“So, about the sky dance,” Margery said when they were alone in Remy’s truck heading for Connecticut.

“Why are you asking me?” Remy asked, his arm hanging out the window and his head leaning back on the headrest. He drove confidently and fast, barely glancing at the GPS.

Margery was busy with his phone, canceling her credit cards and getting new ones issued. Her bank had given her a hard time until Reed stepped in, and suddenly she had full access to all of her money. Not that there was a lot of it, but it was enough that she felt she could breathe. By the time she got to Paisley, there would be a debit card waiting for her. Of course, Casimiro had offered her one of his platinum cards, but she didn’t want any obligations to him. As it was, he’d had to be convinced not to fly over Remy’s truck and make a huge target out of them in the name of protecting his interests. If he had been so damn interested in her, he’d have returned her calls two years ago.

“You seem to know more than I do about it,” she said. “Is that why I passed out?”

Remy’s shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I’m not a doctor. It could be some form of PTSD about dark places in boats. It could be that you’re still too fragile after your ordeal.”

“Or it could be that I can’t have sex again unless I’m boogying in the air?”

“I think Reed is consulting with a few sky studs to get their opinions.”

“Great,” Margery groaned. “I’m normally a very private person. I don’t like strangers talking about me.”

“I imagine they won’t be strangers for long.” Remy clamped his jaw so tight she could swear she heard his teeth grinding.

“This is like speed dating from hell,” she said. “I’ve got a job to do.”

“Your job is to be a Queen.”

“My job is to make sure that no other woman takes this drug and dies because she thinks being a baby mama is her ticket to the good life.”

“You think that exposing Smythe is going to stop those dragonstruck chicks? Hell, it will be free advertising for him.”

“This can’t be legal.” Margery slammed her hand on the dashboard.

“I like humans. But no one is forcing them to take this drug.”

“No one is forcing them to do heroin or cocaine, either, but that’s illegal.”

“It’s a gray area with dragons. You know that.”

“I know that Smythe is violating the Treaty of 1099.”

“You were there, chérie? You know what happened that day?”

“I can read historical documents,” she sniped back, then asked softly. “Were you?”

“I was protecting eggs in my mother’s nest. But she had friends in the Black Sea who told her what went down. No more killing on either side. It was an eventful day. Some dragons said we signed our own death warrants that day.”

“What do you say?”

“I say we’re still here. Especially now that the spell has been lifted and our Queens have returned to us.”

“The humans are going to feel a bit threatened. Why were they able to slay dragons so easily back then and now it takes a cannon to do it?”

“It takes more than a cannon. Like you heard, only a dragon or a member of the Order of the Dragon Slayers can kill a dragon so that its soul goes into the weave and the body dies. The Cult of Humanity’s spell left a Queen’s spirit in stasis, neither in the weave nor out, so no other female dragons could be born or hatched. In ancient times, there was more magic in the world. And more humans who could wield it. Now there are only the Dragon Slayers and the cult.”

“Why haven’t you killed them to protect yourself?”

“The Treaty of 1099. But also, they keep us honest. They swore to end their genocide and only kill evil dragons or the ones who threatened humanity. It saved us some work from policing our own.”

“Do you think that’s why Cassandra died?”

“She wasn’t a Girl Scout, that’s for sure,” Remy said with a harsh laugh. “Don’t you be feeling sorry for that sadistic bitch.”

“Are older Queens evil?”

“You writing a book, chérie?” He arched an eyebrow at her.

“I might.” She stuck out her chin at him in challenge.

“Leave that chapter out of it.”

Margery leaned in closer, wishing he would take off his sunglasses. “Why?”

“Damn, girl, is that the only word you know?”

She continued to stare at him, raising her eyebrow back at him so he knew she meant business.

He sighed. “Because the older Queens skirt the line. If the Dragon Slayers knew

how much they did, they would go after them. And since they were the only breeders we had, the dragon council would claim that killing them is genocide and we’d be at war again.”

“But all that’s changed now. They can be held accountable for their crimes again. That could be why Cassandra was killed. Maybe it wasn’t this cult and was the Dragon Slayers?”

Remy jerked the truck off the road, slammed on the brakes, and lunged at her. She pressed back against the door, wondering just what she’d said that pushed him that far. He stared at her for heartbeats. With shaking hands she removed his sunglasses, because she wanted to see what was in his eyes. She was prepared for anger. She didn’t expect to see fear. What on earth could frighten a lake monster? It chilled her, and she shivered even in the heat of the sun.

“The three remaining old Queens are more powerful and dangerous than a babe like you can imagine. They wrote the book on ruthless, and they can cash in favors from humans and dragons alike. Make an enemy out of one of them and you will be in the weave, Queen or not.”

Margery let out a shaking breath. She’d been threatened before. Hell, she’d been shot and kidnapped because of this story. It wasn’t going to stop her. The truth had to come out. “I think they’re bankrolling Smythe. From what Viola said, he doesn’t have the balls to do this on his own.”

“You’re grasping at straws.”

“You know I’m right, and you’re trying to keep me off the track.”

“You’ll never prove it.”

“I will prove it.” Now she was in his face, making him rear back.

“The new Queens are still too vulnerable for this.” He tried to cup her cheek, but she jerked away.

“I’m not. Carolyn’s not. Viola’s not. Hell, that Mei Hua from Jersey has the Order of Dragon Slayers in her back pocket.”

“You can’t even shift.”

“That’s temporary,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

“Four new Queens against three who have been doing this for millennia? You can’t win.”

“How many studs have been harmed by those three Queens?”

Remy shook his head. “Too many.”

“Do you think all the Queens will stand together? Or will one come over to our side? Arianna has a strong dragon lineage and is new enough. She’s also friends with Carolyn.”

“You are too young to play the Queens’ game.”

“Remy, I didn’t get to be an investigative reporter by playing nice and writing feature stories about civic clubs.”

He threw himself back in his seat and started the truck up again. “You are going to need irrefutable proof. Or they will rip you apart.”

“I’ll get it.”

Remy just shook his head.

“Are you sorry you came back from Scotland?”

“No, chérie.” He sighed. “How could I be?” Remy reached over and trailed his fingers down her cheek. “I saved your life.”

Margery was touched that he felt so kindly for her when all she’d done was cause him trouble. She bit back her apology, because that always seemed to set him off, and settled for resting her head on her arm that was hanging out the window. The sun and wind from the open windows calmed her riotous thoughts. She tried to doze off, but a million questions still danced around in her head.

“Why didn’t you stay in Scotland in the lochs? Originally, I mean. What made you come to Vermont?”

“Why don’t you still live with your mother?”

Margery caught a glimpse of her horrified expression in the rearview mirror and tried to blank her face like he did.

“What?” he asked.

“Let’s just say humans can be monsters, too.”

“Why?” he said, mimicking her voice.

She shot him a look. “My mom had issues. Drugs, mostly. And the utter regret that she got knocked up with my sister and me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding out his hand.

She took it, unbuckled her seat belt, and slid across the bench seat to cuddle against his side. He held her to him.

“Speaking of your sister...”

Margery looked up at him quizzically.

He fished in his shirt pocket and handed something to her. “Reed gave me this with her number programmed in. She called for you.”

“Why?” She looked at the phone as if Siri would tell her the answer.

“Maybe she was worried.”

Margery snorted. “More likely she saw me on the news and figured out an angle to make a few bucks off it. What are dragon pictures going for these days?”

“The hell should I know?”

She stared at the phone before shoving it into her purse. There was a time she would have come running when Carla called. But after being dicked over each time, she couldn’t summon up anything but apathy and the underlying guilt—Margery got kicked out of the house; Carla had to stay there and take it. Her stepfather taught her sister to steal at a young age and instilled in her a sense of entitlement that ensured she’d never be satisfied with anything in her life. Always wanting what someone else had.

Margery should call her. Maybe something was wrong. Old habits. She took out the phone and looked at it.

“It’s a disposable phone.”

Margery looked up at Remy. “Seems like a waste.”

“He didn’t want you to be traceable. Do you want me to pull over and give you some privacy?”

“No. I haven’t decided whether or not to call her. She’s toxic. I know she’s my sister and all, and there but for the grace of Nidhogg go I and all that. We’re not close.” She could call later. Tossing the phone back into her purse, Margery closed her eyes and snuggled under his arm like she belonged there. He was solid, reliable, and she knew in her bones she could trust him. It was a heady feeling.

“Try not to pass out on me again,” he joked.

“Do you have any sisters?” She couldn’t help brooding about Carla. Maybe she should have worked harder to get her out of that situation.

“No, just a lot of brothers.”

“Right.” Margery winced. “The curse.” Way to be sensitive!

“I’m not close to them, either.”

“Are they in Scotland?”

He nodded. “Most of them.”

“So how come you don’t speak with a Scottish brogue?”

“Because no one would understand me.” He flashed a grin at her that sent tingles down her body.

She sat up so she could admire his profile while he drove. Her fingers itched to stroke the five o’clock shadow on his jaw.

“I hung out with fur trappers in Quebec for most of my adult life. Their phrasing rubs off on you.”

“But you were born in Scotland. Do you play bagpipes and wear a kilt when you go back?”

Remy chuckled. “It wasn’t called Scotland when I was born. I hate the bagpipes. Sounds like someone is strangling a cat. But Nessie has her own tartan plaid. It’s green and black with a little red.”

“Let me see.”

His clothes blurred and rearranged into a belted kilt and crisp linen shirt open at the neck.

Hot damn!

Margery clapped her hands and wolf whistled.

“Really?” He arched an eyebrow at her.

“I don’t know what it is, but kilts are sexy on a man.”

“Must be my knobby knees.”

“They’re not knobby.” Margery touched his knee. “So is it true what a Scotsman wears under his kilt?” She gave him a teasing leer.

“Good girls don’t ask, and bad girls find out for themselves,” he said, dropping his French Canadian accent for a growly Scottish one.

Hot.

For a moment, she considered it. But if the situation were reversed, she wouldn’t want him peeking up her skirts. Margery directed her attention to the scenery outside her window while calming her raging hormones. Except she didn’t want to. She wanted more of those incredible kisses.

“It’s beautiful here,” she said. “I can’t get over all the green and the trees.”

“City girl, huh?” Remy trailed his fingers through her hair and gently twisted a strand around his finger.

“I’m sorry for being such a bother—ow!” He had pulled her hair sharply before releasing it.

“When you apologize, it makes it seem that I am unable to provide you basic needs,” he gritted out. The light and fluffy mood dissolved, and he was back to that granite gargoyle from this morning.

“It’s not your job—”

“Yes, it damn well is. That’s part of the protector and consort job. Unless you’ve changed your mind about that.”

“I haven’t,” she said quietly. “I just know this isn’t what you wanted.”

“You can release me if you want,” he said.

“I don’t.”

“Until you find someone better?”

Margery crossed her arms in front of her chest. “That sounds mercenary. Use you until a stronger stud comes along.”

“That’s how a Queen chooses her court.”

“Not me,” Margery said, shaking her head. “My court will be my friends. You’re my friend, aren’t you, Remy?”

He nodded. She took his hand off the steering wheel and entwined her fingers with his. “What’s wrong with being friends with benefits?”

Taking his eyes off the road, Remy looked at her incredulously.

“You want to try doing it out in the sunlight?” she asked. “Maybe it was just being below deck and on the ship that made me faint.”

Remy had to jam on the brakes before he plowed into the Mini Cooper in front of him. “What?”

“You’re not going to ask why?”

“Okay. Why?”

“You feel good.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “I like you. And I think it would be a lot of fun. And if you’re my consort, we should consummate it, right?”

Remy seemed to nearly swallow his tongue.

“I’m not asking for marriage. Just a roll in the hay, okay?”

“I can’t fly,” he managed to strangle out.

“Neither can I.”

“No, you can. You just can’t right now.”

Nidhogg, was he sweating? He was acting like he wanted to talk her out of it, but she knew he was into her. If she hadn’t passed out, they’d already be lovers. The thought of that sent a throb of longing through her. “Why don’t we try a little experiment? There has to be a secluded area somewhere around here.”

“You couldn’t have come up with this before we left Burlington? Or my boat?”

“I didn’t want Casimiro to watch, and you were in no mood this morning.”

“I could’ve gotten in the mood.”

“Can you get in the mood now?”

“What do you think?” He took her hand and pressed it into the hard bulge tenting his kilt.

Margery’s breath caught. “I think you need to become my consort in deed rather than in words, and I get to find out if you’re a true Scotsman.”

“If the press gets photos of us doing this...”

“I’m not planning on running for office. How about you?”

Remy laughed. “All right, chérie, you can have your way with me. Let me see if I can find us a hiking trail that isn’t crawling with Cub Scouts or something.”

Margery leaned up and kissed around his ear and neck. “Better hurry,” she said, darting her tongue around the shell of his ear. “Or we can fool around inside the truck on the side of the road.”

“Damn Samaritans would probably stop and see if they could help.”

He tasted cool and fresh like sunlight on the lake. She tested her teeth on his exposed neck.

“Margery,” he warned, pulling her in closer.

She pressed little kisses over his jawline, and when she pushed her hand up his kilt, he pulled the truck off the road again.

“Why didn’t I buy a van?” he asked, throwing the truck into park and hauling her astride him. He kissed her like she was a drug he couldn’t get enough of. Her hands were pulling up his shirt, and he released her mouth only to help her get it over his head.

“Not how I pictured our first time. It should be more...” His head smacked back on the headrest when she ground down on his lap. He swore fluently in French and opened his driver’s side door. He carried her out of the truck. Margery wrapped her legs around his waist as he jumped down an embankment so they were out of view of the road. He vanished his kilt with a wave of his hand and pressed her against a tree.

“Take this off. Take it all off,” he muttered, kissing her as his hands slid up her sweater.

The shade from the tree didn’t block out the sun, but she shivered. “Oh,” she gasped against his mouth. His fingers pulled down her bra. They were shaking. Margery felt the darkness slipping over her.

“No,” she cried out helplessly.

“What?” He lifted his head up.

Margery heard him say, “Why?” as she faded out of consciousness.