He should do something about that: conjure another blanket, cover her up, preserve her modesty in the event one of his brothers entered the sacred space. But as he caressed her, enjoying the smoothness of her skin and decadence of her scent, adoring the amount of trust it took for her to fall asleep in his arms, Forge couldn’t make himself move. He loved her this way, open to his touch, unabashed and immodest, all soft female and generous curves.
A tidal wave of contentment washed through him.
Beautiful female. Sweet, sweet lass. She’d loved him so well over the last hour, egging him on, coming back for more, her need so complete she laid him bare, exposing his heart—all his wants and needs—without even trying. Any other time, with any other female, the vulnerability would’ve triggered the opposite response. Made him balk and want to bolt. But not Hope. His dragon half thought of her as his. His human side agreed, claiming her with silent conviction instead of loud fanfare.
Although, that would come . . . eventually. After he worked up the courage to show her the truth of his kind.
The idea made him nervous.
Settling his palm against the small of her back, he smoothed the other over the tangle of her long hair. The thick strands clung to his fingertips as though trying to stroke him back. His worry settled. Unease disappeared. It always did when he touched her, making him believe it would be all right. Hope might not know it yet, but she belonged to him in the same way he belonged to her. The bond grew by the moment, strengthening the connection he shared with her, twining around her heart, just as it had taken hold of his. Which meant he should wake her.
Time was running out.
Almost set up in the gym, Bastian and the others wouldn’t wait much longer.
Sighing, Forge smoothed his hands over her bottom. His grip on her firmed. She twitched, grumbling in her sleep. He set his teeth to the curve of her shoulder and bit down gently. Her nose crinkled. He licked over the small mark, jostling her a little, and whispered her name.
“No.” Hope growled, her voice an octave lower than normal. The muscles bracketing her spine tightened. Hands curling into fists, she snarled. “No retreat.”
Forge frowned and, raising his head off the floor, peered down at her face. Air stalled in his throat. Jesus. The dream. She was lost inside his dream again, about to—
With a shriek, she exploded into motion. Eyes closed, rising like a viper above him, she raised her fists, hissing in her sleep. “Rodin—you bastard. I should have known.”
His heart paused mid-beat. The string of words slammed into his mind, and suddenly, he knew who spoke them. It wasn’t Hope. The voice belonged to his father. She might be inside the dream, right in the middle of the battle, but she was reliving his experience, drawing the poison from his mind and projecting it into her own.
Bloody hell. Energy-fuse in all its glory. He’d never imagined it capable of such things, of coaxing his dragon half to give his mate information he couldn’t access himself. Unable to move, he listened to Hope snarl at Rodin again. The name resonated, shaking him inside, hammering the barrier he sensed around the memory.
Her bio-energy spiked.
With a quick shift, he sat with her straddling his lap, putting him face to face with her. Hope growled and raised her fist. He grabbed hold, trapping her knuckles against his palm with one hand and cupping the back of her neck with the other. With them connected at three points—nape, hand, and groin—the Meridian whiplashed, opening a channel deep inside him. His magic sparked as his mind expanded, reaching for hers. Hope quivered against him. Folding the cosmic band, he looped it over and around them, taking the excess energy, protecting Hope from the onslaught as he sank into the powerful stream.
“Stay with it, Hope.” Leaning in, he set his mouth to the corner of hers. “I need tae see all of it.”
Spellbound by his voice, still fast asleep, Hope froze against him. He tightened his hold on her. The energy stream intensified. As her lips parted on a gasp, he banged on the mental barricade, requesting entrance into the memory. Her brow furrowed. He pleaded his case, asking for help. She responded without hesitation and, relaxing her guard, opened her mind. He slipped through. Mind meld took hold, fusing his consciousness with hers. His dragon half hummed and—
Mental walls began to crumble and . . . fucking hell. There it was, on the horizon inside his mind—perfect recall. With a powerful thrust, Forge flew toward it.
The surge made Hope flinch. Her eyes popped open. “Forge!”
“Donnae move, jalâyla.” Deep inside her mind, surrounded by her body, he held her gaze. Pupils unfocused, she stared back. “Stay with me.”
Unblinking, she obeyed, sharing the memory. The tempest expanded. The battle played out. Claws ripped through scales. Males screamed in pain. Someone attacked him from behind. Forge whipped around, desperate to protect his flank but . . . too little, too late. An orange dragon with black-tipped scales held the upper hand. With a vicious swipe, the bastard knocked him out of the sky. As he tumbled toward the ground at breakneck speed, his sire roared his name and, banking hard, went after Rodin.
His mental screen flickered.
He lost sight of his father as he hit the ground. Bones snapped. One of his wings shattered, tearing apart the webbing. Tasting his own blood, agony ripped through and—
The frame went dark.
Sorrow filled him, raging into a river inside him. Forge closed his eyes as he relived the loss. God help him. His sire and brothers—gone in the blink of an eye. And Rodin was to blame. He saw it clearly now. The leader of the Archguard had murdered his family. But why? Forge frowned. Why take the risk? What the hell had made his sire so dangerous to the bastard? Excellent questions. No real answers, but one thing for sure? He possessed what he needed now—what he’d waited over fifty years to find: a modicum of closure, a direction to move along with the information Bastian required to bury Rodin and protect the Nightfury pack.
Exhaling in a rush, Forge turned his attention to the female quivering in his lap. He murmured her name. Hope whimpered, the tears in her eyes telling. Regret punched through, making him hurt for her. She didn’t deserve to carry his pain, but as he cupped her face, desperate to soothe her, Forge knew he didn’t hold the power. Compelled by energy-fuse, his dragon half shared everything with her: the good, the bad, and all of the ugly.
Throat gone tight, he shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Hope. I never would have shared the memory if given a choice. Sweet lass, please forgive me. I never meant tae hurt you.”
“Me? It’s not—forget about me!” Her breath hitched. “He got you. Rodin killed you. Forge, he—”
“Nay, Hope,” he rasped, battling pain inflicted over fifty years ago as he withdrew from her mind. Using his magic, he retreated a little at a time, smoothing down ragged mental edges, soothing her fear, clearing the shock away. Hugging her tight, he nuzzled her cheek, kissed her mouth, then turned to lick the tears from her face. “He didn’t kill me. I’m all right, lass. Alive and well—right here with you.”
Trembling, she gripped his shoulders. Fingers searching for old wounds, she stroked his skin, pressed her hands over his heart, assuring herself he still lived. She drew in a choppy breath. “What was that? What just happened?”
“You met my dragon half.”
She blinked. More tears fells. Forge brushed each away, waiting for her to react to the news. It didn’t take long for her to recover. He felt her mind sharpen, then start to whirl.
Confusion in her gaze, she searched his face. “Your what?”
“Difficult to explain.”
Her brow furrowed. “Try anyway.”
“How about I show you instead?”
Aye. Without a doubt. Showing her would be better. More advisable all the way around, except . . . shite. She’d already suffered one shock today. Mind meld took some getting used to, after all, and as he lifted Hope from his lap and stood, worry jabbed at him. Again. Like always when he thought about telling Hope the truth
. So many unanswered questions. Very few reassurances. But as he set his female on her feet, drew a blanket around her shoulders, and met her gaze, Forge knew the time had come. No more hiding. Enough with the lies. She needed to know the truth. He needed to tell her. Now came the difficult part, pulling back the veil to reveal Dragonkind. All while praying his act of faith drew her closer to him, instead of pushing her away.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bare feet cooling on mosaic tile, Hope pulled the blanket over the tops of her shoulders as Forge backed away. Her focus on his face, she crisscrossed the corners, gathering the wool in her fists, and pressed the soft fleecy side to her skin. The preemptive strike against the chill didn’t help. Without his warmth surrounding her, cold air attacked, shivering up her spine. He took another step away. And then another, leaving her standing alone in the center of the circular room. Unease slithered in, winding her so tight she felt fragile. Almost brittle. Seconds away from breaking.
The internal turmoil clued her in, jump-starting her brain.
Her mind spun, hopping from one thought to the next. Something was wrong. Terrible, in point of fact. After what she’d witnessed—and how he’d made her feel: close and connected, needed and valued, loved and cherished—his retreat signaled trouble. All right, so the dream sequence (dragon attack . . . whatever!) worried her. So did her reaction. Waking in his arms that way had been strange. Beyond startling, but odd as it seemed, in that moment riding out the storm with him had felt right too. As though she’d belonged there—flying alongside him, fighting in that battle while she struggled to protect his blind side.
Which, safe to say, placed her on the wrong side of sanity. Made her certifiable, or something. Label it crazy, then call it a day, ’cause . . . every professional in the field of psychology would agree with her assessment. No one would argue. Each one would double down and commit her to a psych ward without delay. Poke and prod, analyze her to death in the hopes of figuring out where she’d misplaced her faculties.
Funny thing, though. Hope frowned. She didn’t feel the least bit crazy. She found clarity instead, liking the idea of sharing a connection with Forge. What she didn’t appreciate was the distance. She hated that he was walking away. Pulled by an invisible tether, she stepped forward, following his retreat.
“Nay, lass—stay there.” Expression serious, gaze intent, he tipped his chin. “Better yet, back up a few paces.”
“Why?” She didn’t understand. Couldn’t begin to guess the problem. “Why are you leaving?”
“I’m not leaving. I just need more room.”
“For what?”
“Stubborn lass.” He sighed, the sound so full of exasperation Hope smiled. Show-off. The big faker. He didn’t mean a second of it. He enjoyed baiting her. Relished her reactions, maybe even delighted in teasing the sharp edge of her temper. The realization helped her relax. It was all right. Whatever he wanted to show her couldn’t be all bad. Releasing her white-knuckled grip on the blanket, she gave him what he wanted—the best mock death stare she owned. He chuckled in appreciation. “Back up, bad girl, and I’ll show you.”
“Okay.” Doing as he asked, she retreated. Her butt bumped against the opposite wall. As she glanced over her shoulder, the picture behind her came into focus. Crafted from tiny mosaic tiles, the dark-purple dragon rose between two huge columns, taking up the entire section of wall. Hope blinked. Wow. Impressive work from an insanely talented artist. She ran her gaze over the image, appreciating the time it must have taken to create it, before dragging her attention back to Forge. “But this had better be good.”
He snorted. “Somehow I donnae think that’s going tae be a problem.”
The wariness in his tone set her back on edge. The worry she saw in his eyes strengthened the feeling. Intuition sparked, giving her a bad feeling. “Ah, Forge?”
“Remember something for me, lass,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “Whatever happens, know I will never hurt you.”
Hope’s brows collided. Never hurt her. Of course not. Forge wasn’t the type of guy to—
The air warped around him, cutting her off mid-thought.
Heat rolled off him and into the room. The warm blast blew the hair off her face a second before his eyes started to glow. A blinding pulse of light burst through the rotunda, painting everything in purple wash. Breath locked in her throat, she watched him transform. His body changed, lengthened, grew into a . . . holy crap. A dragon. He was . . . had changed into . . .
A huge, towering dragon.
Shock blasted through her. Her brain derailed, flying off mental tracks. Dark-purple scales glinting in the low light, he tilted his head and gazed down at her. Unable to move, she stared up at him, mouth hanging wide open.
He lifted his paw and flexed enormous talons. The hooked tips of razor-sharp claws clicked together. The sound propelled her out of stunned stupefaction. Brain cells fired in rapid succession. Her body jerked as she inhaled hard and—
“Donnae scream,” the dragon said, sounding exactly like Forge.
His command caused air to jam in her lungs. Unable to breathe, Hope shuffled sideways.
“Donnae run either, jalâyla. Just stand still and look at me for a moment. See me, Hope.”
See him? Seriously? Feeling lightheaded, Hope forced her muscles to unlock and sucked in much-needed breath. Oxygen filled her lungs. She snapped her mouth closed. Had he gone mad? Completely crazy or . . . no, wait. Strike that last thought. The insane one must be her. Mental incapacity explained everything. Gaze locked on him, Hope quivered. All right. Good. She was making perfect sense. Only a psychotic person, after all, remained unmoving when faced with a dragon.
“Take another breath, Hope.” Her lungs expanded—oxygen in, air out, moving in time with the dragon’s scaled chest. A glint of approval in his eyes, the dragon dipped his horned head. His scaled nose even with her head, he smiled, revealing huge fangs. “You’re doing fine.”
“Holy crap,” she wheezed, unable to believe what she was seeing. Or that she stood with her feet in the fictional fire. Literally. Everyone knew dragons belonged in books, scaring the hell out of fairy-tale princesses, not hanging out in rotundas with their horned heads brushing the roof. “You’re not supposed to exist.”
Forge snorted. Flames sparked in his nostrils, heating the air in front of her face. “Do I look fake tae you?”
“No, but . . . ,” she said, tugging the blanket back over her shoulders. “What are you?”
“Dragonkind,” he said, as though one word explained everything.
She scowled at him. “I need more of an explanation than that, Forge.”
“We’re a different species, lass. A hidden one,” he said, moving one of his talons in her direction.
Hope tensed but, afraid to move, stood still and silent as Forge nudged the edge of her blanket aside. The back of his claw skimmed the outside of her thigh. Smooth as polished glass, harder than granite, his nail caressed her skin. She drew in a shaky breath, waiting for fear to rise, but . . . it never came. She recognized his touch, cleaved to the familiar vibration, knowing to whom it belonged.
Watching her closely, he stroked her again. “I’m the same male you made love with earlier, Hope, just wrapped in a different package. The magic in my veins allows me to shift from human to dragon form, and back again.”
Disbelief bombarded her. “Magic?”
“Aye.” His familiar brogue washed over her. “Just because you donnae see it, doesn’t mean magic isnae real.”
All right. She bought that. Might even believe it. Probably should, given she stood in a room talking to a dragon. “You can use it . . . shift . . . whenever you want?”
“Of course.”
Shock faded, giving way to curiosity. All kinds of questions surfaced, spiraling through her mind, resurrecting her intellect, and a healthy dose of awe. She looked him over again, her gaze touching the horns on his head, the spikes along his spine, and the huge knifelike blades gracing the
tip of his tail. Jeez, those looked nasty. Super dangerous. He could no doubt slice her in half with nothing more than a quick flick of that thing. Hope knew it but, guided by instinct, inched closer to him anyway. She wanted to touch him. To get a better sense of him in dragon form.
Standing between his paws now, she raised her hand. Forge didn’t move. He waited instead, staying perfectly still as she pressed her palm to his chest. The hard ridges of his scales scraped over her skin. Hope released a pent-up breath. Incredible. He was alive with heat, so warm she didn’t need her blanket anymore. She hung on to it anyway and, wrapping the fleece a touch tighter, continued her exploration. He dipped his horned head. A tingle slid over her nape as he murmured her name.
Surprise made her exhale. God, how incredible. He was real, not imagined. The dragon was Forge; Forge was the dragon. No disputing it. No sense denying it either. She recognized his voice, knew his touch and the scent of his skin. But it was the unique vibration he emitted that held her captive. She felt it every time he reached for her, and she slipped into his embrace.
“Can you change back—right now?”
Forge didn’t answer. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, he shifted, moving from dragon to man so fast Hope jumped in alarm.
“Jeez!” Losing her footing, she tripped and bumped into his chest.
Big hands landed on her shoulders. He held her still a moment. The instant she looked up and met his gaze, Forge pulled her into his arms. “All right?”
“I have no idea,” she said, being honest. “I think I may have lost my mind.”
“Nothing wrong with your brain, lass,” he murmured, wrapping her closer, encouraging her to snuggle in. Hope didn’t argue. Nor did she fight it. Needing a steadying hand, she tucked her head beneath his chin and burrowed in, making a home inside his embrace. “You handled seeing me in dragon form very well.”
Nestled in his arms, Hope shook her head. Had she handled it well? She didn’t know. Even after touching his scales, she still couldn’t say for certain. Her mind wouldn’t settle, jumping all over the place, causing her senses to trip over what remained of her brain. Instinct said nothing had changed. He was the same guy. She was the same girl. And yet, red flags kept flying, ringing internal alarm bells. She’d known he’d been hiding something. An important something. A something she’d been determined to unearth, but . . .
Fury of Surrender (Dragonfury Series Book 6) Page 31
