Her Dragon Temptation (Alpha Protectors Book 7)

by Olivia Arran

  “Bastian—”

  “Why are you here?” He ground the words out through a jaw set with tension.

  “I told you—”

  “No. Why are you here?” He flicked a hand out, indicating the basement.

  “Oh. I thought you meant…” My voice trailed off at the look in his eyes, the raw hunger burning in the sapphire blue, silver flames leaping up and dancing in the bottomless depths.

  “You need to leave.” Blunt. To the point. No room for argument.

  I might have believed him, from his rigid stance to the grim set to his mouth, but his eyes continued to burn through me, scorching in their intensity and flickering with indecision. He might need me to leave, but he sure as hell didn’t look like he wanted me to. I didn’t have a clue what the hell was going on here, but if he thought I was the kind of woman he could kiss into a puddle, then yank the rug out from under, he had another thing coming. I might not have been born with a backbone, but I’d sure as hell grown one over the last year. No man made my decisions for me. Not anymore. “Why did you do it?”

  He shook his head at my question, his feigned indifference morphing into a now familiar smirk. “Sweetheart, do you really not know how fucking hot you are?” Dark hair flopped down into his eyes, making him hard to read.

  My fingers itched with the need to brush his hair back and reveal his inner thoughts. I wanted to peer into his soul, search out his demons, and demand they give me answers.

  “That’s not what I meant—but thanks, anyway.” I shot him a grimace, I’d never been good at accepting compliments. Time to see if he could pass the test. “What I really want to know is why did you gamble all the money away? Why did you arrange for your sister to be mated off to the highest bidder?” What are you hiding from me, from the world?

  “Three alphas, each powerful and rich enough to provide her with everything she could possibly need. You say it like it’s a bad thing,” he replied, choosing to focus on my second question. Surprise, surprise.

  But we were getting somewhere—talking. “She didn’t want them. You didn’t even ask!”

  “No. She chose true love.” He uttered the statement with so much lack of inflection, I had to ask.

  “Do you not believe?” A strange thing for a shifter. Their culture was built upon finding their true mate—the one person who would mean more to them than anything else in the world. If only humans were built like that. I bit back the sigh, waiting for him to answer.

  “In love? It’s a pretty idea for some people.”

  I opened my mouth to press him, but he beat me to it, “I didn’t force her to mate with any of them.” He swiped a hand through his hair, pushing it back and revealing eyes dark with anguish. “Hell, once I knew she’d found love, I worked with them to find a way out of the mess.”

  “A mess that you’d set in motion.”

  “Agreed.” He shrugged, as if daring me to lay the blame at his feet, and equally willing to shoulder it. He wasn’t asking for forgiveness, or understanding, he claimed everything I threw at him. But the emphasis he’d put on love had me questioning his real motives.

  “I thought shifters believed in love.”

  “Do you?”

  I flinched, despite having expected the retaliation and prepared myself. “I did. Sometimes I still do.” He was being honest with me; it was only fair I did the same. I clung to the hope that there was a happy ever after out there for me, a man who’d lift me up rather than beat me down.

  “Who hurt you? What happened?” His words were like bullets seeking a target. A quick glance confirmed his anger, clear in the bulge of his muscles as they flexed taut, and in his eyes as they promised retribution in my name.

  “I was married.” I offered the information grudgingly, unsure why I was telling him.

  Tension bracketed his mouth, pulling his jaw even tighter. “You’re not now?”

  “No.”

  A jerky nod. “Good. He might live.”

  Might. Despite giving myself a stern talking to, his words fanned a soft flame in my belly. “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t.”

  I call bullshit. Pushing away from my spot on the wall, I yanked my so-called backbone out of the trash and pinned it in place. Three steps and I was halfway to him, staring into his fathomless eyes. “I think you do.”

  He jerked back, but his feet don’t move. “Don’t come any closer,” came his snapped out plea.

  I hesitated. “Why?”

  “It’s not safe. I’m not safe.”

  “But—”

  His lips twisted. “You don’t want me—want this. You’re just curious. You think it might be fun. Thrilling. An adventure. And it would be, then you’d realize I’m not what you think. That I’m broken. A man not worth your time or attention. Then you’d leave,” he drawled in a voice hard and unyielding.

  I didn’t know what to say, what to think. He spoke these words, expecting me to understand, but I didn’t have the first clue where to begin. “I didn’t come here—”

  “To fuck me? No, you came to fuck me over, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I don’t do complicated fucks, and I’m not completely led by my cock. Though, if it’s an itch you want obliterating, then I’m your man.”

  The anger in his voice had me flinching away.

  His mouth untwisted, lifting in a genuine smile. “Now you get it.” Then he stalked off, brushing past me and striding up the stairs, leaving me staring after him.

  Did he just offer to fuck me, no strings attached?

  God help me. I think he did.

  And, hell in a handbasket, I was actually considering it.

  Chapter Five

  Bastian

  Footsteps followed me up the stairs, slow and steady. Did she ever give up? I had to give her credit where credit was due, once she got her teeth into something, she clung on. She was a lot like me in that regard. SAF, as Astrid had once called it. Stubborn As Fuck.

  Spinning around, I stared her down. “What?”

  Folding her arms, she rocked back on her heels, not backing down.

  It was even worse now that I knew how she felt, how she tasted, the soft sounds she made when kissed within an inch of her life.

  “You never told me why you did it.”

  Oh. That. Yeah, and I wasn’t going to tell her. “And if I don’t?”

  “You’ll lose the clan. Your home. Everything.”

  “Because you’ll put a tick in the box to make that happen?” I demanded. I wouldn’t blame her if she did, anyone else would do the same.

  “Because I won’t be able to save you,” she beseeched me with her words, her eyes.

  Her soft words knocked the air clean out of my lungs, a sucker punch to the chest. I looked away, examining the wall to her left. “What makes you think I want saving?” I finally croaked out.

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Everyone—”

  “Not everyone, sweetheart.” Only those who deserved saving.

  “But, why?”

  Blowing out a stream of hot air, I glanced back at her. Worry creased her brow, lines of exasperation tugging at her mouth. I was upsetting her, just by being me. A perfect example of why I was doing the right thing. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re stubborn?”

  “Yep.”

  “It’s not a compliment, you know.” Leaning back against the wall, I shoved my hands into my pockets, just in case they got the bright idea that reaching for her was okay.

  Copying me, she braced a shoulder and hip against the fading paint, her arms dropping to clasp in front of her, fingers twinning together in a lose bracelet. Her hair curled over her shoulder, honey-brown spirals I longed to twist around my fingers. When I didn’t speak, she arched a single eyebrow, pursing her lips in silent disapproval.

  I looked away. I didn’t want to see her eyes as I told her the truth. “I gambled because I didn’t have anything else to lose. Be
cause…” My voice seized, unable to force the complete truth out past my lips. I couldn’t tell her that it was the only way I could make the clan strong enough to have an alpha unable to shift at it’s helm. I just couldn’t. “…I owed it to my parents to try and rebuild the clan.”

  “What did you lose?”

  I held out my hands. “Everything.”

  A moment, then, “Your sister?”

  She understood. Enough to leave me alone, anyway. “Her too. So, now you know. Decide which box you’re going to tick then leave me the hell alone.”

  It hurt like a thousand razor blades cutting into my skin, but I refused to look, to see the judgment in her eyes as I walked away.

  It was for her own good.

  And my sanity.

  This time, no footsteps followed me.

  Faye

  The days passed in a rush of work induced highs, ego-crashing lows when I discovered fatal flaws in my solution, and sweat inducing nights of tangled sheets and thrashing legs. Alone.

  But the days had passed—three of them to be precise—and I was no closer to saving Bastian from getting the ax.

  The man in question slipped in and out of his office, answering questions he deemed important enough, and avoiding me when he felt like it. Always fully dressed, usually in jeans and a shirt, his hair dripping onto his collar and slicked back from his face, blue eyes calm and assessing, as though he expected something from me.

  But what?

  In the evening, I had taken to settling on the couch in front of the fireplace and curling up with a cup of cocoa and a good book, giving my brain a rest from all the numbers and squiggly lines. On the first evening, less than ten minutes later Bastian had been crouched at the hearth, building a fire, and nearly giving me a heart attack when he reached in to move a burning log around with his bare hands. Dragon shifter he might be, considerate of the jumpy human, he definitely wasn’t. Then he’d settled into a chair kitty-corner to the couch, settling one leg over his knee, brandy in one hand, and a book in the other, one obviously well thumbed by the cracks to the spine and the tattered edges. That first night we sat in silence, the only noise that of the crackling fire and the odd spit of a spark jumping out of the hearth.

  The next night it had been less than five minutes before he was building the fire, chasing away the chill of the early evening. Again, we had sat in our designated spots, each pretending to read. I knew I was pretending, and I was pretty sure he was too, unless he read at four words per hour, considering how many times he turned the page. I had spent the evening spying out of the corner of my eye, watching the flames flicker and dance over his strong jawline, outlining his pursed lips, and caressing his furrowed brow. Not to mention the side-ogling I’d managed to sneak in here and there, his body laid out for my eyes to paint into my memory, capturing every broad angle and thick muscle for later. For when I was in bed, alone.

  What he was doing? I wasn’t sure, but it felt very much like a truce. A time out from the madness that had consumed us both upon meeting.

  It was now the third evening.

  The door creaked open, his dark head leaning in. His eyes darted from the couch to where I sat, still hunched over the desk, mocking me for slaving away at a thankless task. Her blue eyes assessed me. “You’re still here?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, the sharpness having faded from his voice to be replaced with a good dose of sarcasm and a hint of … I tried to put my finger on it … maybe wistfulness?

  “I haven’t made my decision yet.” On impulse, I stuck my tongue out at him, then dragged my eyes back down to my notepad. I’d completed most of my tasks, something that both thrilled and scared the hell out of me, because it meant that I would have to decide soon. Which box to tick? Astrid’s donation had nearly all been allocated, only one small chunk remaining, and surprisingly the clan wasn’t doing as bad as I’d first assessed. Someone had been careful not to jeopardize the livelihood of it’s members, funneling just enough funds into several accounts to hold them over for at least one more winter. The main house and land had taken the largest hit, but I’d tracked down receipts of sales of everything worth more than a few dollars, scraps of paper hidden deep in the bottom of the filling cabinet and tucked into a plain folder, out of sight. Piecing together the paper chain had been hard, but I finally had the big picture.

  I knew what he’d done.

  “You played to win.”

  Bastian had been half way inside the room and closing the door behind him when I’d spoken. He froze at the accusation in my voice. Shrugging, he pressed the heavy wood closed until it clicked, then strode across the room to where his brandy bottle rested. Seconds ticked by as he poured himself a large measure of the molten brown liquid, raising the heavy tumbler to his lips and sipping with all the air of a gentleman relaxing at home. “Don’t we all?” he finally replied, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.

  Taking my glasses off, I tossed them onto the desk. “No. I mean you really played to win. You didn’t gamble anything you couldn’t afford, and you didn’t expect to lose.”

  “Hmmm. I think you’ll find you’re wrong there.” Liquid sloshed in the glass as he rocked the crystal back and forth between loose fingers, while propping a shoulder against the huge slate plinth that ran the length of the open fireplace.

  He might appear loose and relaxed to anyone else, but I’d been watching him for three days now—okay, a little closer than was probably healthy—and I knew his tells. The skin of his throat tightened as he ground his teeth together, along with the fact that he rubbed his thumb along his little finger every single goddamned time. No wonder he’d lost. “Here.” I jabbed a finger at the papers strewn in front of me. “And here, and here. Explain this then.”

  “What exactly are you looking for me to say, sweetheart?” His thumb smoothed along his nail, back and forth.

  “You took precautions, diverted money so it couldn’t be touched to funnel down to the clan members ensuring their business survived. You sold everything in the house, everything you had to pay the debt, and even when you had nothing more, you still didn’t empty the accounts. You tried to hide it, but you couldn’t. There’s always a paper trail, Bastian.”

  He tilted his head, acknowledging my words, then shrugged them off. “And? I still gambled away the family fortune.”

  “You’re not as reckless as you’d like to think.”

  He took another sip of brandy, appearing to savor the liquid as he swallowed. “Are you sure about that?” It was a throaty murmur, accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

  I sat back in my chair, dreams of him admitting everything and falling at my feet in groveling gratitude disappearing in a pop. “Completely. Are you ready to tell me the truth yet?”

  “I already did.”

  I cursed under my breath, earning a low chuckle. “No. You didn’t. The bullshit about rebuilding the clan … that’s what it was—complete bullshit!”

  “Sweetheart, I didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth.” His lips twitched, causing my temper to flare and blood pressure to sky rocket.

  “Just tell me, already! I won’t put it in my report. I won’t expose your huge secret, but I need to know, Bastian!” I half shouted. Sliding off the chair, I strode over to him, determined that this time he was going to tell me the goddamned truth. Why the hell should he care what I think anyway? He hadn’t tried to jump me once in the last couple of days, not since that time in the basement. And his rejection stung more than I was willing to admit.

  “Why, Faye? Can you not bring yourself to believe that I’m a worthless bastard? Someone who only thinks of himself? Yes, I care about the clan, but it still wasn’t enough, was it? I still lost all our money, dragged our name through the dirt, nearly ended up in debt to the Skyblade Clan, something I would have regretted every day of my goddamn life, if not for Astrid sweeping in and saving the day. She did that, not me. She found a way to buy time so I could figure this mess out, something I was
doing until you knocked on my door three fucking days ago!”

  Whoa. Information overload. Latching onto the comment that stung the most, I rounded on him, jabbing a finger into his chest and invading his air space. “You are not worthless, and if I ever hear you dismiss yourself like that again, I’ll…” I racked my brain for a suitable punishment, “I’ll pin you down and twist your balls until you say sorry.” Okay, not the most unique threat, but men were … attached to their crown jewels.

  He stared at me, as if afraid to blink in case I made good on my threat. “Are you finished?”

  “No,” I muttered, but the steam was evaporating as quickly as it had boiled over. I sucked at staying mad; I wasn’t naturally a volatile person.

  “Good. You’re ferocious when you’re pissed, aren’t you?” Still eyeing me carefully, he offered me his glass.

  Grabbing it, I downed the fiery liquid in one swallow, my eyes watering and throat burning through the splutter. Heat spread through my stomach, a languid warmth reaching out into my limbs and spreading a smile over my face. “Why aren’t you angry? I got all up in your face, poking you in the chest—” I broke off to give his chest a loving look, my next thought being that the alcohol had gone straight to my head, “—and threatening to hurt your balls, but you’re not mad at me.”

  He bit back a chuckle, thinking better of it as I glared at him. “Sure, I’m angry—”

  My stomach performed a summersault.

  “—Fucking furious, but not with you, sweetheart.” His finger tilted my chin, lifting my head up to meet his gaze. “Never with you. I would rather die than hurt you in any way.” His lips clamped shut, biting off his words, but they were out there, swimming around in my alcohol fuzzed up brain, multiplying and expanding until they were almost shouting.

  “Who are you angry with?” But what I really wanted to ask was: if you feel this way, then why push me away? But I didn’t, I wasn’t that far gone. I willed him to answer me, to cast aside all the half truths and take a chance.