Tea mug in hand, Wallaig leaned against the kitchen counter and watched the female from across the room. Without taking his eyes off her, he reached for another chocolatine, his fifth in less than ten minutes. Flaky pastry melted in his mouth. Rich chocolate did the same, making him hum in enjoyment as Amantha shifted in her chair, set one letter aside, and picked up another. Haloed by lamp light, legs curled beneath her, she frowned at something on the page and shook her head.

Downing the rest of his pasty, he catalogued her movements. Amantha was a treat to watch. So animated. So pretty. So goddamn appealing. She smoothed out the letter she held, flattening out the creases. The graceful turn of her hands caught his attention. His gaze jumped to her face. He absorbed every detail like a starving male kept away from a feast too long. Oblivious to his rapt focus, she stripped the elastic from her hair and retied her ponytail. She was a study in contradictions. Calm on the outside, heavy heart on the inside as she tried to understand her friend’s explanation.

It wasn’t going well. Not by a long shot.

Most males wouldn’t be able to see it—her struggle, the quiet desperation as she devoured the words on each page. He wasn’t that clueless. Amantha might look calm but her bio-energy said something else. True, he couldn’t see her in the usual way. His damaged eyes wouldn’t let him, but the shortcoming didn’t matter. Not when it came to her. Strange in many ways. He didn’t know the color of her hair. Couldn’t see the hue of her skin or the length of her eyelashes, and yet, he saw her clearly. Read her like an open book and knew what lurked beneath her surface.

Like a supernova, her aura flamed a deep, gorgeous red. Amber tangled with the crimson, adding spice to the lure of her bio-energy. The intensity entranced him, making it impossible for him to look away. And no wonder. Plugged into the Meridian, Amantha drew energy straight from the source of all living things. She was power personified. Every Dragonkind male’s dream come true. Temptation in living color.

The urge to reach out and touch her taunted him, and he wondered—what would energy like hers feel like beneath his hands? Would she overwhelm him? Could he handle her or would he lose all control the second he made contact with her skin?

Turning the mug in his hand, he pushed away from the countertop. Good questions. No answers in sight. Not surprising. He’d never once touched a high-energy female. Never dreamed he’d get the chance, but longed to now. He wanted to strip her bare and stroke her skin. Yearned to immerse himself in the electrostatic current she threw off like pheromones and drown in her heat.

Breathing deep, he sifted through the scents in her tiny apartment, hunting for hers. Vanilla and sugar blended with the aroma of butter and melted chocolate, making it difficult to locate her fragrance in the mix. Taking a step toward her, he stopped beside the loveseat and…there. Right in front of his face, drifting on open air. Wallaig closed his eyes and inhaled again. Oh, man. So beautiful. She smelled delicious, tangy and tart…like lemon meringue pie, his favorite.

Lust chased a shiver down his spine.

He swallowed a groan. Goddess give him strength. Standing in the same room with her was torture, a special kind of masochism as hunger ate at his insides…and his dragon half seethed with need.

The beast wanted a taste.

Wallaig refused to allow it.

She was upset, her emotional grid reading like a chaotic ping-pong match. Back and forth. Advance and retreat. She couldn’t decide how to feel about Elise’s letters. Worry and anger dimmed her aura, tinging the fiery red-gold with bits of grey. Normal. To be expected considering she missed her best friend. But the more he studied her, the less he understood. What he was seeing didn’t make sense. Something was wrong. Her emotion grid kept shifting, rising high and dipping low, warning him to look closer.

Using instinct as his guide, Wallaig mined her bio-energy. The complexity of her power burned across his senses. Hunger dug its claws deeper. He ignored the pain and searched harder, looking for—

His sonar pinged.

The energy pattern solidified and…aw, hell. Loneliness. Bone-deep despair. The fear she would forever be alone.

The realization grabbed hold of his heart and squeezed.

Sympathy bubbled up behind his breastbone.

Clenching his teeth, he drew another deep breath. Poor lass. Beautiful wee sprite. It wasn’t right. The neglect she suffered cracked him wide open. A female as beautiful as Amantha shouldn’t be alone. She deserved to be protected. To be desired and cherished. To be hugged and kissed and pampered until she purred with pleasure. A wise male would tell her how much he loved her…every damn day.

The thought was a dangerous one.

The kind he couldn’t afford to entertain, but even as he tried to shut it down, he couldn’t deny the truth. He wanted to be the male to hold and love her—to offer the comfort he knew she needed now more than ever. Sheer folly. Damned insane. He didn’t know her. Had spent less than twenty minutes in her presence. Toss in the fact he couldn’t stay and…shite. He was an idiot, a besotted slog with more testosterone than brains. Getting involved with Amantha wasn’t a good idea. Not with Grizgunn on the hunt and his pack at war.

The attack on his home—the Scottish pack’s mountain lair—made that all too clear.

The enemy lurked around every corner. Elise and Ivy had barely survived the first ambush, so…aye. Without a doubt. Introducing a new female into the pack qualified as a dumb idea. And yet, that didn’t stop him from wanting to say “fuck safe” and embrace the unknown. Aye, it was sudden. A bit ridiculous too, given he didn’t have her agreement, but as no-can-do morphed into maybe, he wanted to close the distance. Seek. Find. Claim. Two pieces of the puzzle were already in place—he’d found her. Now, all he needed to do was—

An image of him pulling her out of her chair and into his lap winged through his mind.

His thigh muscles twitched, begging him to move and take what he needed. Wallaig locked his knees, rooting his feet to the floor. He shook his head. Nay. Not going to happen. Dreaming about Amantha was all well and good. Taking her—claiming what didn’t belong to him—was another thing entirely. Something he would do well to remember. And keep remembering until he unfolded his wings and flew for home.

“Hey, Wallaig?”

“Aye?”

“What does Elise mean by lair?” she asked. “She keeps mentioning it. Is it a house?”

“Kind of. It’s where we live.”

“Huh,” she murmured, frowning at the page. “At least there’s a library there. She says it’s beautiful and has one of the best rare book collections in the world.”

“All true, lass. Cyprus gave the collection to her as a mating gift.”

“A what?” Her nose wrinkled as she threw him a perplexed look. “Do you mean wedding present?”

“Nay. ’Tis a mating gift in our culture.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.” Stepping around the end table, Wallaig sat down on the loveseat. Coils creaked, protesting his bulk as he leaned forward and set his forearms on his knees. “And I cannae explain.”

“Why not?”

“Some things are meant to stay a secret, kazlita,” he murmured, calling her sweetheart in Dragonese. A dumb ass move. He shouldn’t be giving her a pet name. Endearments were reserved for mated females…for when a male staked his claim. Wallaig cringed inside. He was off the rails, acting the fool, saying things he shouldn’t, wishing for a future that would never exist. “’Tis safer that way.”

“For who?”

“You.”

Her brow furrowed. “None of this makes sense. Something about the letters are odd.”

“How so, lass?”

Amantha glanced down at the one she held, then back at him. “I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong with them exactly. I mean, all the words are here…the sentences and paragraphs. It sounds right, and yet, I don’t understand a thing. She seems happy. Says she loves him, but…”

Wallaig raised a brow, encouraging her to keep talking.

She flapped the letter in her hand. “I’m confused.”

“About what?”

“It’s weird. I know Elise, Wallaig. We’ve been best friends since sixth grade. We’ve never kept secrets from one another.” Nibbling on her thumb nail. Amantha shook her head. “Something is missing in these pages, as though she couldn’t bring herself to write the whole truth. And also…”

Pausing, she shuffled the papers, tucking one page behind another. “These are personal letters, more like journal entries. It’s as though she wrote them for herself, not for me and…well, I’m not sure she intended for me to see them.”

He huffed. Smart lass. Very astute. “She didn’t, Amantha. Elise wanted to email you and explain. Her mate told her no, that it was too dangerous. He worries continued contact with Elise will place you in jeopardy.”

“Why?”

“I cannae say.”

“Then why are you here?” she asked, fisting the letters in her lap. Paper crinkled as she glared at him. “Why am I holding these?”

“Because I decided it was worth the risk. I thought you should know your friend is safe. And Elise will feel better now that you know.”

Amantha blinked. A second later, her frustration shifted into appreciation. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“Will you get in trouble?” she asked, worry in her voice.

“Shite, I hope so,” he said, her concern for him lighting a fire in his gut. “I haven’t taken a chunk out of Cyprus in over a month.”

She huffed, then shook her head. “Who’s Cyprus?”

“He’s not mentioned by name in the letters?” Wallaig frowned. Huh. Guess he’d missed that as he’d scanned Elise’s private papers without permission.

“No.”

“Cyprus is your friend’s mate.”

“Is that like a husband?”

“Aye. Exactly like one.” Kind of, but not really. Dragonkind males mated for life, the bond so strong divorce didn’t exist. The word mate meant something, was important and revered, an honor-bound tradition, unlike the use of husband in the human world. “They said their vows last week.”

“Then why didn’t you just say that?”

“Cultural differences, lass. We have our own way of saying things.”

Staring at him as though he’d sprouted antlers, she pursed her lips. “You realize that’s weird, right?”

“Mayhap, but it works.”

“Wait a minute.” Sitting forward in her chair, she treated him to a concerned look. “You’re not in a cult, are you? ’Cause you know, that would explain a lot.”

He snorted. Plucky lass. Charming as hell too. Wallaig couldn’t contain a smile as he shook his head. “Not a cult. A family. A very close knit one.”

“Oh,” she whispered. Her aura flared. He tensed, struggling to maintain control as her bio-energy blasted him, then downgraded, dipping into loneliness. Again. For the fifth fucking time in as many minutes. “That sounds nice.” “It is.” Reacting to the hurt in her voice, he shifted to the edge of his seat, wanting to touch her, knowing he shouldn’t. She tried to smile. Tried to be brave. Tried to be happy for his good fortune. A sad attempt at best and…bloody hell. He disliked seeing her upset. His dragon snarled in outrage, then disconnected his brain from his mouth, forcing him to ask, “Would you like to meet them?”

Her eyes widened. Uncurling her legs, she sat upright in her chair. Her bare foot knocked into the coffee table, making the tea in her untouched mug slosh. “Really? You’d take me to see Elise?”

Wrestling his dragon back under control, he sucked in a breath. Jesus Christ. What in the hell had he just done? Nothing good. Something completely idiotic. Talk about sticking his paw in it. He couldn’t take her home. Couldn’t claim and keep her. Peril paved the way along that path.

He didn’t give a damn about what his dragon wanted. The bastard could disagree all he liked. Wallaig refused to give in to impulse. Desiring Amantha wasn’t enough. Craving her presented the kind of problems he couldn’t allow. He needed to reverse course. Nip his growing attraction in the bud and backpedal as though his feet were on fire.

So…nothing for it. He must explain without hurting her.

How? The hell if he knew, but one thing remained clear. She couldn’t come with him. He needed to make her understand, but as he opened his mouth, hope exploded in her aura, making her blaze with happiness. His chest tightened. The words he wanted to say got stuck in his throat. Bloody hell. He was in serious trouble. Was falling victim to the excitement on her face and the trust growing in her heart.

He needed to man-up—right now. Retract the invitation. Tell Amantha no. Walk out the door and never look back.

The idea left a bad taste in his mouth.

Wallaig pushed past the pain and shoved temptation aside.

Keeping her wasn’t an option. He refused to set her down in the middle of a war. The second he did, he put a price on her head. With a growl, he reached for resolve. Time to step into the breech and tell Amantha the truth. She was better off forgetting about her friend. Better off, much safer, living in her own world than the violent reality of his. His enemies would show no mercy, which meant, like it or not, neither could he.