Chapter 19

NINETEEN

K ai gripped the edge of his ancient desk, his knuckles white against the dark wood. The memory of Quinn dangling over that crevasse replayed in his mind, each second of it burning through his veins like molten metal. His dragon instincts roared beneath his skin, demanding he find her, protect her, keep her safe.

But she’d hate that.

A growl rumbled in his chest. Nearly a millennium of iron control, of measured responses, and careful diplomacy, yet this tiny human scientist had the power to shatter his composure with a single reckless act. The desk creaked under his grip.

“My king?” Darian’s voice came from the doorway. “The human woman has returned to her quarters. She appears... dusty but unharmed.”

Kai released the desk, straightening to his full height. “Thank you, Darian.”

His friend lingered, amber eyes gleaming with poorly concealed amusement. “Shall I warn the palace staff to expect property damage, or do you plan to maintain your legendary self-control?”

“Out.”

Darian’s low chuckle followed him from the room, but Kai barely heard it. His focus had shifted to the familiar scent that drifted down the corridor—earth and determination and something uniquely Quinn. His feet moved before his brain could intervene.

He found her in one of the palace’s quieter hallways, still brushing mountain dust from her clothes. The sight of her, alive and whole, should have calmed his dragon instincts. Instead, it intensified them. The mere thought of how close she’d come to?—

“Do you have any idea how reckless that was?” The words burst from him, deeper and rougher than intended. “You could have been killed.”

Quinn’s head snapped up, surprise flickering across her face before her jaw set in that stubborn line he’d come to both admire and dread. She raised an eyebrow, the gesture somehow more challenging than a drawn weapon.

“We’ve already been over this. I didn’t ask for your protection, Kai.” Her voice carried that sharp edge he’d noticed appeared whenever someone questioned her competence. “I can handle myself.”

“This isn’t about permission.” He stepped closer, watching her spine straighten in response. “It’s about the very real threats you don’t fully understand. The dangers here?—”

“Are probably no worse than the active volcanoes and unstable glaciers I’ve studied.” She crossed her arms, meeting his gaze directly. “I’m here to work, not to be wrapped in bubble wrap. I’m not some fragile thing that needs constant babysitting.”

“Babysitting?” His temperature spiked, dragon magic stirring beneath his skin. “You think that’s what this is about?”

“Isn’t it? The great Dragon King, so convinced the little human needs protecting from herself?”

Something in him snapped. Before he could stop himself, he’d moved forward, one hand bracing against the wall beside her head. His other arm blocked her escape route, effectively caging her between his body and the stone wall.

His dragon surged forward, gold bleeding into his vision as his eyes shifted. He could smell her surprise, see the slight catch in her breath. But there was no fear in her scent—only defiance and something that made his dragon purr.

“You think I do this out of some misplaced sense of duty?” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “That I hover and protect because you’re human?”

Quinn’s pulse jumped in her throat, but her chin lifted. “Why else would you?”

“Because every time you put yourself in danger, my dragon claws at my control. Because the thought of you falling into that crevasse nearly drove me feral. Because—” He broke off, realizing how close he’d leaned in, how her breath ghosted across his lips.

“Because what?” Her voice came out softer than usual, almost breathless.

The dragon in him urged him closer, to claim, to protect. But the king in him recognized the dangerous territory they’d entered. Before he could respond, a small hand pressed against his chest, pushing back slightly.

“Back off, Kai.” Despite her breathlessness, her voice stayed steady. “I don’t need a guard dog breathing down my neck every second.”

The phrase hit him like a bucket of ice water. Guard dog. As if his concern for her safety stemmed from mere duty. As if the way his heart had stopped at her near-fall meant nothing. As if the pull between them was simply?—

“Well, well.” Lydia’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Am I interrupting, or should I get out of here before I witness a dragon temper tantrum?”

Kai stepped back immediately, though every instinct screamed at him to stay close, to finish what they’d started. His eyes shifted back to their natural blue as he wrestled his dragon under control.

Quinn’s cheeks burned red, though she tried to hide it by shooting a glare at her friend. “Perfect timing as always, Lyd.”

“I do try.” Lydia’s green eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced between them. “So, what’s it like having the world’s largest personal bodyguard? Must be nice having someone to swoop in and save the day.”

“If by ‘nice’ you mean infuriating, then sure.” But Quinn’s voice lacked its usual bite, and Kai didn’t miss the way her eyes flickered to him before darting away.

He straightened, gathering his composure around him like armor. “You may not like it, but I will do what I must to ensure your safety. This is a dangerous world, Quinn.” His voice softened slightly. “I won’t apologize for protecting what matters.”

Something shifted in her expression—surprise, maybe understanding. For a moment, the stubbornness in her eyes wavered. But then she cleared her throat, nodding curtly. “Right. Well. I have work to do.”

Kai watched her stride away, his dragon growling at the distance she put between them. Even angry, even covered in dust and bristling with independence, she called to something primal in him. Something that went far beyond mere protective instincts.

Beside him, Lydia clicked her tongue. “So,” her voice pulled him from his thoughts, “just protecting what matters, huh?”

He turned to find her grinning at him, far too knowing for his comfort. “Don’t you have duties to attend to?”

“Oh, absolutely. But watching you two dance around each other is much more entertaining.” She tilted her head, studying him. “You know, for someone who can transform into a giant fire-breathing lizard, you’re not very good at hiding your feelings.”

“I don’t have?—”

“Please.” She waved off his protest. “I’ve known Quinn for years. I’ve never seen anyone get under her skin the way you do. And I’ve never seen anyone look at her the way you just did.”

Kai remained silent, but Lydia seemed to take that as confirmation.

“Just... give her time,” she said, her voice gentler now. “Quinn’s brilliant with rocks and science, but people?” She shook her head. “Let’s just say her heart’s taken more hits than her geological samples.”

With that cryptic statement, she bounced away, leaving Kai alone with his thoughts. He could still smell Quinn’s scent in the air, still feel the phantom pressure of her hand against his chest.

Time. He’d waited centuries for his fated mate. He could give her time to understand what was growing between them. But his dragon growled at the thought of waiting, of watching her put herself in danger while he stood back.

How did one protect someone who viewed protection as an insult? How did he balance his instincts with her independence?

The answer eluded him, but one thing became clear: Samara Quinn would either be his salvation or his undoing. And his dragon didn’t seem to care which, as long as she was his.

“Strength lies in control,” he muttered his father’s old saying, trying to center himself.

But for the first time in centuries, control felt like a losing battle. And the most unsettling part? A small, growing part of him didn’t mind losing—not if it meant winning her.

After Lydia’s departure, Kai retreated to his private chambers, but peace evaded him. Every few minutes, his enhanced hearing picked up snippets of Quinn’s voice from somewhere in the palace—her sharp observations about the geological formations, her dry responses to the palace AI’s commentary on her “primitive” equipment, even her quiet humming when she thought no one could hear.

He shouldn’t have been listening so intently. It wasn’t... kingly.