“Bridget, this is Cosimo, my father. Dad meet Bridget,” Bas hurried to introduce.
“Nice to meet you, Bridget,” Cosimo said, giving her a warm smile. She could see exactly where the Greatdrake boys got their good looks.
“Hello.” Bridget tried and failed not to flinch back from his happy expression. She lectured herself this wasn’t the time to have a reaction to father figures. Not every father in the world was a fucking asshole, but she was wary of them nonetheless.
Bas and his father exchanged intense glances, invisible messages passing through them.
“Ah, well. I had best go and unpack,” Cosimo said, moving past them. “You’re safe here, Bridget, and very welcome.”
She only nodded, her insides a mess of emotions. She never felt welcome anywhere. What was up with this family?
“Yeah, you definitely need cookies,” Bas said, his voice and expression going soft. “Come on, Hawk Girl. We need sugar.”
10
Bas hadn’t meant to read Bridget’s thoughts and feelings. They had come flying at him like a freight train—pain, fear, the face of a man laying into her with fists and words before it all sucked back inside of her. Cosimo’s appearance had triggered it, and so Bas had quickly touched his father’s mind.
She’s freaking out, Dad. You need to leave, or she will.
Cosimo had taken the hint with a brief,Let me know if I can help your mystery girl.
Go talk to Val. He’ll explain who she is. She’s being hunted.
Bridget had visibly taken a breath when they were alone again. Something horrible had happened to his Hawk Girl, and Bas’s dragon wanted to rage and rend. To sink his fangs into something and watch it bleed.
She’s not ours, Bas tried to tell it. The dragon ignored him.
Bas led her into the kitchen, and she stared wide-eyed around her at the sheer size of it before slipping onto one of the pine stools at the breakfast bar. She took off her oversized leather jacket, revealing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt with Doctor Strange on it. He smiled; Doctor Strange was his favorite too. He tried not to stare at the breasts she kept hidden underthe shirt. She had soft curves and strong arms, and he had liked the feel of all of it pushed up against him in the garden. His inner dragon had wanted to pin her to the grass and make her surrender to him.
And that’s why you’re not in charge, Bas reminded it.
“Okay, I’m here. Tell me what’s going on?” Bridget asked, her eyes drifting to look at the stained-glass flower design on the windows.
Bas grabbed the manila folder off a side table and placed it in front of her. “Do you know who Kenna Ironwood is?”
Bridget’s eyes widened. “Scary boss lady of the hunters? I know stories of her. You guys are all somehow related to the fae?”
“Yes. My little brother Reeve is married to Charlotte, one of her daughters,” Bas said. ‘Married’ seemed like an easier word to explain than ‘mated.’ However, Valentine’s big mouth was going to force him to explain their dragon heritage sooner rather than later.
Bas gave Bridget the folder. “Kenna called me in for a meeting this morning and gave me this. That thing that’s been stalking your dreams has been feeding off others and killing them.”
Bridget opened the file, and while she read, Bas found the first-aid kit. When you lived with an alchemist, it was always a good idea to have something ready for magical burns.
“Lift your hair for me?” Bas instructed.
Bridget barely looked up from her reading and just did as he asked.
Bas gently dabbed the lavender-smelling mixture on the curling red mark. He tried not to think too hard about the softness of her golden skin or the submissive gesture of offering her neck to his dragon. A dragon who really wanted to nip that tender nape to see what kind of sounds she made.
“Better?” he asked, heat burning in his chest.
“Y-Yes,” she stammered and then cleared her throat. “Thanks.”
Bas moved back from her and tried hard to pretend that touching her didn’t make his pulse race. He washed his hands, turned on the oven, and started pulling ingredients out of the cupboard.
“You weren’t joking about the cookies,” Bridget said, amusement shining in her eyes.
Bas cracked some eggs into a mixing bowl. “I never joke about cookies. I’m stressed, and baking helps me think. Also, I just want them.”
