Page 23 of The Heart of the Dragon

My head swung back to meet his gaze at the awe in his voice. Did he have feelings for his brother's wife? That would explain a lot. "You know her well?"

"I do. My uncle yearned for the power she can wield. He was—is willing to do anything to get it, including kill her."

"And you stopped him?" My voice had lowered several octaves as the implications of his words settled in my chest, where I could now feel a new even stranger sensation growing.

Jealousy.

"No. I did not. I was my uncle's good little soldier. For most of my life, I did whatever he wanted. Including hurt her."

I winced. The pain and anger laced in that statement hit low in my gut. He wasn't bragging about whatever he'd done. He hated it. It made him angry. And from the look on his face, I guessed he wanted revenge for it. I was beginning to understand the layered elements of his aura.

"I didn't want to hurt her," he added quickly. "But a lifetime of magical influence made his orders almost impossible to deny. I believe I could have resisted. But to do so would have meant someone else would have been given the job. And under another's hand, she would have died."

I wanted to say something, but with so little information and only my gut to go on, I couldn't find the words that seemed appropriate. This man was no innocent. I could feel the blood on his hands. But I could also sense the torture in his soul.

"You helped her?"

"I repaid a debt."

I doubted that was all there was to it, but to a man so steeped in darkness, there would be no light. At least not yet. He would have to atone, but not until he got the revenge he deserved.

The thoughts running through my head were out of control. But they felt so?—

I yanked open one of my kitchen drawers and pulled out a sharp boning knife. "Give me your hand."

Chapter

Ten

Magnus

"What the hell are you doing?"I grabbed her hand that held the knife and stopped it from getting closer to any part of my body. I may not have had the best intentions towards this woman, but that didn't mean I was going to let her stab me over it.

"I want your blood. There's a better way than me looking at your—she looked down at my groin. Just blood, okay? I need to test it against my plants. It's the only way to figure this all out."

"What the fae hell?" I squeezed her pressure points until her fingers opened and the knife dropped to the floor. "I'm not letting you get anywhere near me with a knife. If you want my blood, you can ask me for it nicely, not stab me for it."

She rolled her eyes at me. "I wasn't going to stab you, idiot. But I will need something sharp to prick your finger."

"I stand by what I said. No sharp instruments for you." I bent over and retrieved the knife. "You want my blood? Fine. I can handle getting it for you."

I dragged the knife swiftly across my hand and blood immediately coated my palm.

"Oh shit. Wait. I don't have anything in here to gather a good sample." She turned frantically from side to side before diving for one of the cupboards. "You could have warned me."

"You were about to stab me. I assumed you were ready."

She shook her head. "Are you hard of hearing? I wasn't going to stab you. Prick. I said prick. Big difference."

As she grabbed a small bowl from a shelf, I fought to keep a smile from my face. Her outrage amused me. But when she grabbed a small towel from the handle of her stove, and then grasped my hand so that the blood dripped into the bowl, I spied the real distress in her expression.

"It's only a small cut. I've had much worse."

"I don't want to hear about worse.” She glanced up at me, and the intensity of her green eyes pulled me in deep. To her credit, she wasn't staring at my scars when she'd said it, but we both knew what she meant. “This may not be a big deal, but you don't have to be reckless. Today it's a small cut, tomorrow it could be much worse. And my first aid skills are somewhat questionable."

I doubted that, but her distress at the moment was palpable.

Unable to resist, I cupped her cheek and rubbed my fingers across her soft skin. She stilled at my touch, and I took that small moment of speechlessness to study her again. I could see my reflection in her eyes, and that was enough to sober me. Thescars on my face were vivid and angry. It wasn't often that I saw them. I so often refused to look at them. I didn't need to see to remember the poisoned blade my uncle drew across my face.

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