Struggling to keep his fury locked, he scanned her, picking up more bruises on her hips as well, because asking Ash was like trying to get his stubborn dragon to explain what drove him toward this female.
His beast chuffed.
This close to her, traces of her lingering, musky arousal ignited like tinder within him, refusing to die. Teeth gritted, he held his palm over the large bruise, letting his worthless, minuscule, healing, silvery blue light seep into her abraded skin. Licking her would have been faster, but she wouldn’t allow that now?—
“What are you doing?” She jerked free, her eyes wide.
“Healing you.” He flexed his fingers. “It’s an ability. Similar to when I licked your wrists. Come back here. Let me finish.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Gingerly, she pressed her palm to her side, eyeing him curiously. “Do all dragons possess this, er, ability to heal others?”
“No. Just me. Only for small injuries.”
Confusion flickered across her beautiful face. “Why only you?”
Tell her the truth? He settled for part of it. “Because Gaia, the ancient goddess to whom we swore allegiance as Guardians, bestowed us with a few abilities.”
She blinked, brushing back her wavy hair. “You’re lucky, then.”
“Luck. It depends on what you think luck is?—”
The familiar, unwelcome sensation of steel brushes scoured his psyche.
Dammit.He pushed Ash behind him and summoned his obsidian dagger as three figures emerged from the trees.
Those relentless bastards had found him again.
Chapter
Eleven
Ash peeredaround Race’s biceps as twilight gathered, casting deeper shadows across the clearing. She easily made out the three shifters—the same ones who’d confronted them at the abbey.
But meeting Skaldr’s amber stare, she narrowed her eyes.
Not finished with you yet, you pillock.
Race flipped his black dagger. “You found me. Still don’t care.”
The older one stepped forward, his pewter-gray hair gleaming like tempered steel against his teakwood skin. Determination radiated from him. “Eracier, you might no longer care about this world, but we need you.” His gilded eyes hardened. “We aren’t leaving.”
Jaw set, Race palmed her lower back and nudged her into the cave.
The three followed them but remained near the entrance.
The temperature inside had dropped with the onset of evening, the stone walls exhaling their stored chill, and Ash shivered as she settled onto the broad, flat rock near the dying fire, holding the torn neckline of her tunic closed, grateful she had on a tank top under it.
While she gave the arses her best death stare, Race pointedly ignored the males, treating them like unwanted shadows as he gathered the few remaining twigs. He fed the fire with precision, coaxing a thin thread of flame from the sputtering embers—when he could have summoned fire and finished the job in a second.
His stiff, clipped movements betrayed his barely leashed anger.
For once, he stayed close instead of stalking the perimeter or guarding the entrance. The three dragons remained at the mouth like carved sentries. Then the blond one left.
Race sat on the boulder near her, picked up a fallen piece of timber, and, with his obsidian dagger, whittled the ends.
“Oh, they’re vampires, then, not dragons, huh?” she teased.
He looked up at her, and a glint of amusement flickered in his claret eyes.
