Dressed in comfortable sweats, Elise sat alone at the dining room table, one thought circling like vultures over a dead body. She couldn’t go home…ever.

Not if she wanted to stay alive.

Amantha was going to kill her.

Pain and regret tumbled through her as she thought of her best friend. She’d been there through thick and thin, a constant source of laughter and support. God, she was going to miss her snarky attitude. Her warped sense of humor and big-hearted generosity too. Throat gone tight, Elise set her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm. Maybe she could find a way to contact Amantha. Let her know that she was all right, not lying dead in a ditch somewhere. Her friend deserved to know. She didn’t want her to worry, and Amantha would boil over without news. Pace herself silly, eat too many sweets waiting for Elise to get in touch.

Maybe she should mention it to Cyprus. A phone call wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Elise chewed on the question, wondering what he would say…and if she’d be safe doing anything in the human world.

Cyprus didn’t pull any punches. Or make any bones about how dangerous Edinburgh would be for her now. He’d been honest to the point of bluntness, explaining about Grizgunn and the asshole’s ability to track her if she left the safety Cyprus and his pack provided.

Talk about a fist to the solar plexus. An hour had passed since the big reveal: talk of energy feedings and magical talents, the ability to shift between human and dragon form…her importance as a high-energy female in the Dragonkind world.

The concept shook her foundation, yet made her feel special too. Worthy. Deserving of attention. Important to someone. Truly seen for the first time in years. It was as though she’d been waiting her entire life for someone to lift the veil and hand her the information.

Which was weird. Not at all the right reaction.

She should be running, screaming, freaking out in major ways. All she’d managed so far was an upset stomach. Elise frowned at the paisley table cloth. Ugly swirling pattern. Gaudy color combination. Zero panic in sight. Just a terrible case of indigestion as reality sank in, then reached out to nudge her. Again. For what seemed like the millionth time since Cyprus lifted her out of the shower, dried her off, and dressed her with nothing but a thought.

Swallowing the awful taste in her mouth, Elise smoothed her hand over the sleeve of her dark orange sweatshirt. It was insane. Barely believable at all. He’d conjured clothes for her out of thin air. With nothing more than the wave of his hand.

Magic, he said.

A whole lot of crazy town, she thought (very quietly) to herself.

No sense voicing her opinion and insulting him. After all Cyprus had done for her—holding her throughout the day, healing her injuries, letting her cry all over him—upsetting him somehow seemed rude. Like the worse sort of affront. Elise huffed. Not the Canadian way at all. Her countrymen would be appalled and—

Her imbecilic train of thought proved it. She’d clearly lost her mind. Or what little remained of it, worrying more about hurting Cyprus’s feelings than finding a way home.

“Talmina.”

Jumping in her chair, her head snapped toward the door.

Two plates in hand, Cyprus stood beneath the archway, so tall the top of his head brushed the lintel, so broad his shoulders blocked her view into the kitchen. Pale purple eyes met hers. “You’re stewing again.”

“Can you blame me?” she asked, her gaze drifting over him. A frisson of excitement shivered through her. Man, get a load of him. He did something serious for her. She loved looking at him. Wanted to be back in the shower with her hands on him again. A sinking sensation pooled in her belly, vibrating between her hipbones. Pressing her thighs together, Elise cleared her throat, fighting to keep herself on task and her mind out of the gutter. “I just learned I’m food for Dragonkind.”

“Not Dragonkind, just me.” His mouth curved as he walked toward her. Desire in his eyes, he looked her over, making her want and crave without laying a hand on her. “And what a pretty feast you make.”

“Okay, that’s not helpful.” She squirmed in her seat. “I’m supposed to be thinking here, figuring things out, not—”

“Lusting? Imagining the hot slide of my tongue over your skin?”

“That’s…you…good grief.” Heat rocketed through her, blooming in unwise places. She scowled at him. “Do you have an off button?”

“Nay. Not when it comes tae you.” Grinning like an evil sex god, he set a plate down in front of her. Placing the other dish to her left, he planted his hand on the tabletop and leaned over her.

Unable to stop herself, Elise tipped her chin up. Her lips parted.

With a growl, he accepted the invitation and, fisting his fingers in her hair, invaded her mouth. He took it deep, stroking her with his tongue, delivering his taste, giving her a contact high along with the pleasure. Her heart throbbed. Blood rushed in her ears, making her lightheaded. When she moaned, he drew away, gentling his grip, treating her to soft kisses instead of deep possession.

Breathing hard, his mouth a hair’s breadth from hers, he hummed. “Fuck, you’re delicious. You make me forget myself.”

“More,” she whispered, addicted to his taste. “Kiss me again.”

Cyprus shook his head and, releasing her hair, retreated. “Eat, lass. We’ll get to the sex soon enough.”

Sex. Sex with Cyprus.

The thought shivered through her. Libidinous greed followed, running circles around her. Going to bed with him wouldn’t be polite. It would be down and dirty, hot and sweaty, so intense he would no doubt blow her mind. But wow, what a way to go. Elise nearly groaned as her imagination spun in dangerous directions. Round and round, one lust-fueled revolution churned into another, making desire rise so hard she couldn’t sit still, forcing her to admit…

She wanted him…badly. So much she ached in tender places.

Taking a seat, Cyprus tapped the edge of her plate with his fork. The clink made her blink. Elise forced her mind to refocus. After a second, her senses came back on line. The scent of grilled meat wafted into her airspace. Right. Food. He wanted her to eat something.

Shifting in her chair, Elise stared at her plate. A steak, whole olives stuffed with almonds, and a small mound of corn. Looked good. Picking up her fork, she stabbed an olive. Halfway to her mouth, the sound of footfalls made her pause. She glanced toward the door. Three huge men walked beneath the archway and into the dining room. She froze, watching the group prowl like predators around the table. Plates hit the hideous paisley cloth with a clang. Chairs scraped over the wooden floor.

A large hand slid over her nape.

She jumped in her seat.

“Easy,” Cyprus murmured, his grip on her tightening. He pulled her closer. His mouth brushed her ear, helping to relieve some of her tension. “Elise, meet my warriors—Wallaig, Levin and Kruger.”

She paid attention, nodding as Cyprus pointed at each one with his knife.

Black-haired and green-eyed, Kruger tipped his chin.

“Greetings, female,” Levin murmured, tiger gold gaze leveled on her. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” she said, shuffling closer to Cyprus before she turned toward the third man and…lost her ability to breathe. A ginger with gorgeous red hair and a cold expression on his face. Unsmiling. Intense. A badass, and if she were to guess, mean as hell too. But what arrested her attention more than the lethal vibe he projected was his eyes. Cloudy white irises, damaged pupils, one hundred percent blind. Not that she would mention it to the brutal looking warrior. Somehow, she didn’t think pointing out his deformity would go over well. Swallowing her fear, she murmured in greeting. “Good to meet you all.”

The ginger-haired man growled.

Cyprus shifted in his chair. “Wallaig—fuck off. Stop scaring my female.”

One corner of Wallaig’s mouth turned up. “Yer a spoilsport, lad. No fun at all.”

“Pay him no mind, Elise, he’s an arsehole,” Cyprus said, amusement in his voice. “And donnae worry about offending him either. Wallaig might be blind, but he sees just fine.”

Elise stared at Cyprus a second before curiosity got the best of her. She returned her attention to his warrior. “Seriously? How is that possible?”

“She’s a brave one, Cy, I’ll grant ye that.” With a sigh, pretending her question annoyed him, Wallaig pulled a chair out and sat down on the other side of the table, directly across from her. “’Tis simple enough, lass. Cyprus explained the energy exchange to you, aye?”

Popping the olive in her mouth, she chewed. “Yes.”

“So, it’s like this—my eyes may be damaged, but I perceive energy on an infinitesimal scale. ’Tis a talent of mine, one I’ve cultivated over centuries,” he said, making it sound normal. More questions popped into her head. She opened her mouth to ask. Wallaig waved his hand, stopping her mid-volley. “Everything—alive or dead, person, place or thing—possesses an energy signature, one unique unto itself. I may not know what you look like, Elise, but I can read your energy. You’ve a lovely shape, a beautiful violet tinge to your aura.”

Interesting and odd. Titling her head, she met Wallaig’s gaze. He looked right at her, as though he really could see her. Her focus ping-ponged, landing on each man, cataloging their differences, before she turned back to Cyprus.

He raised a brow. “Clearer now?”

Yes and no. She pursed her lips. Perhaps a little, but…

“You realize you’re all full of…” She paused, struggling to find the right word. Finally, she settled on, “Weirdness.”

Levin and Kruger laughed.

Wallaig rolled his damaged eyes.

Cyprus grinned. “And what’s your weirdness, lass?”

“Books,” she said, happiness sparking to life. Books, books…God, how she loved books. “Rare ones.”

Cyprus’s focus sharpened on her. “You collect them?”

“I curate and repair them.”

“Interesting,” Wallaig said, speculation on his face. “What do you do for a living, Elise?”

“I’m a book conservator at the National Museum of Scotland.” She frowned, her joy tarnished by the thought of her job. “At least, I used to be.”

Murmuring in sympathy, Cyprus wrapped his arms around her. “Take heart, talmina. I have something better than a museum for you.”

Elise glanced up at him, her expression skeptical. “Better than a museum?”

“A hundred times better.”

A thrill shot through her. “What is it?”

“I’ll show you when we get home.” A devilish gleam in his eyes, he kissed the tip of her nose and let her go. “Now, finish your meal. It’s almost time tae go.”

Go? To a place better than a museum?

Picking up her knife, Elise dug in, slicing off a piece of steak, wondering at the possibilities. Something better than a museum. Oh, boy. Count her in. Label her eager, and as she daydreamed about rare book collections and dragon lairs, Elise realized something odd. Something important. Something just the tiniest bit crazy. She wasn’t afraid of what Cyprus planned. Or the lethal-looking dragon guys sitting across the table. Somehow, it all made sense. She fit here, belonged next to Cyprus, was comfortable surrounded by his pack.

What that said about her, Elise didn’t know, but chose to ignore the revelation. For now. Later would be soon enough to figure things out and decide what to do: accept her fate or find a way to stay safe, despite the threat, and leave Dragonkind—along with Cyprus—behind.