Vampire Dragon Read Online Free

each beat, he saw a protector, a nurturer, a woman who would sacrifice life and limb for those she loved. He saw so much, felt so much, he nearly backed away.
    She turned and, at her back, her hair fell from her shoulders and down her spine, almost into one long curl—violet; even her hair was in hiding—pointing to the wonder of her form. And though she struck him as stellar—struck in the way lightning strikes, awaking his inner dragon—nothing, but nothing, in his considerable life experience, touched the splendor of her heart.
    So, did that make Bronte McBride his heart mate? As unlikely as it seemed that he would meet her on arrival, a thrumming yet invisible cord connected them. Taut. Unbreakable. Everlasting.
    He believed in his head and heart that he’d found his mate. The trick? To convince Bronte that she belonged to him.
    He understood her heart, like no other, and though she radiated loyalty, a fierce defense against injustice, and a vulnerable openness—especially to him—she saw her vulnerability as a weakness she should fight.
    It wouldn’t be easy breaking her down, helping her achieve her goals, because that task required access to her secrets.
    Yes, Bronte McBride harbored a world of secrets, and a powerful resolve to keep them.
    Yet, despite these many barriers, his heart beat in time with hers while his wings ached to slip free of their muscular sacs and encircle her with a lifetime’s worth of protection.

THREE
     

     
    Vivica’s spotted feline raiseda a paw to stroke Bronte’s skirt for attention, the greedy cat.
    “Isis, you magnificat, you,” Bronte said as she stooped and nuzzled her face in its fur, scratching it behind its ears, Bronte’s soft coos calling to the man beast in him.
    “You’ve grown so pretty, Isis. I’d love to raise one of your kittens.”
    The cat almost laughed, or so its response seemed.
    Vivica mimicked the sound. “No kittens for her. Bronte, don’t you have an orange tabby?”
    “Hoover’s cleaning crumbs on the rainbow bridge, these days. Old age won.”
    Isis pawed Bronte’s hair, as if consoling her, while Bronte continued to cuddle her, the feline’s human reaction a surprise.
    “I’m so sorry to hear it,” Vivica said. “Get another. You love cats.”
    Darkwyn ached to stroke Bronte the way Isis did, but he went with an instinct that said he should not . . . yet.
    “I miss Hoover so I haven’t had the heart. Maybe. Someday. Still, it’s hard to stay on the move with a cat.” Bronte sighed heavily.
    Move ? Darkwyn wondered. Move where?
    Vivica studied her. “Are you leaving Salem?”
    The barest pink color washed over Bronte’s cheeks. “Not at the moment.”
    Darkwyn’s heartbeat slowed with hers.
    A shout from the second floor drew their attention.
    “A new casket?” Vivica raised a brow. “Bright for death. Is red a special order color?”
    “Not at all. Bereaved families may not choose it, but vamps do; they’re glorious in candlelight. Drak’s has a Music Room, a Green Room for live action role players, or LARPers, and now the Crimson Room, with red and salmon coffins, for real vamps. The two factions tend to vie for prominence when sharing space. So much hissing and exposed fangs. Green means eco-friendly, by the way. Lightweight six-sided caskets like old pine boxes, each a unique work of art. Zachary, my brilliant inventor, turns some of them into sofas.”
    Zachary again. If he was so important to Bronte, where was this man of hers?
    A boy stepped before her, and she embraced him from behind, her love for him lighting her features. She had not only a man but a child? She could not be his heart mate, then.
    Darkwyn tried not to roar his disappointment.
    The boy had yellow hair striped green and blue, and wore a red mask. “Hey,” Bronte said. “Here he is, Zachary Tucker, wonder boy, my brilliant inventor.”
    Zachary? A boy, not a man.
    Tingles ran up Darkwyn’s arms and legs, and his inner dragon stood down. He had