Pyro watched the Carnelian office building from deep within the cold, wet grass. He’d thrown off his pursuers — without killing or badly injuring any of them — and had doubled back.

His brother, Kyan, assured him Amy was still inside. Now they strategized how to break in and steal her back.

His ear bud hissed. His brother’s soft voice announced, “Movement on the fifth floor.”

He trained his gaze on the offices. Sard wouldn’t dare injure a human. That violated the treaty and Sard had no reason to antagonize his suppliers any more than Pyro did.

But he wouldn’t put it past Sard to come up with some excuse to keep Amy.

She was sweet. Innocent. Desirable.

Why hadn’t she jumped?

He gritted his teeth. She should have trusted him and jumped out the window. He would have caught her long before she hit the ground.

But she hadn’t trusted him. She hadn’t jumped.

She’d looked terrified.

Recriminations stabbed him. He knew she was different. Impetuous risk-taking wasn’t in her nature. Unlike him, she was careful. Responsible. Trustworthy.

A good girl who had no business looking at, much less agreeing to date or kiss a damaged male like him.

Unfamiliar shame sliced into his heart.

He sucked in a breath and shook it off. He had no reason to regret what had happened here tonight. No way. It was her fault.

She had no business getting close to him, but since she had agreed to date and kiss a damaged male like him, she shouldn’t have suddenly balked. She should have trusted him. She should have —

There.

He picked out the movement from the roof of the building. Amy was wearing her flowery skirt and pink blouse; also the parka. She put her soft arms around one of Sard’s employees and they rose into the air.

Pyro fought his urge to rend the other male to shreds. What was his name? Syenite?

“Don’t fight,” Kyan warned.

“I wasn’t going to,” he snapped, rising and skimming over the fields like a distant shadow.

“Your heart rate is increasing.”

He fought his inner reactions. Of course Kyan could hear his heartbeat; probably vitals were built into the black ops earbuds he was borrowing.

Pyro continued talking himself out of his fury.

He’d just met Amy. He refused to let her be important to him. He barely knew her. Right? She must put her hands on many males. Just like all the females he spent time with.

But thinking that only made him tense up to fight all the possible males who might try to enjoy her sweet touch. Fury crackled under his skin.

“Pyro. Stay low.”

He swerved closer to the grass.

Think.

The aristocrats were likely to dump her at the most efficient location such as a transit station. He’d forgive her for not trusting him, swoop in, and pick her up. They’d continue their wild night with less dangerous talking and more silent seduction. Easier to love and leave her that way.

But Syenite didn’t turn toward the nearest station. They flew on into the night.

“Where’s he taking her?” Pyro asked, lifting above the ground and shadowing.

His brother, Kyan, hissed in his earbud. “Back to Portland.”

“Why?”

“Giving her a ride home?”

Sard would only do that if he found Amy of value to him.

The itchy sensation of her betrayal scratched at him. What had she given to Sard? Her observations? Had he given her any secrets worth sharing?

His shame disappeared in the fire of rightness. See? She’d betrayed him somehow. Just like everyone did. No point in getting upset. How stupid of him to feel disappointed.

Pyro should just leave. Fly off, find another female, forget this night ever happened.

But he didn’t.

He followed them into the city. Syenite released her in front of an old apartment building. She spoke to the male as if they were good friends. And the emotionless dragon actually responded.

Pyro’s fingers elongated into sharp claws.

He wanted to rip Syenite’s spine out. Amy was his.

No, no, no. He shook his head to clear it. Amy was not his and never would be. She’d made new friends with the aristocrats. Who wouldn’t? They were everything a low caste dragon like Pyro would never be.

He watched her walk into her apartment and then he shoved off the roof and flew into the night.

She was just like the rest. No one to get upset about. No reason to feel possessive or hungry or shamed by his own behavior. Those pointless feelings would go away as soon as he drowned them in new stimuli — a new bar, loud music, a dance party.

He was fine. Totally fine.

Completely carefree.