Burned (Dragon Mates Book 3) Page 7

  At his laughter, her face suddenly ticked down into a slight frown. “Wait, are you laughing at me? I thought—you mean, you're not angry at me?”

  Ash paused, taking a few deep breaths. “No.” The admission startled him as much as it apparently did her, because she stopped fiddling with the bookstand. “I'm not.”

  He gave her another long, searching look, which she returned with a teetering mix of equal captivation and that hesitant shyness he'd noticed the other night. Quiet settled about them again as they stared at one another, locked into some sort of silent communication Ash couldn't even begin to understand. His dragon bugled inside him, more alert and aware than Ash had felt in many months. It was as if a bubble held him and the woman, Teagan, wrapped together in a space wired with sizzling heat and tension.

  Clearly, she felt it, too. After another long moment, she very carefully let her huge-eyed gaze travel over the hideous scars that marred the right side of his face and extended down his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt.

  Just as deliberately, feeling only an irrational desire to show the truth of himself to this stunning, perplexing woman, he reached up his right hand to slightly pull the sharply pressed collar to the side. He knew she could see the charring and ropy burn scars extending over the back of his hand, ending in a jagged pattern just over the tops of his knuckles. When it had happened he'd been in his dragon shape with his claws curled inward, thus sparing his fingers when in his human shape.

  Small mercy, that.

  Teagan's lips parted a bit, a very small whisper of sound that was an unsteady yet not horrified gasp tumbling over her lips. Instead, it was a sound laced with pain. Pain for him. She swallowed, the sound audible in the room only because it was otherwise silent, looking back into his eyes.

  Ash felt his breath quicken and surge as his heart banged in his chest. A nudge of unease, the slight whip of trepidation, yet mostly a powerful longing to have her recognize him, to know him—which was definite madness, since he'd never laid eyes on her in his life before the other night—and, mostly, to want him, all whirled together as he pinned her with his gaze, his head still turned so she had no choice but to look at his ugly scars.

  What in the hell was wrong with him? This woman was making him feel—half crazed. She apparently also maddened his dragon, who was still surging and trumpeting inside his mind, straining to get out.

  The most insane part of it all, Ash thought as he struggled valiantly against his primal side, was that his dragon wanted nothing more than to leap out in a protective stance simply because this woman was here. All his dragon wanted to do was—protect her. From what, Ash had no idea.

  Teagan's luminous eyes widened even more the longer she looked into his. Ash realized his pupils must have elongated somewhat, indicating that his dragon hovered very close beneath the surface. This time, he did swear quietly under his breath. She would think she was the insane one if he couldn’t get control of himself.

  Closing his eyes, he took a long, deep inhale through his nose. Well, that was a bad idea. All it did was flood him with Teagan's intoxicating scent, like decadent sweet cream with a kick of nutmeg. It certainly didn't do anything to calm his dragon.

  Teagan looked again at the spot where Ash's hand pulled back his collar, her eyes darkening as her face seemed to settle into an indecipherable yet deep emotion. Ash stood there, right hand displaying the ugly history recorded upon his body, his left arm held rigid at his side, fingers slightly curled in defense. His entire body felt hard and tense. Ready for—something. He wasn't quite sure what. Inside, he felt his dragon as poised and tense as he was, left wing half unfurled, every molecule of his body focused directly on the woman before him.

  Slowly, Teagan raised her eyes up to Ash's face again. Keeping her gaze on his, she did something he didn't expect. She reached her hand slowly forward and up till her fingers touched the back of his right hand. As if in a trance, she let her fingers slowly trace the scars on the back of his hand. "Let me see," she finally said, her voice quiet. There was a certainty there, a strength, that she hadn't displayed before.

  Startled, he complied. As he moved his hand out of her way, Teagan let her fingers slip off to land softly on his neck. Lighter than a butterfly's touch, she traced the ruin of his skin. She slowly rippled her fingers down the side of his neck, if she were playing the keys of the piano. Traveling the ridges of his scars, she gently touched the shiny patches of his disfigured skin. The room was alive with what seemed like the electricity promised by a thunderstorm. Ash's dragon rumbled deep inside him, just as startled and awed by Teagan's touch.

  She moved her fingers down his collarbone, into the soft, smooth, unblemished hollow at the base of his throat. Her fingers stayed there for several beats of his pulse as the blood roared in his ears. An old desire, one familiar yet also completely new, hot and aching and endless, whispered along the nerve endings he had left. It trembled through his entire body, slamming into him wild images of kissing the woman senseless. Of tasting every inch of her luscious body while she lay in his bed.

  His dragon bugled with need. With a nearly overwhelming insistence, he flung himself at Ash's mind, demanding to be let out so he could safeguard this woman. So he could—claim her?

  One useless wing feebly beat at the edges of Ash's remaining rational thought, abruptly crushing him with the pain of loss and the bitter rage of impotence. Claiming a woman was out of the question for a damaged, scarred man like himself.

  Faster than thought, Ash's hand whipped up to clap over hers, seizing her wrist.

  "Stop," he said, his still dragon-roughened voice so low it was barely audible, "touching me."

  * * *

  As she touched him, Teagan's entire body thrummed with alternating waves of cold and heat as shock and another confusing emotion flared over her. Then Ash grabbed her hand in a viselike grip, breaking the wild spell that seemed to have overcome her and turned her into a crazy woman. His fingers pressed hard into the underside of her wrist, although not hard enough to actually hurt, as he wrenched her hand back away from him.

  But he still held her wrist.

  Furthering her enormous confusion, Teagan felt a sizzling spark race up her arm where his fingers lightly grasped her. Holy crap, it felt like an actual sizzle. Totally freaked by her reaction to him—she'd just reached out and touched the man's scars! Like a completely insane person! He was a client, for crying out loud. What in the crazy heck was wrong with her?—she finally yanked her trembling arm away. Standing there, whole body now shaking, she felt light-headed.

  "How dare you?" Fierce astonishment vibrated in his voice. His eyes, though, were filled with an odd wonder. Almost a tenderness.

  Gasping, she shook her head like a jerky marionette, breaking the spell of madness that had seemed to hold her. “Oh, my gosh! I am so, so sorry!” The words wheezed out of her constricted, dry throat. “I have no idea what I was thinking. I—you must think I'm insane,” she whispered, staring at him as a cold terror now seemed to freeze her. “I think I'm insane.”

  The words fell into the room like tiny pebbles lightly dropped into a deep pool. They looked at each other for another long moment. The mystery man—Ash, she thought, which was really such a freaking cool name, and holy crap was he the sexiest man she'd ever seen in her life, scars or no scars, but it didn't much matter because he was probably about to have her thrown out of his house—took a breath, visibly trying to compose himself. His eyes, their bright green color like emeralds almost more alluring than she could handle, still fixed on hers.

  It was like he was trying to figure her out. Or...was he trying to figure himself out?

  Almost as if he could hear her thoughts, his face started to close down. Fascinated despite her horror at her behavior, Teagan watched it happen. First his eyes got cold and dark, then his entire face went sort of blank.

  Right. This sort of thing, she recognized without question. The mask. He was pulling on the mask again. Hiding behind it. Wel
l, could she blame him? She'd just gone all Basic Instinct on him. He was probably, she thought in a semi-hysterical babble of brain panic, about to call the police. Holy crap. She'd be hauled away in handcuffs. She'd be charged with assault. She'd—

  “Thank you, Ms. Lambert.” His voice was chillier than the ice cascading through her veins. “Please leave the tablet here. I will look at your photos to assess the repairs you have made to my book, then return it to the Center. Eamon will see you out.”

  The doors to the library opened. Teagan was aware of Eamon standing there, waiting for her, but she still felt rooted to the spot. She felt physically unable to make herself walk away from this man. From Ash. She stared at him. His hard mask was firmly in place, covering up the world-tilting moment that had swept over them both. His hands were now at his sides, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white on his left hand. On his right hand, the scars burned an angry red, the skin pulling taut. His hand trembled just slightly, making her realize how difficult it was for him to clench it.

  The pain it must be causing him jarred her, causing a sympathetic reflex she longed to share. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but he beat her to it.

  “Good day, Ms. Lambert.” He nodded toward the ornate doors, although his eyes didn't leave hers. Small flashes of what seemed like mint green flecks scattered amidst the overall darker shade made her blink. It was like there were other little lights in his eyes, lighting up within the darker shade. She could have sworn they were much brighter just a few seconds ago.

  Swallowing, trembling herself as the enormity of what she'd just done hit her in another sickening wave, Teagan jerkily nodded back before walking away on legs that felt numb. As she left the room, the anxious jumble of her thoughts coalesced into one rhythmic beat that chased all the way to her car: something huge and significant had just happened.

  The only problem was, she had no idea what it was, other than maybe the end of her career.

  7

  Ash strode around the darkened corner of his estate's palatial gardens, hands clenched into useless fists at his sides. His left eye twitched with the sensation of helpless fury that gripped him every other moment. Blowing out a harsh snort, he tried instead to take deep, relaxing breaths as his feet clipped along the flagstone walkways that circled the gardens.

  His fists clenched again as he rounded the corner and stalked past a bed of exquisite chocolate cosmos flowers, their burgundy silk color teasing beneath the gentle glow of the low garden lights. Their color reminded him of the woman's eyes. Teagan's eyes. His right hand clenched and he stalked along faster.

  Of course, his right hand could clench neither as tightly or firmly as his left. The skin pulled painfully, and the slightly atrophied hand muscles protested. Almost unconsciously, he tightened it again as he strode through the gardens. Testing it. It no longer throbbed with searing agony, the way it had in the first weeks and months of his healing. Even so, the skin and muscles would never be what they had been. They were damaged beyond repair. This was probably as good as it would ever get. Swearing under his breath, he picked up his pace, forcing his equally somewhat blighted right leg to stretch and work, even at this easy clip in what was not a huge area.

  Behind him, another's footsteps sounded. Ash eased to a stop, trying to center himself. There was no need for his confused, strangely aggressive mood to be taken out upon one of his best, oldest friends in the world. His dragon contested that with an irritated bugle that ended in a snort, restlessly bumping against Ash's mind in a mirror of the consternation that flooded him. Growling at himself, Ash forced himself to focus on the moment.

  On anything but the gorgeous, confounding, simply transfixing woman who'd abruptly thrown his life into a very unexpected upheaval.

  Only when the footsteps behind him slowed and then stopped completely did he turn his head. "I thought I was going to die an old man out here waiting for you," Ash snapped. Damn it. He'd wanted to sound lighthearted. Unfortunately, the irritation of his earlier thoughts clung to his tone. He winced at himself. It was a wonder he had any friends left, given what an ass he'd been behaving like recently. Cold, as he'd been to Teagan Lambert yesterday.

  She'd let him feel, for a moment. Feel hope. Much as it had fascinated him, it also scared the hell out of him.

  A good-natured chuckle was the only response. Ash turned fully around to see Nick shaking his head at him. Dressed in a tailored, expensive suit that might surprise his students at the Institute who were much more accustomed to seeing their sword instructor dressed in casual practice clothes, right now Nicholas Brenton looked every inch the wealthy, powerful dragon shifter he was. He shrugged good-naturedly at Ash. "Sorry I'm late. I was held up at the Institute. Now. What was so important that you needed me to stop by in the midst of my extremely important, busy day?"

  At his mock haughty tone and expression, Ash couldn't help but snort out laughter. It dispelled some of the moodiness that had gripped him. "Oh, stuff it. You may have the rest of the world fooled, but I know you're nothing more than a troublemaker still ruled by his hormones like a teenage boy."

  Nicholas laughed in turn. The scion of a very ancient, well-blooded lineage that still held considerable sway over the most powerful European dragon shifter families, Nick had been not only quite the ladies' man but also a daredevil hellion in his wayward youth. Ash should know, since he'd been present for most of said wayward moments that had often landed them in very hot water with their elders. Their partner in crime, Sebastian Bernal, had completed the trio as they got up to an extraordinary amount of hijinks. In adulthood, Ash was often surprised they'd ever survived.

  The two men were still Ash's best friends, despite how their time spent together had changed after the accident. They'd weathered a painful yet thankfully brief rift as well during Ash's subsequent deliberate withdrawal into seclusion. He still saw them often enough, but it almost always was in the private sanctuary of either his home or one of theirs. On occasion, Ash went to the Bernal Center to examine this or that ancient artifact, but it always was after hours or via private entrances. He and his friends no longer went out publicly to paint the town red. Those days were over for Sebastian anyway, ever since he'd found his mate, Lacey. As for Nicholas… Ash highly doubted Nick would ever settle down. Nick was still the consummate ladies' man, his general attitude toward women being that they were enjoyable in the short-term yet far too much work in the long term.

  "That was a bit of a dirty trick you pulled the other night, by the way." Ash abruptly changed the direction of the conversation. A vivid flash of Teagan's dark red hair and stunning face burst into his mind. His dragon bugled in that newly possessive tone, still restless inside of Ash.

  Nick gave him a puzzled look as he fell into step with him and urged them to keep walking around the garden. "I haven't played any dirty tricks on you. Not lately."

  Ash huffed out another chuckle. He curled and stretched his damaged hand as they walked, willfully ignoring the bite of shortened, twisted muscles as he did so. "Making me come to the Institute. For the sword."

  "Ah, the sword. Do you like it, then?" Fully justified pride rang through Nick’s voice. He knew damn well how good he was not just as a swordsman and an instructor, but as a craftsman. He could not only forge a sword out of his own dragon's fire, but repair even the most ancient, magical ones in existence, such as Ash's recent acquisition—well, repatriation was more like it—from the auction. Nick wasn't from one of the oldest, most powerful, most magically inclined dragon lineages out there for nothing.

  Allowing himself an appreciative grin, Ash lengthened his stride somewhat as they turned down a longer end of the garden. "Like it? That sword is by far the most amazing one I've ever touched in my life. Thank you," he added, turning to look directly at his close friend for a sincere moment. "I can't be sure how much it'll help me, but it's a good start."

  Huffing out a satisfied exhale of quick relief, Nick nodded. He waved at Eamon, who had appe
ared on the back terrace of the house to set up the light lunch Ash had requested. Looking at Eamon, Nicholas frowned in concern.

  "You sure he doesn't need more help here?” Nick gave Ash a slightly accusatory glance. “There are a few younger members from my fealty family who would jump at the chance to align themselves with you. The Connolly name is a powerful draw, Ash. They would do well here. And they sure as hell would never judge you."

  Ash focused on his walking, ignoring the concerned look he knew his friend tossed at him, too. "No, Eamon has his routine down. I'm hardly demanding anyway. I just gave the man a week off,” he added, deliberately changing the direction of the conversation. “He went to the Bahamas. With his lady love."

  "He has a lady love?” Amused, Nick threw a thumbs up at Eamon, who didn't catch it as his back was turned. “Well, damn. Go, Eamon."

  Ash nodded, prepared for Nicholas to press him on the need to get more help around his estate so as to ease the workload on Eamon, but Nicholas dropped it. Instead, he said, "All right, the sword will work out. What about the book? Have you asked Sebastian to set one of his conservators on it yet?"

  Ash’s dragon bugled again, the golden-red sheen of his hide rippling through Ash's mind as he sat back on his haunches and bellowed with a fierceness Ash hadn't heard for some time. He thought again of Teagan. Hell, it wasn't again so much as that he hadn't stopped thinking about her ever since she'd threatened to have his head sliced off in the parking lot of the Institute. And, of course, since she'd touched his face and his scars with the lightest fingers he'd ever felt upon his skin. The unexpected fierceness to her lingered with him as well. Then there was her beauty, matched by her incredibly voluptuous, strong, tall body that should be held close to his chest—