Flying fast between huge standing stones, Wallaig dodged right, then banked left, diving behind a jagged column jutting up from the sea floor. Nipping at his heels, the yellow dragon hissed behind him. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder. A set of fangs flashed a second before flames flared in his periphery. The air warped. Blistering heat nipped the tip of his tail. The multi-headed spikes along his spine rattled as he roared around another rock formation and—

Boom!

The fireball slammed into the cliff above his head.

The rock face shattered. Shards rained down, pelting him with shrapnel.

Amantha called his name.

Tightening the shield protecting her, he murmured, hoping to calm her. A long shot, but…shite. Anything was better than feeling the chaotic spike of her bio-energy. Her emotion grid indicated fear. She was panicking, heart thumping hard, breathing too fast, her palms so sweaty she kept losing her grip on him.

Wallaig growled as rage too hold. Goddamn the rogues. He wanted to whip around and nail the warrior shadowing him through the rocky maze along the coastline. Not to save himself, but to spare Amantha. He couldn’t stand her pain. Hated the situation along with the necessity of bringing her to this point. And as anger on her behalf tipped into aggression, Wallaig fought to maintain control. The need to rip the yellow-scaled arsehole limb from limb coursed through him.

His mind supplied the details of the kill.

Weaving in and out, he faked right and flew left. The rogue stayed with him, dogging his every move. An imagine took shape and form inside his head. He pictured the bastard’s blood on his claws, heard the screams as he grabbed the warrior’s horns and tore his skull in two.

Christ, but he wanted to do it. Turn the tide. Fight instead of flee. Kill instead of evade. Only one thing kept him from it—Amantha. He didn’t want her to see the bloodbath, never mind get any smeared on her skin. His mate deserved better from him. Was too fine to be touched by such filth, so instead of fighting, he whirled around a rock face and, cutting through thick mist, searched for a way to stay ahead of enemy claws.

Rounding a bend, he reached toward an outcropping. The sharp tips of his talons scraped over stone. A huge boulder broke away from the stone wall. Gripping it like a baseball, he spun around the next curve. White trails whistling off his wingtips, he sensed the rogue following.

“Come on. Come on,” he murmured, waiting for the male to poke his nose around the bend.

A white and yellow dragon snout appeared.

Baring his fangs, Wallaig somersaulted up and over. Halfway through the rotation, he launched the weapon. The huge rock hurtled through the air. Pale scales shimmering in the lowlight, the male squawked, tried to adjust, but—

Bull’s-eye.

The boulder slammed into his head.

Yellow scales blurred as the rogue’s neck whiplashed. His skull slammed into the side of the cliff. Stunned by the blow, the warrior hung in mid-air, struggling to stay airborne.

Kruger snarled his name.

Flipping sideways, Wallaig ducked. Green, black-tipped scales flashed in the moonlight. A bladed tailed whipped past as Kruger dove over top of him. Dark gaze glowing with demonic light, his friend grabbed the rogue by the horns. Spinning full circle, his pack mate gouged the enemy. Black claws pushed into the male’s eye sockets. Dragon blood sprayed up Kruger’s forearms as he punched through the yellow dragon’s skull. The warrior screamed. Kruger showed no mercy, and with a quick twist, snapped his neck. As the bastard died, his corpse turned to ash, sending a flurry of grey flakes into the air.

Flicking flecks from his claws, Kruger glanced his way. “Go, brother.”

“Aye. Get her out of here.” Blue, grey and gold tiger stripped scales streaked into view as Levin rocketed over the cliff edge. “We’ll hold the line until you’re safely away.”

Whirling around, Wallaig took his friend’s advice. “Watch yer six, lads. There are more out there.”

Eager for another fight, Kruger cracked his knuckles.

Levin hissed in challenge as three rogues careened around a stone column.

Already in retreat, Wallaig heard the crack of claws against scales behind him, but didn’t turn around. No sense going back…or worrying about his friends. He knew from experience Levin and Kruger had the enemy in hand. Fast in flight, lethal in a fight, the pair worked well together. Even when outnumbered, the warriors wreaked havoc, delivering a double-edge assault most couldn’t withstand. And as the duo covered his escape, ensuring he got Amantha out in one piece, Wallaig thanked the goddess for his friends.

Most males would’ve saved their own skins.

Not his brothers-in arms. His pack held the line, watching his back as he left the cliffs behind and flew hard for home.

Coastline turned to farmer fields, then gave way to city lights and suburban streets. On the outskirts of Aberdeen, Wallaig circled west. Mountains loomed in the distance as he slowed to a glide on the edge of town. Small houses and narrow streets flowed into granite clad buildings surrounded by wider boulevards. The sky rumbled overhead. The first raindrop struck. Half snow, half water, slush slid over his scales as he spotted the pub on Embers Street.

Owned by the Scottish pack, the Dragon’s Horn—and the century old whiskey distillery behind it—took up three city blocks. Thick stone walls rose around the property, providing privacy while keeping unwanted visitors out. A little patch of heaven protected by magic in the center of the city. Nice and neat. Clean and tidy. The perfect place for dragons to hide in plain view, and precisely where he needed to land.

Zeroing in on the large courtyard behind the pub, Wallaig folded his wings. Gravity took hold, pulling him out of the sky. His back paws thumped down. His fore claws followed, scraping over stone tile a second before he reached around and pulled Amantha off his back.

Quivering in his paw, she wheezed, struggling to breathe.

Shite. Not good. She was past panic, more than upset. Close now to hyperventilating and—

Needing to touch her with his hands, Wallaig shifted into human form. Wrapping her in his arms, he pulled her into his chest. “Shh, kazlita, shh. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

She shook her head. “I can’t breathe. I c-can’t catch my breath. I’m—”

“I’ve got you,” he said, repeating it over and over as he picked her up and strode across the courtyard. Cradling her in his arms, he bypassed the fountain featuring a three-headed snake, stepped onto the porch, and sat down on a wooden bench. Rain pattered against the roof above his head. Wallaig arranged her in his lap, setting her astride him, pulling her close, letting her feel the warmth of his skin. “Breathe, lass. I’ve got you.”

“Wallaig.” With a small cry, she clutched at him. “Those dragons were so scary, and…G-god, the fireball. It nearly h-hit us.”

“I know, but it’s over now,” he murmured, caressing her back, hating the scent of her fear. “We’re home, Amantha. You’re safe. The bastards cannae track us here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Aye.”

Her head tucked beneath his chin, she shuddered against him.

He kept talking, praising her courage, telling her how proud she made him, using the steady rhythm of his voice to help calm her. Seconds passed into minutes. Pressing her face to the side of his throat, Amantha started to breathe easier. One stilted inhale turned into deeper ones and…miracle of miracles, the strategy seemed to work. The more he talked, the more she relaxed. Another shiver shook her. He upped his game, deepening his voice, caressing her with gentle hands and soft words. Little by little, the tension drained from her muscles, leaving her soft and pliant in his arms.

“Sweet lass. You were so brave.”

“Wallaig?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you okay?” she asked, tone soft with concern. Her hand moved over his arm, checking for scrapes.

His chest went tight. Precious wee lass. Her fear for him cracked him wide open. Love poured out, filling him so full he couldn’t contain it. Stroking her hair, he cleared his throat. “A few bumps and bruises. Naught to worry about, lass.”

“Okay, good, but…” As she trailed off, he angled his head to better view her face. Eyes closed, a frown marring her brow, she pressed her cheek against his chest. “Can we not do that ever again?”

“Never again, kazlita,” he said, kissing her temple. “I swear on my life—never again.”

His vow to keep her safe spiralled into the open air, joining the drum of rain on the roof. Amantha sighed as the last of her fear faded. She snuggled closer. He hugged her tighter, content to hold and keep her warm, unwilling to rush her inside. The night was only half over. He had plenty of time. All he wanted to do now was ensure her comfort.

The rest would follow.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to show her what she meant to him. His strategy was simple: keep his word and win her heart. He’d already given her fair warning. She knew he planned to keep her. Now, all he needed to do was convince her to stay.