Fury of a Highland Dragon (3 page)

“Please, listen to me.” Her gaze ping-ponged between the agents. The pair moved closer. Ivy walked backwards, keeping even distance between them. “Give me a computer and a little time. I know I can—”

A wall of heat hit her from behind.

Her skin prickled in warning. Hands still in the air, Ivy glanced over her shoulder. Nothing. No fire. No vehicle throwing off heat. Just a cold, empty graveyard lit by weak moonlight. The two agents moved closer.

“Crap,” she muttered, retreating one step at a time. “I am so dead.”

“Nay, lovely. Not yet.” The voice, full of gravel, ghosted over her shoulder.

With a shriek, Ivy jumped forward, away from the threat.

A strong arm yanked her back and held on, locking her in a cage of hard muscle. Inferno-like heat bled from the stranger’s body, obliterating her chill and…oh God, damn Agent Strickland. The guy was nothing if not smart. He’d sent another agent around to flank her. Now, she was caught. Trapped in a snare of her own making. She should have realized. She should have run by now. She should be fighting. The realization kicked her brain into gear. With a violent twist, she kicked backward. Her heel slammed into her captor’s shin. He cursed. She bared her teeth, raised her foot a second time and—

Wham!
She nailed him again.

“Fuck!”

The explicative exploded from his mouth. Warm breath rushed against her ear. A second arm joined the first, banding around her rib cage, compressing her chest, pumping more fear through her veins. He lifted her feet off the ground. She flailed, knees pumping, feet flying, desperate to hit any part of him she could reach. She needed to get away. Right now. Before the other agents reached her. Before the guy holding her prisoner handed her over. Before her lungs shutdown and the asthma won, stealing her strength along with all her air.

Baring her teeth, Ivy raked him with her fingernails. “Let me go!”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, thick Scottish accent full of exasperation. He tightened his grip. The lockdown compressed her lungs. Black spots swam in her vision. She sucked in a desperate breath. An awful, familiar weight pressed down on her chest. Pain spiraled around her torso. With a curse, he adjusted his hold, lessened the pressure, and glanced down at her. His gaze met hers. “’Tis all right. Settle down. Breathe, lovely. I mean you no harm.”

Settle down?
Breathe
. Just like that. So simple. No need to worry. Not a care in the world.

Was he insane? A few brain cells shy of a full load or something?

He planned to hand her over to the FBI, for God’s sake. So no, the whole
no harm
assertion didn’t fly. Neither did his gentle grip. Which was…odd. Yes, he’d immobilized her, but only enough to keep her from escaping. She wouldn’t have bruises or feel the aftereffects in the morning. And yet, she knew better than to trust him.

It wasn’t all right.

It hadn’t been in Washington. And it wasn’t now.

The guy holding her wasn’t safe. Intuition told her so. The heat in his eyes did the rest, making her renew the fight. She threw her head back. He lifted his chin, avoiding the blow and squeezed a little harder. She hissed at him. He reached around, grabbed her chin, and forced her head back. Dark purple eyes trapped hers and started to glow. A sinking sensation set in. The draw-and-pull tugged at her tension. Her skin prickled. Her heartbeat slowed and her limbs grew heavy. Ivy blinked, struggling to keep her eyes open. Peace, a lovely sense of safety, washed through her and…wow. Just wow. That was nice, and God, he was so beautiful that—

Wait a minute. Hold everything.

That was the wrong thought…ah, wasn’t it?

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Something was off. He was all wrong. Him and his gorgeous face and dark hair and mesmerizing eyes and—she should be doing something. She frowned. Shouldn’t she? The thought circled. Ivy nodded. Yes, absolutely. Action of some sort was required. But as she stared at him, she lost track of the plan. Questions and concerns drifted away, making her want to fall into him and go to sleep. Maybe that was it. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe he wasn’t really here and the glow wasn’t real, but…

Raising her hand, she grabbed his biceps.

Leather creaked beneath her palm. Hard muscle met her touch. Huh. He felt solid, like sinew and bone, not part of her imagination. The way he held her, the warmth he radiated, the way he looked at her: all of it seemed
real
. Not something she’d invented.

“Who are you?”

“Tydrin.”

“A cop?”

“Nay, not a cop.” His voice deepened into something dark. Something dangerous. Something she couldn’t resist. “Trust me, Ivy. I’ll keep you safe.”

The shimmer in his eyes intensified.

Tingles burst across the nape of her neck, then slithered down her spine. Her brain went fuzzy. Thoughts slipped away. Ivy fought the mental slide.
Struggle. Don’t give up
. She needed to get away. A false hope born of true desperation. She couldn’t escape. Was caught fast, unable to move. The longer he looked at her, the worse it became. Her muscles loosened, drawing her toward relaxation. Ivy went limp in his arms. He studied her a moment, then hummed in approval. She opened her mouth to protest. No sound came out.

Strickland yelled something.

The Scottish agent answered, voice barely penetrating the fog clouding her mind.

Oh, she heard the words. The meaning simply didn’t register. The FBI didn’t matter anymore. Neither did the danger it presented. All that mattered was
him,
the mystery man with the gorgeous eyes. She couldn’t avoid the glow. Couldn’t tear her gaze away or protest when he turned her in his arms. With a quick dip, he picked her up, cradled her gently, and one last thought registered. Something was wrong. Seriously
wrong
with him. Eyes weren’t supposed to shimmer like that, and as his mouth curved and he murmured “There’s a good lass.” before turning his attention to the agents, Ivy knew nothing would ever be the same.

Least of all her.

T
o kill or not to kill. That was the question.

Gaze locked on the FBI agent, Tydrin debated a moment. It wouldn’t take much. A flick of his fingers. A little swirl, a lot of arm action combined with a burst of magic and…poof gone. Fireball central and two dead agents, nothing but human ash spread over the cruel lines of a desolate cemetery. Kind of fitting, actually. Way too tempting, but well…shite. He couldn’t do it. Not with the lass in his arms and his dragon half in full protection mode.

Ivy needed help, not added trouble.

And a couple of dead agents? Tydrin pursed his lips. Aye. For sure. Not the best way to get on the lass’s good side.

Under his influence, soothed by his magic, he cradled her closer. She sighed and settled in, curling up like a well fed kitten in his arms. The underside of his chin brushed the top of her head. Her long damp hair clung to his skin, getting caught in old day stubble. He rubbed his mouth over the soft strands. A sense of peace invaded him body, mind and heart. His muscles loosened, releasing some of the tension. He exhaled in relief. Hmm, she was sweet. So alluring with her dark red hair and pale, freckled skin. Far too pretty to be a fugitive. Hunted. Trapped. Wanted by the FBI.

Way too vulnerable without him to protect her.

Cloaked by a powerful spell, Tydrin made up his mind. He retreated, backing away from the agents toward the copse of evergreens. His boot treads crunched over the gravel path. A long limbed oak creaked above his head. He shut down all sound, silencing the echo, and disappeared into the fog of invisibility. Both humans cursed, then split, moving in different directions, sweeping the area, determined to pick up Ivy’s trail. He snorted. Winter air attacked his breath, streaming into puffs in front of his face. He ignored the frosty swirl and narrowed his focus.

No chance in hell.

The pair would never find her. Not with his magic up and running.

He watched anyway, eyes trained on the threat, unwilling to lower his guard. Rightly so. The impenetrable shield he conjured was required. Necessary even. Practically a biological imperative. He carried precious cargo, a female so rare—so precious—his dragon half tuned in without prompting, monitoring her bio-energy, seeking her comfort, ensuring she remained foggy and free of fear.

Regret hit him like an upper cut.

He almost balked.

Almost backed off.

Almost reconsidered his plan, put her down, and walked away.

Almost
, but not quite.

He couldn’t do it. Which made him a first rate fool. A bastard of epic proportions for placing his needs before hers, but…shite. His dragon half refused to let her go. Not until he got what he craved—a taste of her energy, and more time with her. More conversation. A helluva lot more closeness too. The kind that would see her skin pressed against his. 

Unaware of her peril, Ivy snuggled in, absorbed his warmth, trusting him to keep his word and her safe. His conscience squawked, shaking a bony finger at him. Clenching his teeth, Tydrin swallowed a growl. Great. Just wonderful. As if he needed the reminder. He knew it was wrong. Felt the truth of it settle deep inside him, in the place where right battled unjust and impulse challenged self-control. He had no right to hold her. Shouldn’t have used magic to muddle her mind either. The move was pure jackass. A method honorable males never used.

Not that his fall from grace mattered.

He’d blown his chance at being
honorable
years ago.

Recall pressed mental buttons inside his head. Memory flamed. Guilt blew sky-high. Shame quickly followed. He glanced down at the female in his arms. Eyes closed, body lax and cheek pressed to his shoulder, she floated in the mind-fog he’d created for her.

Tydrin’s throat went tight.

Bloody hell.
Ivy MacPherson.
Of all the miserable luck. What a terrible turn of events. God forgive him for his foolishness. He wished he could go back and fix it. Needed to rewind the clock. Yearned to make it right now more than ever. Too bad time didn’t work that way. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t rewrite history or pretend it hadn’t happened.

Oh, he’d tried—for years and years…and years.

Ivy brought it rushing back in an instant. His loss of control. The fireball’s awful flight as it went astray. The explosion, the burning house, the smell of charred flesh and mangled bodies. His fault. His mistake. His cross to bear alone. At least, he’d thought so…

Until tonight.

Now he realized it wasn’t true. He wasn’t alone. Ivy lived the same hell every day. Aye, he might carry the guilt, but she lived with the pain. Different views of the same moment in time, the same abiding sense of loss.

With a curse, Tydrin stepped around the edge of the evergreens. He needed to get back to Cairngorm. Shift into dragon form. Get airborne. Fly to safety before the cops called in reinforcements, dragged out their thermal imaging equipment, and got a bead on his heat signature. A distant, yet distinct possibility, but never mind that. He had a bigger problem on the horizon—Ivy.

The lass wouldn’t stay compliant long.

High-energy females never did. Their minds were too strong to be fogged by magic for more than a few minutes. A strong breed, HEs recovered quickly and retaliated even faster. So aye, better to move now and worry about her reaction later…when he landed inside his mountain home. Had her miles from anything or anyone.

Safely hidden from the humans hunting her.

Glancing over his shoulder, Tydrin checked on the agents’ progress. Guns pointing toward the ground, confused looks on their faces, the men circled the spot where she’d disappeared. The pair glanced around. One went right. The other turned left, searching for Ivy behind tombstones and along the tree lined path. Their boots crunched over gravel.

Tydrin snorted. “Good luck finding us, lads.”

“What?”

He glanced down.

Ivy blinked, looking up at him with sleepy eyes. His mouth curved. Man, she was sweet. So soft and warm. So adorably incoherent. So delicious with the powerful pulse of bio-energy outlining her slight frame. The blue light of her aura mesmerized him for a moment. She licked her bottom lip. Desire curled in the pit of his stomach, then exploded, rushing through his veins, weakening his knees, making him want so hard he lost all sense of himself. Right. Wrong. Neither mattered as his body reacted, tightening around her.

She squirmed in his arms.

He gentled his hold as guilt shoved lust aside.

Tydrin sucked in a breath. Holy fuck. What did he think he was doing? He needed to remember who she was, and his crime. He shouldn’t want her. Not like this. No way he deserved to know her, never mind touch her. Accident or nay, he’d destroyed her life, killed her kin, forced her from her home. An ache expanded behind his breastbone. Ivy squinted up at him. He stared back, an apology on the tip of his tongue. He should come clean. Tell her who and what he was, then set her down and distract the authorities long enough for her to escape.

It was the proper thing to do.

“Hello lovely,” he said instead. Feeling like an idiot, unable to look away, he held her gaze. “You’ve come back tae me then, have ye?”

She frowned. “Where’d I go?”

“Away for a minute or two.”

“Guess I’m back now.”

“Appears so.”

Studying him like an insect under a microscope, she pursed her lips.

Ravenous hunger killed reason, then went rogue, urging him to dip his head, take her mouth, and…bloody hell. Talk about a bad idea. One taste would never be enough. She was so pretty. Too striking. The picture of perfection with her messy auburn hair and sapphire blue eyes. Plugged into her energy, he felt her mind sharpen. Her eyes grew dark with temper. The glow surrounding her deepened, then burned, making his dragon snarl. Tydrin hummed in pleasure, the burn of her bio-energy taunting him and…oh, baby. She was too good, so powerful he couldn’t stop himself.

He dipped his head.

His mouth brushed over hers.

“Hey!”

“Let me.” Drunk on her taste, he nipped her bottom lip. Glory-glory-hallelujah. He’d found his new calling—kissing her every minute of every day. Christ, she tasted good, like dark chocolate and spiced wine. “Just a taste, lass…tae tide me over.”

Raising her hand, she shoved his face away. “Get over yourself and away from me, mister. Otherwise, I’ll—”

“What?” With a playful flick, he tasted the corner of her mouth. She sucked in a breath. Lifting his head, he raised a brow. “Hit me?”

“I’ve got an awesome right cross.”

He grinned. “I’ve no doubt, but here’s something tae consider.”

She coughed, the rasp sounding wheezy, and scowled at him. “Enlighten me.”

He jostled her, making her aware of where she sat. “You’ve still got the FBI tae avoid.”

“Shit. Put me down.” Alarm sparked in her eyes. She twisted in his arms, struggling to see over his shoulder. “How close are they?”

“Not very,” he said, watching her reaction, hating her fear. “They’ve gone the other way.”

“Thank God.”

“Aye. Or you could simply thank me.”

“All right, I’ll bite—thank you for what?”

“For saving your fine arse.”

She opened her mouth, no doubt to blast him for his comment. He cut her off.  “Relax, lass. ’Tisn’t anything but a bit of teasing. You’re safe.”

 “Safe.” A death grip on his coat, she whispered the word as though she’d forgotten its meaning.

“Aye.”

Her gaze raked his face. “You don’t look safe.”

He huffed. Smart lass. With his hunger gone nuclear, she’d hit the nail on its head. He wasn’t safe. Not even close. Quite the opposite in fact. Lucky for her, he prided himself on self-control. On a female being willing as well. “I’m safe enough, lovely.”

“You really need to put me down.”

Moonlight pieced through the clouds. Tydrin shook his head. “Not until I’m ready.”

“You can’t just—”

“I can, Ivy.” He met her gaze, daring her to contradict him. “Fight me or nay, it won’t matter. I mean to have my way, so you need tae decide.”

“On what?”

“How you want it tae go?”

Her brows popped skyward. “I have a choice?”

He chuckled. Christ, she delighted him. Aye, he liked the look of her. No question. She was a beautiful female. But her mind—her sharp intellect, surly temper, and quick wit? Shite. He suspected, given time, he’d like those things about her best of all. “You always have a choice, lass. Cooperate or nay. Accept my protection or be captured by the police. ’Tis for you tae decide.”

“For you to decide,” she repeated, throwing him a disgruntled look. “Famous last words.”

“Could be,” he murmured, teasing her a little before turning serious once more. “But I promise you one thing, Ivy. You’ve a safe place with me. The FBI and Scotland Yard will never find you. You’ll have time and more tae find the proof you need.”

Worry darkened her expression. “At what price, Tydrin?”

Pleased she remembered his name, he smiled. “An open mind and your time, lovely. Naught more, no less.”

“And sex?”

Surprise made him blink. Well, hell. Of all the things he expected her to say, that hadn’t been one of them. An image of her in his bed rose in his mind’s eye—long hair loose, pale skin on display, her legs spread in invitation. His body jumped at the idea, hardening him in an instant. “I won’t say no, as long as you ask nicely.”

“Dream on, buddy.” She snorted, the sound half-amused, half-disgusted. “I’m just asking so we’re clear. Friends, that’s it. No expectations beyond that.”

Friends?
Shite, that wasn’t going to go well. Especially since he wanted her naked and underneath him. And half hoped she would be by morning. “I won’t expect or force it, but know right now, Ivy…I want you.”

“It’s why you intervened, the reason you’re helping me.”

“Aye.”

His honesty worried her.

He could see the wariness in her eyes. And yet, she didn’t panic. She studied him instead, expression serious, mind identifying all the angles. Entranced, Tydrin watched her. He could practically see her thinking. Felt her mental wheels turning. Sensed her intellect flip through the intricacies—accept or abandon the possibilities—as she tried to decide. Play it safe and try to escape him. Or be brave, take him at his word, and trust him.

Be brave
, he wanted to say.

Patience stopped him.

She needed to make up her own mind. He refused to rush her. Time, he could give her. Separation, he could not. He wanted her too much. Was too invested in seeing it through now—in getting to know her, in helping her, in keeping her safe…and showing her the truth of his race. Why he needed her to acknowledge him—and Dragonkind—he didn’t know. Call it foolhardy. Chalk it up to a need for acceptance. Or mayhap the chance to undo a mistake. Whatever. The reason didn’t matter. She was here. So was he. Labeling the need wouldn’t make it go away, so…screw it. He was jumping in, diving down and digging in.

Tearing her gaze from his, Ivy scanned the shadows between old oaks. “Is Agent Strickland really gone?”

“Cross my heart, hope to—”

“Die?” she asked, a hopeful note in her voice.

He laughed. “Feisty wee baggage, arenae ye?”

“Believe it,” she said. “And you can put me down. I won’t run.”

“I’ll have your word first, lass.”

“I’ll have access to a computer?”

“Any one you want.”

“And a roof over my head?”

“Safest one in all of Scotland.”

She drew a breath. The inhale made her cough. One hand pressed to her chest, she suppressed the rasp and nodded. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.” Her chin firmed, then leveled. “And when I make a promise, Tydrin, I never break it.”

“Good enough. Now…” Watching her closely, he let the pause expand, warning her. Quick on the uptake, she froze against him, waiting for the punch line. Had he said smart? Well, call her brilliant and be done with it. She didn’t miss a beat. Or any of the nuances. “I’m going to need you to keep your promise to be open-minded.”