mother. Audrey’s place among the Tigony had been granted at his discretion alone.
Crossbred children could possess extraordinary—and dangerous—gifts in unique combinations. Or they could possess nothing at all. Like Audrey. She’d never been immune to the rumors and scorn.
So she’d adopted the name Audrey after hearing it in an American movie. She and Malnefoley had agreed it best that she leave their Tigony stronghold in the high, craggy mountains of Greece. She had received her education at a boarding school in the States. Money and influence meant she’d eventually become an American.
She’d met Caleb at an innocuous college bookstore, amid used texts and supplies. Imperial Russian history—turned out they’d shared the class, rolling their eyes at their slightly insane Scottish professor. They wed before graduation, and she’d loved him with all her heart.
But she’d kept secrets. She was a Dragon King. Life before boarding school was a lie. He’d married an alias.
Despite her guilt, she’d protected her new life—and had buried the pain of her exile. Now she would never return to either of her homes. Jack was not only her son; he was all she had.
Standing, Leto glared down at her. “If you move from this spot, I’ll leave you for the night. Cold. Wet. No soap, clothes, or food.”
Clothes and food. “Any other threats?”
“You’ll be confined to your cage instead of being allowed free rein of the training room.”
“This is a training room?”
“For one such as you.”
His voice was almost powerful enough to force obedience. It was low and throaty, as if wounds could speak. The collar might as well have fused with his larynx. She shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the chilly water.
He strode down the corridor. His swagger was as maddening as it was fascinating. Ridged, well-built thighs powered his body with surprising grace. His bare back was a lacework of scars. Leather straps crisscrossed below his shoulder blades to hold the chest plate in place.
Sinew. Brawn.
Another shiver.
Audrey scrubbed the paper hospital gown from her skin. Naked, she turned away from the cavelike room. Dragon be, the brute was right. She was filthy. Dirt and dead skin sloughed off beneath her palms and fingernails. Although she was frozen through to her bones, she relished the feeling of starting over.
She would stay strong and learn what she could. No one would keep her from Jack. She only prayed to the Dragon that something of her little boy would remain.
The man returned. A chunk of soap landed by her hip. She snatched it up. A scant lather was enough to finish washing her body. She glanced behind her when she was about to wash between her legs. He squatted on the balls of his feet, with his back against the opposite wall. A folded pile of fresh clothes waited by his boots.
Goose bumps shivered up her wet back. He had grabbed her between the legs. The
The human laboratory guards had used her that way, when she’d been drugged and bound. Deep instinct told her this man would want her to fight back.
Turning away, she lathered her grimy hair. A year ago, she’d lived with Caleb and Jack in a sunny Manhattan condo overlooking a small park. Her bathroom had been filled with sexy indulgences. Loofahs. Bath salts. Moisturizers of all scents and purposes. It seemed so ridiculous now.
The woman she’d become appreciated a scant chunk of soap. At least it wasn’t an astringent, hazmat-level disinfectant. Her skin had toughened, like the rest of her. This soap was something almost . . . pleasant. A small change in the scheme of things, but a change she desperately needed.
“Come get your clothes.”
Of course. What man would miss the opportunity to ogle a naked woman? She’d only waited for him to command her in that rasping, broken timbre.
Clothes. Then food. Each step stretched before her like Dorothy on her way to the Emerald City. She nearly smiled. Jack had been four the first time they’d watched
Whatever this barbarian planned to do to her had nothing on that memory. Or the ones that followed: Caleb shot through the heart. She’d watched him die in an instant. Then came Jack’s screams. She’d caught sight of a Dragon King in a trench coat, just before a hood blacked her vision—but none of the horror.
Good and bad memories burned until she couldn’t breathe. Bodily pain could be disconnected, like flipping a switch. But messages from her heart attacked at unexpected moments.
Even when she stood wet and naked in front of a stranger.
Still shivering, she walked toward where he knelt. Never had she been so conscious of the surgical marks left by Dr. Aster’s experiments. Some scars never healed, not even for a Dragon King.
“Are you going to give me my clothes?”
“You have no possessions.”
She gritted her molars. “May I borrow them?”
The amusement in his eyes made her want to pluck them out. He flicked his wrist. A tank top and plain women’s briefs landed on her wet toes. A strange leather outfit followed.
“Get dressed.”
“Here?”
He nodded.
Let him look. Dignity had been replaced by one instinct: survival.
“My little boy is named Jack,” she said softly, just to herself.
She focused on her words rather than the vulnerability that punched her heart against her ribs.
The pants were tough, tanned leather lined with denim and what felt like . . . silk? The shirt was made of the same odd combination. Both fit snugly but with enough room to move. Had they taken her measurements while she was unconscious? Dragon be, there existed so many ways to violate a human being.
But she wasn’t human. Never had been, no matter how many Pixar films and bags of popcorn and bottles of lotion. That didn’t mean she could restrain the grief filling her chest like hot sand. She needed to speak it aloud. Audrey MacLaren had been a high school art teacher, married to a marketing exec. So content, she’d taken it for granted.
Now, that contentment was nothing but pain.
“Jack Robert MacLaren.” Stronger echoes touched the back wall of the training room. “He’s almost six. My husband’s name was Caleb Andrew MacLaren. He was thirty-four when he was murdered trying to defend our son. I would’ve liked the closure of attending his funeral. Instead, I was strapped to a laboratory table. Dr. Aster had taunted me that no one would investigate the crimes. ‘Our family has a great deal of influence, Mrs. MacLaren.’ He always used my married name. Salt in every wound.”
“I didn’t say you could speak.”
“So stop me.”
The beastly man stood. So damn tall. Audrey was a respectable five foot eight, but he dwarfed her. “Is that a dare?”
“I’m doing what I was told. Why do you care what I talk about? I needed a distraction while you slavered over me.” The clothes were armor, like wearing a fortress. Assurance lined her bones with steel. “Did that turn you on? For a defenseless woman to shiver and beg? If I grabbed between
Massive fists bunched along his thighs. His scarred lip twitched. Eyes narrowed to slits that glittered like deep brown topaz. A heavy pulse ticked at his temples, where his serpent tattoo stopped short. Branded by the Asters.
