Page 22 of Blood Singer

Instead, I'd gotten caught up in something I didn't fully understand. Kavan's reaction to my scent, the confusion and anger and attraction all tangled together in his golden eyes.

And my own reaction to him, which was becoming harder to ignore.

I was attracted to him. That much was undeniable. The way my pulse raced when he was near, the way I found myself watching his hands and wondering what they'd feel like against my skin, the way his scent made something low in my belly tighten with want.

But it was more than simple physical attraction. I was fascinated by him, by the weight of responsibility he carried, by the centuries of history etched into every word and gesture, by the glimpses of vulnerability beneath his stern exterior.

And tomorrow morning, I was going to watch him transform into a dragon.

The thought sent a thrill of excitement and nervousness through me. I'd seen plenty of alien species since joining Asad Intelligence, beings that defied human imagination, creatures that existed in forms we'd never dreamed possible. But this felt different. More personal.

I lay back on the bed, staring up at the canopy above me, and tried to sort through the tangle of emotions in my chest. Professional concern about the mission. Curiosity about the Drakhoni and their history. Worry about the political instability Rhucard and Verrater represented.

And underneath it all, a giddiness I hadn't felt in years. The kind of anticipation that made me feel like a teenager again, counting down the hours until something wonderful and terrifying was about to happen.

I was in trouble. Deep, complicated, potentially mission-compromising trouble.

And I couldn't wait for morning to come.

Chapter 8

Kavan

I hadn't slept.

The night had stretched endlessly, each hour marked by the distant chiming of the castle bells while I paced my chambers like a caged beast. Every time I tried to close my eyes, I saw her face—the way she'd looked at me in the corridor when I asked if she wanted to see my dragon form. That unguarded curiosity, the immediate yes that tumbled from her lips without hesitation or fear.

What in the name of the ancestors had possessed me to make that offer?

I stood now at the window of my private chambers, watching the first pale light of dawn creep across the eastern mountains. The sky shifted from deep indigo to soft lavender, and somewhere in the forests below, birds were beginning their morning songs. It should have been peaceful. Instead, my chest felt tight, my dragon restless beneath my skin in a way I hadn't experienced in centuries.

Only mates were allowed to see a Drakhoni's dragon form so intimately. To share that sacred trust and vulnerability. It was one of our oldest traditions, a line that was never crossed casually.

And I'd just invited a human female I'd known for less than two days to do exactly that.

I wanted to believe it was strategy. A calculated move to observe her reactions, to test whether her scent was some elaborate Alliance deception. If she showed fear or revulsion when confronted with my true form, it would somehow prove she wasn't what she seemed. If she tried to manipulate me, I'd know.

But even as I constructed the justifications, I knew they were lies.

The truth was simpler and far more dangerous. I wanted her to see me. Wanted to share this part of myself with her in a way I hadn't wanted to share anything with anyone since Marion.

Marion.

Her name still carried weight, even after seven hundred and fifty years. I could still remember the sweetness of her blood song, faint and distant like music heard through a closed door, but enough that I'd believed she was mine. One night together, stolen hours in the darkness, and I'd been ready to defy kingdoms for her.

Then I'd watched her die. Smelled her blood as it soaked into the earth, heard her song fade into silence, and I'd burned the world because of it.

And now this impossible female carried her scent.

Except it wasn't quite Marion's scent anymore, was it? That was what had kept me awake through the long hours of darkness. Yesterday at dinner, I'd caught her scent again and beneath Marion's faint echo, there was something new. Something purely, distinctly Leila.

Her blood still sang to me. But the melody was changing, evolving into something I didn't recognize. Something that pulled my dragon to attention every time she was near, not with the urgency of recognition but with the slow, insistent pressure of something being discovered for the first time.

I didn't know what that meant. Didn't know if it was possible for a blood song to shift, to transform from one person's signature into another's. In all my centuries, I'd never heard of such a thing.

Which left me with two possibilities. Either this was the most sophisticated deception the Alliance had ever attempted, or something was happening that defied everything I understood about blood singers and mate bonds.

And I was about to show her my dragon.