Chapter Twenty-Six
Bare feet cooling on mosaic tile, Hope pulled the blanket over the tops of her shoulders as Forge backed away. Her focus on his face, she crisscrossed the corners, gathering the wool in her fists, and pressed the soft fleecy side to her skin. The preemptive strike against the chill didn’t help. Without his warmth surrounding her, cold air attacked, shivering up her spine. He took another step away. And then another, leaving her standing alone in the center of the circular room. Unease slithered in, winding her so tight she felt fragile. Almost brittle. Seconds away from breaking.
The internal turmoil clued her in, jump-starting her brain.
Her mind spun, hopping from one thought to the next. Something was wrong. Terrible, in point of fact. After what she’d witnessed—and how he’d made her feel: close and connected, needed and valued, loved and cherished—his retreat signaled trouble. All right, so the dream sequence (dragon attack . . . whatever!) worried her. So did her reaction. Waking in his arms that way had been strange. Beyond startling, but odd as it seemed, in that moment riding out the storm with him had felt right too. As though she’d belonged there—flying alongside him, fighting in that battle while she struggled to protect his blind side.
Which, safe to say, placed her on the wrong side of sanity. Made her certifiable, or something. Label it crazy, then call it a day, ’cause . . . every professional in the field of psychology would agree with her assessment. No one would argue. Each one would double down and commit her to a psych ward without delay. Poke and prod, analyze her to death in the hopes of figuring out where she’d misplaced her faculties.
Funny thing, though. Hope frowned. She didn’t feel the least bit crazy. She found clarity instead, liking the idea of sharing a connection with Forge. What she didn’t appreciate was the distance. She hated that he was walking away. Pulled by an invisible tether, she stepped forward, following his retreat.
“Nay, lass—stay there.” Expression serious, gaze intent, he tipped his chin. “Better yet, back up a few paces.”
“Why?” She didn’t understand. Couldn’t begin to guess the problem. “Why are you leaving?”
“I’m not leaving. I just need more room.”
“For what?”
“Stubborn lass.” He sighed, the sound so full of exasperation Hope smiled. Show-off. The big faker. He didn’t mean a second of it. He enjoyed baiting her. Relished her reactions, maybe even delighted in teasing the sharp edge of her temper. The realization helped her relax. It was all right. Whatever he wanted to show her couldn’t be all bad. Releasing her white-knuckled grip on the blanket, she gave him what he wanted—the best mock death stare she owned. He chuckled in appreciation. “Back up, bad girl, and I’ll show you.”
“Okay.” Doing as he asked, she retreated. Her butt bumped against the opposite wall. As she glanced over her shoulder, the picture behind her came into focus. Crafted from tiny mosaic tiles, the dark-purple dragon rose between two huge columns, taking up the entire section of wall. Hope blinked. Wow. Impressive work from an insanely talented artist. She ran her gaze over the image, appreciating the time it must have taken to create it, before dragging her attention back to Forge. “But this had better be good.”
He snorted. “Somehow I donnae think that’s going tae be a problem.”
The wariness in his tone set her back on edge. The worry she saw in his eyes strengthened the feeling. Intuition sparked, giving her a bad feeling. “Ah, Forge?”
“Remember something for me, lass,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “Whatever happens, know I will never hurt you.”
Hope’s brows collided. Never hurt her. Of course not. Forge wasn’t the type of guy to—
The air warped around him, cutting her off mid-thought.
Heat rolled off him and into the room. The warm blast blew the hair off her face a second before his eyes started to glow. A blinding pulse of light burst through the rotunda, painting everything in purple wash. Breath locked in her throat, she watched him transform. His body changed, lengthened, grew into a . . . holy crap. A dragon. He was . . . had changed into . . .
A huge, towering dragon.
Shock blasted through her. Her brain derailed, flying off mental tracks. Dark-purple scales glinting in the low light, he tilted his head and gazed down at her. Unable to move, she stared up at him, mouth hanging wide open.
He lifted his paw and flexed enormous talons. The hooked tips of razor-sharp claws clicked together. The sound propelled her out of stunned stupefaction. Brain cells fired in rapid succession. Her body jerked as she inhaled hard and—
“Donnae scream,” the dragon said, sounding exactly like Forge.
His command caused air to jam in her lungs. Unable to breathe, Hope shuffled sideways.
“Donnae run either, jalâyla. Just stand still and look at me for a moment. See me, Hope.”
See him? Seriously? Feeling lightheaded, Hope forced her muscles to unlock and sucked in much-needed breath. Oxygen filled her lungs. She snapped her mouth closed. Had he gone mad? Completely crazy or . . . no, wait. Strike that last thought. The insane one must be her. Mental incapacity explained everything. Gaze locked on him, Hope quivered. All right. Good. She was making perfect sense. Only a psychotic person, after all, remained unmoving when faced with a dragon.
“Take another breath, Hope.” Her lungs expanded—oxygen in, air out, moving in time with the dragon’s scaled chest. A glint of approval in his eyes, the dragon dipped his horned head. His scaled nose even with her head, he smiled, revealing huge fangs. “You’re doing fine.”
“Holy crap,” she wheezed, unable to believe what she was seeing. Or that she stood with her feet in the fictional fire. Literally. Everyone knew dragons belonged in books, scaring the hell out of fairy-tale princesses, not hanging out in rotundas with their horned heads brushing the roof. “You’re not supposed to exist.”
Forge snorted. Flames sparked in his nostrils, heating the air in front of her face. “Do I look fake tae you?”
“No, but . . . ,” she said, tugging the blanket back over her shoulders. “What are you?”
“Dragonkind,” he said, as though one word explained everything.
She scowled at him. “I need more of an explanation than that, Forge.”
“We’re a different species, lass. A hidden one,” he said, moving one of his talons in her direction.
Hope tensed but, afraid to move, stood still and silent as Forge nudged the edge of her blanket aside. The back of his claw skimmed the outside of her thigh. Smooth as polished glass, harder than granite, his nail caressed her skin. She drew in a shaky breath, waiting for fear to rise, but . . . it never came. She recognized his touch, cleaved to the familiar vibration, knowing to whom it belonged.
Watching her closely, he stroked her again. “I’m the same male you made love with earlier, Hope, just wrapped in a different package. The magic in my veins allows me to shift from human to dragon form, and back again.”
Disbelief bombarded her. “Magic?”
“Aye.” His familiar brogue washed over her. “Just because you donnae see it, doesn’t mean magic isnae real.”
All right. She bought that. Might even believe it. Probably should, given she stood in a room talking to a dragon. “You can use it . . . shift . . . whenever you want?”
“Of course.”
Shock faded, giving way to curiosity. All kinds of questions surfaced, spiraling through her mind, resurrecting her intellect, and a healthy dose of awe. She looked him over again, her gaze touching the horns on his head, the spikes along his spine, and the huge knifelike blades gracing the tip of his tail. Jeez, those looked nasty. Super dangerous. He could no doubt slice her in half with nothing more than a quick flick of that thing. Hope knew it but, guided by instinct, inched closer to him anyway. She wanted to touch him. To get a better sense of him in dragon form.
Standing between his paws now, she raised her hand. Forge didn’t move. He waited instead, staying perfectly still as she pressed her palm to his chest. The hard ridges of his scales scraped over her skin. Hope released a pent-up breath. Incredible. He was alive with heat, so warm she didn’t need her blanket anymore. She hung on to it anyway and, wrapping the fleece a touch tighter, continued her exploration. He dipped his horned head. A tingle slid over her nape as he murmured her name.
Surprise made her exhale. God, how incredible. He was real, not imagined. The dragon was Forge; Forge was the dragon. No disputing it. No sense denying it either. She recognized his voice, knew his touch and the scent of his skin. But it was the unique vibration he emitted that held her captive. She felt it every time he reached for her, and she slipped into his embrace.
“Can you change back—right now?”
Forge didn’t answer. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, he shifted, moving from dragon to man so fast Hope jumped in alarm.
“Jeez!” Losing her footing, she tripped and bumped into his chest.
Big hands landed on her shoulders. He held her still a moment. The instant she looked up and met his gaze, Forge pulled her into his arms. “All right?”
“I have no idea,” she said, being honest. “I think I may have lost my mind.”
“Nothing wrong with your brain, lass,” he murmured, wrapping her closer, encouraging her to snuggle in. Hope didn’t argue. Nor did she fight it. Needing a steadying hand, she tucked her head beneath his chin and burrowed in, making a home inside his embrace. “You handled seeing me in dragon form very well.”
Nestled in his arms, Hope shook her head. Had she handled it well? She didn’t know. Even after touching his scales, she still couldn’t say for certain. Her mind wouldn’t settle, jumping all over the place, causing her senses to trip over what remained of her brain. Instinct said nothing had changed. He was the same guy. She was the same girl. And yet, red flags kept flying, ringing internal alarm bells. She’d known he’d been hiding something. An important something. A something she’d been determined to unearth, but . . .
Hope swallowed, working moisture back to her mouth.
She never suspected his secret would stun the stuffing out of her. Or throw into question everything she held to be true. An image of Forge in dragon form flashed across her mental screen. God help her. A different species—both human and dragon, able to shift form at will. Her mind stumbled over what he’d shown her. Over the facts. Over everything she’d believed to be true and must now discard. And as Forge picked her up, strode through an open archway and down some stairs, murmuring something about a shower, Hope didn’t know what to do—keep trusting him and stay. Or run screaming all the way home.
Palm to palm, his fingers entwined with Hope’s, Forge led the way out of his bedroom and turned into the deserted corridor. Quiet reigned supreme in the long white-walled space. No rumble of voices from down the hall or inside the kitchen. No females laughing inside J. J.’s music room. No shuffling of papers from the office Evie now worked in either. Just him and Hope and her continued silence.
With a gentle tug, he reeled her in, needing her close as he strode past the collection of fine art hanging on the walls. Forge didn’t see a single frame. He was too focused on Hope. Beyond worried by her reaction. Sick with the idea he might be losing his female.
Her silence rubbed him raw.
Her confusion wrenched his heart.
He needed her to stop the silent routine and start asking questions. Open a dialogue. Tell him what she was thinking. Request his aide in helping her understand all he’d shown her. Impatience clawed at him. Forge shut it down and, stopping in front of the elevators, shook his head.
Oh, so not the right reaction. Rushing her wouldn’t work. Poking at her would only push her away. He knew it. Sensed deep down where intuition lived and logic made a home. It was her turn to engage. He’d done enough talking in and out of the shower: telling her of his kind while he washed her, explaining energy-fuse and the bond she now shared with him, showing her how he drew nourishment from the Meridian, source of all living things, through her. So aye. Time to shut up. Time to be patient. Watch and wait. The ball lay in her court. Nothing for him to do now but hope she picked it up and ran with it.
Squeezing her hand, he summoned the elevator with his mind. Magic hummed in his veins. Gears ground into motion, bringing the cage up from seven floors down.
The snap of magic in the air made Hope shiver. Her hand twitched in his. She shuffled closer to him, and Forge waited. Would she turn to him for comfort? Would she trust him with her thoughts? Would she allow him the privilege of—
She cleared her throat. “So . . . what are we doing, again?”
Relief spun him around the lip of gratitude. His knees went weak. Thank fuck. Finally. About time her inquisitive nature kicked back into high gear. “An energy circle.”
“And you think it will help Mac?”
Good question. Only one answer. “I donnae know, lass. I’m praying it works. If it doesn’t, I’m out of options.”
“He’s that sick?”
“Aye. And worsening by the moment.”
“Is the circle thing dangerous?”
Probably. He didn’t know. Not for certain. He’d never participated in an energy circle before. Had never seen one either. He’d read about the practice years ago, in an ancient tome housed in the Scottish pack’s library . . . thanks to his sire. A big believer in education, he’d made Forge and his brothers study the annals every day. Prep school, Dragonkind style. For his sire, the old adage had held true: knowledge equaled power, and power saved lives.
Manipulating the Meridian, drawing huge bursts of power, was always tricky. Add five high-energy females to the mix and the risks approached perilous.
“Crap,” she muttered, when he didn’t answer right away. “It is, isn’t it?”
“I willnae let anything hurt you, Hope.”
The softly spoken promise brought her chin up. Green eyes full of gratitude met his. He sucked in a deep breath. She flexed her fingers, realigned her palm with his, and, leaning in, wrapped her arm around his biceps. The press of her body made his hum in pleasure. She gifted him with a smile, making his heart somersault inside his chest. The first one he’d seen from her in what seemed like forever.
“I believe you, but you know . . .” Her brow furrowed, she trailed off. A second passed, tumbling into more as she gathered her thoughts. “All this Dragonkind stuff, well . . . it’s pretty scary.”
“I know. I’ve shown you a lot today.” He frowned. Maybe too much. Christ. Perhaps he’d done it wrong. Shocking the hell out of Hope twice in one morning—first with the dream and mind meld, and second by showing her his dragon—might’ve been overkill. He stifled a snort. Might have. Christ. Replace it with absolutely, no doubt about it. He needed to have his head examined. Lifting his free hand, he cupped the side of her throat. Fingers spread wide, he touched as much of her as he could, playing with the wispy hair at the nape of her neck. “It will get better. You’ll become accustomed tae me in time and—Hope, you donnae have tae participate. If you’re not comfortable with—”
“I call bullshit. Don’t tell me that.” Temper flaring, her eyes narrowed on him. “This is for Mac. He’s my friend too, Forge. I’ll do whatever it takes to help him, and besides . . . you need me to complete the circle.”
True enough. He needed at least five high-energy females inside the energy circle. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to draw enough power from the Meridian. Mac needed a jump start, a blast of energy so strong it put his dragon half into overdrive. The idea made perfect sense. After what he’d witnessed with Hamersveld, he understood what plagued his best friend. Mac was struggling to pull a wren into their world from the other side—from the ether, a mystical realm protected by the Goddess of All Things. Only one way to solve that problem—overload Mac’s magical side, pump him full of so much healing energy it pushed the wren from the confines of the tattoo.
A beautiful theory, unproven but poetic.
But as the elevator doors slid open and Forge stepped inside, pulling his female along with him, his need to protect Hope shifted gears. He didn’t want to put her in the circle. He wanted her to stay out of it—safe from all harm. But with Myst pregnant and unable to participate, excluding Hope left him one HE short.
Without her, Mac would die. Then again, if anything happened to Hope, Forge would too. He wouldn’t survive losing her. He loved her too much already. The admission jolted through him, shocking him as it sank in and settled deep, fusing with the core of him. Aye, it had happened fast, but the truth couldn’t be denied. He loved Hope. The words rang true, no reason to deny or question the way he felt about her.
Which put him in an untenable position. Damned if he did. Damned if he didn’t. Not that it was his decision to make anymore. His female had a say. Forge knew he would never change her mind. True to her generous nature, Hope wanted to help. She refused to turn away from a friend in need and would resent him if he forced her onto the sidelines. Not the best way to begin a relationship, so . . .
No help for it.
He couldn’t stop the plan he’d set in motion now.
But as the doors closed and the elevator began its descent, instinct sparked, and Forge couldn’t shake the awful feeling something terrible was about to happen.