“She’s not going anywhere, Tavish.”
My dragon urged me to charge to the guest room to double check. “You really trust her?” I asked, staring at the door. The image of Portia brandishing her dinner knife formed in my head. Her bloodlust probably should have given me pause. Instead, it made my cock stiff as a fire poker.
“She’s a violent wee thing,” I mused, imagining her stripping off those unusual trews. We’d left her with water for washing, along with a nightdress Albie had discovered in an old trunk.The material was thin enough to be see-through, especially if she stood in front of the hearth…
“She’s not exactly small,” Albie said, drawing me from my wandering thoughts.
I waved a hand. “Not to you, maybe. And I’m not worried about her gutting me in the night. I’m worried about her running off.” I winced. “Or flying off.”
“She won’t.” Albie crossed to his bookcase, which held all the books he’d collected on our travels. He bent, and his kilt rode up, giving me a nice look at the backs of his thighs.
I drifted forward, adjusting my aching cock as I went. “What makes you so certain?”
He straightened with a book in his hands, and I stifled a groan of disappointment as his kilt swung back into place. “I don’t think she can shift,” he murmured, thumbing the pages. He pivoted toward me, light from the window gilding his bright hair. He ran a finger down the page as he read, his lips moving silently. The bottom one was plump, almost pouty, and the top had a little indentation that reminded me of a bow. It always looked so good stretched around my?—
“At least, not when she wants to,” Albie added.
I dragged my eyes from his mouth. “What?”
He looked up. “Portia’s connection with her beast isn’t as strong as it should be.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Nothing in particular, really. But she didn’t even try to shift when you goaded her.” He tilted his head, and his spectacles winked in the light. “Don’t you find that odd?”
“No,” I said bluntly. “She wants us both. Her dragon recognizes us as mates, and the beast is staying put.” I shook my head. “No, what our princess needs is a good, hard fu?—”
Albie was suddenly in front of me, one slim finger pressed to my lips. I hadn’t even seen him move.
“It’ll come,” he said, amusement and affection in his brown eyes as he stared up at me.
My cock tightened. “I’m more interested inmecoming,” I mumbled around his finger.
His smile was a little frazzled as he stepped back, the book tucked under one arm. “When are you not interested in that?” He held up his free hand. “No, don’t answer.”
I grinned despite my frustration.
Albie returned to the bookcase and trailed his fingers over the spines, clearly searching for something. After a second, he released a soft, triumphant sound, then pulled a second volume from the stacks. This book was even slimmer than the first, its cover plain brown leather. There was no lettering, just an odd symbol embossed in red the color of old blood.
His eyes moved rapidly behind his spectacles as he devoured whatever was on the page. I drew close again, pulled by his mind as well as his body. Because Albie’s mind was just as compelling—maybe even a bit more so because I’d never been unable to unravel it. And I knew its intricacies would always evade me, just as I knew I’d never tire of trying to understand it.
Him.
I’d fallen so hard for him, I sometimes felt like I’d never really gotten the ground under me again. I was forever unsteady around my brilliant, beautiful mate.
“Ah,” Albie said, nodding as if he’d settled something. He held up the book, and a broad smile transformed his face from handsome to dazzling. “This is a complete guide to chronomancers.”
I eyed it, doubt heavy in my gut. “Doesn’t look like much.”
“Because there’s not much to know. Or not much anyone knows, anyway.” He shoved his spectacles higher on his nose, his voice taking on that tone it always got when he was excitedabout some new topic. “Like I told Portia, chronomancers are rare. Time magic is notoriously unstable.”
I crossed to him and plucked the book from his hand, then flipped through the pages. The text was dense, the margins filled with Albie’s neat handwriting. Notes. Questions. Theories.
“I thought you spent all your time looking for a cure for the Curse,” I said quietly.
For centuries, Albie had searched for a way to end the illness that devastated our species. He’d traveled to every corner of the world, consulting with witches and oracles and anyone who might have knowledge. As more females died, I’d worried he’d fall into despair.
But my sunny mate never did.
