Vampire Dragon Read Online Free PDF Page B

neither!”
    Earth women: a puzzle he must learn to solve. Well, he wouldn’t try to learn all women. Just this one, Goddess help him.
    “Bronte,” Vivica said. “Darkwyn kept you from getting crushed by the falling casket and got hit in your place. If he hadn’t pushed you from harm’s way, you could have been killed. As far as tossing you such a distance, he simply doesn’t know his own strength.” Vivica gave him a pointed look. “And that , he has to learn, among other things.”
    “More to the point,” Zachary said, his eyes narrow, making him look wiser than his years, “why didn’t the casket kill him, instead of him killing it ?”

FIVE
     

     
    This Darkwyn Dragonelli guy—he ho’d oddly offered her his protection, she should remember—didn’t look like a casket fell on him, Bronte thought. ”Are you hurt? Headache? Anything?”
    “A few bruises,” he said. “ You caused the most damage.”
    Bronte’s face got warm. She would have preferred to put his nuts in a vice at the time. Rather late to be sorry.
    Zachary scoffed. “Who are you? Super Dude?”
    Bronte caught Vivica giving Darkwyn a warning look. “He works out,” the owner of Works Like Magick said.
    Bronte nearly laughed. That sounded like a lie, yet she was surprisingly inclined to let it pass, as inclined as Zachary seemed. She could tell by the tension leaving the boy’s shoulders that he’d found a spark of hope in this man—bad, very bad, to count on a stranger—but not surprising given Dragonelli’s obvious strength, his formidable rescue, and the offer of help Zachary overheard.
    She regarded Darkwyn, the man who’d saved her, who’d sensed her need to hide—chilling thought—and offered his help, to the death, a slow route to a certain end, if only he knew it.
    And yet he’d touched a chord in her, a burgeoning sense of trust she couldn’t shake. Hope, long abandoned, and a glint of faith, came to life despite her knowing better, all stirred by a cloaked stranger’s actions.
    She should not trust him.
    He’d saved her, albeit brutally, offered his help, appeared like a god from the sky, naked and gazing up at her with his otherworldly savior’s eyes, violet, like hers. She’d never seen the like, except in her mirror. A grand reminder. She was no saint, and despite his gallantry, neither was Darkwyn Dragonelli.
    Human, the both of them.
    Humans did stupid things.
    She so did not want to make another stupid mistake, like trusting this man. But he’d kept her from being crushed by a casket—some kind of universal prank, given her appalling karma. He’d saved her by tossing her in Cat Cove, then by rescuing her, again . Neither a saint nor a savior, just a gallant, perceptive man who saw her disguise for what it was.
    Pray the goddess, he would never see past it to the real her.
    “You saved me twice,” she said. “I owe you my sincere thanks. Not that I do humble well, but I appreciate . . . everything.” Yes, being indebted, even in thanks, rubbed her the wrong way, but she said it, and swallowed the bitter aftertaste.
    She’d declared her independence years before with no intention of going back. Not even for a man who touched her on every level, especially the emotional and physical. Of course, if they’d had a meeting of minds—if he saw into hers, which, praise be, was impossible—she’d have to abandon ship, take Zachary, and run. Again.
    “Humble?” he questioned, mocking her?
    She’d lowered her standards for him, but no smile marred his square cut features, not even at her admitted conceit. Actually, only the icy purple scar across his cheek and the curved scars, like humongous claw marks, that ran up his neck from beneath his cape marred the perfection of his features.
    Perhaps he would fight to the death. Perhaps he had already done so. Physical trust she could manage, but never emotional, which is why she’d give him a job, nothing more.
    Curiosity rode her. Where did his scars begin