“Order me to your bed again when you’re sober, and I’ll consider it.”
“At least stay long enough that I have your scent on me tomorrow.”
Another tactical decision.
Slowly, he lowered himself onto the bed. It was all too easy to fold Francine into his arms. She was loose-limbed. Somehow, she seemed smaller than she had been a moment ago.
“This is pointless,” he said quietly. “You’ll bathe off any trace of my scent in the morning.”
“Not if I don’t bathe.”
“Then you’ll smell like—” She must know. She was a predator. “You smell like fear.”
She laughed, tight and breathless against his shoulder. “Good. I think she would like that.”
And this was her friend? Her friend who was conspiring to unleash shifterkind’s greatest enemy upon the world, he reminded himself. She’d been so desperately hopeful that there was some mistake, that Eloise wasn’t entangled in this evil—and now she’d discovered her friend was at the center of it all.
His heart ached for her.
*I think her father’s behind it.* The whisper of Francine’s mind against his was unexpected and welcome. *He’s a philanthropist—funds archaeological digs all over the world. Eloise said he dug up other ancient shifters and is using them to attack other ships heading for Antarctica. So she’s already saved us once.*
*Ancient shifters?*
*Eagle shifters with metal feathers that can cut through anything, apparently.*
Julian frowned. *I’ve never heard of anything like that.*
Cut through anything—could these creatures cut through the shadow? No, that was impossible.
And he had wasted too much time thinking about impossible things, he thought, staring down at the woman in his arms.
Her plan had its merits. Sleeping together would leave even the most boneheaded of her fellow guests in no doubt that she was distracted. If she made it clear she was besotted as well as physically attracted, many would guess that he was her fated mate.
Her plan’s greatest failing was that intimacy was the most reliable way of helping the mate bond change from its current wispy state, as immaterial as her evening gowns, to something solid. Something unbreakable.
He couldn’t allow that to happen. If he let the bond between them form in truth, and went through with what hehad to do once they neared the ice, it would hurt her beyond anything he could bear.
This was as far as they could go. Her head pillowed on his arm. His hand on her waist, fingers splayed over the place where his claw marks had already healed.
Her hand on his chest.
Her fingertips pressing like claws, then relaxing, as though she had to remind herself to appear calm.
Her scent winding around him, intoxicating, pulling him deeper with every breath he took.
“I should go,” he murmured.
Francine’s spine stiffened. “Fine.”
He got up slowly, rearranging the blankets over her. She lay still and stiff, like a peeved cat.
“At least we know one good thing,” she called softly as he went to the door.
“What?”
“She’s not interested in capturing your family.” Her voice was flat, a broken buzz. She hadn’t moved at all since he stood up. She lay like a fallen puppet. “It was always something else. Something hiding beyond the dragons.” One side of her mouth curved up, a smooth, sardonic half-smile. “Something you knew about?”
“There was always more in the ice than just dragons,” he said softly.
