She radiated health. By some miracle of the gods, she was free of the Curse.
Albie stopped flipping pages. He looked up at me with earnest brown eyes. “I’m not finding anything.”
A smile tugged at my lips. I reached across the bed and took his hand. “What you’re looking for isn’t in that book. It’s right here.”
Albie followed my gaze to the woman. Understanding dawned, and he drew a shaky breath. “She’s not sick.” He whispered it like he was afraid to say it out loud.
“No. She’s perfect.”
For a long moment, we just sat there, staring at the miracle sleeping between us. Then Albie straightened, and his eyes were serious as he met my gaze across the bed. “We need to tell the king about her.”
“You mean the Consort,” I said. “Cormac is rarely lucid these days. But, aye, Niall Balfour will want to hear of this.”
The woman’s eyes snapped open.
She scrambled back against the headboard, her green eyes wild as she darted her gaze between Albie and me. Her chest heaved, and tiny flames jumped in her eyes. Menace rolled off her as she growled low in her throat.
“You’re not telling my father anything!”
Chapter
Five
PORTIA
Everything in me screamedrunas I pressed my back against the headboard. My ankle throbbed from my fall in the forest, but that was the least of my worries.
Because two dragons stared at me from either side of the bed. Two massive Highlanders who looked at me like they owned me. Twofull-bloodeddragons.
“You’re not real,” I whispered before I could think better of it. “You’re full-bloods, and the full-bloods are all—” I clamped my mouth shut.
“What?” the dark-haired dragon demanded.
I swallowed hard. “Dead.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Who told you all the full-blooded dragons were dead, lass?” His voice was low, almost dangerous. “Because they were very, very wrong.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
“We won’t hurt you,” the blond said, hugging his book to his chest. “I’m Alban MacLean, but everyone calls me Albie.” He tipped his head toward the black-haired man. “And this is Tavish Ramsay.”
Of course there were two. I should have expected it the moment I locked eyes with Tavish in the hut. My people always mated in threes.
Albie was a sharp contrast to Tavish. His wavy blond hair swept back from a broad forehead, the strands a variety of shades ranging from honey to platinum. Brown eyes framed by thick, dark lashes regarded me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
Mate, my dragon said in my mind.
Shut up,I told her even as I studied Albie.
His forest-green jacket couldn’t hide the muscle in his shoulders. His kilt was a similar shade, and a tailored brown vest and linen shirt with an honest-to-goodness cravat showed between the unbuttoned halves of his jacket.
And he wore glasses.
Gold wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, the metal glinting in the light. Confusion cut through my panic. Immortals didn’t have bad eyesight. We healed from almost any injury. So why?—?
“You called Niall Balfour your father,” Tavish said, jerking me from my thoughts. “The Consort has no children.”
My stomach dropped, and the reality I’d been avoiding slammed into my mind.
