She looked in the direction of the low, nearby peak of a neighboring mountain, where the gryphon hid, keeping watch from a distance. It said something, didn’t it, that Graydon would even ask such a thing. A week ago—a day ago—the question would have been unthinkable.
“No,” she said dully. “He didn’t hurt me.” At least, he hadn’t hurt her anywhere that was visible. Inside, she felt like she was slowly bleeding from some vital artery.
“I’ll follow him.”
“No! Leave him be for now.” Unable to stand still, she paced through the clearing. “It’s my fault he left. I panicked and pushed him too hard. The gold and jewels—they were a bad idea. He doesn’t remember me. He doesn’t remember, Gray, and of course he was suspicious. I’d brought all his favorite things, and he thought I was baiting some kind of trap.”
“Take a deep breath,” Graydon said gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was a good idea, as far as it went. Are you sure I shouldn’t track him? What if he doesn’t come back?”
Scrubbing at her face with the back of one hand, she tried to think. Where would he go? What would he do?
She was excellent at predicting what Dragos would do and where he would go, but she had no idea what this strange, frightening creature might decide. The thought of the dragon prowling unchecked through the countryside made her stomach tighten even further.
But she had roused the dragon’s suspicions, and if he sensed Graydon following him, Dragos might attack him. Graydon could get hurt, or worse, killed. Dragos would never forgive himself if that happened, and she would never forgive herself either. Graydon’s kind, steady presence was one of the reasons why she had made it through such a dark, awful night, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.
“No,” she said again. “We can’t risk it. Maybe I raised enough questions in his mind that he’ll come back on his own for answers. He said he needed to think. For the moment, we’re going to have to trust him, and wait to see if he returns on his own.”
Those were some of the toughest words she’d ever had to say. They ranked right up there with telling Liam you have to be a big soldier now. The panicked animal inside her wanted nothing more than to chase after Dragos, but the thought of trusting the dragon who was even now acting without Dragos’s memories was almost insupportable.
“I want to join you,” Graydon said. “It’s going against all my instincts to leave you there alone.”
“Well, you can’t,” she replied flatly. “If he comes back, and he smells your scent, he’ll be even more convinced this is some kind of trap.” She glanced once more up into the sky. “For now, we’ll just have to wait.”
“Call me if anything changes, or if you need me to come. In fact, call me every half hour,” Graydon said. “I want to hear the sound of your voice, and know you’re okay.”
She knew what he wanted. Like Eva, he was scared, and he wanted reassurance. With the fact that Wyr mated for life, and with Dragos so critically injured, everything about their lives was unpredictable now, unstable.
But she had no more reassurance to offer Graydon than she’d had to offer Eva.
She said, “I’m not going to pretend to be fine. To tell you the truth, I feel pretty crazy, and I feel like I’m fighting for my life. But you’re going to have to trust me, too. I’m dealing with it. I’ll deal. And I’ll call you if I need you.”
He swore under his breath. After a moment, he said, “Okay, sweetheart.”
Hanging up, she stuffed the phone back into one of the side pockets of the pack. She had to get her act together. She didn’t know how long Dragos would be gone, and she was exhausted. Waiting through the long, terrible night as the sentinels searched for Dragos, dealing with legalities for both the Wyr demesne and for Liam’s sake—just in case—and the long hike up the mountain, along with confronting the dragon, had all taken their toll.
She needed to refuel and rest, at least as much as she was able, because she had no idea what would happen next.
Moving to the spring, she washed her face and arms in the icy water then drank as much as she could hold. Afterward, she forced herself to choke down a couple of vegan protein bars, and she wrapped up the gold bricks and jewels and stuffed them back into her pack.
The heat of the afternoon was fading, and the shadows from the trees lengthened. Even though it was high summer, it got cold in the mountains at night. She pulled one of the last treasures from her pack, a sturdy, flannel-lined jacket. Wrapping it around her torso, she curled into a tight ball against the trunk of the tree and fell into an uneasy doze.
Come back. Please come back to me.
* * *
The rush of gigantic wings roused her.
Scrambling to her feet, she watched as the dragon wheeled overhead. Inside, relief and tension grappled for supremacy, but in the end relief won out.
He had returned, and he didn’t have to. He could have just as easily left. He had no stake in this location. He came back because she was here, and he wanted those answers.
While she had dozed, afternoon had turned to early evening, and the sky overhead had turned vivid, framing the dragon’s bronze body with jewel tones. Light and graceful as a cat, despite his massive size, he landed on the ledge.
His muzzle was coated with bright, fresh blood. She could smell it from where she stood. It was cow’s blood. Somewhere nearby, a farmer was missing some cattle. If we survive this, she thought with grim gallows humor, someone is going to have to hunt that farmer down and pay him for his trouble.
Ignoring her as if she didn’t exist, Dragos strode to the spring to rinse his muzzle and forepaws, sleek muscle flowing under his bronze hide.
She studied him thoughtfully. He seemed to be moving better, with more ease and surety. The jagged wound at his brow looked partially healed, but she didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried about that.
All she knew was that she wasn’t buying his act. He might pretend to ignore her but he knew very well, probably to a fraction of an inch, where she was standing.
Still without looking at her, Dragos said, “Where’s my treasure?”
His treasure. She cocked her head, resting her hands on her hips. If the situation hadn’t been so serious she might have smiled. Even now, amidst all his suspicions, the dragon remained as possessive as ever.
“I apologize for what happened earlier,” she said, keeping her voice as soft and even as she had before. Nonaggressive, nonthreatening. “I understand that you have cause to be suspicious of anyone who approaches you as I did, but I meant no insult by offering the gifts, nor was I baiting any kind of trap. I was only hoping to strike a bargain with you.”
“Ah, yes,” he replied, glancing cynically over his shoulder. “Because I’m the only one who can help you find your mate.”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
He finished washing, circled and stretched out on the rough, stony ledge with all the arrogance of an emperor assuming his throne. Only then did he look directly at her, the expression in his great, gold eyes confrontational and cold.
The impact was almost overwhelming. She had seen him give his enemies just such a look before, but he had never looked that way at her until now.
He said, “That doesn’t answer my question.”
Tucking in her chin, she leveled her gaze at him. While he might have chosen to return, the decision seemed to have put him in a pissy mood. “What difference does it make? You clearly didn’t want it.”
The dragon narrowed his eyes. “I’ve changed my mind. You will bring it to me.”
Normally, her impulse would be to back talk to all that monumental arrogance, but she curbed it. Now wasn’t the time to sass him. There was no hint of indulgence in his current demeanor, or softness. This was all about establishing dominance. His entire attitude demanded that she prove herself.
Bowing her head, she knelt to open her pack and pull out the packets of gold and jewels. Gathering them in her arms, she walked toward him.
About fifteen feet away, she slowed to a stop. When she made as if to kneel, Dragos said, “Bring it closer.”
Obediently, she took a few steps closer. The force of his personality pressed against her skin. His Power boiled around his physical form like an invisible corona, and despite the gravity of the situation, the desperate animal inside of her drew comfort from his closeness and calmed.
“Closer,” the dragon said again, watching her intently.
He was lethally unpredictable, easily the most dangerous creature she had ever known or met, and at the moment, he did not remember he loved her.
She was supposed to stay wary of him, but it was too hard to maintain when she was so tired and it went against every one of her instincts. With a sigh, she approached until she could set the packets on the ground between his outstretched forelegs.
When she straightened, he lowered his head until the large curve of his nostrils stopped a few inches from her hair. They stood like that for some time, breathing quietly. As she looked up into one immense, molten eye, she wanted very badly to stroke his muzzle, or to take out her small penknife, slice the palm of her hand and lay it against that terrible, half-healed wound on his brow.
That wound had taken everything from her. No matter how suspiciously or aggressively Dragos treated her at the moment, she never forgot—that wound was the real enemy.
But she didn’t dare go quite that far, not without his express permission. If she made a mistake and pushed him too far, he could lash out at her again, and they would both lose everything.
“Now, tell me about this ‘horrible misunderstanding,’” he ordered.
At a loss, she glanced around the clearing. How could she explain what had happened in such a way that the dragon could accept it? So much depended on concepts and relationships built over centuries.
He was Lord of the Wyr demesne, the head of a multibillion-dollar corporation, and a husband, mate and father, and yet earlier, the dragon didn’t even know his own name.
Taking in a deep breath, she said in a cautious, low voice, “It wasn’t any kind of attack. I swear it. You’ll know that for yourself, as soon as you remember more.”
“If it wasn’t an attack, then what was it?”
“An accident,” she whispered. She wiped her cheeks with both hands. “A terrible, terrible accident. You were helping with building a project, and you were all working together.”
It was impossible to tell if he believed her. The dragon’s face remained expressionless. “How did this accident occur?”
The evening before, she had asked the very same thing of Aryal, but she had only half comprehended the answer.
Now, she said, “I don’t know all the details of what happened, but what I do know is that you were setting off a series of small, controlled explosions in a large section of bedrock that bordered a lake.”
“Why?” He watched her closely.
“The site is where a large building is going to be constructed, so the area needs to be level in certain places. But there was a buried fault line in the rock nobody knew was there. It looked solid when it was inspected, but it wasn’t. You—along with a couple of other men—you all thought you were safe where you were standing, around one edge of the bluff.”
She paused, but he said nothing, his steady breathing stirring her hair. Lacing her fingers together, she twisted her hands and continued, “When the explosion went off, the force of it blew through the fault line, and blasted out where you were standing. They call that kind of accident ‘flyrock’ in construction and quarry blasting—it’s material projected outside a declared danger zone. At least that’s how it was explained to me. When the fault line was breached, a whole section of the area collapsed. You were all buried underneath it. One man died. The rest of you were badly injured.”
After a moment, he said, “Your mate was at this building site.”
The question took her by surprise, and she had to swallow before she could reply. “Yes,” she whispered. “He’s disappeared.”
“You think I know where he is.”
She shook her head. “No, but I believe you can help me find him.”
“And you claim you’ve healed me before.” The very lack of expression with which he said that indicated the depth of his skepticism.
“That must sound pretty outlandish to you.” She tried to smile. “I guess it is pretty outlandish. It’s been an outlandish kind of a year.”
If he had such a hard time believing she might want to heal him, just wait until he found out about Peanut. She could imagine how well that conversation would go down.
“I don’t remember you,” he said.
Her head drooped. Of course, she knew that, but the clinical, dispassionate way in which he said it was every bit as devastating as the actual reality. All the passion she felt for him, this tremendous, consuming storm of love…
None of it was returned. None of the need, or his own love for her, manifested in anything he said or did. Here he was, as strong as ever, living and breathing in front of her, and she felt as if someone immeasurably precious to her had died.
“I wish, so very much, that I could find some way to convince you to let me heal you,” she said unsteadily. “I wish it for your sake, so that you can feel better, and maybe—just maybe—your memories might return to you. But most of all, I wish it for my sake, because I miss my mate with all my heart, and I would do anything or give anything to get him back again.”
“The wound is already healing.” He added deliberately, “I don’t need you either.”
Maybe he was only speaking the truth as he knew it, but that seemed unnecessarily cruel, and it took everything she had not to lash out at him because of it.
Her voice hardened. “Maybe you don’t need me, or maybe you only think you don’t. You still don’t remember what happened to you last week, or the week before, or the week before that. You don’t know which of your old enemies might be close by, or what new enemies you might have made. You’re vulnerable, Dragos, in a way you’ve never been vulnerable before, and I’m the only ally you’ve got who’s offering you any kind of help.”
Silence fell between them, and it was just long enough for her to castigate herself again for pushing him too hard when she had promised herself she wouldn’t.
He stirred, shifting his long, bulky body, and by his very restlessness, she knew she had scored a hit.
“What is this healing you would attempt?” Dragos tilted his head to watch her more closely. “Do you really think it would help my memories return? I will not tolerate any kind of spell.”
The surge of hope she felt was almost as unbearable as everything else had been in the last twenty-four hours. “I can’t tell you how much I hope it will help you get your memory back, but the truth is, I don’t know,” she told him. Unable to resist any longer, she laid a hand on his muzzle and stroked him. “I can promise you this—I would never hurt you.”
A part of her thrilled to note he didn’t pull back from her gentle caress, but then he had to go and spoil it.
“Of course you wouldn’t, not if you have any hope of me helping you find your mate,” he said, the cynical tone back in his voice.
She nearly smacked him on the nose, as she snapped, “Of course.”
“Do it,” he told her.
For a moment she could hardly believe her ears. Before he could change his mind, she dug into the front pocket of her jean shorts and pulled out her penknife. Under his sharp, distrustful gaze, she sliced open her palm.
“There’s no spell,” she told him, her voice tight with nerves. “It’s just my blood. Bend your head to me.”
Slowly, still watching her, the dragon bent his head down farther. She laid her bleeding palm lightly against his wound.
Power flowed out from her palm. Dragos sucked in a breath and shuddered. After a long moment, she pulled her hand away and inspected his wound in the failing light.
It had already been half healed, and as she watched, th
e wound faded into a bone white scar.
Dragos released a long sigh. She asked, “How do you feel?”
“Better. The headache is finally gone.” The dragon met her gaze. “But I still don’t remember you.”
Chapter Five
As he said the words, Dragos watched the light that had brightened her eyes dim. Her eyes were quite beautiful, he realized. Large and expressive, they showed her every emotion. Her shoulders slumped, and her head bowed.
“Okay.” Her voice had turned dull and flat, matching her dejected expression. “At least we tried.”
She turned to walk away.
He frowned. He didn’t like the sight of her walking away from him. The realization seemed to echo in his mind, almost as if he had thought it once before. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“It’s getting cold. I’m not like you. I don’t have your kind of body heat. I’m going to gather wood for a fire.” She didn’t look around at him as she spoke. “I should have done it earlier.”
His frown deepened. While his presence deterred other predators in the immediate area, the ground was rocky and steep, and the gathering dusk would make traversing it dangerous for someone who was so much more fragile than he.
He said abruptly, “I didn’t say you could leave me.”
Her stride hitched, and the angle of the back of her head seemed to express… exasperation? When she replied, her words had turned edged. “And I didn’t ask you.”
At that impudence, he growled a low warning, but she paid no attention and walked into the tree line. How dare she ignore him?
A new realization sidelined his burst of anger. While it was true he didn’t remember her, the lack of pain and the absence of the fiery wall in his mind allowed something to surface—a single word that carried a huge concept.
Wyr.
Certainly she was unlike him, as she wasn’t a predator, but still, she was like him in a fundamental way. They were both Wyr, both two-natured creatures.
Like him, she had an animal form that was somehow tied to her cool, witchy moonlit Power, the Power that had cascaded over his hot pain, easing and healing it.