Quentin’s house was at the end of the road, on the beach side. It was larger than many of the cottages she had passed, with its own short off-street driveway and garage. After parking, she shouldered her packages and entered the house, which had an empty feel to it, although thanks to a monthly cleaning service, it was at least fresh and clean.

There were three bedrooms to choose from. She put away the food and then picked the largest bedroom with an en suite bathroom. She threw the toiletries on the bathroom counter and piled her new clothes and underwear on top of a dresser. She found towels and bed linens and made the bed, moving slowly and methodically. As soon as the bed was made, she took off her jeans, climbed under the covers and curled up as she hugged a pillow.

Soon she would start thinking about her next steps and try to make a plan. Even if Cuelebre couldn’t come this deep into the Elven demesne, he had more money than God and probably more employees too. She didn’t dare stay too long.

She would close her eyes for just a little while.

She woke with a start several hours later. For several bleary moments she couldn’t remember where she was or why. Then memory flooded in, and she sagged back against the pillows.

Okay. Life sucked. But at least she didn’t have another freaky sex dream where she got bitten.

The room felt sticky and overwarm. Though the curtains were drawn, it seemed from the diffuse light that the sun was at a much lower angle than when she had first lain down. She pushed out of bed and dressed in some of her new clothes, lowhipped capris, sandals and a red tank with spaghetti straps. Her br**sts were high, rather small and firm, so she didn’t bother with a bra.

She peered outside. It was early evening, maybe around five o’clock. She went to the bathroom to splash her face with cold water. After dragging a brush again through her recalcitrant hair, she pulled it back in another ponytail. Then she went to the kitchen/dining room area, which was separated by a counter and bar stools. The dining area had sliding glass doors that opened to a large deck with a few simple pieces of patio furniture. Stairs led to the beach.

She went down the stairs. She stood on the sun-warmed sand and breathed deep for several minutes as she gazed at a limitless horizon and listened to the murmurous dance of a calm ocean as it played against the shore. Kicking off her sandals, she walked close to the water’s edge and let sea foam surge across her toes. It was very cold. The tension that had taken up residence between her shoulder blades eased. She watched a seagull hover over the water and let herself exist in the moment. Then she walked along the water’s edge.

With the onset of early evening, there were few people on the beach. A woman with two children wandered along the water’s edge about fifty yards away, picking up shells and rocks, until someone shouted from a cottage and they went inside.

She sighed and tried to think through the obstacle course in her head. She bounced from idea to idea like a pinball in an arcade machine. At least the sleep had helped to clear her mind.

She wondered if Keith were still alive. She was surprised to find she felt sadness at the thought. She wondered at the shadowy Power that had given her an artifact strong enough to get past Cuelebre’s aversion wards. She shied away. Don’t think about that.

Then she thought about Quentin’s fierce protectiveness, his stubborn insistence on helping her and the bone-cracking hug he had given her. Her eyes watered. Okay. Don’t think about that either. Keith was gone. Quentin was gone. Her life was gone.

She scowled and scrubbed at her eyes. So what did she know? Cuelebre knew her name. Got that problem covered. He knew what she looked like. He might even know what she smelled like, so she could change her appearance, maybe dye her hair and cut it short, but she would have to be extra smart to obscure her scent trail.

I can’t stay here, and I need to ditch the Honda. I need to get new wheels and make it an arbitrary switch, difficult to trace, maybe change rides a couple of times fast. It might slow him down. I need to move in a random way and disconnect completely from Quentin and my past. And I need to find a way to block that bastard from my dreams.

To do that, she would need more magical expertise than she could muster. Her mother could have kept herself obscured, in both a psychic and physical sense, but her blood didn’t run as strong in Pia. While she had a highly educated sense for magic, she couldn’t do half the things her mother could have done.

The last gift Quentin had given her the night before had been an 800 number that he had made her memorize. I know people in Charleston, he’d said. If you need help, call them.

Did she dare? Who were these people? She turned north and started walking back to the beach house. And did she dare stay here another night?

She glanced at the sky and paused. In the distance over the water, a patch of the sky rippled. It looked like the watery shimmer of heat waves off an asphalt highway on a hot summer day. But the May evening was cooling down, the sky just starting to darken in the east and there was no asphalt anywhere near that ripple.

She shaded her eyes. What was it? It was big and seemed to be getting bigger fast. She watched the patch grow, her stomach clenching. She’d never seen anything like it before, but she knew it was wrong.

Wait a minute. That shimmering patch of air wasn’t growing bigger. It was getting closer.

Oh shit.

Pia’s thinking splintered into raw instinct. She whirled and sprinted. She may not have inherited many of her mother’s abilities, but if there was one thing she could do with an extravagance of talent, it was run. Her bare toes dug into the sand and she nearly flew down the beach.

But nearly flying isn’t the same as really flying. Even as she pushed with all the speed she had in her, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to outrun what hurtled toward her.

A shadow engulfed her from behind. She caught just a glimpse on the sand in front of her of an enormous winged shape with a serpentine neck and a long wicked head. Then the shadow collapsed in on itself and a split second later, a mountain slammed into her back.

She crashed into the sand so hard it knocked the breath out of her. The mountain resolved itself into the hard, heavy body of a male. Muscle-corded arms came down on either side of her. Huge hands latched onto her slim wrists while a long thigh crossed over the backs of her legs.

She wheezed, struggling to get her bruised rib cage to expand so her lungs could function, her palms and knees abraded from the impact. She stared at those imprisoning hands. Like the arms, they were powerful, colored a dark bronze that looked very dramatic against her pale skin.

Her mind wailed. She was so dead.

The male put his nose in her hair and took a deep breath. A convulsive shiver racked her body in response. He was sniffing her. She felt his nose at the back of her neck. He rubbed his face in her hair. A whimper was born and died at the back of her throat.

“Good chase,” he growled, his voice a dark rumble at her back.

She coughed and sand puffed up in front of her. “Not long enough.”

The weight lifted from her back, and he flipped her with mind-numbing swiftness. She slammed back into the sand, arms spread-eagled as he held her by the wrists again.

He bared his teeth at her in a machete smile. “We could always do it again.”

She thought of him letting her go and pouncing again, playing with her like a great cat, and shuddered.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she whispered. Her eyes had gone watery from the force of the impact that knocked her down. She tried to focus on the dark, fierce face bent over her. Then her vision came clear.

Cuelebre was breathtaking. Energy and Power boiled from him; he radiated it like a dark sun. He had a handsome brutality, facial features cut into bold lines and angles as if a sculptor had hewn him from granite. His skin was a dark brown with a bronze hue, and those brilliant dragon’s eyes were hot gold. In his human form he was almost seven feet tall, three hundred pounds of dominant Wyr male sprawled like an avalanche across her body. In comparison she felt delicate, very breakable.

His hair was inky black. Just like in the dream. It had slipped through her fingers like silk.

The shock of his assault had not begun to pass, but through it she noticed one astonishing thing. He had thrown his thigh over hers again. He stared at her neck. Realization pulsed. He was looking at the bite he had given her. A hard length was growing against her hip.

“So, is that your long, scaly, reptilian tail, or are you just happy to see me?”

No, she did not just say that.

Did she? She cringed in mortification, screwed her eyes shut and waited to be splattered all over the beach.

Nothing happened, good or bad. Yet. Maybe if she kept her eyes closed it wouldn’t.

She whispered through shaking lips, “I didn’t mean to say that. Um, pay no attention to the lunatic inhabiting this body.”

As silence continued she opened one cautious eye. He studied her, lava gaze alert with interest. “Are you possessed?” he asked.

She had to clear her throat twice before she could answer. “You would think so, wouldn’t you, with all the dumbass moves I’ve made over the last couple of months. I’ve been acting out a lot with all the stress. This stranger seems to have taken over my mouth. She doesn’t seem to come installed with a brake. No offense.” The corners of her lips lifted in a tremulous smile. “I bet you want your penny back, huh?”

He shifted with sinuous grace, letting go of her hands to kneel over her. His predator’s stare narrowed further. “What do you think?”

Her hands fluttered up and, unable to help herself, she straightened his shirt collar with shaky fingers. Her fingers looked like delicate white twigs against the thick column of his neck.

Dragos stared down at her hands. She let them fall to her chest and clasped her hands together. “I think,” she said in a low voice, “that you would do anything to get your property back. No matter what was taken, no matter what it took, no matter where you would have to go to find it.”

“No one takes what is mine.” His growl reverberated through the ground. He bared his teeth and bent down until he was nose to nose with her. “No one.”

Holy mother, he was terrifying and magnificent. He disappeared in a blur as her eyes watered again. She nodded and whispered, “I know. I—I don’t suppose this matters much to you, and I don’t expect it to change anything, but I am sorry.”

Dragos cocked his head, his attention sharpening. “So your note said.”

Voices grew closer. She craned her neck and saw a couple walking hand in hand toward them. Dragos put a hand over her mouth to keep her silent. As they both watched the oblivious couple pass not five feet away from them, she realized he had to be shielding them from curious eyes. Only thing to do. Otherwise someone might call the cops if they saw a man assaulting a woman on the beach. Then there might be a wholly avoidable massacre.

After the couple walked away, Dragos shifted his weight onto one hand and traced a finger down her cheek, followed her jaw down the side of her neck. He watched the path his finger took as it traced the delicate curve of her collarbone down to the edge of her shirt.

His finger felt hot and abrasive against the softness of her skin. She shivered harder and bit back a moan. Wow, she’d had no idea her sexuality was so messed up. Here was this predator of all predators exuding menace as he crouched over her. He was the only known real dragon in existence. It was like he was a natural monument or something.

Oh my God, not only is he older than the Grand Canyon, but he’s like the pope and the Fae King and the president of the United States all rolled up into one. To some ancient cultures he had been a god.

He was going to hurt her so bad before he killed her so dead, and all she could think of was how hot his kiss had been in the dream and how delicate the touch of his finger was as it traced down her body. Her mind stuttered. She looked down at his hand. Her breathing roughened as her heart raced.

Dragos picked up a lock of her hair and fingered it. Then he held it up to the evening sunlight. He turned it this way and that, staring at the strands. He did nothing at all to keep her pinned in place. The possibility of her escaping from him was that inconceivable. The force of his regard was such that her whole body trembled. A flush of sensual heat torched any coherent thought she might have had left. Her sex moistened in a liquid rush.

She couldn’t have been more humbled, more mortified, or felt more naked. With a Wyr’s ultrasensitive nose, of course he could smell every minuscule body change. He had to be aware of her growing arousal. He could no doubt read every passing emotion in the pheromones she exuded, whereas she couldn’t tell anything about him. His gaze was so shuttered, his expression so severe, she knew nothing at all about what he was thinking—except—

Pia looked down the length of that tremendous male body as he held himself poised over her, down the long torso that tapered from those wide shoulders to the hips that looked so lean and tight. He was dressed for function not fashion, in jeans and a plain white Armani button-down silk shirt, rolled at the arms and tucked at the waist.

She sucked at her bottom lip, staring at the indisputable evidence bulging underneath the zipper of his jeans. The bulge, like the rest of his human form, made her eyes widen. Alrighty. As far as size went the details in the dream hadn’t been wish fulfillment in the slightest.

She wondered if he could still be aroused while he ripped her head from her shoulders. He was a dragon, a Wyrkind beast, by general knowledge one of the most ancient of the Elder Races and by reputation wicked and cunning and ruthless. Normal humanlike thought patterns just didn’t apply.

“Well, this is socially inexplicable,” she muttered.

“Hush,” Dragos said.

She hushed, blanked her mind and waited, while she watched him study strands of her hair.