The sentence punched him in the chest.

Ryker: champagne. Kael: crimson silk and diamonds. Maddox Drakencrest, King of Dragons: a lecture about trespassing so dry Sterling would have been proud.

The gods were laughing. He could hear them.

His dragon roared behind his ribs.

Mine.

Around them, the ballroom carried on, five hundred conversations pretending they weren’t eavesdropping on the Dragon King getting verbally kneecapped by the same woman who casually shattered his record.

What killed him was the delivery. If she’d been cold about it, he could have worked with that. She had said it with warmth. A little humor. Like she was letting him in on a joke that everyone else already understood.

She felt sorry for him. Again. Like the king of the largest empire in the world needed to be let down easy.

DIGNITY REMAINING: Presumed dead.

EGO: Last seen functioning at diplomat row.

He moved before his brain approved the transfer. His hands claimed her hips like he had every right. The grip of a man planting a flag. He pulled her close, making sure to turn her away from Kael. Better. Much better.

She stiffened. Her green eyes flashed up to his, and her pulse hammered under his palms. Good.

Lords scattered. Two reversed so fast they nearly collided. Smart men. Surviving men.

"You’re wearing his dress." Two inches from her face. "To my banquet. In my Keep."

"It’s a beautiful dress."

"It’s a beautiful problem." His eyes lowered, studying the crimson silk the way a predator tracks movement. Then they came back to hers. "From now on, nothing touches your goddamn body unless I put it there."

He heard himself say it and thought: that was insane. Then he thought: I meant it. Then he thought: I’ll deal with that later. Then he thought: Later can go fuck itself.

Her lips parted. The surprise on her face bloomed into something warmer, something that cracked through the sadness she carried like a second skin, and what came out of her mouth next was the last thing he expected.

"If you’re going to outfit me, Commander, you’d better have taste. Kael set the bar uncomfortably high."

The laugh came out before his pride could catch it. Taken from him by a woman who had just complimented his brother. To his face. While his hands were on her. The disrespect was architectural.

His dragon rumbled low and satisfied. He could relate.

He wanted her. Whatever this was, it had stopped being manageable and started being a problem he didn’t want to solve.

Over her shoulder, Kael’s eyes were locked on his hands with a predator’s focus. Good. He tightened his grip and let his brother see exactly where his thumbs were.

Kael’s jaw shifted. One millimeter. On any other man it was nothing. On Kael Ashenvale, who had four tells and controlled all of them, it was a five-alarm fire.

Maddox leaned closer, his mouth near her ear. "I don’t compete with bars. I replace them."

Behind her, Kael crushed his whiskey glass bare-handed. Liquid pooled at his boots. He didn’t seem to notice. His eyes stayed locked on Maddox’s hands.

Maddox normally would have laughed. Been there. Done that. Instead he ignored it, wrapped an arm around her waist and steered her towards the far archway. The arm was for her. The eye contact was for Kael. Both served the same purpose.

Clear? Clear.

That settled that.

Without breaking stride or removing his arm from her waist, he took the champagne glass in her hand, drained it, then replaced it with one from another passing tray.

One drink replaced. One dress to go.

She looked down at the new drink like he’d swapped her child. "I had one."

"I’m behind on gifts." He brought her to a stop under the archway. Turned her. Positioned himself so that his brother’s view of her ended at his spine.

Petty? Yes. Effective? Also yes.

Then he let go of her while his eyes dropped to the dress. "This silk is thin."

Color flooded her face and kept going south. His dragon lost its goddamn mind.

"I’m aware."

"Are you?" He leaned closer. "Because you haven’t told me to stop."

"You haven’t given me a reason to."

"That sounds like an invitation, Guinevere."

"It sounds like an observation, Commander."

He breathed out slowly. She was winning and he was enjoying it. His pride meanwhile was filing a complaint.

He closed the gap again, palm finding her hip. The silk was hot under his fingers. "You’re warm. Warmer than a wolf should be."

"It’s a crowded room."

"It’s not the room. Trust me. I am the room. Whatever this is, it’s coming from you."

She blinked. The shift was instant, a door closing behind her eyes so fast he almost missed the draft. The wall that had been gradually dropping for him went back up.

He saw the construction. Respected it. Went around it. "You looked at me earlier. Across the hall. Then you looked away. Why?"

"You were glaring at me."

"I wasn’t glaring."

"Your face disagrees."

His fingers tightened around her. "The woman who has been avoiding me at my own summit is now insulting my face."

Her lips twitched. "I haven’t been ignoring you, Commander. I’ve been respecting your schedule."

"My schedule would clear itself for you. I’m the king. I make the schedule."

"And yet you’re behind on gifts."

"I am going to fix that."

"Are you?"

"Aggressively."

Her smile softened. His grip on her hips did the opposite. The game was over. He didn’t know which line killed it. He just knew he’d stopped playing and she’d stopped dodging and the result was a problem with green eyes and no exit strategy.

The music shifted. Strings deepened. A slow, heavy beat rolled through the ballroom floor.

"Dance with me."

It was a command phrased as an invitation phrased as a dare, and all three layers arrived at the same time.

She hesitated. He felt it in her hips, the micro-tension of a woman whose body wanted to say yes while her brain drafted objections.

"One dance, Guinevere. I promise I’ll behave."

"I don’t believe you."

"Smart woman. Dance with me anyway."

He pulled her onto the floor before she could protest, one hand splayed across her lower back, the other gripping her hip hard enough to wrinkle Kael’s silk.

They moved. He led and she read every signal his body gave before he finished giving it. Her fingers laced into his collar. Barely any pressure. His entire nervous system rewired itself around the contact. Embarrassing. He leaned into it anyway.

Close wasn’t enough. He erased the distance until close became contact and contact became friction. The dress was tight enough to resist his thigh between hers. He pressed harder until he could feel the heat between her legs.

His dragon rumbled again for this woman. Deeper this time. Possessive. The vibration moved through his chest and into hers. He felt it hit her as he ground his thigh harder against her, forcing her hips into a desperate stutter, turning their dance into something raw, filthy, and impossible to hide. A shaky breath broke from her lips. Then she stiffened against him.

"Relax. It’s just a dance. We’re both pretending it’s just a dance. Don’t ruin it."

"I’m relaxed. You’re the one growling."

He laughed against her hair. "That was a compliment. In dragon."

Then he felt a different kind of heat radiating off of her skin. Hotter than a minute ago. Something he thought he had imagined earlier when she brushed against him. An energy from her body that was familiar and had no business existing inside a wolf.

He blinked. Shook his head once. Dismissed it. He was clearly losing his mind in increments tonight and the dress was to blame.

No. He didn’t feel that.

His fingers spread wider across her lower back. She exhaled against his collarbone, and the sound traveled through his body like a lit fuse.

He pulled her tighter, thigh pressing harder between hers, dissolving any alibi this dance provided. They had graduated into something that would require a confession, an apology, or a wedding, depending on which elder was asked.

The heat pulsed again, stronger, radiating against his chest like it recognized its master. His flame answered, filling him with a warmth that refused to leave.

The runes on the walls flared at that moment. Torches exploded into taller flames. Gold. His gold. Several ladies gasped. One man dropped his goblet.

Then he noticed she was glowing. It hadn’t been his imagination earlier. She hadn’t noticed. He had. So had every other person in a thirty-foot radius. Heads were turning. People stopped mid-sentence.

Should he tell her? Probably. Was he going to? No. If the universe wanted to light her up like a torch in his arms, who was he to argue with the universe.

Funny lasted two seconds before something primal replaced it. The glow in her hair intensified, white strands shimmering like molten gold, unlike anything he’d ever seen.

Blood thrummed in his ears. The music faded. Voices muffled. All he could think about was ripping that dress off her body. He hadn’t realized he’d leaned down until her head tipped back.

"Maddox..." she whispered, half warning, half plea.

Hearing his name broke him out of whatever trance he was in.

"You just called me Maddox. That’s the first real thing you’ve given me. I want more."

He kissed her ear. Unplanned. Then her scent hit harder and planning became a dead concept. Vanilla and snow. Much stronger. The kind of strong that turned thoughts into static. His hand found her ass and pulled her against the growing evidence of exactly how little control he had left.

His dragon surged forward so hard his vision flickered gold at the edges.

Mate.