He frowns, then speaks slowly, as if he’s talking to a preschooler. “I’m a dragon. I’m the thing your fiancé is trying to kill. And I find it hard to believe that the woman marrying the son of the grandmaster of the Order doesn’t know anything about it or us.”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” I scratch at the lace of my dress, suddenly feeling like the itch has turned to pain. “I told you, I don’t know anything about any order. But I do remember Roman shot at you today, and no wonder! You’re a fucking monster.”
That seems to piss him off. A growl rumbles through his chest. “I’m not a monster. I’m your ... mate.”
“What?” I can’t really hear him over the wind, but it almost sounded like he said mate.Mate? What does he mean by mate? Is it like in the Australian sense? Like he thinks I’m his friend? My head swims and I hold it between my palms, suddenly nauseated. “What do you really want? Is it money? I’m sure he’ll pay.” My voiceshakes. My head throbs. I feel clammy despite the cold, and my skin is on fire. I know this feeling.Shit. Shit. Shit.
“I don’t want money,” he mumbles, his brow creasing.
God, his eyes are boring into me. It’s like he can see into my soul. My cheeks heat. Maybe he can. Fuck, I can’t believe this is happening. My heart pounds against my folded arms. I’m trembling, and the telltale tingling in my fingers and toes tells me that my intuition is right. The stress has triggered a full fibro flare. This is bad. Very, very bad. I need to lie down. I sway on my feet.
“Hey, are you okay?” His hands are on me again, and I’m not strong enough to push them away. “You don’t look so good.” Cucumber and mint. It’s incredibly soothing. He’s warm, and suddenly I’m so, so tired.
“How the hell do you think I am?” My eyes roll back and I slump in his arms.
“Whoa!” He catches me before I hit the ground. Before I can protest, I’m in his arms again and he’s walking me toward the house. My cheek rests against his biceps, although I can’t be sure if it’s flesh under his Henley or steel. The man is a wall. A very big, very hard wall. I close my eyes against a wave of dizziness.
“What’s going on, Fiona?”
“How do you know my name?” My voice sounds small. I’m so tired.
“A story about your engagement.”
“You know my name, but I don’t know yours. What to call you,” I babble. The world around me starts to spin, and I close my eyes. It feels like I’m drunk.
He repositions me to unlock and shoulder open thedoor. All I register about the inside of the house is that it smells clean and the dark eases my pounding head. He carries me into a bedroom and lays me down like I’m made of glass. The bodice of my gown digs into my back and I inhale sharply against the pain.
“My name is Connor. Tell me what’s happening.”
“Need to rest,” I mumble. “Hurts.”
“What hurts?”
“Everything.” I close my eyes and hold absolutely still.
“You can’t sleep in that.” I hear him opening drawers.
In the back of my mind, I have a fleeting instinct to run. Fight. Do something to try to save myself from Connor, whoever he really is. He’s distracted. I might get away, find help. But I can’t keep my eyes open. Every joint in my body aches to the point I’m afraid to move, and a slash of pain down my back feels like an open sore. I know it’s just my nerves. My body is attacking itself. I might as well have been hit by a truck for the pain and fatigue I’m experiencing. I can’t move. I can’t form words. I can’t keep my eyes open.
“I’m getting you out of that dress.” I feel Connor grab hold of the fabric, and I make the weakest attempt to stop him. “Relax. If I see anything I haven’t seen before, I’ll let you choose from the prize table.”
I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to do. It took two women ten minutes to get me into this monstrosity. The next thing I hear is fabric tearing and the dress is off me in seconds. Holy fucking shit. He tore it off me like it was made of paper!
“That dress was fifty thousand dollars,”I mumble.
“It belongs in fifty thousand pieces,” he mumbles back.
A tiny voice at the back of my head cheers at the thought that even if Roman rescues me, I never have to wear the itchy mountain of lace again. My corset blissfully loosens, and then it’s gone. All at once, I’m bared from the waist up to the monster who abducted me.
There’s a long pause, and I pop open one eye to see him studying my breasts and the deep, puckered scar that cuts from my right collarbone to just left of my navel. It healed a long time ago, but the discolored strip of flesh is still shocking. Not as shocking as learning a seat belt can do that to you in a violent accident, but shocking nonetheless.
Channeling all my disdain for the ugly injury into my gaze, I glare at him and say, “I’ll take the oversized stuffed animal.”
“Huh?” His face goes blank.
“You said if you saw anything you hadn’t seen before, I could pick from the prize table. I’ll take the oversized stuffed animal.”
His lips twitch, and then he laughs in a way that warms my insides as thoroughly as if I were resting near a fire. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says softly. “What happened to you?”
