I shake my head. “Just…panic dressing,” I admit. “It was the first thing I grabbed.”
His mouth lifts in a crooked smile. “Do I make you panic, Sunshine?”
Sunshine. My whole chest tightens and heats. You’re special. Isn’t that what having a nickname means?
A soul-deep want seeps into my bones. How can Bale look like decadent lust and fiery passion all mixed into one with his sleek black clothing and burning eyes? And more than that. He’s safety. Home. Even knowing he kept something vital from me for so long, I still want to put my trust in him and sink into his arms.
“You surprised me. I wasn’t expecting you.” And when Bale looks at me like I’m a feast and calls me Sunshine, yes, I panic a little.
“You should start expecting me. It won’t only be Sybil knocking on your door.”
I stare at him, absorbing his words. It’s a clear message of intent, and my resolve to remain sensible tumbles away like he’s the downpour and I’m the mudslide. Panicking again, I pivot and stride back to the rug to put some distance between us and save my bare feet from the stone floor. When I turn again, I find Bale’s gaze sliding up my body, hugged to indecency in this ridiculous dress.
Voice low, intimate, he rasps, “You look amazing.”
Well, that doesn’t help.
“Thank you.” I glance away, shifting nervously. “And thank you for the rugs—even though I didn’t ask for them.”
“You don’t have to ask for the things you need.”
Because a dragon shifter gathers, keeps, provides. Sees. I clear my throat. “Come in if you want, but close the door. There’s a draft.”
“Are you suddenly unimmune to the cold?”
“You put ideas in my head,” I grumble. “Now I can’t get them out.”
“Are you only talking about the rugs? Or something else?” His voice lowers to a heated purr that settles right between my legs.
Steeling my spine, I do what Bale always does: answer a question with a question. “You saved the best for me? Closest to the heart?” His gaze instantly turns guarded, his expression closing off. “How about you stop lying to me and tell me what you know?”
“Why didn’t you tell me it was Rexton Hale who approached you in Drayke?” he counters.
“Because I didn’t want to,” I snap, already annoyed.
“He’s here now,” Bale says sourly. “Taking up my time and going on and on about what a great ally he’d make if I’d only support his claim.”
“Maybe he would.” I spread my hands, inadvertently pulling the low-cut dress tight across my chest.
Bale’s gaze dips again. His hands curl into fists. “Were you tempted to let him drink from you?”
I stare in shock. “No.”
“Would you drink from him?”
“No,” I practically snarl. “What’s wrong with you? Why would I do that?” But then the remembered temptation of Bale’s hot blood just beneath his skin, my mouth over his vein, sends a shocking pulse of hunger through me. I take a step back.
Bale cocks his head, his eyes narrowing. “It’s different now that you know, isn’t it? You’ll never not wonder again. Never not think what if.”
I swallow, hating how right that sounds and how saliva floods my mouth. I usually have little appetite. I’m ravenous now, but not for anything I’ve ever tasted. “You shouldn’t have kept the truth from me.”
His jaw tics as his eyes scrape over my body, looking as though they want to burn off my dress and scorch me alive. “I can’t offer you what a vampire can. I can’t take your neck in a consensual bite and make you shatter with just one touch.”
The flood of wet warmth between my legs is mortifyingly quick. “It can’t always be like that,” I murmur.
“Only if that’s the intent. Otherwise, it’s just a pleasurable moment, leaving the host without worry or pain.”
“I’ve never delved into the specifics of consensual bites.” Suspicion blooms, and I frown. “Have you?”
