“Hmm?”
“You know how you told me over dinner that one ofthe Zodiac Brotherhood’s warriors sacrificed himself fifty years ago in exchange for the peace accord?”
“Yeah?” I’m barely awake, but I’ll do what I must to answer my new mate’s questions.
“If he suffers from mating sickness like you, wouldn’t he have died by now? He must have been twenty or so?—”
“Eighteen. Donovan was young for a warrior. He’ll be sixty-nine this fall.”
“Donovan? Donovan is the dragon who sacrificed himself?” She laughs. “I met him.”
My eyes open more fully. “You met Donovan in person? How is he?”
She looks flabbergasted. “Fine. More than fine. He goes everywhere with Stefan. They’re never apart. Actually, I assumed they were a couple at first because of the way they’d stand together, almost touching. Roman told me they were close friends.”
I balk at that information. “Are you saying you met Donovan at a social event? One unrelated to the Order?”
“Um, yeah. We had a casual family dinner with them.”
My mouth slackens. “How did he seem?”
Her shoulder lifts toward her ear. “Not like a prisoner. He smiled and laughed with us all evening. Ate and drank at our table. Looked fondly at Stefan often.” She licks her lips. “Honestly, I’m baffled right now to learn he’s almost seventy years old and their prisoner. He only looked about fifty.”
“Dragons don’t age like humans. We remain relatively young until the day we die.”
“But wouldn’t he be close to death from the sickness? You were terribly ill, and you’re thirty-eight.”
“Donovan is a powerful warrior. He’ll fight the sickness as long as possible. He likely has another thirty years.”
“But eventually… You said unmated dragons live to be around a hundred. What happens to the accord after he goes up in flames?”
“The accord is written to extend beyond his lifetime. That was part of the deal.”
She stares up at the ceiling. “So weird. I would have never guessed he was a prisoner.”
She snuggles into my side, warm and sleepy. I kiss her temple. But as I lay my head back on the pillow, I wonder why Donovan hasn’t responded to our urgent messages if he indeed enjoys the kind of freedom she described. And I also wonder what it means that no one from the Order has come for Fiona.
Chapter Twenty-Five
FIONA
After the most intense sex of my life, I should have been out until morning, but I wake around four a.m. with Alex in my head, demanding I finish her story.
That woman I’m friends with at the Milk Cult’s headquarters, she’s not a victim. She’s one of the organizers! You have to write how I outsmart her and free the girls.
At first I try to ignore her, but she just gets louder and louder until, with a sigh, I slip out of Connor’s bed and pad down the hall into my old room. Taking a seat at the desk, I flip open my laptop and navigate to my work in progress. I start to write again, and holy shit, I’m reminded that Connor is a veritable dragon muse. The words fly out of me. And as the hours tick by, Alex double-crosses the woman in charge, pretending to be her friend and confidante, before flipping on her once she knows the location of the trafficked women. She frees them all with the help of HenrikAngel, who shows up just in time and still looks a hell of a lot like Connor. I end the book with Henrik stealing a kiss from Alex behind the police station and daring her to go on a real date with him. I smile as I type The End. The fans are going to love that.
I pop open my email and message my editor with the subject “Better late than never.” I attach the manuscript along with a quick note and send it on its way. It’s like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. The sun is rising, light is streaming through the window, and I’m ready to celebrate. I’m going to crawl back into bed with Connor, make love for three days straight, only stopping to hydrate and eat gourmet meals we prepare together, and plan the next phase of our lives.
I’m closing my mail app when the text message bubble pops up on my dashboard and three dots appear next to Roman’s icon. My stomach descends into the pits of hell. The bottomless pit. Two words.
Roman:Be ready.
Fear floods my system, my blood turning cold as ice.
Me:What do you mean?
There’s no reply.
