Licking Fire

Chapter One

RAYER DRACKOS of the Dracodomus clan stepped onto one of the penthouse balconies of his high-rise and surveyed the city night as he held an envelope—and the invitation that had been within—in one hand, and a glass of wine in the other. He sipped the red wine, snow falling gently upon him as he clutched the envelope as if it were a lifeline of some sort.

Perhaps it was.

With each passing day, he felt himself becoming more and more like so many of his older clansmen —detached. Removed from it all despite having made a point to move to one of the biggest cities in the world.

Lost in a crowd.

The way I used to prefer it.

Once, he'd strongly disliked city living, enduring it only because it beat staying tucked away forever, hiding in outlying areas that mankind had not bothered with in centuries, places mankind could often not even reach with any sort of ease. He had a large number of relatives who still resided in those remote reaches.

A solitary life was not a wise choice. Not with the length of time in which his kind lived. Immortals who did not bother with human interaction tended to become the monsters from which stories were born—the big bad uglies that laid siege to entire towns before burning them to the ground.

Dragon shifters were notorious for such actions, documented through legends and fairy tales of burning many a man and town. Despite knowing how quickly their kind could lose control after a life of solitude, it was all too easy to become a recluse.

Rayer had seen others of his kind do as much— tuck themselves away from the world and from human interactions. Several of his own clan had not ventured anywhere near a human since before the advent of the locomotive. To them, this was but a blink of the eye.

The Dracodomus Dragon Clan was not always big on change. Perhaps that was why a curse was upon them. The details on the curse and how it came to be were fuzzy. He had never been able to get anything close to a straight answer out of his elders about the curse's origin, and he'd been alive nearly six hundred years.

Some said it wasn't a curse, but a blessing that had been laid upon their clan. Of course, those who said that were each happily mated to their chosen one—a special person the Fates preordained long ago would be with them.

He'd never heard any of the males who were older than six hundred and not mated refer to the affliction their clan suffered from as anything more than a curse.

Rayer grunted, having once bought into all of the stories of finding the one. He was no longer a fledging who believed all he was told and who clung to fairy tales. No. He was an immortal who had seen and done far too much in his long life to be anything but jaded.

Something he excelled at.

He trusted very few people outside of his own family. He had men who worked for him who were loyal, and who knew the truth of what he was, but they were supernaturals themselves.

Not human.

He had befriended a human decades ago, sharing with him secrets of the dragon shifters. Samuel had loved knowledge, and had a great deal of respect and trust for his kind, only wanting to unravel life's mysteries for himself. Not to share with the world. And when several of Samuel's journals had become public without his consent, he'd taken one for the team, letting the world of academia think him mad rather than try to convince his peers that men could shift into dragons.

It had cost the man dearly, but he'd never faltered.

Rayer thought more on Samuel, realizing it had been just over fifty years since he'd last spoken with the man. While that was nothing to Rayer, he did understand how fragile and short human lifespans were. Sadness came over him, and he made a mental note to have his assistant search for Samuel soon. With the holidays upon them, it would be nice to visit with his old friend again.

Samuel would be in his mid-seventies now. And if he knew his old friend, the man was probably digging around in a tomb in Egypt, hoping to discover long-buried secrets from history. As the thought of humans' frailty settled over him, he found concern moving through him.

Was Samuel well?

Was he even still alive?

Samuel's letters had stopped coming so long ago that he might not be around anymore. He may have perished, and Rayer hadn't noticed. He was so used to long periods of time going between speaking to his own kind that it was all too easy to forget what short lifespans humans had.

Humans are far too frail.

Never before had Rayer needed to worry about time and an end drawing near. Though, with his six-hundredth birthday looming, he had been giving the passage of time a great deal of consideration.

He thought back to one of his uncles telling him of their clan's curse—if any male of their kind did not find his mate by the dawn of his six-hundredth year, he would lose his ability to have sex. He would never sire sons. He would never do anything sexually again. His will for sex would die.

His uncle had explained it all as one would to a child, and then told him that without the one, the clan would cease to exist. That without matings, there would be no more dragon shifters to speak of, and the curse was there to be sure their species survived.

He leaned against the railing, looking out at the night sky, thinking harder upon it all. The need to find his chosen one had weighed heavy upon him in recent years, as he neared his six-hundredth year—the year his cock would stop working if he wasn't mated. The year he would lose any ability to father children. Children he didn't use to think he'd even want. He'd been perfectly happy to go through life without settling down. And he would have been happy to do it for another six hundred years, but that wasn't to be. Now, he wished he'd spent time looking for his chosen mate. That he'd bothered to hunt for her at all.

Maybe the stories of old had it wrong. Maybe his mated uncle had been right. Maybe it wasn't a curse after all, but a means to be sure their clan didn't end.

Who knew?

All he knew for certain was, some of his relatives were not so easy to pull into modern times. A few were fine, and had fully embraced all of what the human world had to offer. Some were making strides and living among humans. Some were also living in small groups. Some were getting their feet wet with the idea of joining society, and others simply refused to even try.

He laughed softly to himself, remembering his attempt to explain the finer points of television to one of his uncles when the technology had been new. His uncle was convinced the humans had shrunk themselves magically to fit within the "small box," and also taken the color out of themselves. His uncle thought humans quite mad for agreeing to be bleached out to shades of gray for the sake of entertainment.

No amount of talking would convince his uncle otherwise. Rayer shuddered to think what his uncle would do the next time he surfaced and learned of the information superhighway.

Rayer didn't mind technology. Change had served him well enough in his long life. It was how he had accumulated a good deal of his fortune. He adapted with varying trends and times, doing what he must to reinvent himself every so many decades to avoid raising suspicions. It wasn't very difficult, especially not with the wealth he'd managed to amass in his lifetime. He had bought shares in the railroad when it was new; he'd invested in automobiles when they'd surfaced; likewise with radio, television, and the internet. He liked to put his hand into the mix when possible. It paid well.

He was so rich even he wasn't sure of his net worth. His clan might disown him should they learn he didn't sit around and count his riches all day. He laughed at the idea.

Dragon lore was steeped in some truth—such as dragons liking gold, jewels, and money. Hoarding riches even. Rayer was guilty of this to an extent. Not as much as some though. Another of his uncles had yet to leave his cave and treasure. Rayer wondered if gold coins had permanently fused to his uncle's scales—as the man stayed in shifted form to guard his loot. He'd heard several clansmen had once attempted to bathe the man. From Rayer's understanding, that had been an epic failure. Somewhere, tucked away in an Eastern Europe cave, was a stinky but rich dragon.

The soft sound of holiday music filtered up from the street below, and Rayer looked in the direction it was coming from, taking another sip of his wine, noticing a small cluster of humans dressed in period clothing. He was adjusted enough with the times to recognize their actions as caroling, their attire period, their song choice considered a classic holiday tune.

Dragon shifters did not normally celebrate human holidays, though the invitation in his hand said otherwise. As a rule, dragon shifters had their own holidays and celebrations: Burning Day, where all gathered to see who could breathe fire the longest and farthest. Wingspan Day, where, as the name suggested, they compared wing size. Boiled down to its baser elements, it was much like the measuring of their cocks. Whoever had the biggest wingspan was deemed the manliest. Golden Feast Day, where they brought something prized from their collected treasures and the men competed in events to see who was the strongest, the fastest, the bravest, to the winner going the collected treasures.

They had no holidays for simply giving. No holidays to enjoy being around one another. It was always about who was the strongest, fastest, oldest, wealthiest. He snorted, sipping his wine once more. "We are a race of cock measurers."

The carolers drew nearer, and even from his high location he could see them clearly, his dragon eyes far superior to those of a human. Rayer tipped his head back and forth to the rhythm of the song, finding some solace in it. He made a mental note to attempt roasting a chestnut once while he breathed fire to see if the smell held the same value the song seemed to place upon it.

The act would be a solitary one. As was most of what he did.

He had begun to feel the ache of loneliness recently, and strongly suspected it was the time of year. He had heard humans suffered from the holiday blues as well. Though he kept mostly to himself, he had a few human acquaintances, and they spoke more and more of their families this time of year. As dysfunctional as his clan was, they were family, and they saw each other so infrequently anymore. He hadn't spoken to his brothers in decades and lacked the urge to reach out to them. The internet had made the world smaller, but not to his people. It had changed very little among them. Though advances in technology did mean his kind often had to pull on more of their natural-born magik to remain hidden.

Shifting into a giant dragon without the use of additional cloaking magiks could get you shot out of the sky by a group of jet fighters. His cousin Zarek had had a near miss once around twenty-five or so years ago. Rayer himself had had a close call in the past. And no one knew for certain, but his family had its suspicions that their cousin Klaus had met such a fate at the hands of the Russian government during the '80s when the Cold War was still happening.

No one had admitted to shooting a dragon out of the sky; then again, not many would admit to such a thing. The rumor mill still talked of it, and Rayer had gotten his hands on reports from the United States on the incident. The code name for it had been Fever Rising. He had been close to Klaus and his twin brother Ladon when they were hatchlings. They'd felt much like brothers to him.

Ladon had entered the human world around the same time as Rayer, and they stayed in contact somewhat. Mostly through business dealings. If there was money to be made, they were both there.

Yes. A selfish race indeed.

Though humans were selfish too. They could be just as cruel as any dragon shifter. Sometimes even more so. There had been a time when their fear of his kind had left the dragons hunted to near extinction. The rebuilding of their race had been slow and secretive. No longer did they allow the truth of their kind to be known by all humans.

He hid what he was from humans, as was demanded of him, for humans and their tiny minds could not fathom a being such as he in his shifted form. They believed dragons to be nothing more than creatures from ancient myths. That was for the best. While the dragon numbers were better now, they were hardly thriving. A coming-out party would simply never do. They could not stand and fight against the humans, who would see them as foe rather than friend.

"There would be a bloodbath."

Besides, his kind tended to have trouble living in close proximity to one another if unmated. It could be done, but it took care and ease. Also, a large area for fights to be settled, far from the sight and hearing range of humans. An overabundance of testosterone caused much in the way of fighting and posturing. Only the mated lucky few seemed to avoid suffering the dreaded temper tantrums his kind endured.

He was guilty of having a temper himself.

He sighed, the ache of loneliness biting at him once more. He did not like this weakness. It was one that had begun to creep up upon him within the last century, and it was one he could not seem to shake. As the sounds of the holiday caroling began to fade off into the distance, the loneliness set in deeper.

Closing his hand around the invitation to attend a holiday gathering hosted by his cousin and his cousin's mate, Rayer shut his eyes, losing himself in a moment of happiness for his cousin— Zarek. It had been nearly a decade since Zarek had found his slice of heaven. His cousin was now mated; he had found the one—the woman created for him.

His perfect pairing.

His mate.

Had Zarek not met her in time, he would have been rendered impotent. The very idea of such a lasting punishment made Rayer shudder and nearly cup his ball sac. His cock was sacred to him, and in this, he doubted that he varied from other males, dragon shifters or not.

"You are not permitted to stop working," he said, glancing downward, as if his cock had the ability to understand his words. He polished off the last of his wine.

Six hundred years was a long time to many, but to the men of the Dracodomus clan, it was but a blink of an eye. A flash before the end was near. The dreaded curse of his clan. Find the one before the night of your six-hundredth birthday or forever impotent.

Zarek had made it in under the wire. Rayer held little hope he would as well. His fate was sealed. He had a couple of months left, and then the nothingness would envelop him as well. Already he felt the stirrings. Felt it sneaking up on him with each passing day. He would stop feeling desire, and he would not be able to enjoy any type of sex or sexual stimulation. What a bleak world it would be for him.

"I shall end my existence," he said with certainty, for he would not live such a life. He had already lived such a long full one that none would blame him. It was the honorable thing to do among his kind. "There is no way I'll roam about with a limp dick."

A cool night breeze blew past, and Rayer's body was quick to warm. Had he been in shifted form, the results would have been much different. In shifted form, his body matched the environment. It had been too long since he'd last afforded himself the freedom of shifting to dragon, and the dragon in him was most displeased.

He pivoted and entered his expansive home. It was elegant and professionally decorated. Nothing but the best for him.

He opened his palm and stared at the handwritten parchment from his cousin. Longing burned deep within him. He didn't want to be jealous. He should be joyous for Zarek. Instead, the green-eyed monster bit him, and he couldn't help but be envious. Yes, he bedded many women. There was never a shortage of willing bed partners in the city. But none filled the emptiness within him. None was the one.

Walking to the fireplace, Rayer snorted and then held the parchment out. There were secrets the humans in his life could not know. What he was happened to be one of them. He sucked in a breath and then released it, allowing his mouth to partially shift forms as he did. Flames licked past his lips at the parchment. He shifted his hand as well, permitting deep-gold scales to cover it. The scales were resistant to heat, allowing him to hold the letter until it burned nearly away. The ashes fell into the open fireplace, and Rayer's hand and mouth returned to human form.

There would be no visiting Zarek and his mate Keren for the holidays—though they asked yearly. Rayer would have his assistant send gifts to them and to their children, and that would be the end of that. He couldn't sit in their happy home and not be a jealous beast. He simply wasn't a big enough man to do so.

The buzzer from the front desk of his high-rise rang. Rayer approached the intercom system and pressed the button, a level of sorrow resting in his voice. "Yes?"

"Mr. Drackos," said Timothy, the evening front doorman. "There is a young woman here. Says it's imperative she speak with you, sir. I would have sent her away like the others who try to see you, but, sir…you should see her."

Rayer's brow knit. Timothy had worked the evening shift at the front desk for over a decade. He knew Rayer well. Perhaps too well. He knew Rayer's secrets, and how much he valued his privacy. He also understood that Rayer did not have visitors to his home.

His assistant, Tobias, wasn't even permitted access to his home. Rayer had an office building where he conducted his business affairs. And he used expensive hotels to bed women when he wanted a fuck. No one but him entered his personal dwelling.

Timothy had never pushed for him to accept any visitor, and that in itself piqued Rayer's curiosity. "Send the woman up."

"Yes, sir." Timothy was quiet a moment before the intercom engaged once more. "And if I may, sir. Wise choice."

Something within Rayer stirred. He huffed out a tiny puff of smoke, his emotions running high. A sudden tightness gripped his stomach, and it confused him. Was he anxious? Worried? Why? He was well known for his calm exterior and icy demeanor in business dealings.

Rayer adjusted himself, his balls suddenly heavy and in need of release. He glanced at the front door, wondering what this woman heading toward him wanted, and if she was attractive. He could use a fuck, and while he didn't ever partake in such activities in his home, he could make an exception just this once.

Maybe.

He set his empty wineglass on the counter and then positioned himself before the large gilded mirror near the entrance to his home. His dark hair was unruly and refused to stay slicked back like he wished it would. There was nothing he could do about his eyes. They were turquoise. Most humans assumed they were contacts. He let them believe he was an eccentric billionaire with a flair for shocking people.

He cuffed the sleeves of his deep red silk shirt and smoothed the front of his designer black pants. He liked his clothing high end. He liked nice things. And he wasn't ashamed to admit he took great pride in himself and his body. He worked out regularly and practiced martial arts several times a week. All things that kept him ready for anything.

Anything except unexpected guests, apparently, as a light sheen of sweat broke out over his brow. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, bewildered as to what his problem suddenly was. Had he contracted a rare supernatural virus? If so, what?

After a few moments, there was a knock at the door. Rayer drew in a deep breath, his body jerking with need as the undertones of woman, vanilla, and cream filtered to him, pushing past the smells of the city. He clenched his fists, doing his best to control the dragon within. It wanted to peek out and see for itself what wonders lie just beyond the closed door. It wanted to sample the female.

He'd not had sex in nearly three weeks. Work had been all consuming, and he'd not bothered to stop and scratch his manly itch. From the smell of it, a hot little number had come calling. Her scent appealed to him on all levels. The scary part was that his dragon side had taken an interest. It had never done so before in all his nearly six hundred years, not with any of the thousands of women he'd bedded.

Different.

His dragon side thrust the word into his mind, making him take notice of it. The dragon wanted him to know, before he opened the door, that the woman beyond it was different from the others.

More.

Mine.

Chapter Two

ALONDRA PALLON BRUSHED flakes of snow from the shoulders of her red jacket before she rubbed her hands together, hoping to get some feeling back into them. She was careful to use slow movements, as her upper right arm was injured. It was bandaged, and she hoped the bleeding had finally stopped. It was the least of her concerns at the moment.

She knew she should remove her knit cap, but she was still freezing, and the idea of giving up any amount of warmth made her even colder. Shivering, she blew into her hands, hoping to warm them somewhat. Her mittens were in her pockets, soaked through. Everything on her was wet and cold.

Tears threatened to fall, but she clung to them, refusing to give in.

She'd hit the lowest point in her life, and she could only hope the rest of her life went smoother. She couldn't continue as she'd been going for the past few weeks. She'd never survive. And she couldn't do it alone.

Help was needed.

She stood outside the high-rise door that lacked anything in the way of holiday decorations, and continued to try to warm herself. Rayer Drackos owned the entire building. Heck, he owned most of this side of the city. She knew as much. She'd done her homework.

The lure of the building before her was too great to resist. While she'd lingered outside more than once, losing her nerve and leaving, the time had come to make contact with the reclusive businessman.

At the very least, she could warm up in the building's lobby if the doorman didn't run her off. Gathering her courage, Alondra crossed the busy street and entered the building, instantly getting hit with a blast of warm air.

She shivered and glanced around, wondering if she'd have a minute to not only warm up, but gather her thoughts as well. Within seconds, she was greeted by the doorman, who looked happy to see her.

She froze.

"It's a cold one out there today," the man said, his voice kind, his smile even kinder.

All she did was nod.

He walked around from the back of his desk and held a cup out, as if he'd been expecting her. Steam rolled off it. "Here. A quick bit of tea to take the chill out of the air."

Alondra took the cup from the man and brought it to her lips, her gaze never leaving him. There was a certain something about the man that said he was incredibly caring and safe.

Something she'd not felt in weeks.

Exhaustion nearly won out, but she managed to stay upright and keep hold of the paper cup. The hot liquid slid over her tongue and down her throat, doing just as the man had promised. It took some of the cold from her, seeming to thaw her achingly cold bones.

She glanced around the lobby once more. The smallest of Christmas trees sat upon the counter of the desk, lit up, the only thing in the lobby indicating the holidays were upon them.

The doorman grinned. "That is my touch."

She nodded. "I like it."

The man winked. "The building's owner is so-so on it."

From the lack of anything more than strategically placed, high-end, modern artwork in the lobby, Mr. Drackos wasn't much for holiday cheer.

She'd always loved this time of year when she was little. Not so much anymore. Now it was a harsh reminder of how alone she was in the world. And for one brief moment, she wished she had someone to share the holiday with.

Someone to laugh with.

Someone to love.

Various lies ran through her head to tell the doorman in order to be permitted access to Mr. Drackos. When Alondra finally settled on one that might work, she opened her mouth to say it but he cut her off.

"Take the elevator to the top floor. You'll find who and what you're looking for there," the man said, winking again. He reached out and eased the cup from her hand before easing her in the direction of the elevator doors. "I'm Timothy, and he'll be expecting you."

Before she could so much as question why he wasn't demanding to know who she was and what she wanted, he had her loaded onto the elevator and the button for the top floor pressed, and then the doors were shutting.

Stunned, she rode up in silence, all by herself, staring at her reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator. The doors opened when she reached the top floor and she stepped out, still at a loss as to why it had been so easy to gain access to the city's number-one recluse.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," she said to herself, walking in the direction of the door.

She swallowed hard, staring at the door before her as if it were a gateway to hell. Maybe it was. Maybe it was just a gateway to the crazy farm if she was wrong. There had to be someone who would believe her. Someone who knew monsters were real.

Impulse had led her there, but now she wasn't sure it was a good idea.

She was about to turn to leave…when the strongest urge to remain in place came over her. She'd spent weeks living in fear, and she should have been downright terrified to meet Rayer Drackos face to face, but the idea of leaving without seeing him seemed to scare her more.

"You can do this," she said, trying to muster the additional courage. It didn't quite work, but she didn't run, so she considered it a win.

She was out of options.

She had nowhere left to go.

The mayor and local organized crime members had already made attempts on her life. When they'd failed to make her vanish by way of cement shoes in the river, they'd resorted to other means. They'd gotten her fired from her job at the paper, were in the process of getting her evicted, had frozen her financials, and they'd discredited her publically, making her accusations against them nothing more than running jokes around the city. They weren't men to be toyed with, and she'd learned as much after her story broke.

She'd learned they weren't really men at all.

Rayer Drackos would either take one look at her and decide she needed his help, or he'd hand her over to those wanting to harm her.

Then there was always the third option: he'd call the authorities to report a crazy woman was in his home, ranting about the impossible and full of conspiracy theories.

She'd be locked up for sure then.

She didn't have firm proof Rayer Drackos was the one person the mayor feared, but everything continued to point back to the eccentric billionaire, and she was out of money and time. Besides, if he was who she thought he might be, then he actually could help her.

The mayor wasn't human—and if she was right, neither was Mr. Drackos.

She needed help on that matter and possible clarity on another. She touched her bag. The journal her grandfather had left her was tucked safely inside. She'd kept it with her, fearful of leaving it out of her sight, especially since her apartment had been broken into four times since she'd brought forth claims of corruption at the city government level. She had more than one journal, but had always been told to keep them hidden separately from one another in the event they were discovered. She'd listened. The other two were hidden in the city, and as far as she knew, they were still safe.

The accusations in her article that had run online and in the local paper had caused a firestorm. From there, she'd had threats leveled against her before an outright attempt on her life had been made.

Alondra swallowed hard, gently rubbing her bandaged upper right arm. She'd been doing her best to keep the wound clean. Her body was battered and bruised as well. She was exhausted, hungry, and injured. She needed rest, some food, and medical attention, but she couldn't go to a hospital. The mayor would have people looking for her there.

No.

For now, she'd need to hope for help of a different kind. She needed to hope legends and fantasy were real. If not, there was a very real chance she'd not live to see Christmas, let alone have to worry about spending it by herself.

Her fingers skimmed her grandfather's journal. If what he had written was true, Rayer Drackos was a man of honor and great power.

Closing her eyes tight, she wished with all she had that the words in the journal were true, even if it meant everything she thought she knew about the world was wrong.

That men who could change into dragons were real.

And possibly, one of those men could protect her from the mayor and his men, who were anything but human.

"Please be real," she whispered, lifting her hand to knock on the door.

The door opened—and she froze.

There, filling the doorframe, seeming impossibly large, was a man who looked nearly identical to sketches her grandfather had done in his journal. A journal he'd written when he was in his early twenties—some fifty years ago.

Her breath caught as she soaked in the sight of the man before her. All the excitement, all the planning and endless rehearsing on what she'd say when she was finally before him, went out the window.

Rayer Drackos was gorgeous.

And he'd not aged in the slightest, from the sketches to now.

Long, slightly curly black hair hung to his chin, partially eclipsing one side of his incredibly handsome face. He had strong features, and nothing on him appeared anything less than chiseled. The red of his shirt looked stunning against his tawny skin. The top three buttons were undone, showing off his hairless chest. She had to rip her gaze upward again to keep from being obvious.

When she reached his turquoise eyes, she gasped. She'd never seen anything like them before. They were so intense and so locked on her that she felt weak in the knees. The sketches were in black and white, so she'd not been prepared for just how much seeing him in living color would affect her.

She'd basically been running for her life, was injured, and pretty sure she was going crazy, but her hormones didn't care. All they noticed was the hunk standing before her.

He watched her for what felt like the longest time, saying nothing at all. The longer he looked at her, the more she wondered if she had something on her face. Did her face reflect the attack she'd managed to narrowly escape?

She cleared her throat, words not wanting to come. Her mind blanked, and for a moment she worried she'd blurt out something stupid, like "take my virginity, stud."

That was what she currently wanted him to do. To heck with protecting her from bad men. She wanted him to slide between her legs and do wicked things to her.

Very wicked things.

"And who might you be?" he asked, an accent evident yet unreadable.

Oh, dear gods above, the hot guy had a hot voice to go with the hot packaging.

Alondra had half a mind to slap a hand over her mouth, fearing she just might give in to her ovaries, which were currently screaming at her to breed with this rare male treat. She'd never thought of having babies before, but the longer she stood in front of this guy, the more they were coming to mind.

"Are you well?" he asked.

She gulped, her jacket and hat suddenly feeling as if they were totally unnecessary. Had she really been cold only seconds before? "I'm good. Is it hot out here?"

His abnormal gaze slid over her slowly, heating her body more. He wet his lower lip and she bit back a moan. "Yes. The temperature is certainly rising."

Swaying from the sheer closeness of all the testosterone he was leaking, Alondra's eyes fluttered shut a moment as she felt the strangest urge to pet the man. She resisted, but it was hard.

The man's brows drew together. He sniffed the air in a blatant manner. "Who are you?"

That sobered her. "This was a really bad idea. I don't know what I was thinking. I was desperate, and, well, never mind. I'll go."

She turned, ready to cut and run, humiliation coating her from head to toe. This was quite possibly the craziest thing she'd ever done, and she'd spent three summers as a child in a remote region in Eastern Europe and then Greece with her grandfather and two of her cousins, exploring old caverns that her grandfather swore used to be dragon lairs.

But this took the cake.

The sexy man reached out and caught hold of her wrist gently, and for a second she was sure she actually was going to go up in flames as heat seemed to radiate from him to her. He gasped as well, his gaze still narrowed in question.

"Who are you?" he asked firmly, his hand holding her tighter in its grasp.

"I'm sorry I bothered you," she managed to say, feeling faint. Did he have to stare at her with those sexy eyes? Were those contacts? She pulled her arm free from his grasp, her breathing increasing as her gaze fixed on his.

He stepped out into the hall some, causing her to move backward. He reached for her again, and she flinched.

"I will not harm you."

Her mouth felt like she'd drunk sand, it was so dry. Fleeing sounded like a great idea. She glanced at the elevator doors and then moved as quickly as she could to them. Jabbing the button, she fought the urge to look back at Rayer.

He put his hand over hers, pinning her finger to the button. "You are soaked. Come in and speak with me. That is why you came, correct? To speak to me?"

The elevator pinged and the doors opened. She attempted to enter, but Rayer put his body partially in the open area, his arm shooting out, halting the doors from closing again, and her from entering. "Tell me your name."

"Alondra," she said, her voice sounding small as she lowered her gaze.

"And you came here on this night to speak with me, yes?"

She bit at her lower lip. "I did, but never mind. It was a bad idea. Have a nice night, Mr. Drackos. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

"The doorman said you needed to speak with me. That it was imperative. Is that so?" he asked, looking her over more.

Pretty sure my new mission is to jump your bones.

She removed her knit cap and then unbuttoned her jacket. She was going to melt. What was happening to her? "Um, yes?"

The edges of his entirely too inviting mouth curved upward. Everything about his partial smile said "bad boy" and promised sex. "Are you sure?"

"I'm not sure of anything at the moment. Seriously, it's like burning up out here."

His lips twitched. "Alondra, please stay and talk with me."

She locked gazes with him. "I want to. I do, but if I'm wrong, then bad things could happen. I shouldn't have mixed you up in this."

She ducked under his arm and entered the elevator quickly, jabbing the button for the first floor. Rayer didn't move from his spot, keeping the doors stuck open. She hit the button again but nothing happened. "Please. I need to go now. This was stupid."

He watched her for a moment before stepping back and allowing the doors to close. She let out a long breath and then squeezed her knit cap, tears threatening to fall. She'd failed. She'd chickened out on asking him what he was, and now she would need to outrun the mayor and his men.

If they could even be called men.

It seemed to take forever for the elevator to descend all the floors of the high-rise, but when it did, the doors opened and she took a step—only to find Rayer there, standing in the lobby.

"What? How did you beat me down here?" she asked.

"We did not have our talk," he said, not bothering to answer her.

Timothy came out from behind the desk and cast a sidelong glance at Rayer. The older man's expression was hard to read. "Sir, how unexpected for you to arrive by other means."

Other means?

Alondra had to push past Rayer to leave the elevator. He crowded her space, leaving her body pressing against his. He caught her upper arm, and while he'd not gripped her hard, it hurt because it was her injured arm.

She whimpered and grabbed at his hand, trying to pry his fingers from her. "Ouch."

Timothy stepped in. "Sir, mind your strength."

"I did," said Rayer, sounding confused. "I was very careful with her."

The look Timothy shot him said he didn't believe the man.

Alondra held her upper arm and felt hot tears begin to move down her cheeks. "He didn't hurt me. I, um, bumped my arm earlier. Thank you for getting me in to see him, but it was silly of me to come here and bother him. I should be going now."

Timothy eased closer and offered a soft smile, reminding her a great deal of her grandfather when he did. They'd have been about the same age if her grandfather were still alive. The man before her possessed the same nurturing quality that her grandfather had had. "Miss, how about I make a cup of hot chocolate before you go back out into the weather? The tea I gave you before you went up wasn't nearly strong enough to warm you. It's snowing harder now than when you arrived, and you weren't here long enough to warm up or dry out. One might think the person you went to talk to was rude or something."

Rayer grunted. "I was not rude. She barely spoke to me and then insisted on leaving."

"So you followed her by any means necessary?" asked Timothy.

Rayer grinned mischievously. "It was faster."

"I'm sure it was, sir." Timothy lifted an arm. "Please, miss, let me get something warm in you. You're shivering."

She was?

She wiped her cheeks and did her best to ignore the bite of pain in her upper arm. As warmth spread over it, she realized the gashes were torn open again.

Rayer stiffened, sniffing the air heavily. "You're bleeding."

"What? How did you know?" she asked before clearing her throat. "I'm fine. I need to go."

"No!" he shouted.

She gasped.

Timothy put his hands up and motioned at Rayer to back away from her. "Sir, you're scaring the poor girl with all your bluster."

"She wishes to leave when she's soaked to the bone and injured. She came here to speak to me, so it must be urgent, yet she says nothing and wants to run off. No. I forbid it. She will remain."

She took a small step back. "You forbid it?"

Timothy rubbed his brow. "Sir, if I may."

"Oh, what am I doing wrong now?" demanded Rayer, tossing his hands in the air.

"Speaking," answered the older man. "Stop talking, sir. You're inserting your foot in your mouth."

"I will not allow her to leave when she's clearly hurt and requires assistance."

"I'm fine," she said, trying to put on a happy face. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"Prove you're fine," said Rayer, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

She jerked back. He couldn't be serious. "Huh?"

"Show me your arm," he stated evenly.

"I'm not going to show you my arm."

"Then you shall remain here." He planted his feet wide and gave her a look that dared her to try to get past him. She couldn't be sure, but his expression said he'd go caveman on her and toss her over his shoulder if she didn't listen. He looked strong enough to do it.

"You can't just keep me here," she said, her voice rising.

Timothy sighed. "Miss, please. Mr. Drackos is simply concerned for you. That in itself isn't really normal for him. He rarely shows concern for anyone. Humor an old man, and allow us to look at your arm and get something warm in your belly. My office is right through that door, and my condo is adjacent to it. I promise you're safe here."

She glanced at the large windows near the door to the building, and a choked laugh came from her. "I'm not safe anywhere in this city."

"I think you'll find this building is quite safe," said Timothy, reaching out for her. "Let me take your coat and allow us to see to your well-being. Besides, I very much want to see Mr. Drackos continue to show concern for others."

Rayer huffed, still standing as if he were an unmovable mountain that no one would be getting past. "I'm starting to like you less and less, old friend."

"A cross I'm willing to bear," said Timothy with a smile.

Reluctantly, Alondra began to remove her jacket, wincing in pain as she tried to get it off her bad arm. Timothy stepped closer and assisted. He went slowly, and then sucked in a large breath as he peeled the jacket downward. She looked to find the sleeve of her sweater was soaked with blood.

"Miss?" asked Timothy, his voice low. "What happened?"

She trembled more. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

He cast a speculative glance at Rayer. "You'd be surprised at what we'll believe. Come on. Let's get you into something dry and your wounds tended to."

Something struck one of the massive windows and Alondra screamed, instinctually launching herself at Rayer. He caught her and held her against him, his arms moving around her in a protective manner. She clung to him, her entire body filled with fear.

"Shh, look," he said, the timbre of his voice moving over her. "It's only children throwing snowballs."

She peeked out to find snow splattered on the window and a group of adolescent children running together, throwing snowballs at one another. Closing her eyes, she kept her body pressed to Rayer's, feeling safe for the first time in weeks. She put a hand on his chest and then raised her head, looking up at him.

"Want me to eat them?" he asked, his expression deadpan.

Eat them?

Timothy sighed. "No eating children."

Alondra smiled at the odd conversation.

"You take all the fun out of everything," said Rayer to Timothy.