But if she was right, if this dragon mated with Wolfe’s mother…
What did that make Wolfe?
His story finished, he turned his face away from her so that she could only see him in profile, showing the less scarred side.
Rui had thought he was arresting even with two jagged claw marks running across his face.
He was a hard man, imposing, strong. He was a warrior to the bone. Even when her dormant feminine side hadn’t fully awakened, she understood instinctively how women more in tune with themselves would want a man like this.
He was a living, breathing, raretreasure.
His physique drew a woman’s eyes no matter where they were from, no matter their preferences for a man’s looks, simply because of his sheermaleness. His power and strength.
His understated demeanor made a canny woman look closer, for still waters ran deep, as Rui knew better than anyone else.
A man like this was true. He would say what he meant and do what he said. He would keep his promises or never make them.
And then there were his eyes.
Those thickly-lashed citrine gems made the curious woman want to know more. To delve into the depths of his soul and unravel his mysteries.
They would be endless. She could never know them all. But she would never tire of trying.
Because this was a man worth knowing.
Rui considered it a blessing to womankind that he was so badly scarred. For, the flightiest of females would look away, never seeing the real man beneath. If he hadn’t been, if this was what he looked like without the scars, as she took in his slightly blemished profile, then Heaven help them all.
He was utterly, breathtakingly beautiful.
She wanted him as she’d never wanted anything else.
Look at me,she silently beseeched him.
Look back at me and see me too. The way I see you.
As if hearing her, he turned to face her again, his eyes meeting hers.
There was hesitancy in them, as if he was suddenly shy. There was wariness as well, as if he was afraid what she might think of him. That she might judge him harshly. That he’d revealed too much of himself.
“Who are you?” he murmured. “I’ve never told another about that dream. And yet I told you. A stranger.”
She grasped his hand again and placed his palm against her cheek, leaning into it.
Not a stranger any more,she conveyed to him with her eyes.
I would know more of you if you let me.
“You’ve bespelled me,” he rumbled, his thumb lightly stroking over her cheek, brushing the corner of her mouth.
“Ray…”
She took his hand and drew out the letters of her name in his language, wanting him to feel it. Wishing it would somehow imprint itself into his skin.
He looked at his palm with a peculiar kind of sadness, before closing his hand in a tight fist, as if he intended to hold her name forever.
“I do not know the letters,” he said, his eyes lowered. “I cannot read or write. I am a hunter. A fighter. An uncouth brute.”
He flexed his big hands. Veins covered the back, wound around his wrists and streaked up his forearms. They were scarred too, a representation of both his strength and mortality.