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The horror of it flooded my heart. All that time, waiting for me to call. But I never did. “Why?” I cried, incredulous. “I don’t understand!”
Shadows rushed in his silvery, crimson-flecked gaze. I would have killed every man you slept with, Dani. I’d have left a trail of dead men behind you, guilty of nothing more than being chosen to share your bed. You’d have hated me for that. And I couldn’t control it.
“But you controlled it with Dancer,” I said.
Locked beneath Chester’s. I killed three of my men the final night you spent with him. That you loved him and were loved in return was enough to give me an edge over the beast. But lust, ah, Dani, that my beast can’t accept. I couldn’t fight it. I couldn’t win. I’m not human. Despite my appearance, despite my efforts, I’m beast first and it’s not always controllable. That’s what I was trying to tell you when I told you Lor wouldn’t have stayed to watch you dance. We know our weaknesses. If we can’t control them, we avoid them. We live by a rigid code. We didn’t always. Barrons developed and enforced it and one by one we all adhered. You have always been my greatest weakness. You had every right to take men to bed. I had no right to stop it. I stopped myself the only way I could.
I stared at him and began to cry. Not ugly, just big, silent tears slipping down my cheeks.
“Christ, don’t do that. Not when I can’t—ah, fuck. Close your eyes.”
I did, because I couldn’t stand looking at him, knowing I couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t bear the expression in his eyes, identical to my own.
Then he was holding me and my eyes flew open but he hadn’t moved.
“There are benefits to the bond we share. Close your eyes, Stardust.”
I did, again, then his hands were in my hair and he was cradling my head, holding me to his chest. I could smell his skin, feel the unflinching strength of his body.
I opened my eyes and the illusion vanished.
“It only works if you keep your eyes closed.”
“Ryodan, I’m so sorry,” I said miserably. “If I had known, if I’d had any idea this would happen…” I trailed off. We’d both wasted two years. I’d wasted it. I’d never called. And I’d wanted to so many times.
His silver gaze locked with mine. You, Dani O’Malley, have always been the greatest mystery of my existence, the one thing I’ve never been able to predict. Linchpin theory means nothing where you’re concerned. My actions may not have been the wisest either. But whatever’s happening changes nothing. You’re so bloody beautiful to me—any color, any race, any skin, any species, woman, I will love you across all of them. If you turn into a Hunter, my beast and yours will run together. We’ll fight wars, save worlds, become legend. He smiled faintly. I’ll be the only beast in the universe in love with a dragon.
His words took my breath away, slammed into me with a painful blend of joy and sorrow. In a moment I would pull myself together.
“As will I. That’s what we do, you and I,” he said quietly.
And in a moment we would get down to determining how to save our world.
“Precisely.”
And maybe in a million, trillion, gazillion moments, being a dragon loved by a beast would be enough for me. But at the current moment I couldn’t begin to envision that place in time.
Once before I’d waited too long and learned the true meaning of regret. I was choking on that bitter taste now.
Raw. Endless. Grief. Raining. Eternal. Tears.
I closed my eyes against the burn of it and wondered if dragons could cry.
FOR A NOVEL CHANGE, Gustaine was happy to be small and inconspicuous.
The great god Balor was in a lethal mood today, killing the human bodies brought to him without even bothering to absorb their souls—a total waste of power!—just so he could enjoy each moment of pain and torture he inflicted upon them before they died.
Gustaine had little respect for those who reacted with ego and emotion over long-term planning for survival, it was against his cockroachian nature. Survival was paramount. Patient, subtle chesslike moves, plus yet more patience, guaranteed success. That was why he’d pledged fealty to the one called Ryodan for as long as he had. Of his many alliances over time, it was that cool, calculating beast that had commande
d his respect. Like the cockroach, the beast-man would endure.
The Faerie prince was once a close second, but Cruce lied and the lethal ice-fire he’d charged Gustaine with planting at the abbey had damaged many of his individual parts. A single mind controlled his hive of bodies, and Gustaine counted each incremental part of himself precious. Felt the pain of them all. Hundreds of his bodies sported permanent scars from that battle, had been hobbled, crippled—like Balor was now.
Dani O’Malley had injured the great god, making Gustaine wonder if he’d pledged his services hastily. The Soulstealer was limping with a raw, jagged wound in his leg, charred at the edges.
Eons past, Balor had been one of the most powerful gods to walk the face of the Earth, and a merciful one. The Soulstealer had once alleviated the suffering of humans, walking battlefields, attending the lingering dying, removing their souls from their bodies to spare them the pain of slow death.
But the Faerie had come with stealth, abducted and tortured Balor for a small eternity, trying to kill him, all the while impersonating him to his tribes. The Faerie had destroyed half his face in their efforts to gouge that great killing eye from his body. But he’d slipped their clutches, even with his shattered leg, and returned to live up to every one of the horrific legends the Fae had sown about him.
