Page 22 of Dark Dragon’s Wolf

To stay, or to go.

To trust her, or not.

To fight, or to accept her love.

Mayah sat on the ground, legs crossed, bleeding from her bites and scratches. It didn’t matter.

The white wolf backed up a step or two, golden eyes glowing. He looked into her eyes, and she looked back, opening her heart and her mind to him.

Letting him see the respect, the caring, the admiration, the love. It was all there, if only he would take it.

He moved forward, then dipped his head, nosing at her arm, still bleeding from the bite wound. He licked it, the way wolves licked their wounded pack mates.

An apology.

“I’m all right,” she said. “Look, it’s healing already.”

He sat on his haunches, facing her. And then, with a shimmer and snap of bones, he Changed. He was naked and dirty and hollow-eyed, but he was there.

Relief and hope almost made her giddy.

“You came back,” she said. “I’m glad.”

“I hurt you.” He reached out to her wounded arm. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I told you, I’m okay. I’m a dragon. I’m tough.”

He shook his head. “It’s still wrong. Wolves protect their—their people. They don’t hurt them.”

What was he going to say? Their mates? The people they love?

She said, “You told me once that when you were with the Bad Bloods, your friends used to sit with you when they put you in the crazy shed. Even when you attacked them, they stayed human and took the wounds because you needed to hear their voices.”

He looked away. “Yeah.”

“You told me your friend Tank used to follow you through the woods, even when you attacked him. Even when you didn’t want him. To make sure you didn’t hurt any humans or get yourself in trouble.”

“That’s different.”

She put her fingers on his chin and turned his head to face her. He always tried to be so strong, but everyone needed people. Why couldn’t he see that?

“You went with me down all the shadowy hallways of my mind, so I wouldn’t have to be alone with my ghosts. You bled for me, using your mind to fight for me when you couldn’t use your body.”

Tristan tried to look away, but she wouldn’t let him.

“Your friends bled for you because they care about you. Why don’t I get to care about you that much?”

He gazed into her eyes, his finally fading from gold to blue.

“Do you?” he asked. “Do you care about me that much?”

In answer, she pulled his face to hers and kissed him.

Chapter 10

Heat flashed between them. Their bodies slammed together—desperate, intense, almost violent. Hungry for each other, from all their lonely years, despair and pent-up desire.

Tristan was hard for her instantly, like he always was, because she was everything he had dreamed of in his years of captivity. Soft, soft enough to cushion his hard edges, and strong enough to withstand the storm of his pent-up feelings.