by Tessa Adams
And that’s when it hit him. Her look of trepidation, her unfamiliar hesitance. She’d known for a week that they were under attack, and she hadn’t told him. She’d deliberately left them vulnerable, open for attack. And now Liam was dead.
The dragon bellowed inside him, and for the first time in a long while, he gave into it. Roared along with it, in a shout so loud it stopped all conversation, froze everyone in the room.
Fighting through the rage—at Phoebe, at Silus and the rest of the damn Wyvernmoons, at himself—he turned to Shawn. “Find Gabe and get him back here. Caitlyn and the others, too.”
He turned to Logan. “Start mobilizing the soldiers. Get them at their posts, trading off in eight-hour shifts. Impress upon them the importance of their job. We’re in a war. We might be late coming to the table, but we’re there now. And this is not going to end the way they want it to.
“Callie, get to the clan in town. Warn the ones who aren’t in the caves to go there and take precautions until we can get everything in order to protect them. I killed the Wyvernmoon heir tonight, and that is not something Silus LaFleur is going to take lying down. He won’t care that it was self-defense, that Jacob’s sole purpose for being here was to kill the King of Dragonstar. They’re going to come gunning for us, and we will be ready this time.”
Adrenaline was pounding through his blood, roaring in his ears, as he watched his people scatter to do his bidding. Those he hadn’t named directly were pairing off with those he had, and God willing, by the time morning came, their vulnerabilities would be shored up.
Grabbing Phoebe’s elbow, he propelled her out of the room and down the hall to his private chamber. He didn’t say a word to her as he walked, didn’t trust himself to say anything yet. Part of him wanted to fall to his knees in front of her, to thank her for figuring out what he hadn’t been able to see after ten years of trying.
But another part, a bigger part, was furious that she had kept it from him for a week. If he’d known, if he’d had one fucking clue, tonight never would have happened. Liam wouldn’t be dead. His people wouldn’t be scattered to hell and back, easy prey for the Wyvernmoons. He wouldn’t be so unprepared for the war they’d found themselves launched into.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured as he shoved her into his chamber and slammed the door behind them. “I should have told you—”
“Damn right you should have. What were you thinking, keeping that to yourself?”
“I was thinking like a scientist. In my business, you don’t just blurt out your hypothesis without something concrete to back it up.”
“This isn’t about your business, isn’t about your training. This is about my clan. I hired you to help me solve the problem, to help me protect them. Instead, we’re vulnerable, and I find out that you could have changed that. That you could have come to me a week ago with your suspicions, and I could have started mobilizing then.”
“I didn’t have proof!”
“Fuck proof! I didn’t hire you because you follow the damn scientific process. I hired you because I believed in you, believed in your talent and your instincts. And you let me down.”
“That’s not fair.” She was pale, her normally rosy cheeks drained of color and her eyes huge in her face. “I—”
“Life’s not fair, Phoebe. Or haven’t you figured that out yet?”
Though he would have sworn it was impossible, she paled even more at his words. Swayed on her feet. The dragon wanted to rush to her as it would its mate, to comfort her, but the man was too pissed off to do anything but rage. “This is life and death I’m talking about. I thought you understood that. I paid you three million dollars to ensure that you understood that. And you fucking left me out in the cold. Why?”
“I was following my process.”
“Your process? Liam’s dead, Quinn’s a mess and I just killed the heir to the fucking Wyvernmoon throne, which means that open war can be declared at any minute. How’s your process working out for you now?”
He crashed out of the room before she could answer, fury and resolve dogging his every footstep. His people had been vulnerable tonight—he had left them vulnerable—but that was done. The next person who threatened his clan was going to be wiped from the fucking earth. He would see to it personally.
For long seconds after Dylan left, Phoebe stared at the door he had slammed on his way out. Then she sank down on the corner of the bed and tried to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do next.
Life’s not fair, Phoebe.
Life’s not fair, little girl.
Life’s not fair, life’s not fair, life’s not fair.
Dylan’s words, her stepfather’s words, echoed in her head. Made her wonder just how stupid she could have been to think that Dylan was different. That she could trust him. That he wouldn’t hurt her. All men hurt—hadn’t she learned that lesson at an early age? Why the hell had she thought this would be any different?
Her elbow ached and she glanced down at it dazedly, staring at the livid marks Dylan’s fingers had made as he’d yanked her down the hall. He hadn’t meant to physically hurt her, she knew that—knew he would probably be sick about it if and when he calmed down.
But it wasn’t the bruises she was worried about. His words had hit so much harder. You left me out in the cold. Your fucking process. Left me . . . cold.
She’d only been trying to help. Had she made a mistake in not telling him sooner? Absolutely. She grimaced as an image of Liam as she’d last seen him rose up in front of her. Cold, pale, with Quinn pumping on his chest like a madman. But she hadn’t known it would end like this, hadn’t known it was even a possibility.
Ignorance might not be an excuse, but damn it, he should have told her what they were dealing with. How was she to know that a clan sneaky enough to create a disease and wait ten years for it to do its work would also be foolhardy enough to face the Dragonstars down in their own territory?
She hadn’t known, because he hadn’t told her.
But she was sick of blame, sick and tired of trying to absolve herself or Dylan. Going to the closet, she pulled out the laptop she carried for at-home work, booted it up. The sooner she got to the bottom of this disease, the sooner she could go home. Ignoring the ache in her chest, she set to work trying to unravel the plans of a truly sociopathic mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Dylan burst out of the caves, thoughts of Phoebe and how he’d left things with her dogging his every footstep. But he didn’t have time to worry about it—worry about her—now. His people needed him. He needed to fight this damn war. His soldiers needed him, and he wouldn’t let them down again. Not this time.
He walked a few feet out into the desert, shifted as he went. Then launched himself straight into the star-bright sky. The next few hours flew by as he worked with Shawn and Logan to establish the most effective points of defense. They’d fought wars before, but not in the past fifty years. Weapons had changed, the landscape had changed and he needed to make sure his clan was protected.
Normally, it was Gabe’s job to plan a strategic defense, but they still hadn’t managed to find him, so Dylan was doing his best friend’s job and praying to God that it all worked out in the end.
God, he wished Gabe was there. He wanted to talk to him, to see what he suggested. He wanted someone to bounce ideas off, someone to help him decide if a strong defense was enough or if he should take this straight to the Wyvernmoons’ door.
As the faces of his dead clan members passed through his head, he wanted nothing more than to shove his fist straight down Silus’s throat and yank the bastard’s intestines out through his mouth. But he wasn’t sure that was best for his clan right now, wasn’t sure that they were ready to play offense on that kind of war.
He understood the importance of a good offense, but he also understood that the man who acted first and thought later usually lived to regret his actions. Take him; he was already regretting the harsh things he’d said to Phoebe. That di
dn’t mean he didn’t still agree with what he’d said, because he did. He was furious with her, more furious than he’d ever been with someone other than himself. But at the same time, he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. By the time he’d stormed out, she’d looked like a dog who had been kicked and was just waiting for the next blow to fall.
Just thinking of it made his stomach hurt.
But damn it, he was right. Phoebe had kept something from him that could save his whole clan. Something that sure as hell could have saved Liam.
If he had known, he would have taken more precautions. Would have been prepared. Wouldn’t have had to watch as one of his sentries had sacrificed his life for him—just like his brother had.
He shut the memories down and concentrated on the rage that throbbed through him like a nightmare. Rage at her, at Silus, at the entire Wyvernmoon clan. He wanted nothing more than to bring a shit storm on the bastards’ heads. He would do it, too, but not now. Not tonight. They would pay for trying to hurt his clan, but not until he’d had a chance to calm down. To plan. There would be no more mistakes.
When he had done everything he could for the night, when there was nothing else to be done but to wait and think and plot, he took to the skies and flew for hours. He kept a careful eye out for enemies, but other than Logan, who insisted on dogging his every move, he was completely alone with the cacti and the scorpions and the night.
He should go back, get some sleep. Reassure his sentries and talk to Phoebe. But he just didn’t have it in him. Right now, all he wanted was a little solitude.
Glancing at the desert from above, he wondered how far he’d flown. Nothing looked familiar; none of the landmarks he usually used to mark his flights were apparent, which meant he’d gone much farther than he’d planned. No wonder Logan looked ready to blow a gasket. The farther he went from the clan, the harder he became to protect.
Shame washed through him and he flipped a U-turn right where he was, heading back the way he’d come like the hounds of hell were on his heels. His sentries were probably waiting for guidance. Phoebe was probably frantic—he’d left her alone after spitting all that shit at her. But he hadn’t had a choice—his temper had slipped the choke chain of control he usually kept on it, and he didn’t trust himself to be near her. To be near anybody.
The dragon snarled inside him, furious that he was being so stubborn. The man snarled back, annoyed beyond measure at what the dragon didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand.
Disturbed, shaken, unsure of himself for the first time in a long time, Dylan landed about a mile from his lair and walked the rest of the way. It was after five in the morning when he finally made it home and wearily climbed down into the cave. Still, he was nowhere near as exhausted as he wanted to be; despite the long flight and late hour, he was still furious with Phoebe.
Still wanted to shake her.
Still wanted to fuck her.
Despite her betrayal, he was on fire. The dragon had lit him up like a firecracker hours earlier, left his body burning for Phoebe and his cock as hard as if he hadn’t spent the last few days sating himself within her, and most of the night trying to forget her.
Bracing, he let himself into the room. As soon as the door opened, her scent hit him. The spicy-sweet combination nearly brought him to his knees as lust roared through him. But for now, he was a man, not an animal. He could—he would—control himself.
The room was cool and dark, except for the small light in the corner—it was magic in its purest form, and one that kept burning round the clock now, so that Phoebe never had to walk into a dark room. As he got closer to her, he realized that she’d spent most of the night the same way he had: working.
Her laptop was on the bed next to her, and a notebook—with a red cover this time—lay on the floor, as if it had slipped from her hand when she had given up the fight and fallen asleep.
Furious, frustrated and yet more crazy about her than he’d ever been, he reached a hand out and pushed a strand of her fire-touched hair away from her face.
“Dylan?” she mumbled sleepily as she turned toward him.
“Go to sleep, sweetheart. We’ll talk in the morning.”
She sighed—a soft, sweet sound that set fire to every nerve ending he had—then settled against him, the thin material of her oversized T-shirt doing nothing to cool the lust riding him hard. Especially as the T-shirt bunched between them and left the smooth, silky skin of her thighs in direct contact with his.
He groaned and tried to turn away. Tried to keep his hands—and mouth—to himself. But the beast was still with him, desperate for the feel of her, and Phoebe’s scent was unbearably arousing. His inner struggles only whipped it into a wilder frenzy.
With a groan, he surrendered. Pulling Phoebe against him, he buried his face in her neck. Sinking his teeth into her shoulder before he could think better of it, he left behind what was sure to be one hell of a hickey before he slid down her body.
Her nightshirt was in the way, and he ripped it away with a roar. Nothing could be allowed to separate them. Nothing could stand in his way.
No matter how angry he was or how betrayed he felt, no matter how much he wanted to hate her, Phoebe Quillum was his. For now and for always. She was more than his woman, more than his mate. She was everything to him, and he would do whatever it took to have her. Even if it meant disappointing his clan. Even if it meant abdicating the throne he’d never wanted to begin with.
With a growl, he skimmed his mouth and tongue over every part of her he could reach. Phoebe reached awareness with Dylan’s frantic lips on her throat, behind her ear, sliding across her cheek to the corner of her mouth. With a moan of surrender, she turned toward him until their lips met and clung.
There was none of the gentle lover in him now. He was a man pushed past the edge of his endurance by one betrayal too many, and she would pay the price for his agony. Part of her wanted to push him away, to surround herself in a protective bubble until he’d calmed enough to be rational. But as his teeth clamped down on her lower lip—drawing blood at the same time they sent ecstasy skating down her spine—she knew she would do no such thing. She belonged with Dylan—to him—and he to her. No matter how much it would devastate her in the end, she would not let barriers exist between them. Not now. Not here.
Parting her lips on a moan, she let her head fall back as his tongue stabbed into the dark recesses of her mouth. The kiss went on and on as he used teeth and lips and tongue to bring her to heel.
“Dylan—” She tried to protest as he drew blood for the second time, but his growl of warning silenced her. He was out of control and sweeping her along with him, until all that had come before was burned away in the white-hot rage of their passion.
Catching her wrists in one hand, he stretched her arms over her head and slammed them into the mattress. He held them there as he bent his head to her breast and curled his tongue over her already aching nipple.
Her breath caught in her throat and she arched against him as his mouth closed over the sensitive bud. Suddenly, he bit down and she went crazy, her body bucking wildly against his.
Laughing darkly, he blew a stream of warm air against the highly sensitized tip. “Dylan,” she gasped as she strained against his restraining hands. “Let me go. I want to touch you, too.”
“No.” His voice was low, almost distorted, and a shiver of fear shot through her. She’d never seen him so far out of bounds, had never imagined that he could be more out of control, more animalistic, than she’d already seen him. But the fear didn’t last long as something rose inside her, warm and beautiful and awe-inspiring. She didn’t know what it was, didn’t understand why she felt it sometimes, but for once, she didn’t fight it. She let it take her, and gave herself completely to Dylan. She could feel his need to dominate her, and for now, just for this instance, she was willing to be dominated.
Easily holding her wrists with one large hand, he slid his other hand down her body and between her legs. For a mo
ment, he toyed with the curls there before he roughly shoved two fingers inside her.
She screamed again, her body arching wildly off the bed as he found her G-spot and began to stroke.
Sweat poured down her, pooled hotly between her breasts. The need to orgasm was urgent, all-consuming, but Dylan refused to let her. Instead, he kept her on the razor-sharp cliff of desire until the pleasure almost felt like pain.
And then, suddenly, her hands were free and he was lifting her, turning her until she was facedown on the bed. Slipping an arm beneath her pelvis, he lifted her hips, positioned her. With one thick finger resting against her clit, he slammed into her from behind—driving deep, driving home.
He pounded into her again and again, his hips pistoning against her buttocks as he stretched her to overflowing. He was invading her—every corner of her mind, every cell of her body, every inch of her soul—and she was suddenly afraid that she would never be the same again. With a cry, she tried to pull away. It was too much; he was too intense. He wanted something from her she wasn’t sure she could give.
The realization was alarming, frightening, dangerous, and she struggled to back away from the abyss yawning in front of her. But the heat kept building, and he wouldn’t let her retreat. He pounded deeper, harder, as if he could chase away her doubts and his with the incredible strength of his will alone.
She turned her head and their eyes met for the first time since he’d slipped into bed beside her. She gasped at what she saw. Filled with fury, dark with hurt, his eyes burned with a need he didn’t want to acknowledge but couldn’t deny.
For the first time, pain pierced the haze of pleasure that surrounded her, and again Phoebe struggled to get away. But he held her to him, careful not to hurt her despite his violent emotions and the heavy thrusts that brought him fully inside her.
His thumb rubbed against her clit. The need to orgasm rose again, sharp and insistent, and she tried to fight it. She didn’t want it—not like this. Not when Dylan was so angry with her that his eyes burned dragon black with it.
