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“You wear the armor, or you stay here.”
“Or go alone,” I say, dropping the breastplate and turning for the door.
His hand closes over my arm, pulling me back to face him. I yank away from his grip and look up at him. His eyes are blazing almost as brightly as they do when he’s in his dragon form.
“I wasn’t asking,” he says in a deadly quiet voice.
“I don’t take orders from you, General.”
Whatever power I think my temper holds is nothing compared to the way he stares at me now. “I’m not ordering as your general. You are not a mere soldier to me, little assassin. You are so much more than that. You are the breath in my lungs. The beat of my heart. If you are injured or?—”
He stops, his breathing ragged, his eyes blazing with an intensity I feel in my core.
“Just wear the armor, love.”
Love.
I am not proud of the way my knees weaken and my heart skips a beat at the silly nickname. Nor am I proud of the way my ovaries practically hum inside me. I should be better than this, and yet…
“Fine.”
His lips twitch almost imperceptibly. I tell myself it’s a sign that I’ve pleased him—not that I want to—and not him just being smug as fuck about winning the argument.
The armor is surprisingly light and easy to move in, thanks to whatever magic has been woven into the material. I don’t dare admit that to Legion, who stands surveying his work once everything is strapped into place. Finally, he grunts, which apparently is alphahole code for “looks good.”
“Happy?” I ask.
His eyes snap up from my thigh coverings to meet my stare. The gleam from earlier returns. “If I say no, what will you do about it?”
My stomach flips at all the ideas that spring to mind. Ideas that are all impossible or lethal at the moment. “Take it all off,” I say, knowing full well that would only make him suffer.
“I look forward to the day I can call in that dare,” he says, and my heart tugs wistfully as I let myself imagine it.
He reaches above my head, pulling down a sword and its belt that are mounted to the wall. I watch as he straps it to his waist then starts for the door.
“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” I demand.
“We need to get moving if we’re?—”
“Are you going in this form then?”
“I want to be able to stick close to you.”
“What about your armor?”
Impatience flashes in his gaze. “I hardly need?—”
“If I have to wear this crap, so do you.”
“Tori.”
“Why did you insist I wear this?”
“Because I need you to be safe.”
“Exactly. I deserve the same thing.”
“You do know I’m immortal, right?”
