Cheeks burning, she picked up the dish and slid off the stool. As her feet touched down, she turned toward Daimler and opened her mouth, trying a second time to apologize. He wagged his finger at her. Hope closed it again and, feeling like a four-year-old reprimanded by her father, did as she was told. She rounded the island, left the kitchen, and scurried down the hall toward her bedroom, heart in her throat, a bowl full of chocolate mousse in her hands, the words when you tell him what you asked echoing like a warning inside her head.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Crouched in front of the dresser in her room, Hope reached into the bottom drawer. She nudged her boxing gloves aside. Bypassed her favorite skipping rope. Shoved a pile of workout clothes out of the way. Her fingertips brushed the box she’d hidden at the very back. Heartsore, still reeling from Daimler’s disapproval, she hesitated a second, palm pressed to the warped wooden top, wondering if she should just leave well enough alone. Some things deserved a quiet death. Her childhood was no doubt one of them, but as memories called to her, she couldn’t resist.
Or turn away.
She pulled the box out instead and, with a slow pivot, turned toward the bed. The thick duvet with pretty blue stars lay flat and smooth, the picture of perfection with its mound of pillows as she walked toward it, and into the teeth of her future. A funny thought, particularly since the past lay heavy in her hands. Not that it mattered. The juxtaposition, the span between then and now had shrunk. Now, the past and present stood side by side, forcing her to relive that day in the cemetery when she’d watched Adam’s casket be lowered into the ground.
Sorrow struck like a barbed fist.
Old wounds opened, imaginary blood pooling as she hopped up and crawled onto the bed. Settling cross-legged in the middle of the mattress, Hope stared at the horse carved into the box top, wondering what Forge would have to say about it all. A lot, no doubt. Smart. Aware. More intuitive than most, the guy never seemed to lack for words.
The thought made her smile.
Taking the lid off her treasure box wiped it from her face. She tipped the container over. Mixed emotions spilled out along with the contents—so many photographs, too many memories. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she picked up the first one. Wearing a grin the size of Rhode Island, her six-year-old brother stood on a dock, fishing rod in one hand, a tiny fish in the other. She remembered that day. Adam had been so proud. Her father, however, had not. Par for the course. Not much pleased the vice admiral outside of his work, and as always, when away from the naval base, he was present in body, but never in spirit.
Blowing out a heavy breath, Hope continued on, flipping through the pictures. Stopped to examine one. Laughed out loud at another. Choked back a sob as she came to a photo of her and Adam grinning from the steps of the campus library. Freshmen year. Hope huffed in wonder. Good lord, look how young they’d been: fresh faced and enthusiastic, optimistic in every way. The world had been so bright and shiny then, oysters in the palms of their hands. Her fingertip ghosted over the glossy surface of the photograph, tracing the contours of his face.
“Oh, Adam,” she whispered, talking to her dead twin as though he could still hear her. “Why did you do it? It couldn’t have been that bad.”
But Hope knew it had been.
No one understood better than her that Father never let up. She’d been able to cope, get by, avoid the worst of his scrutiny. Being born a girl had saved her, removing her from Father’s notice. As his only son, Adam hadn’t been so lucky. Staring at a photo of her brother dressed in cadet blues, Hope shook her head. So much pressure. Too many expectations. Little to no approval. The vice admiral excelled at the equation—at manufacturing unachievable goals and all the self-doubt that went along with them.
After years of soul-searching, she knew it had been a recipe for disaster. One her brother had chopped up, sautéed, and thrown into a proverbial pan. Exploding with such violence, he’d shattered lives while he lost his own. It wasn’t an excuse. She would never be able to excuse his actions. Not then, not now. But as she peered into her past, remembering the good times, Hope thought, perhaps, she understood him better. She hoped so, anyway. It was the only way for her to put Adam to rest. Forever. For always. Like any normal person would.
Shuffling through another stack of photos, Hope pulled one free, flipped it over, and—
A tingle prickled along her back.
Hinges sighed. A second later the door swung open.
Serious violet eyes met hers. Forge raised a brow. “Hiding?”
“Kind of,” she said, her heart giving a happy hop at the sight of him.
Stepping into the room, Forge gestured to the box resting beside her. “What’s all this?”
“Pictures. My past in one messy pile.” Picking up a photograph, she held it out to him. “Come see.”
Forge didn’t hesitate. He took her invitation, crossing the room to sit down on the edge of her bed. He held her gaze a moment. The worry in his eyes drew her tight, making her wonder what he was thinking before he accepted the photo. His eyes moved over the glossy surface. “Your brother?”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling as she stared at the image of her and Adam on shiny new bicycles. She pointed at the one she sat on. Her fingertip traced the colorful tassels hanging from the handlebars. “I’d just turned ten. We spent the whole summer riding around the naval base. It drove the soldiers at the gate nuts, but . . . God, I loved that bike.”
His mouth curved. “You were a pretty wee lass.”
With a huff of laughter, she handed him another picture. And then another, recounting stories, heart growing heavy at turns and lightening at others, telling Forge everything she could remember about Adam. About herself, sharing her past the only way she knew how . . . by being as honest with him as he’d been earlier with her. He’d talked nonstop after showing her his dragon half (in the shower, in the bedroom, while they’d both gotten dressed), explaining his world, why Rodin wanted him dead, and how important linking the Archguard leader to the murder of his family was to the dragon pack inside Black Diamond.
She’d listened then, taken it all in without interrupting.
Now he did the same, his focus on her absolute. More patient than anyone she knew, he absorbed all she said, asked a question here or there, but mostly let her talk, as though he knew she needed to exorcise her past in order to move on.
At length, he reached over and pulled a photograph from the bottom of the pile. “This him? Your da?”
Her eyes settled on a picture of her father. Throat gone tight, she nodded.
“You ever see him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He won’t answer my calls, never mind let me visit.” As Forge’s brows collided, Hope tensed, knowing she needed to explain. Not a happy proposition. She never spoke of her father . . . to anyone. Not even Angela knew how toxic the relationship with him had become. But as confusion rose in Forge’s eyes, she knew avoidance was no longer an option. Trusting someone meant opening up, shining a light on the untidy parts of life as well as the good. “He blames me for Adam’s death. Thinks I should have known about the attack and stopped it.”
“With what, lass—your psychologist superpowers? Your magical ability tae read people’s minds?”
Hope blinked in surprise.
He raised a brow, challenging her father’s unfairness . . . and her guilt. “Sounds like I need tae pay your sire a visit. The male needs some sense knocked into him.”
She huffed. No doubt, but . . . jeepers. Psychologist superpowers? Seriously? Forge had just stepped off the reservation. In a funny, totally adorable, God-he-filled-her-heart-to-the-brim kind of way. Even so, she treated him to a no-nonsense look. “You are not allowed to hit my father.”
“Can I scare him?” he asked, tone playful, face full of hope. He held his hand up, thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Just a wee bit?”
His hopeful expression made her laugh. A second later, tears pooled
in her eyes, the pain pouring out before she could stop it. With a sympathetic murmur, Forge reached out and drew her in, pulling her across the bed. His arms wrapped around her. Hope didn’t fight him. Turning into his embrace, she let herself cry—for the first time in ages—allowing him to comfort her, to see her weakness and soothe away the heartache.
Being pulled outside her comfort zone—out of her life and into Black Diamond—had smashed through her defenses. Now her foundation lay cracked and crumbling, nothing but rubble around her, the destruction making room for a new start. Forge was right. She wasn’t a mind reader. She couldn’t have known what Adam intended. Which meant she needed to forgive herself for missing the signs and move on. She might feel responsible, but she wasn’t at fault. Adam had made his decision and carried it out. No way for her to know . . . or stop him from hurting all those people.
For some reason, the simple truth turned the tide, shifting her way of thinking. To heal, she must let go and make room. For something good to enter her life. For someone new—a man-dragon who’d made it clear he wanted her to stay.
The realization scared her a little. And stunned her even more.
“Hey, Forge?”
“Aye, luv.”
She sniffled into his shoulder. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For being here. For listening.”
“There is nowhere else I would rather be, Hope, than with you.”
God help her, he was awesome. The absolute best. Everything her heart had hoped to find, but her mind had refused to believe existed. Which meant . . .
She needed to tell him what she’d done. Why she sat on her bed instead of in the kitchen with Daimler. Hope grimaced. Crap. She really didn’t want to admit she’d been sent to her room like a naughty four-year-old. Hope wanted to grumble at the unfairness—about the urge to open up and tell Forge everything whenever he got anywhere near her—but well . . . hell. She couldn’t fight it. Might as well get it over with and come clean.
Steeling herself for his reaction, she lifted her cheek off his chest and took a fortifying breath. “I asked Daimler to take me home earlier.”
“I know. He told me.”
Her mouth fell open. “Seriously?”
“Aye.”
She frowned. “A total tattletale, isn’t he?”
“Only where wayward females are concerned.”
“Yeah, well, not to worry.” Throwing him a disgusted look, she tossed the photo she held onto the messy stack. The pile shifted, sliding across the duvet. “He had your back.”
Adjusting his hold on her, Forge wiped a tear from her cheek. “What did he do?”
“Not much.” Which qualified as annoying. Or really embarrassing depending on the point of view. “He gave me a stern look, handed me a bowl of chocolate mousse, and sent me to my room.”
“Could’ve been worse.” His gaze tracked to the empty dish sitting on her nightstand. Amusement sparked in his eyes. “At least he banished you with chocolate.”
“Thank God,” she muttered, glad Daimler epitomized fantastic. “I might have murdered someone on the way here otherwise.”
The lighthearted comment fell flat, making her nervous. She figured he would laugh and the tension she sensed in him would ease. Neither happened. His hand flexed against her back. Serious purple eyes searched her face. The scrutiny made her twitch. The trace of fear she saw on his face caused her throat to tighten. God forgive her. She’d screwed up. By asking to be taken home, she’d shaken his confidence . . . and hurt his feelings.
Gaze locked on his face, she smoothed her hand over her thigh. She needed to explain. Hadn’t intended to hurt him, but . . . God. After all the Dragonkind drama, she’d craved familiarity, something she recognized to ground her.
With a quick shift, Hope slid further into his lap. She needed to get closer, touch him more, put her hands on his skin. Cupping his face, she looked him straight in the eyes. “I wasn’t trying to run away.”
A muscle twitched along his jaw, against her palm. “Why then, lass?”
“You left to make sure Mac had what he needed, and I—”
“I was gone less than twenty minutes.”
“I know, but without your arms around me, I panicked. I can’t explain it, but the second you left I needed to replace you with something familiar. I thought my house . . . being surrounded by my things . . . would work.” Tears clogged the back of her throat. With a murmur, he pressed his cheek to hers. Day-old stubble scraped across her skin. Hope sighed in relief when he hugged her tight, sharing his affection, accepting her without question. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”
“You did at that, Hope.” Lifting his chin from its perch on top of her head, he leaned away. She tried to hold on. His big hand landed on her nape. Heat from his palm spread through her like wildfire, chasing her chill away. He held her there, then shifted his grip and forced her to look at him. “But now, I need tae ask—”
“Is this normal?” she asked, the bond she sensed, but couldn’t see, flexing deep inside her.
“What—you interrupting me?” Lips twitching, he shook his head. “Sad tae say, lass, but I think it might be.”
“No, I mean . . .” Hope frowned, trying to get her bearings. He’d told her a lot, but it wasn’t enough. She needed to understand how Dragonkind relationships worked. A bond was one thing, being enthralled (fascinated, captivated, delighted . . . pick a word, any word) by him was quite another. “Sorry about interrupting, but really, I need to know—is what’s happening between us normal, ’cause I gotta say, how I feel about you is freaking me out a little.”
His expression softened. “Jalâyla.”
“It’s insane.” Struggling to fit the pieces together, Hope ignored the endearment. “I’ve fallen so hard for you. Way too fast. My brain is telling me to slow down—that it can’t possibly be real, but my heart . . .” Chest aching, she rubbed her hand over her breastbone. “My heart—God, it’s telling me to trust what I feel, but . . . is it real, Forge? Am I imagining the connection with you or—”
“Nay, Hope, never think it. Donnae ever doubt it.” His grip on her firmed. Hard muscles flexed around her as he lifted her off his lap. She went airborne a second before being set astride him. Her knees sank into the mattress on either side of his hips. Big hands bracketing her waist, he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “The bond we share is powerful. Like magic, it’s as real as the air we breathe. We may not be able tae see it, but we feel it all the same.”
His explanation circled inside her head. Gripping his shoulders, Hope pulled in a breath. All right. Good enough. His explanation made sense to her. It wasn’t based in logic. It wasn’t anchored in anything concrete, and yet, as she cupped his face and reached out with her mind, she found him. Could see Forge clear as day. Felt him every time her heart beat. Saw his need for her each time he met her eyes.
“It’s so strange,” she whispered. “Even when you’re not with me, I sense you. I feel you with every breath I take.”
“I feel you too.” Stroking the hair from her face, Forge kissed her again. It wasn’t much, a simple brush of his mouth, but Hope registered the resonance along with the worship in his touch. “The fall has been fast and furious for us, without any sort of warning, but lass, love doesn’t care about convention. It doesn’t hold tae human timelines or care what others think. Love has a mind all its own—and settles when and where it chooses. You are my female, Hope. I am your mate. I will love you for a lifetime if you let me.”
His promise poured through her, healing old wounds, filling her so full she couldn’t contain it. Tears pooled in her eyes. “I’ll let you. And I’ll love it, Forge . . . almost as much as I love you.”
“Sweet lass,” he murmured. “You make me so proud. I love you. I’ll cherish you too, and just so you know—you’ll be moving into the lair and sharing my bed, sleeping in my arms every day from now until forever.”
“So bossy,” she
said, teasing him as the tension eased. “I may have some demands of my own, you know.”
“Tell me.”
Tilting her head, she considered. “I want you to take me flying at nightfall. We’ll go to my place and get some of my things.”
“No problem.” He growled and, flashing teeth, nipped at her bottom lip. “What else?”
“I don’t want to close my practice. I’d like to continue counseling trauma victims.”
“I’ll make it happen. Go on.”
“And lastly . . .” She trailed off.
He picked up the thread. “Aye?”
“I’ll need you to keep your promise.”
He raised a brow. “Which one?”
“The one that says you’ll love me forever.”
“Already done, lass,” he murmured, tumbling her back onto the bed. “Already done.”
Done. Such a simple word: quick, concise, as charming as the man-dragon kissing her blind. Stroking her hands through his hair, Hope hummed against his mouth. He murmured in welcome. She smiled in pleasure. Uh-huh. No doubt about it. She was done. Done running. Done hiding. Done pretending she hadn’t been waiting for Forge to come along and shine his light into the dark corners of her world. She hadn’t known how much she needed him. Or realized the damage closing herself off from others would do, but now, she couldn’t deny the truth. She’d been so lonely. He might turn her inside out, upside down, and backwards, but that was all right. Fine by her. No problem at all, just as long as he loved her always and she got to spend a lifetime in his arms.
Acknowledgments
It took awhile for me to write Fury of Surrender, the sixth novel in the Dragonfury Series. Longer than I expected. I ran into one roadblock after another in the writing of it. Sometimes, I’ve learned, that happens to a writer. Life gets in the way, on purpose, forcing us to refocus, shining a brighter light on all we strive to accomplish. I learned a lot from Forge and Hope. Most of it about forgiveness and being as kind to yourself as you’ve been taught to be to others. Time well spent. Lessons well learned. And a book I absolutely adore. I hope you enjoy Fury of Surrender as much as I have and still do. Hugs, and happy reading!
Fury of Surrender (Dragonfury Series Book 6) Page 34
