Excerpt of Drakon's Knight by N.J. Walters

"We're enemies then?" She already knew that, since he'd kidnapped her, but for some reason it seemed more real now.

"We are." He sat back in the chair, putting some distance between them. It felt like he was abandoning her, which was stupid. They'd always been on opposite sides, it seemed.

"Sadiq said the group I'm leader of wants to capture 'your kind.' What does that mean? You're dragons?"

He was silent for a long time, so still he seemed more statue than flesh and blood. "Not quite."

She nodded. "I thought not. Dragons aren't real." It was ludicrous to think otherwise, in spite of her flash of memory.

"Oh, they're real enough. They came to this world from another dimension four thousand years ago. They weren't here long. Less than two decades. They changed forms long enough to mate with human women. Those women had children. Sons."

It was like a fantasy story, but deep inside she was beginning to accept the core truth in his tale. It was crazy, but he had no reason to lie to her. "And?"

He dragged his fingers through his thick hair. It spread like a silky black curtain, touching the top of his shoulders. She curled her fingers in her lap to keep from reaching out to touch it.

"And those sons weren't pure-blooded dragons. Their base form was human like their mothers, but they could shift into dragons as well. They were true half-breeds, inheriting the best and worst traits from both species."

She leaned forward, unable to stop herself. It was all fascinating, yet familiar at the same time. "So, there were baby dragons?"

He absently shook his head, lost in the story he was telling her. His eyes seemed ageless, but there was a weariness about him that made her long to reach out and offer comfort.

"Not dragons, drakons. That's what we call ourselves. We are the sons of the dragons and the human women. The dragons went back to their own realm when their sons reached puberty and they realized their dragon genes hadn't created more like them, but a hybrid of sorts."

He looked at her, then—really looked. His eyes were pure black, but there was something in their depths. Red and violet flames. She blinked several times, not quite able to believe what she was seeing.

"You're a drakon?" Who believed such things? Obviously, she had, and so did Jericho.

He nodded. "Yes. And you're my greatest enemy."

Her stomach sank. It wasn't safe to be his foe, to be on the wrong side of any of these men. Drakons aside, they reeked of danger, of determination and drive. They'd do whatever it took to get a job done.

"Why haven't you already killed me?" Maybe she was crazy to ask, to remind him of his original intention, but she had to know.

He gave a rough laugh, but it wasn't a pleasant sound. "Why? I've asked myself that a dozen times since I pulled you from the wreckage." He absently rubbed his chest. "It seems Fate or Nature or whatever you want to call it is a fickle bitch and has played a mean trick on us both."

She didn't want to ask, afraid of the answer.

"And that trick is?" He leaned forward, a scowl on his rough-hewn face. "That you're my mate."