Page 123 of Mystic's Sunrise

I didn’t need to turn around to know.

The warmth that pressed against my back wasn’t comfort—it was a trap. Solid. Unyielding. Familiar in a way that made my stomach turn and my limbs lock up. An arm slid around my waist, fingers splaying low across my stomach with a possessiveness that made my skin crawl, curling in with a grip I hadn’t felt in months but could never forget.

For a moment—just a breath of time—my body responded. The nearness of another human. The heat. The way his chest rose and fell against my back. For one impossible, aching second, I let myself pretend that it was Mystic, and maybe he had found me after all.

But then I breathed in.

Leather, rich and worn. Heat. Sweat. And cologne.

But not his.

Not that quiet, woodsy scent that lingered on Mystic like pine after rain. This was incense and smoke, like a fire burned too long and left only the embers behind. It always clung to him. Powerful. Designed to linger. The kind of scent you remembered long after he was gone, whether you wanted to or not. It was Drago, distilled, dark, commanding, and impossible to escape.

My lungs stuttered, the air thick and unwilling. My heart didn’t just beat, it dropped, plummeted into some hollow space inside me where panic bloomed sharp and fast.

The arm around me tightened, dragging me closer, back against the hard line of his chest. The weight of his leg hooked around mine, anchoring me like he was afraid I’d vanish. Hismouth brushed the shell of my ear, the heat of his breath sending a fresh wave of revulsion through me.

“I was beginning to think I’d never find you,” he murmured, his voice low and calm, but not the kind of calm that soothed. This was the calm that came just before something shattered. “But tonight was my lucky night.”

I tried to move, even just to shift my shoulder an inch away, but his grip flexed in warning. Possessive. Casual. Deadly.

“Don’t,” he said, his lips ghosting across the curve of my jaw as if they belonged there. As if I belonged to him. “Not yet.”

I froze. Every part of me going still, survival instincts overriding reason.

“Drago…”

He made a sound deep in his throat, something between a hum and a sigh, like I’d just sung him his favorite song. Like hearing me speak his name had made everything worth it.

“There she is,” he whispered, voice curling with satisfaction. “I was wondering when I’d hear that sweet voice again.”

Slowly, with deliberate movements, I turned to face him. Every muscle in my body screamed against it, but I made myself do it. I had to see him. Had to know what I was up against.

He was stretched out beside me, shameless and relaxed like this was his bed, his moment. One leg slung over mine. One arm still around my waist. His eyes roamed my face like he had the right—like I was still some prize he’d earned.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, smiling with teeth that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You still look like a dream.”

“You’re here,” I said, the words a whisper scraped raw from the back of my throat.

“You’re mine,” he said, flat and final, no room for argument in his tone. “I think you forgot that.”

“I could never forget,” I answered carefully, like trying to carry a full cup without spilling, steady hands, shallow breath, no room for error.

“That’s good,” he said, voice softening, but only just. His fingers lifted to trace the line of my throat, feather-light, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Not from tenderness. From dread.

“But you made me angry, running from me like that.”

I didn’t speak. Sometimes silence was safer than any lie.

He brushed a strand of hair from my cheek, the softness of the gesture at odds with the flicker of calculation in his eyes. “You were with The Devil’s House. I know that much. What I don’t know is why you stayed.”

My pulse kicked harder, pounding like fists against my ribs. But my voice stayed level, quiet, low like a prayer not meant to be heard.

“I was hurt when they found me,” I said, like mixing salt and sugar and hoping no one noticed the taste. “Badly. I couldn’t leave. I wasn’t strong enough until now.”

It was close enough to believable, and far enough from the truth to safe someone from getting hurt because of me.

He stilled. Just for a breath. Long enough for me to feel the shift in his thoughts.