Kyan argued quietly with his oldest brother next to the elevators.

Although the hospital churned with activity, from this location he could keep an eye on the exam room, the hall, and also the three major entrance/exits, while disagreeing.

“I want you to drop Chrysoberyl and focus on the stolen medkit,” Mal ordered gruffly.

Kyan gritted his teeth on his silent growl. Mal never interfered with his work. “If Chrysoberyl is injured by humans, we lose this entire planet.”

“That’s why he will remain under the supervision of Syenite.”

“Was that Syenite’s suggestion?”

Unusually, Mal looked away. “It will silence Chrysoberyl and allow us to get back to work.”

Syenite was up to something. He’d shot — and detonated — the bomb without any regard to its devastating consequences. No security officer should ever make such a mistake.

Kyan had turned on him as soon as he was certain Chrysoberyl was unharmed. And then he had yelled. “What are you doing?”

Syenite’s mouth had closed into a thin line. He hadn’t answered.

Either he was incompetent — which he had never demonstrated before — or he was dangerous.

What game was the impassive fallen aristocrat playing?

Luckily, the bomb had been a dud. Someone had altered it to remove its payload. But how had Syenite known? Either he’d wanted to kill them all — himself included — or he’d set the bomb himself.

“And the same perpetrators who sold the medkit that injured Pyro are likely behind this new attack on Chrysoberyl,” Mal continued.

Kyan disagreed.

Another dragon family, the Tourmalines, had medical connections and had recently lost a huge market share when their “rare, human gemstones” were copied in labs and mass-produced on Draconis. Selling off a few crates of seemingly innocuous medkits gave them quick capital to regroup — never mind that it was illegal.

He just needed proof.

“Chrysoberyl aside, you must focus on avoiding the Empress’s marriage.” Mal apparently couldn’t bring himself to order Kyan to marry a local female. That was how he and Pyro had escaped her offer. “Perhaps we can arrange a video conference so she can see the male she intends to betroth.”

Kyan had already considered that.

His think tank didn’t believe his scars would put the Empress off. Or, if they did, she’d simply lock her new “husband” in a Palace dungeon to hide his deformed face.

She wanted something else from the Onyx family. Or, as her Palace advisers were rumored to believe, she really had gone crazy.

What rational female would want to marry him?

Laura’s image flashed in his head.

Tendrils of curly blonde hair had come loose from her cap. She’d listened to that arrogant aristocrat with such patience and competence. And then, she’d looked directly into Kyan’s eyes and told him she wanted to examine him for injuries.

No one wanted to examine his injuries. He was always the last to be treated and the first to be shoved into the war zone.

I wish I could kiss it and make it better.

Hot blood pulsed in his cock.

Just like before, she looked past his scars and saw him.

She had once drawn his face down to her level and touched those sweet lips to his.

Would she do it again? Even though her healing saliva hadn’t helped?

Kyan fought his wild thoughts.

He’d intended to never return. He didn’t want to see that he’d been mistaken before, that she actually did look at him with disgust, that her friendliness had been a figment of his hungry imagination.

But then Chrysoberyl had refused to enter the Onyx spaceship medical facilities. Refused. He’d cried so loudly about Kyan’s “assault on his person” and then balked so insistently at using a medical facility “coated with impure blood” that Kyan had wanted to pick him up and throw him across the medical facility threshold just to watch him writhe.

The next most obvious place to bring the aristocrat for medical attention had been here. This hospital. And the one fearless nurse he knew would be working here. Laura.

When she’d walked into the room, her eyes had sought Kyan’s and she’d lit up in a smile. A genuine, heart-piercing, cock-flooding smile. She’d been happy to see him. Eager. Like she actually had hoped he would return at the end of her shift to get coffee instead of dreading her unwise words.

She smelled of freshness and cool breezes, wildness and freedom. And he suddenly remembered her exact taste.

Pure, untamed, addictive woman.

Females swoon over Pyro, enticed by his dangerous confidence and bad boy attitude. Until Pyro met his wife, the interest of those females had never lasted longer than one night.

Had Laura somehow confused Kyan for a devilish, charismatic dragon like Pyro?

Surely, if someone suggested Kyan for Laura’s husband, her lip would finally curl, her pretty eyes squint, and the disgust he knew must be hiding within her would reject him.

He crushed the image.

No female of any species should desire him. His poisoned soul would damn any who dared to feel kindness.

Back to the matter at hand. He focused on Mal. “Something is wrong with this situation.”

Mal shrugged. “Even Flint can’t say why the Empress wants to marry one of us. But that doesn’t change the facts.”

“No, about the bomb. Chrysoberyl just arrived. Few knew he was coming today and fewer still were in the building when the bomb was planted. Syenite was there.”

“What are you saying?”

“If he gets Chrysoberyl killed, we’ll have a larger problem on our hands.”

“Murder between aristocrats is a private affair.”

“Syenite is fallen.”

“The Palace will not care.” Mal dismissed the problem. “Our only concern is preventing his death at the hands of crazed humans such as the ones that got a hold of Pyro.”

Chrysoberyl exited the exam room, saw Kyan with Mal, and his expression clouded. “You left me alone. I am injured to the first degree. What kind of security is this?”

Mal took charge, directing Chrysoberyl to the waiting room. “Your new security officer is out here.”

“You’ve reassigned me to a more competent bodyguard? Finally, you’ve seen reason.”

Mal growled something unintelligible.

Chrysoberyl strutted. “Due to my extensive injuries, I will not produce the research you desired.”

“You have a 24-hour extension,” Mal snapped. “Then, we decide our next launch, with or without you.”

Chrysoberyl protested all the way out.

Kyan should exit with them, but his instincts directed him back to the exam room. Not to check on Laura. Certainly not to savor her curves or drink in her vivacious smiles.

No.

He only went because something was wrong about this situation and he would not rest until his instincts were satisfied.

Right.

Laura was turning away from a medical tray, her hand on her pocket, lost in thought. She almost walked into him.

How many times now?

He steadied her with hands on her shoulders.

Her nearness pulsed through him like a shock wave. Her soft curves and feminine heat existed mere inches from his, her rounded shoulders and delicate collar yielded beneath his rough hands.

Kyan was not a shrinking dragon to be accidentally wandered into, no matter how distracted.

She was odd. Strange. An anomaly.

“Kyan.” Her smile burst forth, clearing her distraction with pure sunlight. “I hoped you were still around. I need to examine your injuries.”

Her smile blinded him. He sucked in a breath, fighting his reactions.

What was wrong with him?

He dropped her shoulders. “I’m fine.”

“You must have absorbed the blast.”

“It was a dud.”

“A dud?”

“Shrapnel-bearing but no load. Just a loud bang.” And a few burn marks on the wall and chips off the luggage.

“Oh.” She looked down at his arms. “Then, you’re not hurt.”

“No.”

“That must have been a huge relief to you and your team.”

“I work alone.”

She lifted her brows.

He hadn’t meant to tell her such a truth, but now that he was in her presence again, he wanted, unusually, to share. See her reactions. Sense her thoughts. Read her and get the answers to all of his lingering doubts.

“Who was the guy in the hall?” she asked, and he could only assume she meant Malachite.

“My brother.”

“And today’s patient?”

“A new employee.”

“Oh.” She tilted her head.

“What?”

“No, nothing.” She shook her head. “When Sabrina said you were ‘head’ of security, I assumed that meant the head of your team.”

“I have employees. Not a team.”

“Just employees?”

He’d seen the camaraderie and respect in well-functioning fireteams in the Colony Wars. Kyan had never experienced it. His employees executed his tasks. He didn’t ask for more and they didn’t give it.

“I work alone,” he repeated.

Her smile returned softly. “Well, I hope you’ll come alone in a few hours when I get off.”

His cock pulsed.

She still wanted coffee at the end of today’s shift? Temptation teased him. He might meet her…

No. He was too busy. There were criminals to track and rogue security agents to examine.

And she didn’t — couldn’t — intend to go any farther with him than her one kiss. She’d attempted to use her healing saliva and now she should have seen that her healing effort had been in vain. No single scar had disappeared or lessened in severity. Even a soul of charity would admit defeat.

“Come in.” She tugged him into the room, her fingers peeling the trench coat off his shoulders. “I still need to examine you.”

“I am not injured,” he said, automatically, even as he savored the soft touch of her delicate feminine hands through the thin fabric of his black shirt.

“I’m pretty sure you sheltered the other guy from a bomb.” Her fingers slid under the collar.

“The bomb was a dud.”

“Oh! Right, you said that.” She focused on his chest, her lips parted. “I won’t feel satisfied until I can see for myself.”

He set his feet, his cock flooding with hot arousal.

It wasn’t his first time. He had encountered beautiful, enticing females in the past, always knowing to keep his reactions to himself because he had no chance to engage with them.

For the first time, he considered the consequences of allowing her to strip him and learn.

Would she run away? Curl up in disgust? Dismiss him with horror?

Or was it just possible she would have a different … unfathomable … reaction?

A high-pitched warning whined behind him.

He whipped around, shrugging his bullet resistant trench coat back onto his shoulders.

“Oh, it’s making noise.” She moved around him. “This mysterious object showed up on my room tray just now. It looks like an electric banana slicer.”

Electric what?

His gaze narrowed on the object: A stellarium-activated flechette grenade loaded with scale-piercing rounds.

And he, with blood full of stellarium, had just unwittingly entered its activation field.

The blue lights blinked faster.

A hundred flechettes would slice a human into unrecognizable goo.

She walked toward it and reached out. “It wasn’t here be—”

He caught her across the chest, twirled her into his arms, and slammed her to the floor.

The flechette grenade exploded.

With one palm he ensured her face was mashed into his chest. The thickest, most bone-dense portion of his torso.

But he was in trouble.

Scales erupted over his fragile human skin. They wouldn’t provide much protection from these deadly razors but it was more than the bullet-resistant trench coat and light armor shirt weave.

The small razor-tipped squares exploded with a hiss he knew all too well, slammed into the metal exam bed partially covering his torso, and thwacked his heavy canvas trench coat. Icy bites of deadly metal snarled into his less guarded arms and legs.

He grunted at the impacts.

One sliced into his buttocks; another, his outer thigh. They ghosted across his back like fingernails clawing for his vital organs.

The scent of his blood flowed freely.

Metal flechettes wiggled deeper, slicing through muscle toward his stellarium-dense bone.

Overhead, the screech of metal on metal told of the ones buried in the bed dislodging and re-lodging as they fought to immerse themselves in his blood.

He held Laura tightly, caging her from the razors with his body.

She must be protected. She must be safe.

And then, abruptly, the magnetized razors went dead.

His breath mixed with hers.

Outside, the rest of the hospital sounded unaffected. They were sole victims of a shocking attack and they had survived.

In the doorway, a pair of boots appeared.

He looked up.

Syenite.

The impassive dragon held a demagnetizing wand. It was effective against only a few threats — one of which happened to be flechette grenades.

How very convenient.

How very, very odd.

“So is Kyan coming or not?” Mal’s voice demanded.

Syenite turned, hooking the wand on his belt. “Return to the waiting room and remain within my line of sight.”

“Within your … this night will not end,” Mal groaned, his voice receding. “I promised to return home before two. Cheryl’s going to be angry.”

To the nearby human security guard, Syenite’s voice lowered. “Seal off this room. There has been an attack.”

“Attack!”

“A grenade. It’s deactivated now. Clear this hallway.”

“Uh…”

“Where are your security tapes?”

Kyan let out his held breath.

The rival security officer did everything right and had incredible timing. What preternatural instinct had possessed Syenite to come to the room at this moment with such a wand? Kyan considered himself prepared. But even he did not run around with demagnetizing wands unless he was going into a job where he expected to need it.

So, Syenite must have expected to need it…

Beneath him, Laura trembled.

She had survived. She was safe.

Her face buried in his chest. Her soft breasts pressed against his upper abdomen, the nipples hard as gemstones. His knee wedged between her thighs and the heat of her cleft tantalized.

He wanted to mark her as his. He wanted to annihilate anyone who threatened her. He wanted to bury his cock in her feminine softness and claim her for his own forever.

But that was madness.

He flexed his elbows, shifting his weight to pull away.

Her hands burrowed under his trench coat and ghosted against his sides, settling around his unharmed waist. She nuzzled his chest. Her face was separated from his skin by a micrometer of fabric. She drew him closer.

He hesitated.

Did she know what she was doing? Or was she paralyzed by fright?

“Laura.”

She sucked in a long breath and tilted her head. Her cap pulled off and her hair fanned just as he’d fantasized.

But the fright in her eyes left him cold. “Is it safe?”

“Yes.”

She went lax with relief.

So, then, she had not known what she was doing. She had clung to him from fear, not desire.

He gathered himself to get up.

Her hands at his waist tightened.

He froze.

She laughed unsteadily. “That was too close.”

What was too close? Or did she mean he was too close?

Her smile wrinkled into a tremulous frown. Shudders wracked her. She buried her face in his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little … I’ll be fine in a moment.”

He cupped the back of her neck, supporting her. Her reaction filled him with dread. “Are you injured?”

“Not physically. Just … let me collect myself.”

She was upset. She needed medical attention.

But she was the professional. She said to wait.

His thumb stroked her silky locks. The curls clung to his fingers, soft and resilient.

She was the only female who had ever clung to him for comfort. The only female who would ever do such a fearless thing.

She had been badly frightened.

But not of him.

His chest squeezed, but this pain was very different. Hard and sharp, like one of the flechettes pierced him straight through the heart.

Fierce protectiveness growled in his chest. He would find the villain who had set this bomb and destroy him.

“Okay.” She sighed. Her hot breath on his sensitive neck sent shivers down his spine. “I’m better.”

He lifted slowly, allowing her head to rest on his palm.

She turned as though to ask him a question. At the same moment, he dropped his chin to inspect her for injuries. Their noses touched each other’s cheeks. Her lips brushed the corner of his mouth.

They both froze.

He held his breath.

She rested on his palm and gazed up at him. Fearless. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and back to his eyes. Waiting? For some signal he didn’t know how to give.

And then she closed the distance, lightly swiping her lips against his.

Curious. Soft. Feminine.

His cock flooded with heat.

That was no accident.

She pulled back. Her expression questioned him. Gauging his feelings. She smiled, slightly, and tilted her lips up in invitation.

Invitation.

He wanted another taste. He wanted her, kissing him back. Proving with her reactions she was uninjured. She was safe. And he wanted her taste on his tongue, filling his senses, buried in her softness.

He started to lower his head, to give in to his temptation, and stopped.

This was madness.

He was no male worthy of a female like her. He—

She lifted her head and met him halfway.

Her mouth captured his, tasting and exploring. She nibbled, teasing his thick lower lip between her small teeth. Enthusiastic, like she really did want him.

His control broke.

He tilted his head to more firmly command hers.

Her lips parted, yielding with a soft whimper.

He delved into her hot mouth, mixing their liquids. She tasted like water. Healing, soothing, and necessary for life.

He skimmed his tongue over her teeth, memorizing her shape, and plunged into her mouth.

She whimpered again. Her tongue met his, returning his commanding strokes with sweet, soft caresses.

His cock hardened into rebar.

She canted her hips as if she wanted to feel his arousal. Her thighs tightened around his knee and her back arched, sliding her hard nipples up his chest.

An intense, driving need to possess her throbbed within him. His mouth hungered to taste her skin and increase her needy whimpers with his teeth. His hands ached to cup her generous breasts and grip her wide, feminine hips and lose himself in the curvy shape of her thighs.

Her fingers tugged his belt loops, urging his cock closer to her feminine heat.

Footsteps sounded outside the doorway.

He broke the kiss and whipped to meet the newcomer, arms up in a fighting stance as he half-kneeled over her protectively.

The human guard paused on the threshold. “We cleared the hallway. There was a bomb?”

“Flechette. Improvised. Much weaker than military issue.”

“Are you two okay?”

Kyan started to rise. The confusion of the kiss cleared to cold, hard reality. “Fine.”

“No!”

He returned to Laura.

She sat upright and pointed at his back in horror. “You’re bleeding.”

Razors stuck from the backs of his arms and legs. Bright red blood trailed across his blue, scale-covered hands. He’d felt the impacts and he felt them again now, but there had been a period between those two events he hadn’t felt them at all.

He’d only felt her. In his arms. Writhing beneath him.

Another hot pulse fired in his cock.

He yanked the razors out, forcing his attention to the present, and dropped them on the tile with clinks.

“Oh! We need to get the medkit.” She pushed to her feet.

He stopped her with a bloody hand around her ankle. “No.”

“But those scales — you’re in dragon form.”

“The devices in the medkit are for more significant damage.”

She hesitated, then knelt to his level. “Take off your clothes and let me clean you up.”

The hot pulse came again, this time so powerfully demanding it made his bones ache. He mustn’t claim her. Getting naked was dangerous. Touching his skin … no.

“I must review the security tapes,” he said, closing the discussion.

“You can’t walk out of my exam room dripping biohazards. I’ll get disciplined. Now, strip.”

He shifted his arm and leg scales into his human skin. The movements stretched and pulled, aggravating the open wounds.

New gloves on, new tray beside her, she dabbed at the cuts.

“This should really have stitches,” she commented on the back of his left hand. “Otherwise, it could scar.”

He eyed her. Was she serious?

She looked back at him with clear eyes. As if she didn’t realize that no ordinary person, dragon or human, would ever look past the morass on his face to notice a scar on the back of his hand.

“No stitches,” he said, to be clear. “Don’t waste your time.”

“It’s not a waste,” she grumbled but applied butterfly tape, plastic skin, and a movement-restricting bandage that he would only rip off as soon as he left her sight.

While he received treatment, his tactical employees arrived and, on his commands, searched the hospital for evidence.

The Director of the Hospital, looking disheveled and disgruntled at the late hour, interrupted the search to demand answers. “What is the origin of this attack? Are we at risk?”

“No,” Kyan assured him while Laura fumbled the last of the bandage tape. “The weapon was designed to injure dragons. Not humans.”

He pinched his cheeks. “Are you involved in some kind of war?”

Always.

But, unusually, Kyan did not know who was leading the armies.

Chrysoberyl was the undeniable target. Someone had planted a weapon in his hospital room that could only be activated by dragon blood. Luckily, he’d already left, or else he would have been shredded.

Who had placed it? Where had it come from?

Nothing made sense.

Who wanted to start a war?

After the Director left, Laura fixed Kyan’s last bandage and touched his forearm, worried.

“I know you didn’t want to talk. But, have you changed your mind?”

He had no idea why she would ask that question. “Talk about?”

“The bomb.” She huffed a laugh. “You work alone. I work with lots of people and it’s made me a little unsteady.”

He wanted to feel her hand on his arm longer. He wanted her close to him, feeling her curves under his hands, squeezing her to his chest while his hard cock buried deep in her feminine heat. Talking or any other excuse was a reason to be around her, staring into her fearless eyes and breathing in her clear, fresh scent.

His arm went around her waist almost before he could think about what she was saying. It’s made me a little unsteady. Then, he steadied her. Yes. That was why his bicep tightened, drawing her against his solid front.

She rested both palms on his chest. “Your heartbeat sounds so calm.”

“Decades of training.”

Besides, there was nothing dangerous about holding an irresistibly soft female in his arms. Nothing that warranted—

She lifted one hand and cupped his jaw.

He froze solid.

She did it again. She touched his scars. His chest squeezed.

The agony of his desire crashed over him. He must possess her. His hands shook with the need.

He fought it.

Escape. Now.

Before someone got hurt.

Stroking the mismatch of flesh, she said, “If you ever want to talk—”

He shoved her back.

She rocked on her tennis shoes. Surprise flashed to regret. She curled her open palm into a fist. “Oh. Ah, I didn’t mean to—”

As though a silent emergency drill had executed in his head, he turned and strode to the end of the hall, shouldered his way through the emergency waiting room, and flew directly away from the hospital into the night.