Chapter 2

Cal took the longest, deepest breath of his life and held on to it. Who needed air, food, or water when he could just drink Cynthia in? His heart pounded, and his throat went as dry as the desert roads he’d crossed aimlessly after she’d broken up with him, all those years ago.

I love you more than anything, but I can’t have you, she’d said, pleading for him to understand.

He’d just about thrown her over his shoulder, jumped on the Triumph, and sped off to someplace where no one would ever find them. But, no. The moment they’d met, he’d known his heart was destined to be broken. Make that, shattered. Make that, exploded to pieces. Make that—

He cut off the thought. Cynthia was the one with the fancy vocabulary.

He was the one with the hole in his chest where his heart used to be.

Please don’t make this harder, she’d begged through her sobs. Then she’d done her best to explain why she had to marry a decades-older dragon shifter she didn’t even know.

Family honor… Tradition… Bloodlines…

All kinds of things that made no sense to a lone wolf like him. A lone wolf with the shit luck to fall — hard — for a woman like her.

He’d spent the first two years apart from Cynthia in agony and the next ten in a numb, emotionless state — so much, he was sure he’d lost the ability to feel anything at all. But seeing Cynthia now made everything rush back. The yearning. The loneliness. The need to hold her and never let her go.

So maybe it was a good thing he was locked in place by two guys — a wolf and a dragon shifter, judging by their scents. Otherwise, he might have rushed up, hugged Cynthia, and given his inner wolf reason to hope.

Why not hope? his wolf protested. She’s single again, right?

Cal clenched his jaw. The day Cynthia had turned him away was the day he’d died inside, and there was no coming back from his own personal hell.

A sea gull cried overhead, and Cal squinted, following its flight. It was midday, and the sun was high. Not a breath of wind, not a shadow to hide in.

His inner wolf let out a long, mournful howl. Don’t want to hide. Want to claim my mate.

Yeah, well. That was life, wasn’t it? He stood perfectly still, making sure the firestorm inside him didn’t show.

The guy on his left — the dragon — twisted his arm, making Cal wince. Whoever that asshole was, he sure was protective of Cynthia. So were the other men, from the wiry wolf shifter to the sunny-boy lion and the burly bear shifter half a step away. Every one of them appeared ready to rip his head off, which was a good thing. Cynthia needed all the protection she could get. Several of the guys sported Special Forces tattoos or wore dog tags around their necks, which meant she was surrounded by a formidable defensive force.

The women had been friendlier, if wary. Still, they were the ones who’d talked the guys into letting him in. Of course, women had that mysterious intuition thing, and their eyes had bored into him as they decided whether to let him in or kick his ass back out onto the street. Those women were shifters too, and it was obvious they were not to be messed with any more than the men.

Clearly, Cynthia was surrounded by a healthy combination of brawn and brains. The question was, would that be enough? And was Cynthia aware of the imminent danger closing in?

“Cal who?” the pushy dragon shifter at his side hissed in his ear.

“Cal Zydler,” Cynthia whispered as she had the day he’d revealed his full name.

His lips quirked in the tiniest possible smile. She’d left out the Calvin part, thank goodness. It didn’t bother him that she’d revealed his last name, because who cared about names?

His inner wolf sighed. Dragons care.

Cynthia had about eleven middle names and three family names, as he’d eventually learned. All carefully chosen to reflect an illustrious family tree. A tree that had to be made of fucking gold, the way her parents talked about it the only time he’d ever met them, when they’d stiffly explained why it was impossible for him to mate with her. Hell, even loving her from a distance was a crime in their books.

He grimaced. They’d gone so far as to try to buy him off. As if he were more interested in money than his mate.

“Connor. Chase,” Cynthia whispered to the men locking his arms in place. “Let him go.” Neither made a move to obey until she added, “Please.”

The big shifters looked at each other before finally relaxing their iron grip. Still, they pinned him with murderous looks and kept their arms at their sides, ready to attack if he so much as twitched.

Cal shook out his arms, and he could tell the exact moment when Cynthia noticed the burn scars, because she cringed.

Oh God, her expression cried. What happened? Shit happened, he wanted to say.

He watched her closely. Did she loathe what she saw, or could she see past the scars to the real him? The Cynthia he’d known over a decade ago had that ability, but fate hadn’t been kind to either of them. Of course, she was just as gorgeous as ever — maybe even more so, what with those noble, chiseled features and perfectly shaped lips. Those fierce, dark eyes. That proud bearing that practically screamed royalty. Hell, even her long, shiny black hair was swept up into an arrangement that resembled a crown.

Still, for all her blue blood, Cynthia had never exuded a single snobby vibe. Her eyes had always sparkled with curiosity, and she listened — really listened — to every person she met, from roughshod vagabonds like him to plain old humans on the street.

But now, sadness hung over her shoulders like a shadow she just couldn’t shake. She twirled her pearls nervously before straightening her shoulders and beckoning him up the stairs.

He clomped right up, hiding the little bit of a limp on his left side. The others stepped aside, but only barely, remaining alert. Cal braced himself as he reached out to shake her hand, being as businesslike as he could. But a crackling force field zapped his body the moment their hands touched, and he nearly wobbled on his feet.

Christ, lady. What you do to me…

He used to say that in a good way, like after they’d made love and sank, sweaty, into the sheets — if the heat of the moment had allowed them to get as far as a bed. Now, the sentiment only highlighted how much had changed.

Cynthia shuddered ever so slightly, and her lips parted enough to make his body ache.

“Good to see you again,” he said.

The thing was, seeing her again was going to kill him, and he knew it. “And you,” she replied, so quietly he couldn’t tell what she really meant.

Then he forced himself to utter, “Sorry to hear about Barnaby. He was a good man.”

He meant it, too. Barnaby had turned out to be too good a man to hate, much as Cal had tried. Not that he would ever tell Cynthia how well he’d come to know her late husband.

Her eyes blazed, and he stared back. Didn’t she know that was as close as he would ever come to acknowledging she’d had to sleep with another man?

Apparently not, because her jaw jutted the way it did when she got mad, and she just about spat back, “He was.”

He ached to tell her the truth — the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. But damn it, he’d sworn to guard those secrets forever. A man didn’t have to be a blue-blooded dragon to know an oath was an oath.

Footsteps rushed up behind him, and before anyone could protest, a little kid whisked by, bowling right into Cynthia’s arms.

“Mommy! Mommy! Look at the shell I found!”

Cal glanced at the kid, then aimed his gaze at the floor. Damn it. The redhead — Joey, Cal knew — was the spitting image of his father. Which meant old Barnaby would always be there to haunt Cal.

Cynthia kneeled and cupped the shell in both hands. “It’s beautiful, sweetie.”

Her voice wobbled, making Cal glance over. Was that a tear fighting to escape her right eye?

She brushed at it quickly, then hugged Joey long and hard. The little boy laughed. “It’s just a shell, Mommy.”

Still, Cynthia held him. It was almost a minute later that she gulped and extracted herself. “Yes, but it’s a beautiful shell, and it comes from the person I love more than anyone in the world.”

Cal squeezed his lips in a sharp line. If that wasn’t a hint, what was?

Cynthia straightened and shooed the boy into the house, then smoothed the wrinkles in her blouse. When she looked at Cal again, her gaze was soft and unguarded, and he swore her eyes brightened. But a moment later, she stiffened, and her face went cold again.

Cal shook his head. How right he’d been, all those years ago. That the flustered, inexperienced college girl he’d met on the side of the road would become a hell of a powerful alpha someday. Not that her perfect nails and silky hair suggested as much — just her steely nerves. The sharp discipline. The ability to make coldhearted decisions from time to time.

“Joey, right?” Cal murmured. “He looks just like Barnaby.” Cynthia’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know my son’s name?” Cal wanted to snort. If only she knew.

The moment her voice rose, the shifters beside him inched closer, and their hands balled into fists. Cal wouldn’t have minded taking on one or two. But four angry males, plus another four females who looked equally capable of tearing his eyes out? Maybe not.

He shrugged. “I know a lot of things.”

Yeah, that made Cynthia wonder, all right. She looked him up and down slowly.

“You look just like your mother when you do that,” he couldn’t help murmuring.

Her head snapped up, and his wolf growled to his human side, Quit riling her up.

He hid a bittersweet smile. It used to be, he’d rile her up for fun — just a little, and only when her blue-blooded upbringing showed. The same way he used to lean into turns or slalom his bike over the median line, just to make her squeal. Teasing used to be part of the game of love.

Not a game any more, his wolf mourned.

“What brings you to Maui?” she asked, watching him closely. “You,” he said.

Her eyebrows shot up.

The bear shifter behind Cal let out a low growl of warning, but Cal ignored it. Circumstances might force him to keep some secrets from Cynthia, but he would never lie to her. Besides, he was too fixated on the thin, dark lines of Cynthia’s eyebrows. The hollows of her cheekbones. The tiny creases at the corners of her eyes. God, she was beautiful. But she looked…tired. Empty. A little like him, he supposed.

Her eyes wandered over to his Triumph. Yes, it was the same bike he’d owned way back when, shipped over from the mainland. And yes, the scarf she’d once given him was still wrapped around the handlebars. But one of the men moved closer, blocking Cynthia from getting a full view.

Her brow furrowed, and she cleared her throat. “And what exactly have you been up to over the last few years?”

He snorted. “Do you really want to know?”

She pursed her lips. Was she as surprised as he was to discover he still had that cocky, roguish side?

“Yes,” she said. One clipped syllable — an order, not a question. Against his better judgment, he replied.

“Killing dragons.”

Her mouth fell open and her eyes went wide. An unguarded expression he wouldn’t have minded relishing for a moment or two, just like in the good old days. But the lion and dragon shifter grabbed his arms again and wrestled him back.

“That’s it. You’re out of here, asshole.” “No!” Cynthia cried.

Everyone froze and stared.

“I mean…” she stammered, flustered, perhaps, by the sheer need her tone had revealed. “I mean…”

The men looked at each other like they’d never seen their leader caught so off-balance. Then the big dragon shifter spoke decisively.

“Take him to Silas.” He leaned in close and let his eyes flash death and destruction. “Dragon killer? We’ll see about that.”