He’s my mate.
It was all Ivy could do to keep her hands tucked safely in her armpits. Her palms tingled—not with venom, but with a desperate hunger to reach out and touch him. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the paramedic’s elegant profile as he knelt next to Hope, checking her for injuries.
Normally, the sight of someone else near Hope caused her wyvern to fly into a jealous rage. But her beast was quiet, as intent on the paramedic as he was on his patient. Her wyvern didn’t mind that he was touching its treasure…because he was its treasure too.
And oh, he was beautiful.
His white hair gleamed in the dim corridor as if spun from moonlight. His skin was pale too, flawless as fine pearl. His high, sharp cheekbones could have been carved by Michelangelo. A strong jaw and chin balanced the elegant lines of his brow and nose, making his features unmistakably masculine.
For all his unearthly good looks, there was nothing delicate or fragile about him. She’d felt the strength in those swift, long-fingered hands when he’d saved her from falling. Even shrouded in the shapeless, bulky firefighter uniform, his shoulders were broad and powerful.
No one could ever call him merely pretty. He was beautiful, like lightning. He looked like an angel—but not the insipid Christmas-card sort. He was an avenging angel, filled with a fierce power so bright it hurt the eye.
And she was meant to be his mate.
No wonder he’d taken one look at her, and said Oh shit.
He hadn’t so much as glanced at her since. She tried to tell herself that he was just being professional, that he had to concentrate on Hope…but in her gut, she knew better. He was the most breathtaking man she’d ever seen, and she was…her.
Ivy, the wyvern shifter. The freak. Ugly. Unwanted.
Untouchable.
Yet he had touched her. The heat of his skin had seared her to her very bones. She felt like she would carry the invisible brand of his fingers around her wrist for the rest of her life.
He’d been in contact with her venomous skin for at least two minutes. And yet he was still alive.
Was it because he was her mate?
Her hands shook. She clamped down on them with her arms, hugging herself. A terrifying new emotion was growing in her heart, battling her wyvern’s ever-present rage.
Hope.
She thrust the unwanted feeling back down, trying to lock it away again. The naked dismay in those pale blue eyes had been painfully obvious even in the dimness of the elevator shaft. Even if he could touch her, why would he want to? Looking like he did, he could have anyone. He probably did have everyone he wanted.
Ours, her wyvern snarled. No one else’s. Our mate! Kill rivals!
Just the thought of someone else touching those perfect features had her inner wyvern on the verge of murder. Ivy swallowed hard, forcing back the burn of acid in her throat.
He doesn’t want you, she reminded herself savagely.
Her life—her sister’s life—depended on her being tough. She’d spent her entire life fighting the whole world, tooth and claw, in order to keep Hope fed, sheltered, and out of the foster care system. The lessons she’d learned on the streets were burned into her soul.
Never rely on anyone.
Never trust anyone.
And never, ever show a hint of weakness.
If he didn’t want her, well,
screw him. She wasn’t going to beg. Letting someone know that you needed them more than they needed you was like handing them a loaded gun. No way was she giving anyone that much power over her.
“Ma’am?”
With a heroic effort, Ivy managed to tear her eyes off her mate—no, she couldn’t keep thinking of him like that. Turning away from the bastard, she looked up at the firefighter who’d spoken. It was the red-headed one, with the soft Welsh accent. The other one—a towering, dark-skinned man—had gone down to check that the crashed elevator hadn’t started an electrical fire.
“Here,” the firefighter said again, holding out a pair of gloves at arms’ length. From his wary stance, he knew full well what she was. “I think it would be a good idea if you put these on.”