Page 34 of Dark Fire Kiss

Fergus shrugged good-naturedly. “We can’t all be formidable warriors.” He turned to me again. “Bram was a Sovereign Guard at sixteen.”

“Not because of any particular skill with a sword,” Bram said quietly.

“Bollocks.”

“What’s a Sovereign Guard?” I asked.

Fergus held up two fingers. “That’s two questions in a row, lass, but I’ll allow it. The Sovereign Guard protects our king. Like a Secret Service for dragons. Only the best fighters are chosen.”

It made sense that Bram would be selected. His jeans and thin sweater did nothing to mute his size or the slabs of muscle he carried from his shoulders to his thighs. He twirled spaghetti again, his long fingers handling the fork with elegant precision. Twisting…twisting… His hands were as big as the rest of him, but they were beautifully formed. Without warning, the buzzing in my veins moved between my thighs. I swallowed, willing away the desire that had plagued me ever since I drank from Fergus.

Although, if I was honest, it had started before that.

Bram took a bite, his strong jaw working. The stubble there was as blue-black as his hair. And he really did have the longest eyelashes. They brushed his cheeks as he bent over his food again.

I tore my gaze away—and found Fergus watching me across the table with a knowing look in his eyes. As my cheeks heated, the scene I’d overheard intruded. “I’m going to milk you. Then I’m going to fuck you.”

He smiled—that damn dimple peeking out—as if he’d read my thoughts. “My turn to ask a question.”

I stopped breathing. What if he really could read my mind?

“Did you like your dinner?” he asked.

Relieved, I answered more honestly than I might have. “Yes, although I wasn’t expecting Italian.”

“What, you thought we’d serve you haggis and porridge?”

“No, but—”

“That’s a harmful stereotype, lass. Now, for my next question—”

“You already had one!”

“Ah, but you asked two, so I’m returnin’ the favor.”

Bram gave me a decidedly sympathetic look. “There’s no sense arguing with him. He’ll just keep talking until you surrender.”

“I’m insulted,” Fergus said.

“And yet that won’t stop you from talking,” Bram replied mildly.

I absorbed their banter with a mix of exasperation and amusement. Bram’s comments were delivered with obvious affection, and the light dancing in Fergus’s eyes told me he knew it.

He focused his considerable charm on me. “How often do you need to drink blood?”

I sucked in a breath. “I… I d-don’t—” My distaste for blood had always been a chief source of embarrassment in my father’s court. Of course, Fergus’s blood had tasted divine. Even now, the memory of it made my mouth water.

“Don’t be shy about telling us, Halina. We want to take care of you.”

As I met his stare across the table, I sensed he told the truth.

No, it was more than that. I knew he did. His honesty flowed over me with crystal clarity—like an intake of crisp winter air on an unspoiled mountaintop. The certainty hit me like a punch in the gut, rendering me speechless.

The men noticed at once.

Alarm jumped into Fergus’s eyes. “What is it, lass?”

“Are you ill?” Bram asked, his green gaze just as troubled.

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