Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Not your finest hour, brother," Hunter drawled as he went ahead of Lachlan up the stairs to where their rooms were situated.

Lachlan carried an unconscious Belle in his arms. His face had shifted back to normal, but he retained his powerful dragon strength in his human form. Not that Belle was heavy to carry, because she certainly wasn't. Lachlan could feel his dragon's restlessness at realizing how little she weighed.

"You encouraged me to show her the truth," he now defended.

Hunter winced. "Yes, but I thought you might reveal a talon or two, not just shift the whole of your face in front of her and almost shock her to death." He pushed open the door to Lachlan's suite of rooms before standing back and allowing him to enter first.

Lachlan felt his dragon's purr of pleasure as he carried Belle into his personal space. A pleasure he echoed.

"Find Ben McGregor," he instructed Hunter after his brother had pulled back the duvet, allowing Lachlan to place Belle in the center of the huge four-poster bed. He debated removing her jeans, sure that they must still be slightly damp from being exposed to so much snow. Her jumper and underwear should have remained dry. "Turn around," he instructed his brother.

Lachlan waited until Hunter had turned away before unfastening Belle's jeans and pulling them down her legs. He efficiently removed her socks at the same time before tucking the duvet around her shoulders and neck to keep her warm. He did so without allowing his hungry gaze to linger too long on Belle's bare legs or the pink cotton bikini panties she wore.

Lachlan straightened, but his possessive gaze remained fixed on Belle as she slept. "I want that journal back in our possession before Belle wakes up."

Hunter still stood on the other side of the bed. "Your mate is beautiful, Lachlan," he murmured.

"She is," Lachlan agreed proudly.

"I think," Hunter continued slowly, "that she's also open-minded where the existence of dragons is concerned. But maybe go a little slower next time, hm?" he added ruefully.

Lachlan sighed. "My partial shift earlier also proves that her belief in the myth of dragons and then actually finding herself face-to-face with one are two distinctly different things."

His brother grinned. "Yeah, that was obviously a bit of a shock when Belle only thought we might be related to the dragons in Sister Agnes's journal."

Lachlan smiled slightly. "It's good to know that she became a nun and eventually abbess in charge of the whole convent."

Too often, the people they helped either to escape becoming a human sacrifice or from some other life-threatening situation went on to live their lives without the Drake brothers ever knowing what had become of them.

It was so long ago, and Sister Agnes had been dead for centuries, but at least they now knew that young woman had chosen to live out her life at the convent they had taken her to, and that she had made a success of it. At that time, becoming an abbess in an English convent was very much a success for a young girl from an obscure village in Scotland.

Hunter nodded his satisfaction. "I wonder what Sister Agnes wrote in those journals."

Lachlan scowled. "You heard what Belle said earlier. She'd translated enough of those other journals to realize they mainly noted day-to-day events in the convent."

"They could still be of interest to us, though," Hunter said wistfully. "Especially the one where she wrote about warrior dragons."

Of course they could, because Lachlan and his brothers had lived through that time. They had also known the author of those journals, if only briefly. They were the warrior dragons.

Lachlan looked down at Belle. She appeared so serene. So calm and warm and happy snuggled beneath the duvet.

Would she still be any of those things when she woke up and remembered what she'd seen?

When she remembered that Lachlan had partially shifted into a dragon in front of her?

"She might sleep for some time considering the night she spent terrified and alone, as well as cold and hungry on the mountain," Hunter murmured. "When she wakes up, I suggest you go easy on the dragon-shifter-and-true-mate thing."

"Before she wakes up, I want you to find McGregor and bring him and the journal to me," Lachlan repeated harshly.

If that boy had damaged a single page in Belle's precious journal, then he would answer to Lachlan for it.

With his life, if necessary.

No one, absolutely no one, would ever hurt Belle and get away with doing so.

Ours, his dragon growled.

Theirs, Lachlan agreed with deep satisfaction.

Belle woke slowly, aware she was still feeling tired, her body so heavy, it took several seconds for her to even be able to lift her eyelids.

She felt totally disoriented when she looked around the unfamiliar room aided by a single dimmed wall light. Enough so that she could make out the heavy, dark furniture and a dark blue carpet.

The four-poster bed she was lying in was much larger than anything she had ever slept in before. The mattress was so comfortable, it felt as if she was lying on a cloud. The duvet covering her was so thick, she felt toasty warm.

But it was still a bedroom Belle knew she had never been in before now.

A glance toward the window showed the heavy blue velvet curtains weren't drawn and that it was already dark outside. Still dark? She had no idea how long she'd been asleep. Nor did she have any idea where she was or how she came to?—

Dragon!

Belle bolted upright as that word screamed in her brain. Her fists were clenched on top of the duvet. Her eyes were wide, but also wary as she frantically searched the room for a sign, anything, that might tell her where Lachlan Drake was now?—

"I'm lying right here beside you, lass. On the duvet rather than under it because I don't want you to think I'd ever take liberties. But I'm right here, Belle."

Belle had frozen in place upon hearing the first word Lachlan spoke.

She literally felt as if she had turned into a block of ice, despite her previous warmth. She was so cold, in fact, she wasn't even sure her heart was still capable of beating. Her mouth had also gone dry, preventing her from speaking even if she wanted to. Which she wasn't sure she did.

What could she possibly say?

Maybe if she ignored the elephant—no, dragon—in the room, it would disappear.

"Can you look at me, Belle?" that familiar voice rumbled.

No, not gone yet.

Was she capable of turning to check if Lachlan was actually there or, as she suspected, just another figment of her imagination?

No, probably not.

Because what if she turned and Lachlan's handsome face morphed into that of a dragon again?

Only in her mind, of course, because it couldn't have been real. No, it had to have been a hallucination brought on by the hours of stress she'd suffered through when she believed she was going to freeze to death alone on a Scottish mountain.

A hallucination that had begun the moment she'd thought Lachlan had somehow appeared through an opening in the back of the cave. An opening that hadn't been there when she'd searched the cave the previous day after taking shelter there. Which meant that Lachlan didn't really exist either.

No, the logical answer to this situation was that she was still on that mountain, huddled in the cave, and about to die. That the savagely beautiful Lachlan was no more than an illusion as she died.

Why she would be fantasizing about lying in bed next to such a savagely gorgeous man, and self-consciously aware she only wore her panties below the waist, was a question she needed to ask her obviously overactive imagination!

"I would rather cut off my own arm than ever hurt you," Lachlan assured her gently.

Her throat moved as a rush of saliva suddenly flooded her mouth and forced her to swallow.

"Look at me, Belle."

"I don't want to."

She needed this hallucination to stop.

Now.

It might be too late to save her life, but she'd like to hold on to her sanity?—

"I'm not going anywhere, and I'm pretty sure you're going to need to go to the bathroom soon after all the water you drank with your dinner earlier."

She turned to glare at the owner of that annoying and persistent voice.

Then immediately wished she hadn't when she found herself looking at a sleep-tousled Lachlan Drake as he sat up against the ornately carved headboard.

He was just as big and powerful-looking as she had previously imagined him to be.

He'd removed the leather jacket and heavy boots and now wore only the black T-shirt and black jeans. His silver hair was loose about his jaw and shoulders. His face was still as harshly beautiful and compelling as she'd imagined, but also, thankfully, completely human.

Because she had hallucinated everything from the moment of "meeting" this man, that's why!

Lachlan wasn't really here, and neither was she.

"You aren't imagining anything, Belle," he told her softly. "I'm not sure if you remember, but I already told you we aren't related to the three dragons Sister Agnes wrote about?—"

"Because you are them," she stated flatly.

She didn't care what Lachlan was saying. She had to still be up on that mountain, caught up in the last fanciful imaginings of her befuddled brain before she fell into unconsciousness and then died.

"Yes," Lachlan answered her.

She swallowed again. "But that would make you centuries old."

He nodded. "Twelve centuries and ten years more."

"In that case, you're looking very good for your age!"

"Belle," he reproved.

She shook her head in denial. "You can't be twelve-hundred-and-ten years old. That's imposs?—"

"I assure you it isn't. I can also shift into a dragon. More importantly, you're my mate," he stated firmly.

She recoiled so far away from him, she almost fell off the edge of the bed. "Your mate…?" She was hoping the question would divert his attention as she slipped from beneath the duvet and placed her feet on the carpeted floor before running.

She could run in a hallucination, right?

The way her luck had gone these past few days, the answer to that question was probably a resounding no. She wouldn't be able to run when the time came. That even in death, she would be forever caught in this wild spiral of unbelievable imagery.

Besides, now that she'd slipped from beneath the duvet, she remembered she was no longer wearing her jeans or socks.

She didn't remember taking them off, so had Lachlan been the one to undress her?

No, of course he hadn't, because this, he, wasn't real.

Then this had moved from a delusion into a sexual fantasy!

Lachlan's expression remained calm. "The moment I breathed in your scent, I began to hope. Then when I looked at you for the first time, I knew you were my mate."

"Breathed in my scent?" she repeated irritably. Even in her dream, she knew it wasn't polite for someone to tell her she smelled. "Of course, I have a scent. I've been stuck up on a mountain for hours, with nowhere and no way to wash or freshen up?—"

Lachlan chuckled. "Not that sort of scent. You smell like honeysuckle."

Her eyes widened. "I do?"

He smiled. "Heady and sweet."

"This doesn't make any sense." Dreams never did, she reminded herself. "What are you even doing lying here, in the same bed as me?"

"To be fair, I'm lying on it, not in it, and I stayed because I thought you might be frightened if you woke up alone and disorientated."

She stared at him incredulously. "You thought my waking up no longer wearing my jeans, next to the man I saw partially shift into a dragon and who claims he's twelve-hundred-and-ten years old, who also says I'm his mate, would be preferable to me waking up alone?"

He winced. "When you put it like that…"

"That's exactly how I'm putting it," she challenged.

She could be brave and say exactly what she pleased in a dream, couldn't she?

Could she even question this huge man who claimed he was centuries old and could shift into a mythical creature?

That she thought she'd actually seen partially morph into exactly that!

Instead of dragons, she should have become obsessed with unicorns, she chastised herself. They were beautiful and ethereal and gentle.

Maybe not so gentle, considering they had a vicious horn on their head that could gore someone to death.

Okay, she'd stick with dragons. But they were her dragons, and that meant they should damn well behave how she wanted them to behave.

"And just how many mates have you had?" she scorned.

"I only have the one tr—" His brow cleared. "Ah, you were asking how many women I've had sex with."

"Same thing," she muttered.

"Not in any way, shape, or form, lass." Lachlan stood, every bit as tall and muscular as Belle remembered him to be as she raised her gaze up and then up again so that she could look at his sculptured features.

As she imagined he looked, she corrected herself, because none of this was real. It couldn't be.

Lachlan walked round to the bottom of the bed before sitting, now only feet away from where a poised-for-flight Belle stood. "I've had sex. Of course I have. Although probably not as much as you might think, considering how long I've been alive," he added ruefully. "Truth is, the last few centuries, I lost all interest in meaningless sex and just longed to find my true mate."

"Oh, I'm a true mate now?" Belle taunted.

He frowned. "Dragon shifters have one true mate, yes."

"And I'm yours?" she scoffed.

Lachlan's eyes narrowed until they appeared as icy slits between his lids. "I'm not accustomed to having what I say doubted nor questioned."

"Really?" she derided. "Well, if I'm going to be stuck in this torment of what seems to be my idea of hell with you for the rest of my eternity—although quite what I did to deserve going to hell is beyond me!—then we should probably set some rules from the onset." She gave a decisive nod. "Rule number one is that I don't give a damn what you're accustomed to. This is obviously my version of what my afterlife in hell looks like, and as such, I should have a say in how you do or don't get to behave in it." She lifted her chin in challenge.

That had told him.

Well…that had told the man she only imagined was sitting a few feet away from her when she was only wearing panties below the waist, and he was looking sexier than even a sexual fantasy had the right to look.