Galvanized by the female’s fear, Cyprus sprinted across the cathedral. His heart beat double time. His ability to sense her shot forward, hanging onto to her like grabbing hooks and…thank Jesus. He could still feel her. Was connected in the most elemental of ways: embedded inside her thoughts, locked inside her mind, experiencing her kidnapping first hand. He gritted his teeth and ran faster. Goddess forgive him for not reaching her in time. Terrified. She was absolutely terrified, crying out his name, reaching for him through the spread of razor-sharp claws as Grizgunn turned tail and fled.

The bastard slashed at the ceiling, widening the gap.

Slate tiles poured through the jagged hole, shattering against the church floor. His dragon half snarled. His magic flared. Orange flame followed, licking over his shoulders, making his chest heave and knees piston. Footfalls echoing against stone, he watched Grizgunn escape into open air.

Bloody hell. Not good. The bastard held the advantage now—was ahead of him, in dragon form…with the female clutched in his talon.

Legs and arms pumping, Cyprus inhaled. His lungs expanded. Fire and acid pooled, combining into a nasty cocktail at the back of his throat. A single exhale, and he’d fry the bastard. Take him apart scale by scale as his particular-brand-of-brutal scorched the webbing on Grizgunn’s wings. The perfect plan, but for one problem. He couldn’t unleash hell. Not with a female in the middle of the target zone. The second the force of his exhale stuck, toxic liquid would splash up and out. She’d be burned alive, the fury of his fire-acid incinerating her on contact.

With a growl, Cyprus sucked in more air. The shot of oxygen hit him like rocket-fuel. Speed arrived like an explosion, thrusting him forward as Grizgunn’s spiked tail disappeared from view. The female screamed again. The fear-filled cry resonated inside his skull and—

Goddamn it. He was a dumbass.

No way should he have allowed the male to shift. Pinning him down in human form would’ve been better. The best strategy, advisable all the way around, but well…shite. He hadn’t counted on her: the sight of her, the scent of her, the zip of her energy fogging the air…along with his brain.

He’d never encountered anyone like her. Not once in all his years of living. Like an inferno, the female burned bright, possessing the kind of bio-energy Dragonkind males yearned to touch. Sad to say, he was no different. He’d played the fool the moment he laid eyes on her: imagining, salivating, hesitating just long enough to give Grizgunn the upper hand.

Goddamn it. He was an idiot.

He never should have entered her mind and spoken to her. The psychic touch—the brief reassurance—had been a mistake. A distraction he couldn’t afford. He’d known it the moment she opened her mental doors and invited him in, accepting his presence…making his heart thump, his mind throb, and his dragon drift left of center.

Not a great idea in a fire fight, but…to hell with it. Forget about Grizgunn. His priorities had shifted, dampening his need to annihilate, giving him a new mission…the female. All he wanted—all he could think about—was retrieving her. Taking her home. Ensuring her safety while he saw to her comfort.

Catapulting off the top step, he leapt skyward and shifted into dragon form. Black and white scales speckled orange rattled over his body like a fast-moving bush fire. Heat blasted through him. Aggression followed as he unfurled his wings. Orange webbing caught air. With a powerful thrust, he spiraled through the hole in the ceiling. His view of a stormy sky expanded. Night vision sparking, he flew around the church spire and—

“Cyprus—right flank!”

Levin’s voice. A fireball flashed in his periphery.

Cyprus somersaulted into a sideways flip. Green flame streaked past, singeing his wing. Pain pulsed over his shoulder. Cyprus ignored the discomfort. Fucking Grizgunn. Was the bastard actually challenging him in open skies? Shite, he hoped so. The whelp wouldn’t stand a chance. Not against him. Bigger, stronger, more experienced than Grizgunn, he’d descale the male faster than it took to peel an orange.

A lovely plan. One problem with it.

Grizgunn wasn’t stupid. The bastard had brought reinforcements. Eight males strong, the contingent attacked his warriors. In a bright burst of red scales, Wallaig feigned left and banked right, nailing two rogues with his claws on the fly-by. Cyprus grinned and scanned the battle as Kruger attacked a rogue head-on and Levin grabbed another by the tail. With a snarl, his warrior dragged the male backwards through the air. Wing-flapping, the rogue shrieked. Levin growled and, whirling around, slammed the turquoise-scaled idiot skull-first into the side of a building.

Brick crumbled into the street below.

The scent of dragon blood filled the air.

The sky broke open. Rain fell as lightning flashed across the night sky.

Raindrops peppered him, then slid along his scales. Cyprus barely noticed. Busy hunting for Grizgunn’s blue scales in the storm glow, he increased his wing-speed and watched Wallaig gut a male. A violent north wind blew in. He scanned the horizon beyond the city, searching for the female’s unique energy signal, trying to see through smoke and rain. She had to be here, in the fray…somewhere. Grizgunn wasn’t that skilled. No way had he found a way around the fight so fast.

More lightning cracked overhead.

Another dragon roared.

Panic set in. Bloody hell. He couldn’t hear her anymore. The tether connecting him to her kept stretching. Was thinning by the second. Hunting for her, he circled away from the protection of his own pack. “Where the fuck is he?”

“Who?” Green, black-tipped scales flashing, Kruger latched onto a rogue. Triple bladed claws sank into the male’s neck as Kruger drove him backwards. The rogue screamed in pain. Without mercy, his warrior twisted. Bone snapped. The brutal crack echoed, and the male disintegrated, coating Kruger’s scales with ash. “The idiot inside the church?”

“Grizgunn,” he said. “He has a female.”

“For Christ’s sake.” Speed supersonic, navy, gray and gold scales slick with rain, Levin chased down another rogue. “Why didn’t you hammer the arsehole inside?”

Cyprus bared his fangs on a snarl. “The bastard had her by the throat.”

“Ah,” Wallaig said with something close to sympathy. Cyprus cringed. God save him from his own warrior. The older male surpassed eerie on the rising intuitive scale. Wallaig never guessed…at anything. He didn’t need to. His XO read males like open books, unearthing the truth without ever asking a question. “She’s yer mate.”

Bull’s-eye. Dead center. Wallaig was in fine form tonight. “I donnae know. Not for sure.”

“You didn’t get close enough to touch her?” Grabbing a rogue by the hind-leg, his XO turned and threw him at Levin. As Levin murmured “thank ye” and punched the male in the face, Wallaig flew in behind him. “Well—what say you, lad?”

“She accepted me. I spoke to her, Wallaig.”

“Through mind speak?”

“Aye and…goddamn it—I cannae see shite from here.” Angling his wings, Cyprus rocketed into a tight turn. A rogue hissed at him on the fly-by. Cyprus pulled up short and lashed out. His claws struck yellow scales. Blood splattered his forearm. Talons digging deep, he held on, cutting through muscle to reach bone. The rogue squawked. Cyprus revolved into a terrain-blurring spin. On the third revolution, he released the warrior. Unable to control the flight, the male slammed face first into the cliff below Edinburgh Castle. “I need a visual, lads. Now—before Grizgunn gets away.”

“Pale blue scales?” Spiraling into a back flip, Levin sliced through a rogue’s wing with his spiked tail. “I see him.”

“Where?”

“North. The arsehole’s using the fight to cover his retreat.”

His attention snapped left. Cyprus searched the sky north of the city. The downpour blurred the landscape, but…a glimmer of blue shimmered in the storm flash. “Got him. I’m—”

“Go, Cy,” Kruger said, hammering another rogue.

“Retrieve her,” Levin said, seconding his best friend. “We’ve got this.”

Focus locked on Grizgunn, Cyprus disengaged from the fight. He swung north, giving Kruger a wide berth as he took on two rogues at once. “Follow when you’re through.”

“Might be a while,” Wallaig said. “Might have to show the bastards a thing or two. I haven’t had this much fun in years.”

Cyprus snorted, then shook his head. Crazy bastard. His XO never backed away from a fight, but to prolong one? He thought about it a moment. Aye. No question at all. Wallaig wasn’t above playing with his prey before he killed it.

“Oh, and Cyprus?”

“What?”

“Cover yer arse, laddie.” The crack of scales echoed as Wallaig stabbed a rogue with the horn he’d just ripped off the male’s head. “Grab her and go. No heroics without back-up.”

The advice pissed him off.

A bad reaction. Particularly since Wallaig was right.

Hunting alone never amounted to a good idea. Neither did risking a high-energy female. But as he tracked Grizgunn across the rain-soaked sky, over Forth Bridge and into the forest north of the firth, the urge to ignore the rules jabbed at him. He might be commander of the Scottish pack, but he was a male first and foremost. One with the need to protect a female. Possessiveness ate at him. Territorial instinct pointed the way. He wanted the male dead for hurting her. Nothing less than complete annihilation would satisfy him. Not now. Not ever. One way or the other, back-up or nay, he would see her safe, then make Grizgunn pay for daring to take her at all.