My dragon is me, and I am my dragon. We are two halves of the same soul. But my dragon half is far more impulsive. Far more driven by instinct. At that moment, the moment my dragon decides this woman is mine, the entire world constricts to three irrefutable facts. One, I want this woman more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life. Two, the mere idea that I allow her to marry the piece of shit standing across from her is unacceptable and worth dying to stop. And three, the pain and discomfort ratcheting up inside me is mating sickness, and she is my only hope of relief.
She’s my only hope because she is, undeniably and unmistakably, my mate.
I am so fucked.
“Fiona? Fiona?” Roman is trying to get my mate’s attention, but her eyes are on me. It’s time for her to say her part, her vows. That won’t be happening.
I hold out my hand to her. I’m cloaked, invisible, but I call to her with my mind, my soul. Lips parting, she takes a half step toward me, the pointed toe of her shoe extending over the edge of the dais before Roman grabs her arm and says her name again.
A growl rumbles in my chest. I can’t let him touch her. He can’t have her. It can’t happen. Heads turn, one by one, to look in my direction, each face more confused than the last.
I charge up the aisle. No one can see me, but the Order members sense me. They jump to their feet, knocking over the white folding chairs and pushing each other out of the way. Their rings glow to life, morph into neon-blue swords and crossbows.
She’s in my arms now, wide-eyed and breathless. Once she touches me, she can see me, and her eyes lock on my face as I launch into the air with her cradled against my chest. Her arms shoot around my neck, clinging to me as we soar higher, and I fucking love it.
A blue bolt skims past us. A bit of lace falls from Fiona’s side, and I glance back to see Roman holding a crossbow.Fuck!It’s one thing for him to shoot at me, but how dare he risk hitting Fiona! He aims again, but then the dark-haired woman who’d been holding my mate’s bouquet knocks the crossbow aside and the shot goes wide.
I pull the key I wear around my neck from my shirt. The talisman holds ancient dragon magic, allowing us to fold space. I close my fist around it and fly toward the sun, muttering the spell we all learn as children. I pass through the portal that forms just as another bolt narrowly misses us, and I dive and roll into the light. The next second I’m hurtling through the sky above a remote stretch of forest. Fiona’s clinging to me, her body rigid. She’s clearly terrified. Fuck, I’ve stolen this woman off the altar and carried her through a portal in time and space. I need to take her somewhere safe where we can talk, and thank the creator, I own just the place.
I land in the woods outside my secluded hunting lodge and set her down, taking my time to make sure she’s steady on her feet. Who am I kidding? My arms around her are as much to indulge my need to touch her as to help her balance. Her skin is soft and warm. Fuck, I want to taste her. I want to bury myself in her.
“You’re safe,” I assure her, my hand gliding up to cupthe back of her neck. My wings are out, and I wrap them around us for warmth. It’s cold here. At least for her. I bring my lips close to hers. “I have you.”
She blinks twice, taking me in as if she can’t quite believe I’m not a hallucination. Then she opens her mouth and screams.
Chapter Six
FIONA
Ican’t remember the last time I screamed like this. Maybe the night Marion and I snuck out to the local carnival at thirteen and walked through the Haunted Funhouse, but even that pales in comparison. I scream and scream and scream until my lungs burn.
The creature who abducted me has to be six foot five and is built like a Nordic god. Maybe he is a god. All I know is he looks unsettlingly like my character Henrik Angel and was invisible at the wedding. Is he an alien? An angel?
It would be impossible to mistake the creature for human despite his straight nose and pillowy lips or the scar that breaks through his right eyebrow. My abductor has wings. Great, taloned, deadly, working wings that flew us here, wherever here is. His wings though aren’t the feathery sort. More like a demon’s wings. And we aredefinitely not still in the south of France. I prayed to God to send me a sign if I was doing the wrong thing marrying Roman. Is it possible that this angel or demon is the answer to my prayers?
Whatever he is, he’s stunning. Breathtaking. Inhumanly beautiful. Shit, with his dark blond hair sweeping his shoulders and ocean-blue eyes, he looks like he walked right off a Viking war ship. And his body is a masterpiece of long, lean muscle. Golden-skinned, chiseled male perfection. All my deepest instincts urge me to press my lips to the mouth that is so close to mine. Only my logical mind keeps me from acting on that impulse.
He’s not human.
He abducted me.
He looks like my character but has wings like a demon.
And so I keep on screaming.
“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you,” he says firmly. His bright, direct eye contact steals my breath.
My scream cuts off, and I struggle to drag air into my lungs. Did I just feel his words inside my head? He said them. I heard them. But I alsofeltthem like a soft rustle of leaves blowing through my skull. My eyes widen even further. By now they must be large enough to influence the tides.
“Take a deep breath. I’ll explain everything,” he says. The salt air, cucumber, and mint scent I’d smelled before wafts into me again. I inhale deeply, realizing it’s his cologne I smelled at the wedding. The scent seems to travel straight to my core and sends another confusingflush of heat down low in me. My nostrils flare, trying to get a better whiff. I have the insane desire to bury my face in his chest.
Fuck!Angel, demon, or alien, his presence is intense.
I stumble backward, my nervous system still fighting the insane reality around me. He catches me when I start to fall, lifting me easily. My feet bicycle in the air like something out of aFlintstonescartoon.
“Relax, Fiona. I promise you, everything will be fine if you just listen to me.” His words blow through my mind again, soothing but not soft. Directive. Dominant. That deep, primal urge within me wants me to obey.
I stop running. Slowly he sets me down. “Wh-what the fuck are you?” Tears flow from the corners of my eyes. I’ve never been the type of woman to cry easily, but I’m terrified.
