Page 6 of Rook (Dragon Brides #11)

Sasha was doing her best not to think about the evil dragons in the woods.

A twig snapped. She nearly jumped out of her skin, her hand flying to her chest where her heart was pounding. She bit back a curse, squeezing her eyes shut to steady her frantic breathing. The night felt closer there, thick and electric, every creak of the forest feeding her paranoia.

She was failing miserably.

Rook’s breathing was getting heavier. He grunted every time they had to clamber over a fallen log or up a challenging hill. Whatever had hit him was taking its toll, and she did not need a dead dragon on her hands, at least not the one good dragon she could find.

Every so often, a crunch in the brush or a shiver through the leaves made every muscle in her body tense.

The woods felt haunted, as if shadows watched her from behind every tree.

Her mind kept flashing back to Erik, to the burst of blue flame that had devoured him alive.

The smell of burnt hair. That sickening second where her brain insisted it was a special effect, not reality.

Alien or not, this was her world now, and its rules had been torched right along with the rest of her night.

They really needed to update the guide manuals. She had no idea how to handle this situation.

Her feet crunched through another patch of dry leaves. The trees opened up, offering a wider slice of the stars. She could make out a twisted blue ribbon curling overhead, the Milky Way stretched above the tips of the pines. Instead of filling her with awe, the open sky only made her feel exposed.

A rustle in the underbrush, quieter than the last but closer, made Sasha press her lips together to bite back a scream that was half panic and half reflex. Her fingers curled tighter around the bag slung over her shoulder. Maybe she could whack a dragon with it.

“That’s not them,” Rook assured her, his voice a low rumble at her back. “These fugitives move in silence.”

“So we won’t hear them before they kill us?” Her voice was thin, rough with nerves.

His footsteps splashed in a puddle behind her as he moved closer. “I will not let any harm come to you.”

It would have been more reassuring if his voice wasn’t tight with pain. Even simple words seemed to cost him, each syllable clipped. She could hear how much it hurt him just to walk, every labored breath sharper than the one before.

She pushed on, leading them through the undergrowth, praying every choice was not the wrong one. Her mind raced. An old logging road? Too open. The stream? A potential trap. The only safe place was somewhere with walls.

After five more minutes of picking their way through a thick, black clump of firs, they broke into a sudden clearing. Moonlight spilled across a patch of tall grass. At its center stood a sturdy little cabin that looked more dilapidated than she knew it was.

Broken windows peered out from the log walls like dark, watchful eyes. Leaves and pine needles piled in forgotten mounds against the porch. The skeleton of a silent wind chime swayed from the eave.

“This is an old ranger’s station,” she said. “They don’t use it anymore, but it still has running water and walls. Campers mostly sneak up here to have sex now.” She bit her lip.

She should not think about sex and Rook in the same sentence.

Except she was.

She could blame adrenaline or the way her body vibrated with leftover terror, but that was a lie. Some reckless, traitorous part of her brain kept spinning wild what-ifs.

Was his mouth as hot as his breath? Would his hands be careful or hungry? She must be losing her mind. Apparently, almost dying triggered the world's least convenient crush. She chalked it up to hormones, panic, and the knowledge that tomorrow was not a guarantee.

“This place is …” He trailed off, taking in the half-collapsed porch and dirt-encrusted windows.

“Not up to your standard, my lord?” She shot him a sidelong glance, every word dripping with sarcasm.

For a second, Rook looked genuinely affronted. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he straightened, a flicker of dragon stubbornness in his posture. “I have slept in far worse environments.”

Sasha steeled herself, shoved the door open with a wince at the squeal of the hinges, and stepped inside.

Dust motes danced in the sliver of moonlight.

The cabin was empty except for a scarred wooden table, a pair of ancient benches, and a battered sink.

No rodents scattered. The air smelled of old wood and the sharp, sweet scent of pine.

“There.” She gestured, ushering Rook to the nearest bench. He moved as if his injuries were weighing him down, steps heavy and careful. The moment he sat, the invisible thread holding him together seemed to snap. His shoulders hunched, his head dropping forward.

Sasha rushed to his side and crouched, her hands flying to his face. His skin was feverish, slick with sweat. “Hey. I need you to stay awake, okay? Eyes open.”

His eyes fluttered open, pupils wide in the gloom. He stared at her. “Your eyes are green.”

It was just a fact. But his voice held a dreamy quality, as if the pain had dulled all his edges except for this one tiny detail.

Sasha very sternly told her heart not to flip over. The man was hanging on to consciousness by a thread. If he passed out, she did not know what she would do. Even if she could get a signal, she doubted a hospital could treat him.

Hello, 911? Yes, I have a magical alien dragon lord passed out in the old sex-cabin in the woods. No, I didn’t give him such a good lovin’ that he passed out. You see, there are also magical alien dragon slavers after us.

Oh, you think I need to be committed? Yeah, me too.

She forced herself into motion, yanking open the cupboard beneath the sink.

A battered first aid kit was stuffed inside.

She twisted the sink’s tap. A shudder in the pipes, a cough, then cold, clear water gushed out.

Sasha nearly moaned in relief. She found a battery-operated lantern in a drawer, and its dim, golden light made the cabin feel fractionally safer.

When she returned to Rook, he was hunched over, his ribcage shuddering. Sweat beaded on his brow. He tried to sit up straighter, his eyes a bit less glassy but still on the edge.

“I’m guessing dragons don’t have magical healing powers,” she said, needing to get him talking. Her hands snapped open the plastic latches on the kit. “Is there anything I should avoid? Silver? I don’t have a pile of gold to sit you on to make you feel better.”

“Why would that make me feel better?” he groaned.

He was talking. That was good. She knelt beside him. “Don’t dragons have hoards of gold?”

“Not this dragon.” He shifted and let out a sound of pain, one hand pressed to his wounded shoulder. The movement twisted his shirt, exposing the angry, blistered gash beneath.

Sasha placed her hand on his knee, grounding herself. “Stay still. Let me.”

“There is a healing salve in a pouch on my belt. It will ease the pain.”

All she had were antiseptic wipes and a flimsy bandage. Healing salve sounded wonderful.

She reached for it, practically wrapping her arms around his body.

His torso was impossibly hard beneath her forearm, heat rolling off him in waves.

His scent, a mix of burnt fabric, woodsmoke, and something undeniably male, filled her head.

For a second, the world telescoped down to the closeness of them, her chest pressed to his side, the soft whoosh of his breath in her ear.

They froze. She felt the rise and fall of his chest, the hitch when he realized how near she was. Their gazes locked. Rook’s eyes flicked to her mouth, hunger and restraint warring in their green-gold depths.

Sasha licked her lips, nerves and want spinning together. She fumbled for the pouch and edged back, her heart hammering. The cool air felt sharp after the heat of him.

He was injured. He was in her care. But he was also a dragon lord from outer space.

She unscrewed the cap of the salve. The stuff inside was a pale, glistening green, with a scent like crushed pine needles and eucalyptus. She dipped her fingers in. It was cool and slippery, like aloe.

She nudged his shirt off his shoulder. The burn stretched over his upper arm, threaded with angry red lines.

Her stomach lurched. She touched the salve gently to the wound.

Rook jerked, muscles tensing, then relaxed with a rush of relief.

A deep, guttural groan escaped him, a sound so low and rough it bordered on sexual.

The sound shot through her, pooling deep in her gut. Her skin prickled. Every brush of her hand suddenly felt like it might catch fire.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

He shook his head, jaw tight, but his look was pure heat.

She finished applying the salve with slow, careful strokes. “There,” she said, her voice softer now. “You’ll be good as new in no time.”

Their gazes found each other again, hers swimming with nerves, his heavy-lidded and bright with something sharp and greedy.

Did she lean in first? Did Rook?

Who gave a damn?

She moved, or maybe he did, and their mouths met.

The kiss was tender at first, questioning, her lips parted against his.

Then she angled closer, opening for him, and Rook swept his tongue inside.

He tasted like spice and smoke, wild and unfamiliar.

Her hand slid up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt, holding on as if she might float away.

Something clattered to the floor, but she didn’t care.

All she knew was the way his lips moved against hers, hot and greedy and reverent.

He kissed her like his life depended on it, and she felt exactly the same.

Sasha had been kissed before, but never like that.

She had never felt so seen, so saturated in a moment, so absolutely lifted out of her own skin.

Rook pulled back, his body as taut as a wire. The dim lantern light left his expression unreadable.

Sasha searched for something to say. So they kissed. So what? But her mouth couldn’t form the words, not with the taste of him branded on her tongue.

“This cannot happen,” Rook said. The words were so final they felt like blows. “I have a duty here. I cannot be … distracted.”

A distraction.

Sasha straightened and fought the scowl on her face. Was that all she was? A distraction? Some girl her ex could cheat on? Just no one.

She stood. “I don’t think you’re going to die. We should be safe here for tonight.”

And in the morning, she would send him on his way and find a way to escape this insanity.

She wouldn’t want to distract him any more than she already had.