More asleep than awake, Wallaig lay flat on his back in the middle of the bed. His chest rose and fell, the rhythm steady, his muscles so loose he floated on a wave of relaxation. Unusual for him. Most days his feet hit the floor before his mind registered the shift. Pure instinct. Complete focus. Zero hesitation. No need to lounge around in order to wake up, but…

He sighed, the soft rumble full of satisfaction.

What a day, a near perfect seven hours of sleep. A rarity for him. Five was the norm, all he needed on a regular basis. But with Amantha beside him, his dragon half settled, happy to stay in the moment instead of rushing into the next. Eyes still closed, his mouth curved. A nice change, one that made him lazy. Now, he didn’t want to get up. Hell, scratch that. With her in his arms, he never wanted to move again.

Turning toward her, he brushed his lips over her hair. Soft, luxurious strands caressed his skin, clinging to the stubble on his jaw. Prickles of pleasure shimmered through him. Another sigh escaped him. Gorgeous female. Such a spirited lass. He’d woken her twice during the day, his need for her so great he’d been unable to leave her alone: touching her, loving her, surrounding himself in the warmth of her personality. True to her nature, she’d given all he asked, feeding him without hesitation, filling him so full his fingertips still tingled from the blast of her bio-energy.

His beast stretched in contentment. Magic thrummed through his veins, and Wallaig hummed. Goddess, it felt so good to be full. Over the years, he’d learned to live with the hunger, along with the longing—the constant gnaw of energy greed and never getting enough. In one afternoon, Amantha had banished the ache, aligning with his dragon half, meeting and matching him so well he couldn’t believe his good fortune.

Giving her a gentle squeeze, he kissed the top of her head. Worn out by his attentions, Amantha didn’t move. Cheek pressed to his chest, one leg nestled between his thighs, she slept like only a well-pleasured female could, lost in dreams and oblivious to world. He wanted to keep it that way. Let her sleep on. Hold her a while longer. Maybe even make love to her again, but…

A rumble of annoyance left his throat.

It sucked to be him. Lounging in bed all evening wasn’t part of the plan. He glanced toward the curtains covering the windows. Drawn tight against the sun, the glow of UV rays dimmed around the fabric edges. It wouldn’t be long now—forty-five minutes to an hour and the sun would go down. The second dusk arrived he needed to be in full flight, moving east toward the coast. Which meant, time to check in. His commander might be a patient male, but he wouldn’t wait much longer.

Calling on the connection he shared with his pack mates, he opened a channel into mind-speak. “Cyprus.”

“About bloody time.” The snarl exploded between his temples, broadcasting his commander’s mood. “Where are you?”

“On a ship headed for Norway.”

Fabric rustled. Something creaked—a bed maybe—the faint sounds coming through the link as Cyprus shifted. “What happened?”

“Got myself into a wee bit of trouble in Edinburgh.”

“What the hell, Wallaig? You weren’t patrolling anywhere near Edinburgh last night.”

True enough. He’d started the evening on the south-east boundary, patrolling with Kruger. His friend had gone home at the end of the night. He hadn’t. “I made a pit stop in the city.”

“And?”

“I stopped to check on Amantha.”

Cyprus cursed. “Did I not tell you tae leave well enough alone?”

“I decided something different.”

“I’m going tae rip your tail off and shove it up your arse when you get home.”

“Good luck with that,” he said, chuckling. Hell, a fight sounded like fun. Better than good. Would be all kinds of interesting too. Cyprus might be younger by almost a century, but age didn’t matter. The male never disappointed. He fought dirty and always packed a punch. “What’s done is done, Cy. You want to hear the rest or not?”

“Jesus Christ,” his commander growled. “All right—tell me.”

Without hesitation, Wallaig relayed the details, leaving nothing out—his decision to leave the letters, his breaking into Amantha’s apartment, her reaction to him, his surprise at meeting her…the worry his female carried for Elise. As he talked, Cyprus listened, absorbing the information, behaving the way a skilled commander of warriors should—hearing him out, gathering all the facts before making a determination.

“The rogues surrounded Elise and Amantha’s building?” Cyprus asked, a frown in his voice.

“Aye.”

“Grizgunn went after her specifically?”

“I think he was after Elise, but stumbled onto Amantha instead.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Aye, and make no mistake. The bastard had the address. He knew what he was after—an HE female.”

“Amantha’s high-energy?”

“In the best possible way,” he murmured, glancing at the woman asleep in his arms.

Cyprus snorted. “Do I need to ask where she is now?”

“Do you truly wish to know?”

“Be careful, Wallaig,” his commander said, amusement in his tone. “You hurt her, and Elise will skin you alive.”

No doubt. Elise might be a sweetheart most of the time, but she possessed the kind of courage most people lacked. A good thing. His commander needed a strong female by his side. A woman more than just capable of standing her ground, but also able to stop Cyprus in his tracks.

“I’m not going to hurt her, Cy. Amantha is mine.”

Cyprus drew a sharp breath. “You’re sure?”

“She’s my mate. No question. I aim to claim her when she’s ready.”

“You’ve got tae get her home first.”

“Which is where you and the lads come in,” he said. “I need back-up. Grizgunn almost had me in Edinburgh. The near win will make him bold. He won’t stop. The bastard will keep coming. My guess is he’ll fly out at dusk and—”

“Try tae kill you and take Amantha before you reach the safety of our lair.”

“Exactly. We need to set an ambush. Once I leave the ship, I’ll make straight for—”

“Amber Cove.”

Wallaig growled as the plan took shape. The ragged cliffs and natural rock formations at Amber Cove acted like a labyrinth, moving inland from the coast, forming deep canyons. He loved flying inside the narrow corridors. The topography was a challenge for any dragon to navigate, but for a male who didn’t know the terrain, it would prove deadly.

Shifting on the sheets, Wallaig stroked his hand over Amantha’s back. Her soft skin settled him as his mind churned, and he stared at the ceiling. Smooth joints. Perfect paint job. As seamless as the strategy forming inside his head. “We’ll use the labyrinth to hem the rogues in. Take them out one at a time.”

“Might work.”

“Should work…as long as Grizgunn takes the bait.”

Cyprus grunted. “You comfortable with that?”

“Nay.” Not even a little. Wallaig clenched his teeth. “I donnae want Amantha anywhere near the fighting. She’s already had one close call today.”

“Grizgunn won’t take the bait until he sees her with you,” Cyprus said, a wealth of caution in his words. “For the ambush tae work, he needs tae follow you into the labyrinth.”

“I know,” he said, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach.

“Speak with her, Wallaig. Be honest, tell her the whole truth. Trust your mate tae be strong enough tae be part of our pack…tae help eliminate our enemies.”

Easier said than done. He hated the idea of her in danger. His beast raged, refusing to contemplate using her as bait. But as Cyprus continued to talk, laying out the rest of the plan, Wallaig couldn’t argue with him. The strategy held all the hallmarks of a successful mission. One small problem: the female he didn’t wish to risk, and now knew he couldn’t live without. Too bad opportunity waited for no one. He held the chance to eliminate the Danish pack in the palm of his hand, so…

No real choice at all.

Like it or not, he must take his commander’s advice. Be honest. Tell Amantha everything, then trust her to make a decision that would affect the entire Scottish pack. Hugging her tighter, Wallaig glanced at the curtains again. Weak light bled around the fabric edges. He didn’t have much time. The sun continued its descent, dipping low on the horizon as the ship powered over rolling waves.

The subtle motion seeped into his bones.

Wallaig closed his eyes and turned toward Amantha. He traced the arch of her eyebrow. Caressed the curve of her cheek. The need to protect her chased desire through his veins. Drawing a fortifying breath, he kissed the tip of her nose. So beautiful. So trusting in his arms. His mate, a true gift from the goddess.

With a murmur, he stroked her bottom. Goose bumps pebbled on her skin. She grumbled, then stretched, murmuring his name as her legs slid against his. Kissing her gently, he sent a prayer heavenward, asking the Goddess of All Things for guidance. He needed to find the right words, a way to explain without frightening her. The last thing he wanted was for her to run scared. A distinct possibility when she learned the plan—that she was about to become the bait in a game of cat and mouse designed to catch a monster.