“You abandoned them.”
“I didnot!”
“They’re mine now,” he says, showing me his sharp fangs with another menacing snarl.
“I left them in my home, that’s not abandoning,” I snap. “Where did you put them?”
“They’re with my hoard. Mine,” he growls, and my pulse quickens.
“Like hell!” I smash my fists against his chest and kick wildly. “Give me back my books, or I’ll…I’ll take them from you!”
He whirls me away from the wall and puts me on the desk with so much ease I’m stunned into momentary silence. His left hand stays on my throat while his right pins my leg to the desktop. Something else wraps around my other ankle and my gaze darts down to see a plated tail slithering around my knee.
The tickling sensation of the slow tightening across my stockinged leg makes me shiver. He leans in and I’m forced to crane my neck to look up at him. The light from the stained glass reflects off his milky eyes, revealing flecks of green and gold hidden under the cataracts.
The lizard?
“This is my hoard,” he growls in a challenge.
“Those books are special,” I whisper.
“And?”
“Some of them are from my friends. They made them for me. They’re one of a kind,” I say, emotion rising in the back of my throat.
Am I really about to cry over books when my life is in danger? God, I’m an idiot.
“This is my hoard,” he reiterates with more gentleness, and the words feel more like “I won’t hurt you.”
“And this is my home. I have nowhere else to go.”
His thumb slides over my pulse point and his cloudy eyes trace over my face.
“You can stay,” he murmurs.
My thundering heart wants to tell himhe can’t, but my adrenaline-fueled head knows there are talons on his fingers sharp enough to rip open my jugular.
“How gracious of you to let me live in my own house,” I snipe instead.
Still not the smartest option, but I can’t just roll over and take it—despite my body being more than interested in rolling over to take it.
He bends down and shoves his face in the crook of my neck.
I gasp at the sudden intrusion of my space, and tense up. “Stop it. What are you doing?”
He takes a deep inhale as he moves up my jawline to my ear. “You’re…aroused?”
“Am not!” I push his chest, and he moves back a measure.
His head cocks to the side. “I cannot clearly see the flush of your cheeks, but I can smell your pheromones, pink flesh.”
Gosh darn traitorous body.
His claws slide away from my throat and he steps back. I’m lightheaded and shaky, so I support myself with my hands against the desk.
“You can stay,” he says again, then turns for the stairs.
When he crosses in front of the hallway, the light from the stained-glass window reveals a body riddled with scars, some of them so deep it’s as if a monster took a bite of him. His tail is thick and plated with gold where it connects at the base of his spine. Each vertebra has a golden diamond protecting it, wider at his hips and thinner near his neck. There are deep, dark scars at the base of his scapula that make me think he once had wings.
