Page 37 of Guardian's Dilemma

“Are these really protections?” he asked, after walking back and forth through my spells a few times.

“Yes.”

“Do they work? I didn’t mean that to sound as passive aggressive as it came out. I meant… do they work? Yeah, there’s no better way of phrasing that.”

“They work. They’re strong,” I added. I liked it when my mate looked at me with admiration and I knew already that he admired strength. I wanted him to know that I could match him, that he had a mate who was his equal and not somebody he’d need to constantly protect or carry.

Sure enough, there was a flash of something in his eyes and then he asked, “Why can I get through them so easily?”

“For the same reason you can see me when nobody else can.”

“Huh.”

He turned, lifted the flower pot, then slid the key into the lock and went inside. Looked like we weren’t going to discuss that just yet.

I was barely through the door, straight into a rather sparse sitting-room, when my mate said, “Sit,” and pointed at the sofa. I eased myself down, trying not to look like I fell down, and listened to my mate go into the little kitchen and turn the tap.

He came back out with a glass of cold water for each of us and said, “Drink.”

I did, and the water washed away the brick and plaster dust that had coated my mouth and throat.

“Let me see your wounds?”

I withdrew my hand from my stomach, where I’d been pressing on the cut, and was glad to see that it had scabbed over. It still looked red and angry, but it was healing.

“I have some very basic healing ability.”

Kingsley wasn’t moving nearer to me, and he hadn’t actually offered to use it on me… but he was sharing information and he was staring at my flat belly like he could will away my pain.

“Areyouinjured?” I asked.

“No.”

My dragon gave a little grumble inside me. We knew that was a lie.

“Your wrists are raw.”

He raised his eyebrows. It was an accusation but either he really was overwhelmed or he was tired. Either way, he didn’t want to start a fight about whose fault exactly it was that his wrists looked that way. I’d take fifty percent of the blame: I’d tied him up but only because my first choice had been such an utter failure.

“It’s not life-threatening,” he said at last.

I realised he was perhaps more like me than I’d first thought. That was a statement of fact that skirted round the real issue.

“Is it painful?”

“Yes.”

“Then heal it.”

“Your—”

He gestured towards my stomach. It still hurt but it was healing, even as we spoke.

“Dragon healing,” I reminded him.

“Fine.”

He had to hold his hand over his wrist and I admired the little furrow of concentration between his brows. He had lovely, dark eyebrows over dark, intense eyes. There weren’t many laughter-lines around them, though. I wanted to change that. You know, eventually, when we weren’t in mortal danger.

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