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  Maximus grinned.

  “I look forward to it,” he responded, sauntering back to the bedroom to wait for further instructions.

  7

  “Papa, I have never been more humiliated in my life!” Poet cried. “You could have tried calling first—”

  “I’m sorry, Poet,” her father said, “but there was no time. My Securitate got word that there is a plot against one of my children. You were not the only one who was inconvenienced by the King’s Guard today.”

  “What are you talking about?” she screeched. “Are you suggesting that all six of us had the King’s Guard burst in on us half-naked and with company?”

  “Half naked?” King Henry echoed. “With company?”

  Poet shook her head. “Papa, this is ludicrous. What kind of plot? How reliable was this source?”

  “Poet, I assure you that—”

  “I feel like this was just a way of checking up on me,” she snapped. “Please tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You’re wrong,” her father said immediately. “But do tell me about this company you have.”

  “I have to go,” Poet interjected. “In the future, use a telephone. For everyone’s peace of mind.”

  “Duly noted, Daughter.” There was a pause at the other end of the line, but Poet assumed the king had something else to say. “I am glad you are safe, Poet. I worry about you.”

  She sighed deeply, hearing the sincerity in his words. “I know, Papa. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Daughter.”

  Poet hung up the phone, shaking her still-wet tendrils of hair, glancing at her open laptop. A small smile toyed on her lips as she saw the Google Maps screen.

  Well, I guess the surprise is effectively ruined for this weekend, Poet thought. It didn’t really bother her. She was curious to know how Max would react. She had a theory about her new lover—one she was certain could not be far off the mark, if what she had just learned about him was true.

  Replacing the cordless phone on its charger, she retreated into the bedroom, where Max lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

  “Are you waiting for me?” she asked innocently, dropping her robe to the floor.

  “Hmm? Oh, no, I’m just thinking about all the things I have to do today,” Max replied nonchalantly, purposely avoiding looking at her as she slid onto the bed. Goosebumps exploded over his skin as Poet’s breasts trailed along his shins, his member hardening with each slither of her body.

  “Oh, yeah?” Poet asked. “Like what?” Her mouth found the flesh above his knee, her hands spread against his hips.

  Max sighed deeply, gently moving his waist upward as Poet maneuvered her frame upward, her lips caressing up his thigh, her tongue darting out to lick at his shaft.

  “I can’t remember,” Max moaned, and Poet laughed before dipping her head down to swallow him fully inside her mouth. Her hands tightened around him, his body moving to her rhythm as she guided her head up and down along his engorged unit.

  “Oh, my God, Poet!” he cried. “Your mouth is so hot.”

  Poet continued to move her mouth in slow, rhythmic motions as her fingertips trailed toward the curve of his sack to massage his balls. They immediately tensed under her touch, and Max bucked, his massive shaft causing Poet to choke, but she held fast, savoring the squirms of his huge frame beneath her.

  “Get up here,” Max groaned, reaching down to pull her forward. Poet continued to suction against him, unwilling to move, even as his hands closed around her armpits. “You’re the devil,” he gasped. He was stronger and eventually won the fight, yanking her to straddle his swollen rod, plopping her atop him without warning.

  Poet was ready for him, the tip of his head falling inside her in one fluid push.

  “Oh, shit,” she mewled, rasping as Max lurched upward, grabbing her tiny waist and burying his face in her full chest. His lips meshed onto her throbbing nipples as he began to drive into her. Poet hung onto his shoulders for support, her body bouncing relentlessly over his rigid member.

  “Oh!” they cried in unison, both feeling the same pull from their loins.

  “Harder,” Poet begged, and Max obliged, driving his raging shaft inside her with a force that left her gasping. A slow screech escaped her lips, a gush of heat spilling forward onto him as he met her orgasm with his own.

  They fell into a pile on the sheets together, gasping for breath.

  “You’re going to kill me,” Max gasped. “Is that your plan?” Very slowly, Poet propped herself up and peered into his face, a look of seriousness coloring her features.

  “Of course not,” she answered carefully. “Is that what you’re afraid of?”

  Max’s face registered confusion, and he offered her a weak smile.

  “I’m not afraid of much, Poet,” he responded, his voice equally quiet. “Why would you think I would be?”

  Poet slid off him, keeping her leg firmly on top of him.

  “Give me your hand,” she said. Max’s brow furrowed.

  “All right,” he said, holding out his hand to her.

  Poet shook her head. “Not that one. The one where Chauncey bit you.”

  She felt his body tense beneath her.

  “It’s fine,” Max told her quickly, pulling away to sit up.

  “Why won’t you let me look at it, Max?”

  “Because it’s nothing,” he answered gruffly. “Why are you so fixated on it?”

  “Why are you so fixated on not letting me see it?” Poet replied evenly. “Is there something you don’t want me to see?”

  Max didn’t answer, slipping his legs off the bed to stand up.

  “You have to get to class, don’t you?” he asked curtly, but Poet didn’t move, her eyes following his movements as he dressed.

  “Funny,” she mumbled. “A minute ago, I could have sworn you were trying to make me late.”

  “I just realized I haven’t been home in days,” Max said, avoiding her gaze as he hastily threw on his clothes. “I should probably make an appearance there.”

  “Is someone missing you?” Poet teased. Max didn’t seem to catch her joke. She sighed and also rose from the bed. “You saw where we’re going this weekend?” she asked conversationally.

  “I saw the map, if that’s what you mean,” he confirmed.

  “We’re going to Misty Woods,” Poet said matter-of-factly. Even though Max seemed to slow his movements, he still refused to look at her.

  “Why?”

  His tone was noncommittal, but Poet knew better.

  “Because that is where the dragon secrets are held,” she replied mischievously. “And I intend to find them.”

  “What happened last time you went there?” Max asked dully.

  Poet bristled at the reminder.

  “The caretaker and his wife wouldn’t allow me to go through the castle,” she admitted. “But with you there, they may change their minds.”

  Max spun and finally looked at her.

  “What makes you say that?” he asked coldly, and Poet smiled, bemused.

  “I think we both know what you are, Max,” she said. Then she made a small pause. “Max Williams, yes?” She watched his shoulders tense, though he did his best to appear unaffected by her words. Poet continued. “You’re a descendant of King Rui Williams and his six sons, aren’t you?”

  Max’s face went almost opaque.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he hissed. “And I’m not going to Misty Woods this weekend.”

  “You’re going to make me go alone?” Poet asked innocently.

  “You’re not going, either!” he roared, striding toward her to grab her by the shoulders. Poet was slightly taken aback by his tone, but it only confirmed what she already suspected: Max had dragon blood.

  “You can’t stop me from going,” she replied evenly. There was nothing he could do, and Poet longed to learn the secrets Misty Woods held. “It is my thesis that’s on the line.”

  “It is more than y
our thesis on the line, Poet,” he retorted. “Don’t be foolish.”

  “Then tell me what you know,” she begged him, her eyes wide and imploring. “Please, Max, I want to know about your kind!”

  Max almost jumped back from her, as if she had physically assaulted him. His jaw tightened slightly.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeated, spinning to leave. “I have to get home.”

  “Where is home?” Poet yelled after him, following his long paces out the bedroom door. “It’s Misty Woods, isn’t it? Someone sent you here to keep an eye on me, didn’t they?”

  Max didn’t answer, storming from the apartment while Chauncey snarled after him.

  Poet stared at the closed door for a long moment, her heart hammering. Again, she was reminded of Professor Kincaid’s words when she had told him about her proof.

  Am I in danger or is everyone just being melodramatic? she wondered. Surely, I couldn’t be the only person in the world who has ever caught wind of these beings. At the same time, she had never seen nor heard of anyone ever meeting and documenting such an encounter. Was it because whoever had learned the truth had vanished without a trace, perhaps?

  For the first time, Poet felt a spark of uncertainty about chasing the beasts. But she was so close to unlocking the mystery of these dragon shifters—she couldn’t give up now that the answer was in the palm of her hand!

  Speaking of hands, she was almost a hundred percent sure that Max’s hand had healed almost immediately after Chauncey had bitten him. The ability to recover faster was a trait she knew dragons possessed. In fact, there was still intense speculation about how they could be killed. Some theorized by fire, others by ice, but no one had definitive proof.

  The idea that her lover possessed dragon blood was exhilarating in and of itself. Knowing she was so close to unlocking even more of the dragons and all the secrets they had guarded so closely for centuries was even more so.

  His brothers! Poet remembered. He has five brothers! Who are they?

  It was as good a place as any to start.

  Chauncey barked at her.

  “He’ll be back,” she told the dog confidentially. “No matter how angry he is, he can’t deny the connection we have. Even if he hadn’t come here to keep an eye on me, we would have found one another at some point in our lives.”

  Chauncey whined as if to contradict her, but Poet had never been so sure of anything before. When she and Max were together, it was as if they were one person, meant to be with each other. He could not escape that.

  Could he?

  The inkling of doubt became a cloud in her head, and Poet wondered if she had gone too far in her quest to find the truth about the creatures that had haunted her dreams for as long as she could remember. Had she pushed Max too hard and lost him in the process?

  I should have told him I suspected the truth about him to begin with, she chided herself. We shouldn’t have lied to each other.

  Poet swallowed the sudden lump in her throat as she turned away from the door to get dressed. She was already late for class, and she needed to talk to Professor Kincaid. He seemed to know more about her quest than he had volunteered. She needed all the information she could get.

  As she slipped on a pair of jeans and an Oxford University sweatshirt, shoving her shoulder-length waves into a messy bun, she wondered if Max had been sent to kill her. The idea filled her with dread, and she tried to silence it.

  If Max had wanted to kill her, he would’ve done it a long time ago. He knew what her thesis was about from the first night they had been together. He knew she had already been to Misty Woods once.

  But a small whisper in the back of her mind caused shivers to slither up and down her spine.

  What if he was just biding his time? she thought. What if he is still planning to come back and kill me? The notion seemed unbelievable, especially given how upset Max had just been, and yet…

  Her security had come busting through her door an hour ago. Had it had anything to do with Max or Misty Woods? Or had it been something else entirely?

  A knock at the front door suddenly dissipated any second thoughts Poet was having about Max. She had clearly been worried for nothing: Max had just gone to cool off for a bit, and now he was back.

  “See? I told you,” she said brightly to the pooch. Chauncey growled at the door, and Poet ordered him into the bedroom. “No more biting,” she told her pet warningly. Chauncey whimpered, skulking toward the bedroom. “Even if he does heal with superhuman speed.”

  Poet threw open the door, a smile on her face.

  “I knew you’d come—”

  Mace powder filled her eyes, and before she could react to it, a sack was thrown over her head.

  “Scream and I’ll kill you where you stand,” a voice hissed in her ear.

  8

  Maximus had a headache.

  This is much worse than I thought, he realized, staring at his reflection in the hotel room. She is not just any ordinary woman. She already knows too much about us.

  He had just returned to Oxford after removing his meager belongings from Ansel’s house. He needed to be as close to Poet as possible and do anything to keep her from going back to Misty Woods again.

  “What does she know?” Ansel asked casually as his brother packed his trunk. “Anything of consequence?”

  “Not that I can tell,” Maximus lied quickly. He did not want anyone else to know what he had learned. Poet was in enough danger as it was; telling Ansel would only add to her peril. Then again, Maximus had to wonder if his brother wasn’t onto his lies, though he had a feeling if he could trust anyone to keep his mouth shut, it was Ansel.

  But how could she possibly know so much? Maximus thought.

  He reasoned that dragons had been her life’s work, and she had probably looked into accounts that others had dismissed as fantasy. It made her dangerous and a target simultaneously.

  “You fancy her, don’t you?” Ansel teased, and Maximus’ face turned red.

  It was more than just “fancying” her. The thought of her made his chest ache with a pain like he had never known. Whatever it was that he felt for her, it was blocking his ability to think rationally.

  Maximus pressed his fingers to his temples and massaged his head lightly, willing away the pounding from behind his eyes.

  What am I going to do with her? he wondered, shaking his head. I have to find a way to get rid of her, or at the very least stop her paper from being published. But how?

  The answer was obvious, of course, but it was not one Maximus was willing to entertain. He was the brains of the castle, not a warrior. His way was that of structure and strategy, not violence and revenge. How had he even gotten such a task? Why would his father ever believe he was the one of his six sons who could kill a civilian, threatened or not?

  Maximus turned away from the glass to flop onto the king-sized bed. At the same time, he was grateful King Rui had not assigned another one of his brothers to the mission. Poet would not stand a chance against any other one of them.

  You must figure something out, he thought grimly. She needs to leave England and never return. She needs to forget about dragons and her entire area of study. She needs to forget about you, too.

  The last part made Maximus feel sick to his stomach. It made him realize that the only way to keep Poet safe was to find a remote part of the world where neither he nor anyone else in his family could find her.

  Maximus knew what he was hoping was impossible. In the short time he had known Poet, he could see that she was a passionate woman, not apt to walk away from her research. He wondered if he was deluding himself into believing that she cared about him just as much.

  She has no idea just how much danger she’s in, he thought mournfully. An idea abruptly came to his mind, and he sat up on the bed. I suppose I could tell her…

  The thought was obscure and ridiculous. Poet had the idea that he was some descendant of the old dragons, the Williams c
lan from seven centuries earlier. She couldn’t possibly know the truth, no matter where her studies took her. Telling her would make her look at him differently, and Maximus wasn’t sure if he could handle that.

  For once in his life, he deserved to be happy. And Poet made him happy.

  But another voice mocked him, reminding him that a dead lover was no lover at all.

  Maximus grunted aloud and flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He needed to rest. It seemed that he had not slept for more than three hours since he had found Poet. She was insatiable, waking him in the night with her hot mouth between his legs, her searing crotch against his naked rear, bringing him to heights he had not known he could find.

  I’ll have a nap, he thought, and when I get up, I’ll go back to her flat. One way or another, I have to keep her away from Misty Woods. I’ll tell her what she needs to know, enough to satisfy her curiosity.

  Maximus closed his eyes, and an image of Poet instantly popped into his mind. As if she was sitting in front of him, he saw her face, her eyes red and bloated. Her blonde hair was disheveled, and her lips were pale.

  “Help me,” she whispered, and Maximus sat up on the bed, his heart hammering.

  He blinked, looking around the room, seeking an explanation to what he had just seen. But there was no explanation to find. Poet was obviously not there, no matter how real her presence had seemed.

  They had been inseparable for days. It was only fair that Maximus kept seeing her, even though they were miles apart.

  Shit, I’m more tired than I thought, he sighed, sinking back against the pillows. When he closed his eyes again, Poet reappeared, her mouth parted.

  “Why would you do this to me?” she moaned before disappearing from his sight. “I would never hurt you.”

  Again, Maximus’ eyes flew open, his pulse racing. What was happening to him? Was he hallucinating?

  He reached onto the nightstand where he had left his cell to charge and sent out a text to Poet.

  I hope you’re enjoying class. See you tonight?