Kiss of Embers (The Dragon Lairds #5)

Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

FINN

R ecognition slammed into me, the force of it so powerful it knocked me back a step. Struan obviously felt it, too. He froze, his attention on the woman across the clearing.

Ours.

At last, fate had delivered our female into our hands. And she was perfect. Tall and built like a swimmer. Or maybe a runner. In any case, her legs went on forever. Her white shirt molded to a pair of high breasts that looked just big enough to fill my palms. A ponytail the color of wheat cascaded over her shoulder. As I stared, an exquisite scent hit my lungs.

Winter forest…and something sweet enough to eat.

My body responded, my dick pressing hard against the front of my pants. It was her . The woman Struan and I had spent a century searching for. My fangs ached as they threatened to descend from the little pockets in my gums. Two kinds of hunger built within me, the craving for blood and sex making my mouth water.

Male voices drifted around me. Struan and I were causing a stir with our arrival, but I was only vaguely aware of the sharp looks and hostile stares. The demon on the platform stopped speaking as the crowd grew more restless. I couldn’t summon a single shit about that, either. Not with my woman close enough to scent. I dragged a breath into my lungs, eager to identify the elusive, feminine fragrance.

A second later, it hit me. Apple blossoms. My woman smelled like apple blossoms. And snow-frosted pine. The latter made a sort of exasperated delight course through me. Because that forest scent marked her as a werewolf. Apparently, fate had decided I needed two of the notoriously stubborn beasties in my life.

“Do you see her?” the first beastie rumbled.

“Of course,” I said, moving closer to Struan, who looked equal parts lovestruck and savage as he stared at our female. She stared back, her delicate brow furrowing.

In my peripheral vision, the demon on stage waved his arms. “Order, please! Ladies and gentlemen, I must have order!”

“Who’s that wanker speaking to her?” Struan growled, still fixated on our woman.

“A dead man,” I muttered, eyeing the man who hovered at her shoulder. Tall and blond, he looked agitated as he clearly tried to engage her in conversation. Our woman ignored him, and approval surged in my chest. The approval soured when a massive gargoyle stepped in front of her and pinned me with a hard look.

Struan growled again. Several of the competitors clustered around us backed up.

“Order!” the demon bellowed. A goddess with glowing skin stood next to him. She put a hand to one side of her mouth and spoke to him in a stage whisper.

“Just a friendly heads up, Bolveg, the insurance policy covering the Games has exclusions for brawls.”

Across the clearing, the gargoyle maintained his protective posture, his wing flared in front of my female. In some dim corner of my mind, it occurred to me that ripping the gargoyle limb from limb was probably a bad idea. But he’d stepped between me and my mate.

Unforgivable.

Noise swelled around me, the demon’s shouts mixing with snarling male voices. My blood pumped faster, possessiveness gripping me. So many males. Too many to fight, even with Struan at my side. They could take our female from us.

The chatter increased, along with the commotion on the platform.

The demon strode to the edge. “This competition can’t begin until I have order!”

Someone in the crowd snickered. “Give the man his order already. He’s going to stroke out.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd, followed by someone yelling, “Oy, Bolveg, you want fries or onion rings?”

A woman’s voice rose above the din. “I said no , Brader, and I meant it!”

The gargoyle swung around, giving me a clear look at my woman and the blond man. She glared up at him, two spots of color on her cheeks. The man’s jaw tightened. My woman gave him a final, withering look and then turned away.

He grabbed her arm.

The world dissolved. Wind whistled in my ears, and then I gripped the man by the throat. His blue eyes widened above my hand, and his voice emerged as a strangled yelp.

“What the—?” He clawed at my hand. “You’re…a…dragon.”

“No shite.”

“But…” The man wheezed as his face went from red to purple. A human would have already been unconscious. The man’s immortal strength and stamina allowed him to continue fighting my grip. “You…channeled.”

“Aye. I’m my mother’s boy, too. You should learn to keep your hands to yourself, wolf , lest I remove them.”

He kicked at my shins. “Put…me…down.”

“I think not.”

Footsteps sounded behind me, and then Struan was at my side. Anger flowed off him as he studied the flailing male. “I think you should remove his tongue first. His voice irritates me.”

The werewolf gave another clumsy kick. He was weakening, his voice going reedy. “Fuck…you.”

I tightened my grip. The wolf’s face turned an interesting shade a blue. For a moment, I considered snapping his neck. It wouldn’t kill him. But it would shut him up for a day or two.

The scent of apple blossoms flowed around me, and then my female stepped into view.

“Put him down!” she ordered, authority ringing in her voice. Her eyes were a soft brown, and her lips were plump and pink. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, her nipples taut under her tight-fitting shirt.

The gargoyle stood just behind her, his expression wary as he looked from me to Struan to the female he seemed determined to protect. After a second, the gargoyle’s nostrils flared, and understanding flooded his gaze.

“Zara,” he rasped. “We have a problem.”

“I know,” she snapped without looking at him. “Let me handle it.”

Lust crackled through my veins. Beside me, Struan moaned, and I might have laughed if not for the werewolf dangling from my grip. Nothing got Struan hotter than being bossed around. Aye, he was going to enjoy the hell out of our pretty mate.

Assuming she accepted us. The thought made another sucker punch of possessiveness slam into me. My instincts screamed at me to grab her and run. To carry her off to a place where Struan and I could woo her properly.

The gargoyle touched her shoulder. “No, Zara. This problem is bigger than Brader.”

Confusion flickered in her eyes. She turned her head enough to meet the gargoyle’s stare. “What do you mean?”

The pudgy, spectacle-wearing demon from the platform shoved his way through the crowd. He huffed as he stopped a short distance away, his sweaty face etched with alarm.

“This is unacceptable!” He wagged a finger at me. “Put him down or I’m throwing you out of the Games.”

Irritation prickled through me. Queen Isolde needed that elixir. Like it or not, the demon had the power to kick me out of the competition before it even began.

Struan moved closer. “Finn,” he said quietly.

I flung the werewolf to the ground. He landed hard and then immediately sprang to his feet. He coughed, clutching at his throat as he recovered. His blue eyes shot sparks as he swung his gaze to the demon. “You should toss him out regardless! Both of them! They threatened to cut off my hands.” The werewolf gave Struan a contemptuous look. “This one wanted to rip out my tongue!”

Struan took a menacing step toward the werewolf. “Those weren’t threats, dickhead. They were promises. You touched our woman.”

Gasps echoed around the clearing. On the platform, the goddess clasped her hands under her chin. “Ooh, this just got interesting.”

The bespectacled demon frowned. “What? Which woman?”

I looked at my female, whose brown eyes flared wide. A pulse fluttered in her neck, and the color drained from her face. It did nothing to diminish her beauty. With her cream-colored hair and doe eyes fringed by long, thick lashes, she was as lovely as the goddess. Leanly muscled and cloaked in power, she was also clearly something of a warrior.

In other words, she was exquisite.

“Her,” I said, pointing to Zara. I jerked my head toward Struan as I let my gaze roam the crowded clearing. “This female is ours. Try to keep her from us, and your blood will water this jungle.”