GWEN

Even though it's humid and warm in the room, Mara gets into bed, fully dressed, and pulls her blankets (beach towels, really) up to her chin and goes to sleep. I glance out one of the broken, dusty windows of the old bed and breakfast, and it's not quite sundown yet. Maybe she's just tired. I know I am.

It's been a long, hot day of walking. The sun beat down on us all afternoon, and with little breeze to cool us, I've sweated in my T-shirt until it's completely wet against my skin. I feel gross and like I need a shower, but it'd be useless without new clothing to switch into. Several times through the day, I thought about turning to Vaan and asking him to shift and carry us in flight, but Mara's terrified of him. I didn't want to make things worse than they already are.

Plus, there are reasons to keep Vaan in human form and at my side. A dragon overhead calls all the wrong kinds of attention—not just human attention, but dragon attention, too. He'd be a beacon for anyone wondering why a dragon's moving through an area and not attacking. And while a dragon can't be hurt by bullets, it doesn't mean that people don't try to shoot them down…and that would mean Mara and I would be in danger of being hit if he was carrying us.

Walking gives us time to scavenge and look for food or supplies. More than that, walking gives me long days to watch Vaan and see how he reacts to Mara's presence. If he can be around her without attacking her and she's not his mate…then that means there's no reason not to go back to Fort Shreveport.

And I want to go back. I already feel like I've been away for too long.

Vaan moves restlessly back and forth as I take my time putting together my bed. The floor here is dirty and creaky, and I’m not entirely sure the wood boards are completely stable, but luckily for us there’s an old, grayed Persian rug holding everything together. Of course, it’s also filthy and so it’s not ideal to sleep on either. So I carefully lay out my beach towels until there’s a decently clean spot for my bed, and then I stuff a few rolled ones into my backpack to soften it as a pillow. I keep one towel out for a light blanket, but it’s so hot I want to strip all of my clothing off as it is and run naked through the streets hoping for a breeze. In fact, the thought of lying down in a bed in this heat with my clothes sticking to my body doesn’t sit well with me. I consider my bed and then glance over at Vaan. He’s watching me intently, eyes whirling, and I feel more restless than ever. He’s watching me, not Mara.

That’s something at least. My earlier jealousy of her feels foolish, since Vaan has made it abundantly clear that he wouldn’t care if she fell off the earth. I’m an awful person for being so damn pleased with that. After all, I’m not exactly making the moves on him myself, am I?

Then again, I’m not exactly pushing him away, either. I’m in a limbo state when it comes to Vaan. Am I attracted? Yes. Far too much. Do I hate that I’m not given much of a choice? Yup. Do I worry what’ll happen if I succumb and how it’ll affect the people that depend on me back in Fort Shreveport? Oh yes. I worry about all those things, but little by little, the worries are being resolved. With Mara here and Vaan tolerating her, I think he’ll be fine in the fort. I think I’ll be fine with him as my boyfriend, or mate, or whatever you call it. If Vaan taught me anything while I was injured, it’s that he would care for me as intently and as wholeheartedly as Rast cares for Amy. There’s so much appeal to that.

So what’s stopping me from jumping his bones right now?

I think I’m afraid.

Not of him, but of me fucking it up. Everything I touch seems to go wrong, and I end up only making things worse for everyone around me. I left Fort Tulsa with friends and established Fort Shreveport to make a safe place for families. Fucked that up. I tried to invite all refugees in because I thought at heart, people just wanted a safe place to live and raise their children.

Fucked that up, too.

Dealing with the Brothers of Ash? With Amy and Rast, who I tried to drug and sell out? Saving my little sister Daniela? Fucked it all up good.

I’m pretty sure if given the chance, I’d fuck up Vaan in ways we haven’t even imagined, and something that’s supposed to be good and sweet and pure and right will end up being bitter and ugly and hurtful.

So I haven’t encouraged more kisses. I haven’t tried to let him get closer. Even though sometimes I wake up at night with his body pressed against mine and wonder what it’d be like to roll over and kiss him, to rub up against him and let things go as far as they can possibly go. See what happens.

Be the dragon’s mate.

I can’t think about it as a betrayal of the human race. I’m too practical. At this point, anyone that would have sold out humanity already did a long time ago and would continue to do so again. I think of Mara with her old, abusive “protector.” I doubt she was with him by choice, but she endured because that’s what you do to survive. Am I being a prima donna about things? If I have to be someone’s property, isn’t it lucky that I’m the property of someone as protective and caring (and okay, hot) as Vaan?

I should be thanking my lucky stars, but I can’t quite shake the feeling that I’m poison to everything I touch and that hooking up with Vaan will be a mistake—not just for me, but for him.

He’s gone through so much already, if what Amy has told us about dragons is true.

Restless, I gaze down at my bed for a long moment and then pace off to see what the rest of the house has to offer.

I don’t have to turn around to know that Vaan is with me. The footsteps behind mine are light for all that he’s twice the size of Mara. I just know Vaan at this point, and I know he wouldn’t let me go off on my own. Not because he’s controlling, but because he wants to make sure I’m safe. I head into the kitchen of the old house and eye the white and black checkerboard marble tiles wistfully. The tile is filthy, which doesn’t bode well for any food to be found, and a quick, cursory look around proves me correct. I turn to go back the way I came and nearly run into Vaan’s chest.

“No go in this direction,” I murmur to him and give his chest a pat.

He looks down at my hand on his chest and grins widely, as if I’ve pleased him somehow.

“Weirdo,” I tell him, but there’s affection in my voice. “Come on, let’s see if there’s anything upstairs.”

I pass through the busted up dining area and foyer, Vaan at my heels, his hand drifting out to touch my arm or my back each time we pass or brush against each other. It’s rather nice and saves me from being creeped out by this place, because it looks like a haunted old Southern mansion. No thanks. I see an area in the front that looks like a giftshop, but it’s been ransacked and destroyed from the elements. It’s easy to see why—a tree from the yard collapsed and took out part of the roof here and all of the windows. “Nothing salvageable,” I murmur.

“No-thing,” Vaan agrees, and I look over at him sharply.

He just gives me another toothy smile and I wonder if he’s picking up more than he’s let on. He could be a genius and I’m talking to him in baby-speak English. I narrow my eyes and pat his shoulder absently. “Want to fuck like bunnies upstairs?”

He rumbles an absent response and yawns, scratching at his chest.

Right. Whew. “I gotcha.” I move to the staircase and eye it unhappily. The stairs are collapsed and the ceiling’s sagging in this area. “It would be monumentally stupid to go up those stairs looking for a score.”

“Stupid,” he agrees.

I snort-giggle at that and abandon my hopes of finding an untouched closet. Instead, I head down another hall and pass through the rooms again. Behind a dresser, I see another doorway—aha. The old master bedroom, neatly concealed behind a massive bureau.

I tap the heavy wood and look over at Vaan. “Think you can move this aside?”

He grunts, stepping in front, and with the nudge of one elbow, shoves it a foot. Dang. He’s strong, even in this form. I give a little shiver, and when he casts a speculative look my way, I pull at my sweat-dampened shirt, pretending it’s the heat—and not the naked, gleaming golden body in front of me—that’s giving me chills.

With one more nudge, Vaan gets the bureau out of the way and then I can see the doorknob. The door itself is warped from time and damp, and when I brace my shoulder against it to try and push it open, Vaan growls. His arm links around my waist and he physically removes me, then steps in front and forces the door open with a great crash of his body against it.

Well, that's certainly effective.

I touch his arm as I walk past him into the room. There's a dusty haze filtering in through the low light, adding a quietly eerie sensation to the room. It feels a bit like a tomb that's been sealed off for ages, but I don't see dead bodies. There's a bed here, covered in a dusty, faded quilt, and flanked by two nightstands. There's a closet and another dresser with shoes neatly lined up on a rack beside it, and a rocking chair with another blanket tossed over it. Everything in here is picture perfect and organized as if it's just waiting for the owner to come back. I move forward, drawn to the dresser because I see a picture frame and a jewelry box. I pick up the picture and blow off the dust, revealing a young white couple, a baby perched in the woman's lap. I figured it'd be white people if it was a restored antebellum mansion. Places like these give black people the creeps because the history's remembered very differently. I put the picture back, thinking about the happy couple and their baby. I hope they got out okay. I hope the jewelry box is totally empty because they took everything of value and left for someplace safe.

But when I flip open the jewelry box, it's full of rings and bracelets, all slightly tarnished but expensive, and my heart hurts a little. Even a wedding ring is nested in a place of honor, waiting for its owner to return. I close the box again. I love sparkly things, but it feels wrong to take these. They can keep waiting, because I won't touch them.

I pull out one of the dresser drawers, looking for clothing instead. Well-made clothes that stand the test of time are always useful, and I don't think the people who lived here before would begrudge me a few pairs of jeans or an extra T-shirt or two. Most everything I find is too large, and I'm “apocalypse thin,” so they'd hang off me. I take a couple of the T-shirts anyhow, and a pair of cutoff jean shorts that look like they might fit, and a bikini top. The clothing sticking to my skin suddenly feels oppressive, and I strip them off, changing into the bikini and shorts and then rubbing the sweat off my body with my old shirt.

God, I already feel a hundred percent better.

I glance over my shoulder and Vaan's watching me with bright gold eyes. He watched me undress. Of course he did. For the last week, he's been pulling my pants down for me. The look in his eyes isn't that of a dispassionate caretaker, though. There's hunger in his gaze tonight, and he's devouring me with a glance. My nipples prick against the soft fabric of the bikini and I'm acutely aware of him as I move to the shoe rack and pick a pair of sneakers up, pretending to be fascinated by the laces.

I'm alone with him right now. I'm wearing a lot less clothing than I usually am. There's a nice big bed. It's like fate's pushing me toward Vaan with a not-so-subtle nudge. And I'm tempted, I really am. Like, we could just shake the dust off the bed, fluff the pillows, and see how things go. I lick my lips, thinking hard.

"Kisssss," Vaan says suddenly.

I tense up, every muscle in my body freezing in surprise. He's thinking the same thing I am. I glance over at him, pretending not to understand. "What?"

"Kissss," he murmurs. He moves toward me and then lightly brushes the backs of his fingers along my now-bare arm. "Kissss mmmeee."

"Your English gets better every day," I tell him, breathless. "Good job." I don't want to look him in the eye, because I'll melt into a puddle of girly goo.

He moves closer to me, ever closer. That prey feeling rises again and I feel a bit like a mouse in front of a hungry snake. Except that feels somehow wrong, too, because I don't feel like Vaan wants to hurt me.

Devour me, yes. Hurt me, no.

Vaan takes another step forward. I can move back, of course. There's plenty of space in the bedroom. But I don't. There's a deep, dark part of me that wants to see what happens if he catches his prey. So I remain utterly still.

And I wait.