Thoughts flashed across the gargoyle’s citrine irises like heat lightning arcing across storm clouds, brilliant with emotion but too rapid to discern. Losa watched the quick flickering with mute fascination, poised for flight in case something violent smoldered forth . . . something predatory. Despite Hurricane’s worried expression and the protective slant of his posture as he approached her, one would be foolish to think him harmless. His entire aura sang with savage power. Each masculine angle, from the broad chiseled planes of his face to the beastly force of his frame, had been flawlessly honed to create a monster suited for destruction. Hurricane need only wish it, and he could crush the fragile girl the way a stag tramples a blossom. Effortlessly.

Another thrill of anxiety simmered in Losa’s breast as she awaited his reply. It spoke to the strength of their surreal connection that she did not immediately flee the dragon’s intimidating, magnificent presence, and instead hung suspended in the few steps between them. When Hurricane finally did speak—with that richly textured voice she recognized without knowing why—Losa visibly melted with relief. Somehow it pleased her that she’d worried him. It meant that he cared.

Of course, the lass wouldn’t admit that. She swallowed the faint smile that wanted to curve her velvets and tried to keep her expression as neutral as possible . . . instead of giddy as a lovesick twit. An almost impossible task, especially when the obsidian soldier gently bumped her shoulder with his handsome muzzle and made her sway slightly on her slender black-gloved limbs.

“Sorry,” she murmured, unable to stop the embarrassed prickling of her sable hackles in spite of her stubbornly serious muzzle. “I couldn’t find myself, either.” A stream of more idiot babble threatened to spill from her maw like a waterfall—but then Hurricane was leaning closer, arching the steel-cord length of his neck to inspect that odd mystery wound carved into her flank. She stiffened, statuesque, all at once mortified of her weakness and afraid the scent of her blood would somehow provoke him to attack. In that case, the dancer had no one to blame but herself for her imminent demise. Her fault for wounding herself in the first place. Her fault for allowing a colossal titan to come too near. Losa swallowed hard, fighting a tremble, and prepared herself for whatever Hurricane decided to do. Maybe he’d make the end quick and she wouldn’t feel a thing.

Except, as Hurricane turned to peer at her again, no dangerous snarl ripped from this throat. The genuine concern drawn on his dark countenance helped allay her silly fears almost instantly. “I d-don’t know where that came from. Probably something stupid I did.” Losa felt the need to explain herself for some bizarre reason, instinctively desiring to erase the distress from the onyx king’s luminous windows. “It’s nothing, really. It doesn’t even hurt.” A lie. “It’ll probably be better tomorrow.” Another lie. “Anyway, do you want to find something to eat? I’m sure if we work together we can . . .”

Her nervous words faded away into nothing at the soft caress nudging her sensitive aud. “That wound on your flank needs to be cleaned soon.” A rumble like distant summer rain. Losa shivered.

And then Losa perked up and defiantly behaved as if he’d said nothing at all.

“Oh, n-no that won’t be n-necessary. Hey . . . I think the trail of that rabbit I scented earlier is somewhere around here! Let’s go find it—I’m starving.” The brunette lass rushed past Hurricane, brushing his side with her flank in her desperation to exit the abruptly awkward conversation. “Do you like rabbit? We can always go fishing if you want. Weren’t we sleeping by some water? I don’t even remember how we got there . . . how embarrassing!” A high, nervous laugh fluttered from her lips. Oh, gods. If only she’d drop dead.