He Turned by the bed, bent over and kissed me before I could move. Only my hands betrayed me, my fingers going stiff with surprise. But only for an instant . . . because then I was melting. There was just Armand above me, his lips caressing mine, and our shared breath and the sensation of him—male, whiskers and warmth—consuming me.
I felt made for this, dragon to dragon. I curled my arms around him and kissed him back and shivered once again, this time not from dread or cold.
A word whispered through me, a word with a source I could not pinpoint, a word I knew and loved and feared:
Abé is an immensely gifted storyteller.
—New York Times bestselling author Karen Marie Moning