Saina.

Even her name was beautiful, as lovely and unique as she was. Her voice had a faint British-Indian accent.

Standing against the sunset, she was a dark silhouette, with long, loose hair to the middle of her back. She was neither short nor particularly tall, with lush curves in all the right places. Lydia’s dress was flattering on her, a swish of embroidered white fabric to her knees, and Bastian wanted nothing more than to peel her out of it, lay her down on his hoard and claim her outright.

He wrestled his dragon back, checking her bandages, and was happy to find that her wounds were healing more swiftly than he’d expected.

“You must be hungry,” he said, once he’d taped it all carefully back on, every electric touch tantalizing and tempting.

“I’m famished,” Saina said, as if it hadn’t occurred to her before.

His dragon was pleased with the idea of feeding her, but Bastian doubted she would want the cow carcass that he suggested.

“There’s a buffet,” Bastian said swiftly. “The best food. All gourmet. Chef is world-class, you won’t be disappointed.”

His dragon suggested feeding Chef to her if she found his food in any way lacking.

I doubt she’s a cannibal, Bastian said chidingly.

We would love her even if she was, his dragon assured him.

Saina rose, and accepted the elbow that Bastian offered her with her good hand.

“You’re okay to walk?” he verified. “I could… carry you.”

She laughed, and her laugh was like music. “I assure you that won’t be necessary.”

She had to walk carefully on the gravel path; it was getting dark, and once she stumbled and hissed in pain, her hand tightening on Bastian’s elbow.

When they arrived at the restaurant, he put her at the best table. Scarlet didn’t encourage the staff to sit in the restaurant, preferring that they take their food and eat it privately, but at that moment, Bastian would have faced down her wrath. This was his mate, and he had every intention of feeding her in style.

There were only a few guests at other tables, and the white bandages, stark against Saina’s golden skin, drew just a few curious stares.

Bastian’s baleful glare put those to a swift end.

“Stay here. I will fetch you whatever you like,” he said, settling her in the chair and not liking how strained her face looked.

“Oh,” she said. “Some fruit would be lovely. Maybe some fish? I’m not picky, and it all smells amazing.”

Bastian was reluctant to leave her, and he piled her plate as swiftly as he could with a slab of baked fish, every kind of fruit the buffet had to offer, and a serving of fragrant saffron rice. He arranged it as pleasingly as he could, stealing a bit of garnish from the buffet display for the finishing touch. He was trying to work out whether he should put her dessert on a separate plate when his dragon growled in warning.

Dessert forgotten, Bastian returned to his mate’s table at a trot, to find the head waiter, Breck, dancing attendance on his Saina.

The leopard shifter was gazing at her in clear adoration, and Saina - his Saina! -  was smiling back encouragingly.

His intended presentation forgotten, Bastian dropped the plate before his mate hard enough to make the food jump and muscled his way between Breck and the table, bristling with challenge. One of the chairs in his way toppled over backwards.

“Your work here is done,” he growled.

Breck reacted with unexpected defiance.  

“I’m here to take the lady’s drink order,” he said, not backing down.

“The lady is here with me,” Bastian snarled.

“Maybe she shouldn’t be…” Breck retorted, fists balled at his side.

He was dimly aware of the other guests in the room, some of them standing in alarm, some of them growling. He was going to tear Breck limb from limb, destroy the interloper, protect his treasure…

And then Breck was chuckling and putting up hands of mock truce, and everything was surprisingly fine. The waiter wasn’t a threat, there was no threat, there was only peace, like the comforting rhythm of the ocean. His mate was standing, he realized, and she was singing.

Guests returned to their meals as if nothing had happened. Breck cheerfully picked up the knocked over chair, and said, “I’ll have your drink right out.”

Bastian watched him go, baffled, then turned to catch Saina, now silent, as she swayed and nearly fell.

“I’m confused,” he confessed to her, lowering her carefully back into her chair and pulling up his own chair.

She was breathing hard. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she said, despair in her sea green eyes. “It was just a habit…”

“What did you do?”

“It was an accident,” Saina said wearily, and Bastian couldn’t bring himself to press her to explain. Instead, he lifted a fork and speared a triangle of pineapple. He could still feed his beloved.