Page 58

FIFTY-EIGHT

T he afternoon passed in a blur of preparation. Allies arrived in waves—Thora with her sabertooth heritage and lethal blades; Rust and Kalyna representing the town’s oldest families; Jamie with her hedge-witch remedies carefully packaged in colored vials.

Throughout it all, Zina moved with newfound confidence, coordinating efforts and strengthening the spa’s protective grid. Each completed task brought a small sense of accomplishment, yet the blood moon’s presence grew heavier with each passing hour. Its crimson light seeped through windows and doorways like a physical reminder of their deadline.

During a rare moment of quiet, Zina retreated to her office to review her mother’s journals, searching for any additional insights into the Founding Pyre’s magic. She’d barely opened the leather-bound book when her door clicked shut.

Looking up, she found Xai leaning against the closed door, his golden-brown eyes darkened with an expression that sent heat cascading through her body.

“I thought you were helping Noven with the perimeter wards,” she said, her voice embarrassingly breathless.

“Finished.” He pushed away from the door, crossing the small space with predatory grace. “Thought I’d see if you needed... assistance.”

The pause before that final word carried enough suggestion to make her pulse quicken. Despite the crisis looming outside, her body responded instantly to his proximity—skin warming, breath shortening.

Without waiting for her response, Xai pulled her to her feet and against him in one smooth motion. His mouth found hers with unerring precision, the kiss deep and demanding from the first contact. Gone was the careful restraint of earlier—this was pure dragon possessiveness, marking her as thoroughly as she’d marked him that morning.

Zina responded with equal fervor, rising on tiptoes to wind her arms around his neck. Her lioness nature surged forward, craving the heat and strength of him. When his hands slid down to grasp her hips, lifting her effortlessly onto her desk, she made a small sound of approval against his mouth.

Papers scattered to the floor, forgotten, as Xai moved between her thighs, pressing closer until no space remained between them. One hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back to grant him better access to the sensitive skin of her throat.

“We shouldn’t—” she gasped as his teeth grazed her pulse point.

“We absolutely should,” he countered, voice rough with desire. “Life is uncertain, lioness. Especially today.”

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, tracing patterns of fire against her skin. Everywhere he touched, her body ignited, responding to him with an intensity that should have frightened her. Instead, it felt like coming home—like finding a piece of herself she hadn’t known was missing.

When his hand brushed the underside of her breast, Zina arched into his touch, beyond caring about propriety or timing. The blood moon could wait. The world could wait. This—him—she needed now.

A sharp knock shattered the moment.

“Boss?” Bryn’s voice called through the door. “Artair’s here with some intel you need to see.”

Zina dropped her forehead to Xai’s shoulder, torn between laughter and frustration. “The timing in this town is impeccable.”

His chest rumbled with suppressed amusement. “To be continued,” he promised, pressing one last, lingering kiss to her lips before stepping back.

Zina slid from the desk, hastily straightening her clothing and attempting to smooth her now-tousled hair. Xai didn’t bother hiding his satisfaction at her disheveled state, a smug dragon smile playing on the corners of his mouth.

“Stop looking so pleased with yourself,” she muttered, reaching up to wipe a trace of her lipstick from his lower lip.

“Impossible.” He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Not when I have such compelling reasons for satisfaction.”

A second, more insistent knock interrupted her response.

“Coming!” Zina called, shooting Xai a warning look that only widened his smile.

“Not yet,” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. “But I have plans for that later.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “Incorrigible dragon.”

“Your dragon,” he corrected, the possessive claim sending a thrill through her.