Boots planted on beat-up carpet in the hallway, Wallaig paused outside the door. Apartment Seventeen, plastic numbers hanging off wood that had seen better days. Jesus. If he hadn’t labeled it a shithole before, the inside of the building confirmed it. With a grunt of disgust, he conjured a pair of sunglasses. The LEDs in the corridor were killing him. The illumination bled from multiple wall scones, combining with trace energy, hampering his ability to detect the colourful streams.

Wallaig scowled. Sometimes he hated human ingenuity. The new-fangled, bright-as-hell light bulbs always gave him a headache.

Needing relief, he slid on the wraparounds. Fed by magic, his vision warped. As colorful energy streams normalized, the ache between his temples moved to the back of his skull, downgrading from pounding thump to annoying throb. Thank God. He didn’t need the distraction. Not while he stood in a strange building fighting with the feeling something was about to go wrong.

Paranoia? Probably, but no matter how many times he told his dragon half to settle down, the beast refused to listen. The bastard turned up the heat instead, setting him on edge, making his skin prickle in warning. A chill skated up his spine. Stifling a shiver, Wallaig rubbed the nape of his neck. Something was off. Not by much—perhaps, just a touch left of center—but enough to make him wonder what stood on the other side of the door.

Eyes narrowed on the wooden panel, Wallaig fired up his magic. His sonar pinged, casting a wide net. A series of pings echoed inside his head and… told him nothing. Zero information. Zero reason to be concerned. Nothing but clear skies outside overlooking a bunch of sleeping humans inside.

Which made no sense. If a threat existed, he should be able to detect it.

Frowning, Wallaig disengaged the top lock with his mind. A snick sounded through the quiet as he flipped the second deadbolt, then waited. For what? He didn’t know. Trouble, maybe, but…shite. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Couldn’t quite figure out what bothered him about the building or the apartment he planned to enter.

Curiosity made him reach out. His hand closed on the knob. With a quick turn of the handle, he pushed the door open. Old hinges squeaked. The sound raised the fine hairs on his nape. Closing his eyes, he hunted for the problem. Not a scent or a sound. No voices in the hallway behind him. No movement from inside the apartments on this floor or the one below. And yet…

A strange hum hung in the air, supercharging his senses, setting his teeth on edge.

Flexing his hands, he tried to isolate the frequency. Luxurious threads of bio-energy danced across his skin. Wallaig growled as delight sparked inside his veins. Hmm, yum. Fucking delicious and…he titled his head to a better read…definitely an unknown. Something different. A whole new classification. Not so much a buzzing thrum. More of a sizzle, as though electrostatic current bled through the thin walls, drugging him with sensation, seducing him with inferno-like heat, urging him to locate the source.

A dangerous path. Particularly for him.

He never charged into a situation without knowing what lay ahead first. Dragons died that way all the time. But as the abundant energy swamped him, Wallaig took an involuntary step forward. God, so good. It was so bloody good and—

He should ignore it. Should turn the hell around and sprint in the opposite direction. A smart move. The best play, all things considered, but…

Wallaig stifled a groan as the bio-energy throttled into dangerous levels. Like a siren’s song, the signal sang to him, promising decadence, luring him into dangerous waters and…aw, man. Not good. He hadn’t fed in a while. No time in recent months. Little inclination to find a female and draw what he needed to stay healthy either. But as another wave of energy hammered him, the hunger he hadn’t felt in months hit him like a tsunami.

He groaned. Fucking hell. What folly. He knew better than to leave it this long. Now, he was screwed, a slave to his dragon half as ravenous need collided with unholy impulse.

Fixated on the open door, his beast snarled. Clinging to his control by a thread, Wallaig locked his knees. He needed to calm down. No way could he step over the threshold while riding the razor’s edge and…Goddess give him strength. What the hell was it? As soon as the question entered his mind, he dismissed it. Whatever stood in the apartment didn’t feel like a what. Which meant it must be a who. His brows collided. Or rather a she—a full blooded HE female with—

Another blast of bio-energy rolled over him.

His thoughts splintered as need ramped into uncontrollable lust.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, stifling another groan.

Jesus help him. He wanted some of that. A piece of her. Right now.

A bad idea. Nowhere near advisable. Touching her wouldn’t end well. Not while amped up by hunger and desperate need. His beast wouldn’t be gentle. He was too far gone. Was being dragged inch by precarious inch toward primal need by biological imperative. Animal instinct reigned supreme, which meant his dragon would take what it wanted: fast, furious, glorious pleasure without a thought to the consequences.

Fear of hurting her forced him to drop mental anchors. Time to abandon ship. Jump overboard…whatever. Just as long as he turned the hell around and walked away.

Great plan. Perfect, but for one problem.

His dragon half refused to heed the all-halt. The bastard was already in motion, pushing the door all the way open, picking up his feet, propelling him over the threshold. Right into the siren’s den.