Page 12 of Dark Dragon’s Wolf

He’d had to take his laptop all the way back to Silverlake to get Jesse Travis, their computer guru and resident hacker, to clean it up. And resist the urge to punch Jesse in the face when he laughed his ass off.

In between humiliating defeats, Tristan had been trying to do some research about Draken and their animal natures.

He was beginning to suspect they were different from other shifters—that their dragons were not bound as completely to their human side as most animal shifters. Possibly because dragons were inherently magical creatures, with their own powers.

Because Mayah’s dragon seemed to have its own independent existence in the spirit world. And if it could exist on its own, then maybe it had to be dealt with differently than other shifter animals.

He wasn’t having much luck, though. Kira had brought her guardian’s library to Emon for safekeeping—all that was left of the Al-Maddeiri clan’s knowledge and history—and he’d hoped to find something there. Unfortunately, most of it was written in Draken.

He really needed to talk to the Greystone brothers—a trio of Wild Dragons living in Portland, Oregon. They had more knowledge of Draken than Emon did, and a bigger library.

But first he had to get Mayah to fucking talk to him.

And he had to do it soon, because his headaches and nosebleeds were getting worse. If he were going to help Mayah, he needed to do it before his head split like an overripe melon and spilled his brains all over the courtyard flagstones.

At least it was almost Sunday.

Ever since the red dragons had moved in, Emon had decided that the whole clan—plus “honored” guests like him—all had to have dinner together in the castle’s formal dining room on Sunday evenings.

Since Emon was bossy as fuck and could breathe fire, everyone went—even Tristan.

It was supposed to be some kind of clan bonding experience. In reality, sixty percent of the newly formed clan had uncooperative natures and dragon-sized attitudes, so it was usually a disaster of epic proportions.

But it was someplace he knew for sure that Mayah would be, and she couldn’t cloak herself to get away from him.

This week, he’d bribed Mason with more pastries from Sophia’s bakery, to arrange the seating so that he was next to Mayah.

Now he just had to hope that she didn’t pour boiling hot soup on his crotch.

Mayah stood in the drawing room, toying with her goblet of wine and pretending she wasn’t watching Tristan. The whole clan was having obligatory Sunday night pre-dinner drinks, during which everyone tried to get drunk enough to make it through the formal dinner without killing each other.

She had no idea why Emon was putting everyone through this. Trish kept lobbying for Sunday night outdoor barbecues, pointing out that at least they’d have room to brawl and breathe fire without destroying the dining room.

Emon seemed irrationally determined to pound some class into them. Or maybe he just wanted the damage to be more easily contained.

Mayah kept stealing glances at Tristan. He looked miserable. He’d never been as bulky as the dragons—he was more the lean and muscular type. But now he looked much thinner, and his eyes had dark circles under them, like he hadn’t been sleeping.

She probably shouldn’t have been so mean to him.

She’d just felt so… hurt, when he shoved her away like that. Betrayed. Embarrassed.

But whatever had gone wrong with him after the battle, it was clearly worse now. He needed help, whether he would admit it or not.

She had to get him to let her heal him. Even if he didn’t care about her that way—even if he didn’t want her, he was a good person and he’d been a good friend.

It wasn’t his fault if he didn’t have feelings for her.

He glanced over and met her eyes. They looked at each other for a long moment, and then he mouthed, I’m sorry. Please talk to me.

She could have sworn she heard the words in her mind, the way she heard Emon when he talked to her. But that was probably just her imagination. Wolves couldn’t mind-speak. Even white ones.

She bit her lips, and then gave a small nod. Okay, she mouthed back.

He smiled—maybe the first real smile she’d seen from him since the battle. It went straight to her heart and nestled inside it like a little golden ball of light, warming her all through.

And just in that moment, it didn’t matter that he’d pushed her away, or that he didn’t love her. She loved him. She would always love him—she knew it in that little warm golden place inside her.

He was her wolf. Even if he didn’t know it. Even if he went away, even if he never loved her. He was her wolf, her person, and she would help him no matter what it cost her.