Tonight was a fucking disaster.

Rurik’s dragon growled in agreement inside his head. He revved his engine as he drove through the streets of Moscow, trying not to think about how good it felt to have Charlotte’s legs wrapped around his hips. He was supposed to have been busy handling the account books tonight, not getting distracted by a shapely blonde in a killer red dress.

He’d seen her being bothered by those fools, and he knew he had to intervene. But there was more to it than that. There was something about her that he and his dragon couldn’t resist. She’d almost seemed to glow when he’d first seen her in his club. And her scent…God, he could have inhaled it for days and never gotten tired of it. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn she was a dragoness. But that wasn’t possible. She lacked any of the telltale signs of being a shifter.

When she’d been threatened, his dragon had almost lost control. One thing he didn’t allow in his club was women being harassed, especially those he was attracted to. His dragon had wanted to rip those bastards limb from limb when he’d caught the scent of the woman’s fear in the air. That was one of the reasons he knew she could not be a dragoness. Yet the moment he drew near her, he realized his intervention had been dangerous. Her mouthwatering scent was somehow addictive, like a drug pumping through his veins, and there was something more about her…

A virgin. In his club. A curvy, untouched female of childbearing age. He’d only been around one of those once before, when he’d met his brother Grigori’s future mate, Madelyn. The scent then had been unmistakable, almost irresistible. But this woman? It had been impossible to walk away from her. He finally understood what Grigori had told him about the temptations of virgins. Rurik hadn’t wanted to believe his brother’s warnings, but there was no denying it now.

This new obsession couldn’t have come at a worse time. He couldn’t afford such distractions, not when his family was so fragile. The Barinovs once had great allies, but over the years the noble dragon families had begun to diminish, until all that were left were the power-hungry lines like the Drakors.

I’m the only one strong enough to protect my family, because I’m not foolish enough to fall in love.

The uneasy peace Grigori had made with Dimitri Drakor after their battle three months ago did not fool Rurik. Nothing would hold Drakor to his word now. He had nothing to lose, and Drakor would do anything to destroy the Barinovs. That made Rurik’s dragon pace restlessly inside his head. Danger was always on the horizon. It had already cost him dearly.

Nikita. The Frenchwoman who’d worked in his bar for two years, a possible mate.

Her lifeless eyes flashed across his mind, and he gripped the handlebars of his motorcycle tighter. Don’t think of her. Don’t relive that pain.

Rurik hadn’t allowed himself to claim her as his mate, but his heart and his dragon recognized the loss of what could’ve been. He had no intention of dying young from the loss of a true mate.

And I have no intention of letting Charlotte test my control.

He had to take Charlotte home and walk away from her, no matter how irresistible she was. There was something too tempting about her, and it wasn’t just her body that called him. During dinner he’d become addicted to her laughter and her shy smiles, but when she’d danced for him in the cage, he’d almost come undone. She was different from all the other women, even Nikita. He’d come so close to losing control again and again with Charlotte. She made him feel like an untried youth courting his first female. He hadn’t been that reckless or desperate with lust in centuries.

It continued to rain as they rode to her hotel near Red Square. Charlotte clung to him from behind, and he could feel the shivers racking her body. She had to be soaked to the bone. He parked near the hotel entrance and waited for a crowd of people on the sidewalk to clear. Then he helped Charlotte off his bike and set the helmet on his seat. A valet appeared and took the bike away.

“You’re coming inside?” Charlotte asked. The lower half of her hair was drenched and hung in dark gold strands. For a moment, he was lost imagining curling that liquid gold around his fingers. With a shake, he pulled himself away from the daydream and the dangerous path it could lead.

“I’m taking you right to your door. I told you the city isn’t safe, even in a nice hotel like this.”

He checked the street, out of habit rather than actual suspicion, and saw a black sedan coming from the same direction they had come. Could be nothing; black sedans were ubiquitous in Russia. It pulled up close to the valet booth. Rurik guided Charlotte away from the street in case it splashed water onto her. The window of the car rolled down, perhaps to hand the key to the valet.

Instead, the lights of the hotel glinted off the barrel of a silencer.

Rurik’s instincts, honed by centuries of combat, subterfuge, and betrayal, came roaring back to life. He grabbed Charlotte and threw her to the ground, covering her body with his. The hotel’s lobby window exploded behind them. He grunted as a bullet tore into his back, another hit his shoulder, and a third hit his thigh.

All around them, glass tinkled to the ground in diamond-like shards, the light from the chandeliers inside reflected in dazzling sparkles over the broken field of glass. Sounds rushed around him, the jumble too chaotic for him to process. He focused on breathing, his blood pounding in his ears. A dragon, once engaged, focused on sight and movement, not sound.

He gasped at the sharp stab of pain from the bullets, but he stayed down. All around him people were screaming and trying to hide. He looked over his shoulder, squinting as he tried to see the black sedan, but it was too late. Tires squealed as he watched the car speed off into the night. He was in no shape to pursue.

The bullets had to be iron—he could tell from the way they burned inside him. And the fact that the silenced bullets had been subsonic meant they were also lodged in him, instead of passing through. His body fought to seal the wounds, trying to keep his blood from spilling out, but the iron made that difficult, and if they were left inside him too long, it could poison him.

For a long moment, he lay on top of Charlotte, sucking air into his lungs in great gulps as his body tried to adjust to the adrenaline. His dragon was clawing at his insides, wanting to come out and defend itself, but he had to stay calm, keep his other half locked down. If he transformed now, not only would it make the news, but it would draw the Brotherhood down on his family’s head. And the iron bullets would only cause more damage to him as he changed from one form to another.

Iron bullets—that was no coincidence. Most bullets were made of lead. This was deliberate. The list of possible suspects dropped to just a few names, and one of them was right at the top.

“Rurik! Are you okay?” Charlotte gasped as she sat up, holding on to him, keeping him up rather than dragging him down.

“I’m fine,” he hissed. “Need to get inside… Can’t be seen.” He tried to stand. She curled an arm around his waist and slung her purse around her free shoulder.

“Come on. I’ll take you to my room.”

“Hurry.” They hobbled into the lobby, which was a scene of chaos. People were shouting on their phones and rushing outside to see if anyone else was injured. Several security guards bellowed into their walkie-talkies and gathered uninjured guests together in small groups. There didn’t seem to be any other casualties, for which Rurik was thankful.

He had to get out of sight. If his face showed up on the news, that would risk exposure.

Grigori was the master at changing his hair color every ten years to show signs of aging, before eventually transferring the family’s company to a “son” who looked just like him. But Rurik refused to do that. Instead, he sold his club after five or ten years and opened a new one elsewhere, rotating between his favorite locations. Clubs were fickle things, and the routine fit naturally with their natural life cycles.

Charlotte took him to the elevators and punched in her floor. They waited, panting together until an elevator opened up. Thankfully, it was empty. Once inside, she tried to get a better look at his wounds, but he shied away.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she said. “I need to see how bad they are.”

He growled. “I’m not a baby. I was shot—of course they’re bad.” He finished this last in a childish mutter, but then when he saw her face turn ashen he sighed.

“They can’t be that bad, or you’d be bleeding all over the floor.”

“My jacket is lined with ballistic nylon” Rurik said, which was true, but that was meant for bike accidents, not bullets. “Still, it hurts like hell, and I don’t want you touching them.” He also didn’t want her to worry or have any reason to doubt his strength.

“We’ll still have to get a look at them once we’re in my room.”

When they stopped at her floor, she offered to help him to her door, but he shrugged off her arm and stumbled there on his own while she found her keycard. The damn bullets were making his skin burn—definitely iron. His dragon wanted out of his skin so he could heal faster, but he couldn’t transform in the city. And he couldn’t transform with the iron still inside him, because that would only make things worse.

Her room was small and had only one bed. He started toward it, but she caught his arm and steered him to the bathroom.

“Strip,” she ordered.

“Didn’t know all it took was being shot to make you want me naked.” His pained chuckle did not earn him a smile. He peeled off his jacket and then his shirt. He glanced over his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror and winced at the sight of three bullet holes, one in his lower back, one on his left shoulder blade, and a third in the back of his thigh. Blood still trickled down, but very little, all things considered. He was lucky. He would have to get the bullets out before the wounds could heal with them inside. That could be fatal.

“Fuck,” he muttered again. He unzipped his jeans and dropped them to the floor.

“What—” Charlotte began until he angled his leg and showed her the wound in the back of his thigh.

“It’s… I thought it would be worse. But still, we should get you to a hospital.” She held a first-aid kit in her hands, her face pale as alabaster.

“Trust me. I will be fine as long as you can be brave and dig the bullets out.”

Charlotte gulped audibly. “Dig them out?”

With a few hobbling steps toward her, he took the first-aid kit from her and tossed it onto the sink counter. From his jacket he pulled out a Leatherman multitool that unfolded into a set of pliers, which also held various knives, screwdrivers, and even a small ratchet. Useful for most bikers, but not exactly meant for surgery. It would have to do.

“The bullets didn’t go deep. Here.” He handed her the Leatherman and braced himself against the sink, head lowered.

Charlotte shook as she came up behind him. She rubbed alcohol swabs on the wounds on his back, and he uttered a string of Russian curses that would have made his father box his ears had the old dragon been alive to hear it.

“Sorry!” She dabbed at the wound on his lower back. “Okay, here goes.” He felt the pliers dig into him as she searched for the bullet. His vision tunneled, and he rested his head on his forearms and closed his eyes.

“You’re right, I feel it! Just below the surface. Hang on!” The pressure of the pliers burned as she pulled the first bullet out. She dropped it into the porcelain sink next to him with a little clink. Then she applied more alcohol to the wound. The dragon inside him roared at the sudden flair of fresh pain, but he didn’t let a sound escape his lips.

“You want me to bandage it?” she asked.

“No, it will heal fast,” he assured her. It was true. With the iron out, the wound was already clotting and knitting back together. A human would have required more serious medical attention. Thankfully, Charlotte was not a doctor; otherwise, she would have had some uncomfortable questions.

She moved on to the bullet lodged in his shoulder. It must have lodged in his bone, because he could feel the pliers scrape as she found it. He bit his lip as she removed that bullet. It joined the first in the sink. Then she knelt behind him and dug into his thigh. That hurt more than his back, because the muscles had more sinew. Hot blood trickled down his leg onto the floor.

“Got it!” She stood and dropped the third bullet next to the other two. Rurik lifted his head and met her gaze in the bathroom mirror. She looked so young and vulnerable, her hair still soaked, her dress damp and makeup smeared. Her trembling hands held the bloody multitool.

God, he was a damned fool. She was human, and she’d been shot at. His little rose was delicate, after all. She wasn’t a fierce dragoness used to wounds and bloodshed, yet she was being damned brave right now, and his chest filled with a swell of pride. Her lashes fluttered as she stared up at him.

“Wow… I really thought there’d be more blood. Guess none of them hit any major arteries. Lucky you. Are you going to be okay?” she asked, biting her bottom lip.

He managed a nod. “I’ll be fine. It’s not the first time I’ve been…hurt.” He reached up instinctively to trace the scar that marred his cheek and forehead, a gift from a battle long ago. It had been a serious wound—it would have to be to leave such a mark—and he had been fortunate to survive it.

“You need to get out of that wet dress.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“You’ll freeze, little rose.” He turned her around so that her back was to him and without asking unzipped her dress. She peered over her shoulder at him, so incredibly shy, clearly torn between objecting to and encouraging his behavior. The sexy minx from earlier tonight was gone. Now he was facing a fragile creature who needed his protection, even if she didn’t realize it.

“It’s all right. I’m going to take care of you.” He brushed his hand along her bare shoulder.

“Hey, I’m not the one who got shot.” There was a fire in her eyes, but it was dimmed by fear. Her hands were still shaking like hell.

“I’ve been shot before. You haven’t. You are in shock. Go. Get into the shower.” He nudged her toward the shower stall, and she got in. He turned on the water, careful to aim the nozzle away until the water heated up.

Charlotte covered her black-clad breasts by crossing her arms over her chest. Her modesty would’ve been charming under different circumstances.

“The water’s hot.” He flicked his fingers into the spray before he angled the nozzle toward her. “Remove your underwear.” His words were a command, but he kept his tone gentle. She needed him to be firm, but he didn’t want to scare her.

“No—”

“Charlotte, I’m not asking.” He stared down at her, careful not to influence her too much with his gaze, just providing a nudge in the right direction. He didn’t want to make her do anything she didn’t want to do, but he had no time to argue with her either.

She stared at the tile floor as she slipped off her panties, then unhooked her bra and tossed it onto the rug outside the shower door. She stepped fully into the spray, rubbing her body vigorously with her hands as her teeth started to chatter, despite the hot water. Her body’s temperature had dropped too fast.

He took a deep, controlled breath before he stepped into the shower behind her and covered the back of her body with his.

“You need body heat, sweetheart.” He didn’t do anything except hold her as the hot water warmed her from the front and he from behind. After a few minutes, her teeth stopped chattering, and she leaned back against him.

“I’ve never… That was so scary,” she whispered. The steam curled up around them, and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“I am sorry you were there.” Whoever had fired the shots had meant to kill him. It wasn’t the first time he’d faced this type of threat. The Russian Mafia had tried more than once to take control of the city, having put hits out on both him and Grigori, but they had never known to use iron bullets, something their hitmen had not lived to regret. No, this had been no human assassin at work. This was someone who knew all too well what he really was.

“Was someone trying to kill you?” she asked.

“I told you, Moscow isn’t a safe place. Not even for me.” He nuzzled her neck, and the sweet scent of her mixed with fear made his pulse quicken. Sometimes he hated the predator in him for responding to fear like that. He didn’t want her to be afraid.

He wanted to destroy those who had almost killed her tonight. He wanted to release his dragon so it could sniff out those men and tear them apart. But his instinctive need to protect her was stronger than his desire for revenge. Whoever had taken a shot at him tonight would have gotten a good look at Charlotte. They knew what hotel she was staying at, which meant she was still in danger, especially if they believed he had feelings for her. To come after him was understandable, but to target an innocent not once but twice in order to hurt him? Unforgivable.

All because he’d been foolish enough to dance with her, to kiss her…to convince himself for one minute that he could have a normal life with a normal girl. He would leave her now if there was a chance it would help, but the damage had already been done. Leaving wouldn’t shift the target he’d inadvertently placed on her back.

“You should wash the blood off your hands.” He took her palms and pulled them into the spray, rubbing his fingers along the pads of hers, trying to erase the evidence of tonight’s horror.

“What about you?” She turned in his arms, and her full breasts pressed against his chest. He was wearing only his boxers, but it felt like he was damn near naked against her.

“I don’t—” he began.

Charlotte shook her head. “You do. Turn around.” She was giving him orders. A sweet, innocent virgin ordering around a dragon. His brothers would laugh their asses off if they ever found out. He turned his back to her, and her soft hands ran water over his wounds.

“Your tattoo—it’s beautiful,” she whispered.

He’d forgotten that she would see it, the large black dragon tattoo on his right shoulder blade. It was a fierce dragon, wings spread wide as it roared and spewed fire when it was in its resting pose. When his emotions were strong, however, it would move, and right now he was battling to stay calm. If she saw a moving tattoo…

Charlotte traced one of the wings, and his dragon buried deep inside him huffed in pleasure. “It’s so detailed.” It could actually feel her touch on its wings. In his human form, this was the dragon’s only outward manifestation. But it could feel everything he felt.

“Your wounds are already healing,” she said with a gasp. “How is that possible?”

Rurik turned, curling his arms around her waist and her back, hoping to distract her. He was healing far too fast, and soon she would start asking questions he couldn’t answer. He hadn’t wanted to use his full powers on her before, but this was about keeping his family safe. Keeping his world safe.

He cupped her chin with one hand and made sure she was paying attention. “Charlotte, I think you’re a little confused about tonight…” He let his gaze draw her in and mesmerize her. It was one of the more useful dragon abilities, one that he could use in his human form.

“What?” she asked, her eyes going wide.

“We had a wonderful night together, but you’ve suffered a bit of a shock. My wounds aren’t as bad as you remember. Barely a scratch, see? The ballistic nylon stopped them. All you treated were some minor cuts and bruises. You are unharmed and safe now.” He waited until her eyes had a softer look, and he knew that he had buried the fear of the shooting deep in her head.

“We had an amazing time.” She grinned bashfully, her eyes returning to normal.

“I am going to spend the night,” he added.

“Rurik—I meant what I said. I don’t do this.” She waved a hand between their bare bodies.

“I know, and that’s why I’m going to be good. I promise.” He flashed her a wolfish grin, making her laugh. The sound filled his chest with a cottony warmth he’d never felt before.

“I thought you said you were a bad guy?” she asked, raising a brow.

“I am, but tonight I’m your bad guy, which means I’ll be good to you.” He leaned down and kissed her. Not a kiss to seduce or control, simply one to tell her that he would stay with her and protect her through the night.

I’ll keep you safe. I won’t fail like I did Nikita. He carved the vow in his heart. He would stay with Charlotte until he was sure she was safe, and then he would send her back to America where no one would come after her. The thought of never seeing her again made his chest tighten, but it had to be done.

Charlotte kissed him back, her sweet lips soft as the petals of a rose. Whoever taught her to kiss had been a master. She was a wet dream brought to life, with full curves and a shy side that made him want to tie her down and explore every part of her until she held no more secrets left. Then he wanted to curl his body around hers and ask her to tell him everything about herself.

Fuck. What was wrong with him? He would’ve said it was nearly getting killed, but he’d felt this way long before the shooting. From the moment he’d watched her dance for him in the cage at the club, he’d been sucked in by her. She was a breath of life, a kiss of fire, and completely irresistible.

They kissed until the water started to cool down. He broke the kiss with reluctance and shut the water off. They both reached for the towels at the same time, laughing as their hands met.

“Here.” He handed her the first towel and wrapped it around her body, covering those sexy curves. He took the other towel and wound it over his hips before he stepped out of the shower. He glanced at the three bloody bullets still lying in the sink. He would deal with that mess in a few hours, after he got some rest. For now, he hid them before Charlotte could see them and remember what had really happened outside.

“I think I have a T-shirt and some pajama pants that might fit you. They’re big enough, I think. I mean, they’re not, but they’ll stretch.” Charlotte was bent over her suitcase that sat on the foldable rack, her towel-clad ass giving him a dozen wicked ideas of what he could do to her.

Behave, he told himself.

She handed him a black T-shirt with an old rock band logo on it.

“Kansas?”

“So what?” she challenged. “My brothers raised me on classic rock.”

“Brothers are funny things, aren’t they? Mine are both older, but I spent my childhood tussling with them to become stronger and faster.” He grinned at her. Then he dropped his towel, stripped out of his soaked boxers, slid the borrowed T-shirt over his head, and pulled the fresh boxers on. They were tight, but he would survive the night.

“My brothers never tussled with me. It was so annoying. My parents died when I was little, and I was treated like a porcelain doll.” Charlotte ran her fingers through her wet hair as she talked, and he sat back on the bed, watching her. He’d slept with more than one queen, even an empress, but none of them compared to Charlotte. When he gazed at her, she almost seemed to glow, and her voice with that slightly husky feminine tone was like a choir of angels singing to him. Every time she smiled at him he got a goofy grin on his face. Fuck, she was sexy as hell.

She turned her back to him and slipped on her pajamas, a flannel set of pink-and-black polka-dotted pajama pants and a matching button-up nightshirt. When she faced him again, he caught a hint of her breasts in the low neck of the shirt, and his body responded.

He was supposed to be a good man tonight, not a fierce, possessive, and dominating dragon. Her brothers were right—she was a delicate creature who needed to be handled with care. She reminded him of the hothouse flowers Catherine the Great used to grow in her secret greenhouse. He’d visited her there more than once to steal a kiss and had seen the rare and beautiful blooms thriving in a protected environment. Those flowers would not survive the harsh climate of Russia. But there was a fierceness to Charlotte that rivaled even that of Catherine, which made him wonder if she might not be as delicate as she seemed.

“What?” Charlotte eased down onto the bed and pulled back the sheets to climb in.

“I was just thinking of someone,” he admitted. “You remind me of her.”

She covered her mouth to yawn, then smiled again. “I hope that’s a good thing.” That sheepish smile made his heart feel strange and fluttery. It confused his dragon too, which had gone very still inside him. Like it was watching a creature it didn’t understand yet was curious about and was afraid that one sudden movement might spook it.

“It is. She was an amazing woman. She was powerful in a time and place where women weren’t respected in Russia.”

“Was?” Charlotte pulled back the covers on the other side of the king-size bed, and he took the invitation to join her. His wounds had healed enough that they weren’t likely to bleed into the sheets.

“She died many years ago.” He watched her puff up her pillow and settle into the bed, lying on her side to face him.

“Rurik, you’ll really be okay, won’t you?” she asked, her beautiful blue eyes cutting through him with genuine concern.

“I’ll be fine. It was just a few scratches, remember?” He shifted down to lie beside her, curling an arm around her hips and tucking her against his chest so he could place a soft kiss to her forehead.

Her responding sigh made his dragon shift inside him, restless with curiosity. Normally when he bedded a woman his dragon seemed disinterested. Only Nikita had ever caught the dragon’s eye before. His dragon wanted to keep him awake all night to watch her while she slept.

At times like this, sharing his body with another creature was a nuisance. Most of the time he and his dragon were in sync, but sometimes the beast rose to the surface. Right now, still healing in his human form, Rurik was too tired to watch her, and the dragon growled with displeasure.

Soon. Soon I will possess her for us both. Then maybe he could clear his system of this wild, foolish desire for the quiet yet passionate American who’d stumbled into his life.

A battle dragon could not afford to mate. He could not put his family at risk. He had known this the moment he’d learned what he was, when his father had discovered that his strength and skills surpassed those of his brothers.

“A battle dragon is a sacred position, Rurik. You will be the last thing between our family and extinction.”

It was a great weight to place on the shoulders of a fifteen-year-old boy, but fate had chosen him over Grigori and Mikhail. And that meant he would always be alone. No mate, no falling in love, no spending the next thousand years with a woman like Charlotte.

He kissed her lips, even though she was asleep before he reached over and turned off the light. He wrapped himself around her, guarding her jealously the way a dragon guarded his most precious jewels.