When Mya returned, Poet could immediately see that something was amiss. The woman constantly glanced at her cell phone, muttering to herself as she strutted back and forth against the filthy floor.

Poet swallowed the sarcastic comments brimming from her lips, sensing that antagonizing her kidnapper in that instance would only move forward the inevitable plan to end her life. Her throat was far too raw to waste words, anyway. She may as well save her breath for her last words.

The idea that she was about to die was almost amusing at that point. Then again, Poet knew that the cold and lack of nourishment could be to blame for that.

I had a good life, she mused, studying Mya with puffy, red eyes. Who else can say they were born a princess and held for ransom? A strangled sob escaped her throat, and Mya’s head jerked up to glare at her.

“What the hell are you sniveling for?” she snapped. “I’m the one who can’t find that skinny bastard. He hasn’t answered my texts all morning!”

Poet realized that Mya was speaking more to herself than she was to her, but that didn’t stop her from laughing before she could stop herself. Mya’s face turned black with fury.

“Is something amusing to you, Princess?” she hissed, drawing closer.

Poet shrugged, suddenly aware that she could no longer feel her legs or arms. The cold had penetrated her so deeply, she could no longer remember what it was like to feel warm.

I have nothing to lose, she realized. No one is coming for me. Max tried, I’m sure. Father did, too. But in the end, we’re born alone, and we die alone, I suppose.

“It looks like Nick had the same idea as you,” Poet offered, an almost serene smile on her face. “Well, maybe not exactly the same, because he didn’t kill you.”

Mya’s mouth parted in surprise, as if Poet saying it aloud confirmed all the fears she’d been harvesting since the morning. The slap of her hand across Poet’s cheek was meant to sting, but Poet could barely feel anything.

Is this what apathy feels like? she wondered, a half-smile still on her face as she tasted blood inside her mouth.

“What the hell are you smiling at?” Mya howled, hurrying behind her. Poet did not even bother to see where she had gone. “You think it’s funny? Even now, you’re better than me?”

The rope encircled her neck, and Poet realized that it was time.

“After I kill you, I am going to strip you naked and leave you here for the rats to eat,” Mya hissed, pulling the noose tighter around Poet’s throat. “Then we’ll see how pretty you look.”

Poet gasped, desperate to breathe. What she had assumed was apathy suddenly evaporated from her body, being replaced by the instinct to survive and the panic that she might not succeed. She rocked violently against the chair, straining to free her still-bound hands as life slipped from her body.

A terrible rasping noise filled the room as Mya pulled the noose tighter, her fury evident in her actions. Poet felt her eyes bugging from her face, and she began to fade into unconsciousness.

I’m sorry, Max, she called out as the world went dark around her. I tried to hold on so we could have more time together.

Abruptly, the rope fell onto her lap, and Poet gasped for air in huge, choking breaths. She bucked backward in her frenzy to breathe, landing on her back. Slowly, she turned her head, as if in a dream, and stared at the scene unfolding before her.

Am I dead? she wondered as a huge, amber-eyed beast prowled down the steps, its giant head peering at her like some prehistoric dinosaur. But Poet knew it was no dinosaur. It was a dragon, and she knew exactly who it was. Max!

As if hearing her silent call, Max unleashed a feral, high-pitched scream, and Mya fell to her knees in shock.

“Oh, my God, what—what the hell is that?” she whispered.

Poet watched his claws inching down the steps. Then she saw the almost minuscule shape of another figure on Max’s behemoth back.

“What did you do?” Mya screamed. “You screwed up everything!”

It wasn’t until Mya said those words that Poet realized it was Nick on Max’s back. But not for long. With a massive shake from Max’s form, the thin, terrified man was sent flying against the far wall of the basement, a crunch of bones accompanying his cries of pain as he crashed to the floor.

Mya rose quickly, as if sensing her only hope was to run. Before she could move, Max unhinged his jaws and unleashed a stream of fire toward her. Poet could not be certain if his intent was to miss her, but Mya howled in fear as a line of flames danced past her.

“Please! Stop!” she begged. “I didn’t hurt her! Tell it, Poet! Tell it I didn’t hurt you!”

Again, a vibration escaped Max’s enraged body, and Poet exhaled, feeling the heat of the fire dart past her toes. It felt so good to be near warmth again. Unbelievably, she found herself relaxing, the fear of the past two days washing away while Mya’s only escalated.

“YOU CAN’T HURT ME!” Mya screamed hysterically, darting around the enclosed space like a trapped rat. “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!”

Max stalked closer to her, his saffron eyes locking on her hysterical brown ones.

“I can hurt you,” he rasped, and Poet heard Max’s voice deep inside the leviathan cornering Mya.

“Who are you?” she moaned, once more falling to her knees in defeat. “How is this possible?”

“I am the man who will be watching you for the rest of your life,” Max told her, his scales falling away to expose his rugged handsomeness as Mya stared at him in awe. “No matter where you go, no matter what you do, I will always be there. And if not me, one of us. Expect us, Mya. We’re everywhere.”

Max whirled and rushed to where Poet lay, his hands undoing the tight knots around her ankles and hands.

“Talk to me,” he urged her, cupping her face in his hands. “Poet. Poet, look at me.”

Poet tried to focus her eyes on him, but she was drifting off somewhere else, somewhere much brighter and more pleasant.

“I’m taking you home,” he murmured. “I’ve got you, Poet. You’re going to be okay now.”

But his voice floated away, much like her mind. Suddenly, there was nothing but warmth and darkness.

Someone was holding her hand, and even before Poet opened her eyes, a smile blossomed over her face.

“Max,” she murmured, turning her head toward the dark-haired man at her side.

“Poet! You’re awake!”

Her smile faded slightly as she realized it was not Max at her side. “Papa?” she murmured. “Where is Max?”

King Henry reached down to stroke her face, his eyes darkening.

“He won’t ever get near you again,” her father promised. “He’s locked up in London.” Poet’s eyes widened in shock as she struggled to sit up, looking around.

“Where am I?” she demanded. As soon as she asked the question, she realized the answer. The windows of the room were open, and a soft, tropical breeze fluttered through the sheer curtains. Despite the hospital equipment surrounding the bed, Poet recognized the palace on the Island of Luxe.

“No!” she cried, tears of frustration filling her eyes. “Why is he in prison?”

The king looked at her pityingly and waved his hand dismissively at the others in the room. Without a word, the medical staff exited, offering Poet timid smiles.

“You don’t remember what happened to you, do you?” her father asked sadly, stroking her face. “You were—”

“Kidnapped,” Poet interrupted, impatiently swatting his hand away. “By Nick Taylor and Mya Christensen, two classmates of mine from Oxford. Papa, Max saved me from them!”

The king studied her face, his brow furrowing in confusion. “No, Poet, he was in on it, too. The police said—”

“The police are wrong!” she snapped. “Did you pay a ransom? No, because Max stopped Nick from collecting. Papa, you have to get him out of prison! Get on the phone with whomever you need and do something!”

“All right, Poet, all right!” King Henry said, holding up a hand in protest. “Just lay back and relax. I will make the calls and have your friend freed.”

“He’s not my friend,” Poet said quietly. “He’s my soulmate.”

The waves of the Pacific crashed at the white sands as Poet paced the dock, glancing onto the horizon again.

“Are you sure he’s on his way?” she asked her father again. “He should have been here by now.”

“You know how things are on the mainland,” King Henry told her, but his gaze followed her closely. “Punctuality is not their strong suit.”

Poet continued to walk back and forth until the glint of metal caught her eye.

“He’s here,” she whispered. “He’s here.”

“I will leave you alone,” the king said, as though he anticipated the reunion between his daughter and Maximus Williams would not be something he wanted to witness.

Poet barely noticed as her bare feet pounded against the wood of the pier, waiting for the speedboat to approach. It had been two weeks since the kidnapping, and every day apart from Max had been excruciating. She still didn’t understand how the police could have made such a mistake, arresting him for her kidnapping, but nothing mattered more than being in her lover’s arms.

She felt like they had been apart a lifetime.

I can’t bear another minute away, she thought, jumping onto the vehicle before it touched the dock.

“Princess!” the driver called in shock. “You should not—”

“Go, Paolo,” she said, her gaze fixated on the cockpit, where Max was getting to his feet. She did not even feel her feet move across the boat, but she was suddenly in his arms, her lips locked against his.

Poet moaned softly, the feeling that she had been longing for sweeping through her like wildfire as her slender frame fell into Max’s, knocking his solid body back onto the seats.

“Oh, my God, I’ve missed you,” she whispered, her teeth sinking into his lower lip. His eyes seemed darker than she remembered, and his frame seemed smaller, but all Poet could envision was the glorious creature stalking down the basement stairs, his eyes glittering with malice and rage as he rescued her from certain death.

“I have not slept one night apart from you,” Max growled, his hand slipping into her long, blonde hair to pull her head back. His hot mouth found the small of her throat, and his tongue lashed out to lick her skin.

Poet felt her flesh explode into prickles, the heat in her body flooding through her core. She straddled his legs, pulling her arms up to allow him to yank off her simple sundress. She had selected it by design, knowing that her nakedness would be pressed against his with little effort.

We have already wasted enough time apart, she had thought. We don’t need clothes slowing us down more.

Somehow, Max had already freed his hardness from the confines of his Bermuda shorts, his face finding its way to the flesh of her swelling breasts. Poet sighed, dipping her back against him, her hips riding over his engorged member as his tongue teased at her nipples, hands splayed against her back.

“Never leave me again,” she sighed, propping herself up against the seats on her knees, her belly at his face as she stared down into his stunning blue eyes.

“Never,” Max promised. “Nothing can keep me away.”

His hands fell against her cheeks, spreading them before lowering her onto his rigid shaft. Poet shuddered with pleasure, her waist falling completely over his member, taking in his entire rod.

“Oh, my God,” she moaned. “I had almost forgotten how big you are.”

Max chuckled, an intense look in his eyes as he drove himself up inside her. Poet cried out in pleasure. Her hands closed around his neck, their bodies rocking against the waves of the ocean as their gazes locked and they found themselves lost in one another.

“Harder,” she begged, and Max was happy to oblige, suddenly standing, her legs wrapping around his waist as he lay her on her back.

The coolness of the leather against her heated skin was delicious, but it was nothing compared to the look in Max’s eye. Poet knew she was about to be taken savagely, and a slick feeling of heat slid down her thigh.

Max’s palms closed around her ankles, and he leaned forward to kiss her, their tongues tangling as he plunged into her. Poet’s nails dug into him as his fingers tightened against her ankles, pulling her legs almost to her shoulders, their eyes still engaged.

His member thickening inside her, Poet squeezed against him, her climax mounting as he pinned her to the seats, his moans matching hers. He continued to thrust into her, bringing her higher, faster, and suddenly she arched upward, spilling her orgasm against him.

“D-don’t stop!” she gasped, feeling a secondary spasm wracking her body. Max fulfilled her desire, joining her as they both climaxed in unison.

Max groaned, jutting up against her hips, and she tried to keep him inside her as her body shook beneath him in pleasure.

“Oh my God,” he muttered. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

Poet laughed shakily, pulling his face to hers for another deep kiss.

“I missed you so much,” she told him sincerely. “I don’t understand what happened.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he assured her, slowly releasing her legs so she was level with the seating, one foot on the floor of the boat, the other lounging along the rail of the speedboat. “We’re together now.”

He slid out of her, and she released a small sigh of disappointment.

“We’ll go back to London,” Poet said, offering him a smile. “But let’s stay and enjoy our vacation for a few days.” Max lowered his eyes, and Poet immediately tensed. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his dark head, falling back against her raised leg to lay a hand against her inner thigh. The movement caused her to shiver with delight.

“We should stay here for a while,” he told her. “Until I can figure some things out.”

Poet’s smile faded. “What things?” she demanded, sitting up to stare into his face. “What are you worried about? My father assured me that all your legal troubles are—”

“It’s not that,” Max interjected, brushing a strand of honey-blonde hair from her face. “It’s much worse than that.”

Poet felt her heart catch. “Whatever it is, Max, we’ll get through it. Are you worried about my thesis?”

Max grimaced at the reminder. “Partially,” he replied, leaning forward to find his pants.

“Tell me!” she insisted. “My thesis doesn’t have to be published, Max, and whatever you tell me stays between us, I promise.”

He sat back up, his cell phone in hand. With a sigh, he unlocked the device. “I’m afraid that you and I have a little problem.”

Poet eyed him skeptically. “Well?”

Max handed her the phone, and Poet watched the YouTube clip curiously until her eyes widened in horror. It showed Max running through the streets of London, shifting into a dragon as he pounced on Nick Taylor.

“Oh, my God,” she murmured, staring at him with concerned eyes. “People will hunt you—”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Poet,” Max told her softly.

She laughed shortly. “I’m about to be the most heavily guarded princess in the world, Max. You don’t need to worry about me. But you…” He gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher, but it made her heart patter nervously. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Poet, I was sent to Oxford to kill you,” Max said bluntly. “And now that I have protected you instead of honoring my father’s wishes, he will be looking for you himself.”

Fear pierced Poet’s heart, and she gaped at him.

“What?” she whispered, although a part of her had always suspected it. She stared at him, her eyes bright with fear.

Max exhaled slowly and nodded.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “It doesn’t matter how protected you are; you are no match for a dragon. We are both in a world of trouble.”