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TWENTY-THREE

W hen she saw the back door to the spa, her legs began failing. She stumbled against a streetlight, the metal cool against her feverish skin. Her vision swam, darkness creeping in at the edges. Almost there. Just a little farther.

Three steps. She could manage three steps.

Her strength evaporated completely on the second step. She crumbled to the ground.

“Zina.”

That voice—deep, resonant, threaded with barely leashed fury—cut through her pain like a blade. She forced her eyes open, though the effort felt monumental.

Xai emerged from shadows she hadn’t even noticed, stepping into the glow of her backdoor like an avenging angel. His golden eyes blazed molten red, dragon rage transforming his usually controlled features into something primitive and dangerous. His suit jacket slid from his shoulders with liquid grace as he moved, revealing powerful muscles that rippled beneath his white shirt.

Heat rolled off him in visible waves, the temperature spiking with each step closer.

“Who did this?” The words vibrated with draconic power, promising retribution. Smoke curled from his nostrils, and his pupils had contracted to vertical slits.

“Severin’s pride.” Her voice emerged as a whisper, throat raw from growls and roars. “He wants the nexus under my spa.”

Understanding flashed across his features, followed by something darker. Something possessive. “A convergence point? No wonder your mother bound it with her life force.”

He knelt beside her, and for a moment, she saw past the elder, past the ancient dragon, to the man beneath—one whose carefully maintained walls cracked at the sight of her injuries. Dragon scales rippled beneath his skin, visible in the dying light. His hands trembled slightly as they hovered near her wounds as if afraid his touch might cause more pain.

Through the fog of her fading consciousness, a new realization dawned. Somehow, he’d known she was hurt. He’d tracked her here, following the magical resonance of her blood trail. Of all the people in Enchanted Falls, he’d been the one to find her, to sense her distress from wherever he’d been.

“You’re safe now,” he rumbled, scooping her up as if she weighed nothing. His body temperature rose to combat her shock, warming her chilled skin without burning.

The contact sent electricity through her battered form—primal recognition that transcended pain. Her lioness, despite its injuries, purred at his touch. His scent enveloped her: cedar smoke, ancient magic, and something uniquely him that made her want to burrow closer.

“Madrigal will learn what happens when he threatens what a dragon claims as his territory.”

The possessive edge in his voice should have infuriated her feminist side. Should have made her bristle at being claimed like property. Instead, her lioness leaped within her, recognizing its mate’s protective fury. As consciousness began to fade, Zina realized she faced more danger than she’d imagined—and not just from Severin Madrigal.

Because somewhere between the charity dinner’s first dance and this moment of raw vulnerability, her heart had decided that trusting a dragon wasn’t just acceptable—it was inevitable. And her lioness, for once in perfect harmony with her human side, had already chosen their mate.

She felt his arms tighten around her as darkness claimed her vision, one final thought echoing through her mind: she’d finally found someone worth fighting for—someone who would fight for her with equal ferocity.