“Why would I be? You’re a grown woman. It’s good to cut loose every once in a while and besides, I like…”
She dipped her voice to a whisper. “You like what?”
Damon frowned and cleared his throat. “It’s late, and it’s a long drive to the airport from here.” He placed his hands behind his back and straightened his spine. “I’d like to extend an invitation for you to stay the night in one of my guest rooms. If you still wish it, you can leave in the morning.” Or not. That last part he didn’t have to say. The unspoken words hung in the air between them.
“That would be nice.”
“Yes?” His eyebrows jacked up in surprise.
“Well, it is late, and I’ve had about all I can take of Mason for the day. I’ll leave in the morning.”
Damon cut his gaze to the others, then nodded his head once. The silver in his eyes was fading by the second, leaving them as dark as the night sky. He turned to leave, but Clara grabbed his hand, not wanting to end this moment with him. The second her fingertips touched his palm, a blinding pain blasted through her head and drew a gasp from her lips. Squeezing her eyes tightly closed, Clara pressed her hands to her temples as if that would keep her head from splitting apart.
I’ll love you always.
You won’t. You can’t. You love me now only because you haven’t seen the monster I am yet.
Clara.
“Clara!” Damon gripped her shoulders and bent his knees until he was eye-level with her. “Are you all right?”
Clara drew a deep, shaking breath and shook off the remnants of the headache. That was weird. Usually her headaches lasted longer, but that one had been a flash of pain, and now…nothing.
She gripped his wrists and searched his dark eyes. “You’re warm. I expected you to be cold as stone.”
His grip on her shoulders lessened and he let off a tiny, relieved breath. “I run too warm. It hurts…”
“You?” she guessed. She wished he would finish his thoughts so she could understand him.
“No. I hurt other people.” His eyes tightened, and he looked away as though he was about to leave, so she wrapped her arms around his waist before she could change her mind. Damon stood frozen under her hug. Not a muscle twitched, not a joint moved. His hands hovered out to his sides, but she didn’t care. Clara pressed her cheek against his chest. Yes, he was warm. Warmer than bears. Her cheek heated on that side, like a blush, but to the point she would have to pull away soon. That felt tragic, separating.
Wait, what was she doing? She wasn’t supposed to be doing this. Hugging Damon wasn’t going to help her leave any easier. But his body relaxed under her, and his hands slid up her back. One stayed pressed against her spine, while the other traveled up and up until Damon gripped the back of her neck. So warm. So safe. A shiver traveled up her back and landed in her shoulders. Here headache was back. Not painful, but pulsing in the middle of her head, reminding her that she could be incapacitated at any moment.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, forcing herself to ease away. “I don’t know why I did that. I’m not usually a hugger.”
“Nor am I.” Damon’s head was cocked, and he stared at her as if he was a scientist studying something he couldn’t understand. “Would you like to stay here for a while, or do you want to go back to my house?”
“You would stay here if I wanted to?”
Damon dipped his chin once.
“Mason said the Gray Backs work for you.”
“A shifter like me can’t afford to have friends, Ms. Sutterfield, but if I did, the Gray Backs would be some of them. I don’t mind spending more time here if that is what you desire.”
“Desire, huh? So do dragons give wishes like genies?”
A slow smile spread across his face, and his eyes sparked. “What kind of wish do you need granted?”
“I desire for you to shotgun a beer with me.”
Both of his dark eyebrows jacked up this time. “Shotgun a beer?”
“Yeah, you know. Poke a hole in the bottom of a beer can, pop the top, and chug it like the super un-boring dragon you are. I can rub you like a genie if you want,” she teased, waggling her eyebrows.
Damon’s eyes narrowed in the soft glow of the firelight. “Minx.”
“Wish granted?”
“Creed,” Damon called at normal volume over his shoulder. “Do you have cans of beer, and can you teach me the art of shotgunning?”
The Gray Backs went dead quiet for an instant before their chatter picked up at double volume.
“Hell yes,” Creed crowed.
Damon stepped out of her path and gestured toward the fire, palm up as he bowed. “After you.”