Page 21 of Dragon Flames
If I’m being honest with myself, terrified would be too mild a word.
My dragon isn’t exactly sane anymore, and I sure as fuck don’t trust his motives where our mate is concerned. I force myself to turn away from the door to give Felicia some privacy. She’s no longer a prisoner, but I don’t think she believes it, based on the way she keeps checking the exits and security of every room we pass.
I’m not worried that she’ll run. Our mate isn’t stupid—otherwise she wouldn’t have survived this long on her own. While she might chafe at the idea of being stuck with three potential mates, she knows Gresky won’t give up his hunt without a fight.
I head toward my library, eager to dig up whatever information I can find about our mate. I suspect we’re going to need the ammunition, not only to keep her safe, but figure out a way past her shields.
The prospect of wooing my mate leaves me almost giddy. It’ll be a challenge, and I rub my hands together, grinning for the first time in what feels like a decade.
I can hardly wait.
I shoot a pointed look at the hidden camera. Reassured that my mate is safe for now, I enter my sanctuary with my new mission.
Privacy is an illusion in this mansion.
I have no doubt that Darius has squirreled himself away in his office, obsessively watching the security feeds while he digs into Felicia’s past. The state-of-the-art security system is wired so every inch of this place is monitored.
Not that I will tell our mate. I won’t give up our secret weapon, not until she learns to trust that we have her best interests at heart.
Technically, not correcting her assumption isn’t actually lying, I reason to myself.
I would never lie to my mate.
If she asks, I will absolutely tell her the truth.
But her safety is in jeopardy and keeping her safe is our main priority.
Without a qualm, I would lie, cheat, steal, and fucking slaughter anyone who threatens my mate. The concept of morals is for a civilized society, and I’ve lived too long without my mate to ever be considered civilized. So, I bury myself in my books in a last desperate effort to keep from trailing after my mate like a lost puppy.
Now my mate is within touching distance, her delicious, delicate scent lingering in the air, I’ve never felt saner.
If anyone dares to touch even a single hair on her head, I’ll burn their world to the fucking ground.
Chapter Seven
FELICIA
Ihover near the door, eying the flimsy barrier with distrust.
I never thought I would miss anything about prison, but the lack of reinforced steel leaves me feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
I vowed that if I ever got free, I would never lock another door.
But I had no idea the lack would leave me feeling so vulnerable.
I’ve spent half my life behind bars, never alone, not with other prisoners always nearby or visits from the guards for my daily beatings.
Yet, when I finally hear Elias’s footsteps recede, my breathing becomes erratic. I press my hand against the door, my talons slamming into the wood with a thunk in an effort to keep myself from yanking it open and demanding he stay.
Hating the vulnerability, I yank open the door and throw it wide. Relief floods my system when I don’t spot anyone lurking in the hall, waiting to pounce. I brush strands of hair away from my face, my senses settling, and I turn back to my task.
Clothes.
I look around the massive laundry room, awed by the sheer size. Dirty clothes are stacked by the washer in neat little bins, while a stack of clean clothes on a nearby table waits to be folded.
Though all are distinctly male, the choices and styles are intimidating, and I approach with some trepidation. When I reach to dig into the pile, I freeze when I notice the clean, white bandages wrapped around my wrists.
I can only stand and gape for a full minute, blinking when my eyes sting, then I curl my arms against my chest, not sure how to feel about someone taking care of me.
