaan, no!"

Vaan.

Wait. I am Vaan.

I blink down at her, confused. Through the storm, I can see delicate golden-brown skin and a wealth of dark, curly hair on the female beneath me. That hair.

I…this is my female.

I think.

I lean in and breathe deeply of her scent, trying to orient myself. The clouds threaten to roll in and drown my thoughts once more, but her scent helps. There is no arousal smell to this female. If she is mine, why does she not want me? Why is it that all I smell is fear? Does she not wish to mate?

Did she…did she not challenge me?

Or am I imagining such things?

I rear back, uncertain.

"Vaan," she pants, her eyes wide, the whites showing bright against her beautiful face. That hair. Such beautiful, thick hair. I like it almost as much as her scent. She pats her chest, over her frantically beating heart. "Gwen."

Gwen.

Gwen is my mate. I remember now.

She is frightened of me.

Despair threatens to overwhelm me, and I back off of her in a hurry. I retreat a few steps, crouching low. I hate that she gasps for breath, and that her fear smell is coating the air around us with its poison. I hate that her heart beats so frantically I can hear it even from this distance.

I hate that my fangs throb, aching to sink into her even now.

As I watch, she raises a trembling hand to gather the yellow material to her chest, as if trying to cover herself. And I growl because I am furious with myself for frightening her.

It is clear she wants something different from me. Something more. I will have to figure out what it is. Perhaps food will rid her of her fear. Once she sees how I can provide for her, she will roll to her belly and welcome me into her body.

Yes, that sounds like a good plan.