Fury of Desire

She could tell by the look on his face. The mixture of concern and wariness made her chest go tight. Jeepers, she’d done it again. Gone deep six without proof and overreacted, allowing her past to infect the present. Which made Wick a casualty in her sad little war, didn’t it?

Not fun for him. Embarrassing as hell for her.

Unable to stop the shame, her cheeks warmed to a full blush. Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she uncurled her limbs and, with a push, sat upright. Drawing away, his hand slid from beneath the sheet, leaving a cold spot on her thigh. Rubbing her lips together, she searched for the right words. “I just insulted you, didn’t I?”

He shrugged, downplaying her explosive reaction.

“Sorry.” She shook her head. “I should’ve known better. Especially after last night.”

“Why? You don’t know me.”

“I saw you, remember?” Another image of him streamed into her head. Of him at the hospital, gentle hands on her arm, strong arms around her as he carried her down the stairs, the deep timbre of his voice in her ear. “You protected me and saved my life while doing it. There’s no reason you would hurt me now. I just…”

Her voice cracked, cutting off her words.

He raised a brow and waited for her to continue. The gesture struck her as odd. Not in a bad way, simply different. Most men would’ve rushed her along. Looked at their watch, maybe even tapped on its face and said, “chop-chop, honey.” Not Wick. He sat unmoving, patient, silent, giving her the gift of his time, allowing her to regroup. And as J.?J. stared at him, letting the quiet drift, she debated.

The pros. The cons. How much to admit… what to hold back.

Honesty was a rare commodity, one she liked more than most, but the truth didn’t always set a person free. She knew it, but as she held his gaze, something strange happened. J.?J. decided to be brave. She was tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of the games too. As the silence stretched and he remained patient in the face of her uncertainty, she lost her usual caution. Screw it. He seemed solid, trustworthy even, so… the heck with it. Time to test him and see where she landed.

Nervousness clogged her throat. J.?J. cleared it away. “I react before I think sometimes. My track record with men isn’t great, but that’s no excuse. So, if I hurt your feelings, I’m—”

“Who hit you?” he asked, his gaze so intense it scared her a little.

“My ex.”

“The male you shot?”

“Murdered, you mean?”

“Bullshit.” Shifting his weight on the stool, he pushed away from the side of the bed. Wheels squeaked as the distance between them grew. Two feet widened into three before he stopped the backward glide. “I read your file.”

J.?J.’s mouth fell open. “You read my—”

“Every last word.” As surprise spun her full circle, he growled, “Worthy males don’t hurt females, Jamison. The asshole deserved to die.”

Well, that was one way of looking at it. Another would be that she’d shot him in cold blood. The DA certainly thought so. Her regret, and the guilt that went with it, tended to agree. Gathering her hair in one hand, J.?J. pulled the heavy mass over her shoulder. As the blunt ends brushed over her breast, she shook her head. She’d done it all wrong. If she’d been smart, she would’ve listened to her sister and done the right thing: gone to the hospital, reported the abuse, and pressed charges. But hindsight was twenty-twenty, and she couldn’t go back. The past was past. It was over and done. Now she must live with the consequences along with the pain.

“No one deserves to die, Wick.”

“Not true,” he said, conviction in his tone. “I kill males who deserve it all the time.”

J.?J. blinked. All the time? Oh boy, that didn’t sound good.

“Like, ah…” J.?J. swallowed, wondering whether or not to ask. She didn’t want to piss him off, but safety required a certain amount of due diligence. Despite her reservations, she needed to know. “The dragons in the clearing?”

Watching her with predatory interest, he nodded and rolled his shoulders. Muscle reacted, rippling under his T-shirt, tightening over his biceps, sending shockwaves through her. Wow, he was strong. Way out of her league. Far too dangerous, and yet, intriguing too. A puzzle in need of solving. One she found difficult to resist.

Which posed a huge problem.

She didn’t need any more trouble. Didn’t want to feel the fascination either, but denying the pull wouldn’t make it go away. Wick owned her attention… and something else too. Her interest. Not good. Or even close to smart. He was a Dragonkind guy. She was a damaged girl. Nothing good would come from setting herself up for a fall. Now if only she could stop the questions whirling inside her head.

And her love of a good mystery.

Easier said than done.

Wick presented a fascinating conundrum. Quiet. Reserved. Yet willing to sit with her. She saw the dichotomy. Recognized its ilk and labeled it within seconds. Wick carried the mark of the exiled. Was branded by pain and the past… just like her.

“So you killed them because…” Flipping her hands palm up, she paused, playing fill in the blanks.

“We’re at war.”

“Why?”

“Long story and—”

“I’ve got time.”

“I’m more interested in you.” Boots flat on the floor, he planted his elbows on his knees and leaned toward her.

A stranglehold on the sheets, she shuffled on the mattress. Silly, she knew, but no matter how much he interested her, she didn’t want him to come any closer. Not yet. Maybe not ever. A death grip on her urge to turn tail and run, J.?J. bit the inside of her cheek. Her reaction bordered on irrational, but knowing it didn’t stop the pit of her stomach from churning. Or her relief when he straightened and pushed back another foot, making the stool squawk, giving her space, making her wonder…

Could he feel her apprehension? J.?J. frowned, rolling the assumption over in her mind. Logic said no. Instinct countered, throwing a big, fat yes into the ring.

His expression unreadable, he ran his gaze over her. “How are you feeling?”

“About what… the scary dragon stuff? Or in general?”

His lips twitched. “In general.”

“Okay, I guess. A lot better than before, but then…” Dropping her gaze to the bandage on her forearm, she picked at the tape and peeled the gauze away. J.?J. sucked in a soft breath. Holy moly, that was weird. Blood on the bandage, but no cut in sight. No scar either. A little freaked out but mostly grateful, she rubbed the smooth skin, then held her arm out for Wick’s inspection. “You already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Hoping and knowing are two different things, vanzala.”

Vanzala? An endearment of some kind?

J.?J. smiled, enjoying the possibility. No one had ever given her a pet name before. The idea struck a chord, making her insides warm with appreciation. Why? She had no godly idea. It was a stupid, knee-jerk response to the deep timbre of his voice, but… ah, hell. He sounded so good, like coffee ice cream smothered in dark chocolate sauce. Her absolute favorite. And foolish or not, she couldn’t deny she liked the sound of him.

“How did you do it?”

“The healing?” When she nodded, he said, “I’m half dragon, remember?”

Right. Of course. Dumb question, considering she’d spent the last hour watching him sleep, trying to come to terms with that fact. “So it’s magic or something?”

“Or something.”

“Well, aren’t you a wealth of information,” she said, reacting to his deflection. Or his unwillingness to share. Whatever the case, he preferred short answers. Four words or less seemed to be the norm for Wick. “All right, I’ll leave that one alone… for now… but—”

He snorted.

“But,” she said, a warning in her tone. Not that he cared. He was too busy