Ash flinched at the terror in the girl’s eyes.
“Don’t react.” Race gently squeezed her hand. “Eyes on me.”
She met his quiet stare, her pulse hammering. She released his hand, picked up her mug, but her fingers shook. Her ale sloshed, splashing her coat.
“Oh—” She jerked and thudded the mug onto the table, hastily wiping the spill with trembling fingers. Sparks prickled under her skin.Christ. She brushed her hot face with her fists—and her hood slipped off.
Ash froze.
Race swiftly tugged her ale-damp hands onto his lap, covering the faint crackle of power. “Breathe.”
Koal and Attor stilled—predators about to burst free as the smell of metal and smoke thickened the air.
“Well, well,” a gravelly voice drawled from behind her. “What do we have here? A delicious human?”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She looked up. It was the same blond shifter who grabbed the girl. His armor, which marked him as a soldier, dazzled a bit more than the others. But his gold-green gaze gleamed with greed.
Race’s eyes burned a deadly burgundy. “She’s claimed.”
“Is she?” The soldier’s smirk grew. “Funny, it smells more like…asurfacemarking—no seed claiming.”
The tavern fell silent.
Did Race’s claim mark mean nothing here?
“That won’t work on me.” Race nailed him with a stare that promised bloodshed. “Continue in that vein, and you’ll find out. She’s mine.”
Then it hit her.Seedclaiming.
Shit. Her stomach sank.
At the lake, Race hadtaken care of her needs. But he’d chosen restraint, pulling away before they crossed the line.
The soldier’s nostrils flared, and a slow, feral smile formed on his thin lips. “By the sweet fires—for someone so small, she reeks of power. A prize for the king.”
The absolute weasel!Ash gritted her teeth. She was her own bloody person.
“Walk away,” Race warned. “While you still can, soldier.”
“Soldier?” The twit laughed. “I’m Talon-Marshal Flaeron Vraxus of the Second Battalion, His Majesty’s service. By decree, she now belongs to the Crown. Stand aside, wingless. Leave real dragons’ work to those who still touch the sky.”
Wingless?
Fed up with being talked about as if she were an object, Ash shot to her feet. “Listen up, you bootlicking sack of scales?—”
In the next second, she was scooped up and outside of the tavern as if the winds had blasted in and taken her—except no wind smelled of warmth and burnt embers or made her pulse leap like crazy.
“Put me down, you big lummox!” She thumped Race’s chest as he strode down the cobblestone street, then she stretched up to see over his shoulder. “That crown-fawning windbag Talon-Marshal can take his bloody decree and stuff it up his backside! Oh, hullo, Attor.”
“Stop riling the locals, Ash,” Race muttered, but a tinge of amusement brightened his crimson eyes. Then he turned to Attor. “He will come after us. Take Ash.”
The older male rubbed his nape. “Sire, better she stays with you. Koal, Skaldr, and I will divert Flaeron if need be. Just so you know, he once walked at Malcarion’s side—until he was cast out. He’ll do anything to get back into his good graces.”
Wonderful.So, the bootlicker would come after her now.
“Makes little difference.” A muscle jumped in Race’s jaw. “He gets in my way, he dies.”
They reformed on a smoke-darkened porch of a broad, timbered house.
