Keeping her voice calm and reasonable, she said, “Well, of course you did. How else would you act? You had just suffered a massive blow to the head, and you thought you were under attack.”
In the short amount of time they’d had together, they had shared some tough moments, but through it all, she had never seen him look so injured. He looked like he wanted to vomit.
“I almost killed you,” he said from the back of his throat. “I could have killed you. What kind of Wyr could do that to his mate?”
He was breathing raggedly, as if he had been running for a long time.
“You didn’t.” She put her arms around his shaking body and held him in her strongest, tightest grip, turning her head so that her cheek rested in the slight hollow of his breastbone. “You wouldn’t.”
He made an inarticulate noise that sounded crushed, and clenched her to him.
“I still don’t remember you,” he whispered.
A few hours ago, hearing those words had wounded her terribly, but now she knew better.
She rubbed his back soothingly. “Yes, you do. Somewhere deep inside of you, you do. We just have to be patient and give this some time.” Tilting back her head, she gave him a gentle smile. “Because I’m in your bones, too.”
Chapter Seven
Dragos didn’t know about that.
If she was in his bones, why did holding the delicate, feminine form in his arms feel entirely new? The perfumed scent of her hair was amazing. The trust she exhibited as she leaned against his body was revolutionary, life-changing.
He hadn’t earned her trust. It was a gift, like her healing, and the gold and jewels. Her generosity of spirit staggered him.
The different aspects of his personality raged against each other. He felt torn, pulled in too many directions. Part of him strained for the memories that weren’t there. He was shocked at so much evidence of his presence in this place, and furious that he could not feel a part of any of it.
Then there was the jealousy, which made him feel more insane than ever.
He hated the other Dragos, the one who had been a full participant in this rich, complex life. The one whom Pia obviously adored. He wanted to roar a challenge at that other dragon and tear him to shreds, until he was the only one left alive, the true victor and inheritor of all this bounty.
But there was no other dragon. There was only himself. The threat he sensed lay inside of him.
He was the one who had snapped at her. He could have killed her, without knowing, and then at some future date, he might have realized what he had done. He might have remembered that she was his mate. A cold nausea swept over him again at the thought.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I didn’t know. I could never have done it if I’d known.”
She rubbed his back with one slender hand. When she spoke her voice remained as gentle and pragmatic as ever. “I know how sorry you are, and I knew you would be. What happened here—I never wanted you to remember that. All I want is for you to remember us.”
Of course, she wanted her husband back. It seemed the time to say something reassuring, but he couldn’t reconcile the warring parts of himself enough to verbalize anything that didn’t sound completely crazy.
Things like, you are not his. You are mine.
I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you away from me.
Forget the time you had with him. Be with me, here and now, not some image of who you think I am supposed to be.
Growling in frustration, he gave up on words entirely, tilted up her head and covered her mouth with his. Her body softened readily, eagerly, against his, and her lips parted for his invasion.
This response should be his, but he couldn’t trust it. The things he felt were dark, tangled, and edged in violence. She thought she was kissing her husband. Instead she was kissing a savage creature. One who might kill anyone, or do anything to have her.
He wrenched his mouth away, and she made a soft sound of protest that went straight to his heart and groin alike. For a moment he thought she might tug on him to coax his head back down to her, and a greedy, ravenous part of him needed her to do it, to show him that she wanted him.
See me. Choose me.
Instead, she let him go and stepped away.
“Do you need more time here?” She sounded breathless.
“No,” he snapped. He watched her recoil, and part of him wanted to rampage through the night in a rage.
Cautiously, she peered sideways at him as she suggested, “Would you like to go back to the house?”
Back to the house, with the silent, empty nursery for an absent child, and the beautiful, serene suite of rooms the other Dragos shared with her.
Clenching his fists, he pressed them against his thighs. This was too volatile, even for him. He had to get in control of himself. How could he expect her to continue trusting him, if he didn’t trust himself?
“Go on back.” His tone was too short, and he fought to soften it. “I need a few minutes alone.”
She hesitated, her face tilted up to his like some rare flower that only emerged in moonlight, and while she tried to hide her anxiety, he could still sense it running through her slender form. “Are you sure?”
With a sudden flash of intuition, he realized what she was worried about. He touched her face. The softness of her skin was addicting. This time, when he reached for gentleness, it came to him readily. “I’m not going to leave,” he murmured. “I only want a few minutes.”
Her fingers curled around his, and she pressed her face into the palm of his hand. She said quietly, “Okay. I’ll see you back at the house.”
Some predatory instinct had him gripping the delicate angle of her chin, carefully to avoid bruising that soft skin. He said into her face, “I didn’t want to stop kissing you.”
The tiny sound of her indrawn breath brushed over his heated skin. Her heartbeat pulsed against the tips of his fingers. She whispered, “I didn’t want to pull away.”
I’m not who you think I am.
I am not the man you so badly want me to be.
He didn’t say it. Instead, he brushed her soft mouth with his lips, and never mind that he really was the other Dragos—this impulse to sensual intimacy was all new. It was the first time it had ever existed in his world, and trapped in a tangle of his own devising, the dragon had no idea how to tell her that.
Letting go of his hand, she stepped back, pivoted on her heel and walked back to the house.
He stared at her retreating form, his muscles tightening instinctively as she disappeared underneath the shadow of the trees. Once he was truly alone, he gave in to the savage, jealous creature inside, shapeshifted back into the dragon and prowled over every inch of the construction site.
He didn’t care what he looked at. He wasn’t searching for any kind of evidence of wrongdoing. That suspicion had been thoroughly laid to rest. The dragon simply picked through the rock and various items for something to do while the real activity happened inside his massive, convoluted mind.
He hadn’t left the gold and jewels back up the mountain for safekeeping. He had forgotten about it, and he’d only remembered when she had brought it up.
Which, he would have said, was rather unlike him. He never forgot about treasure. Never. Except for this time, when all of his attention had been focused on the real treasure in front of him.
There was only one creature he’d ever heard of who could heal with her blood, a creature that had long ago disappeared into myth and legend, and yet he knew that must be her true nature. He knew it like he knew how to make the fire respond to his commands.