“Leave me alone,” she said in a breathless voice.
In her mind she screamed it. Why hadn’t it come out more forcefully? Why wasn’t she able to have more strength to shove their hands off her as they continued to touch her? Why did she crave their touch as if it were life itself?
“We can’t do that,” one of them said, the Irish brogue deep. “You’re ours now.”
Darcy sank into her mind. It was a trick she’d learned as a child when she needed her magic, but whatever the beings were doing to her, it was making it difficult for her to think of anything other than removing her clothes to make it easier for them to touch her.
She managed to drag up some of her magic. She held out her hands and directed it at all five of them. The men stumbled backward, their arms up to block the assault. It gave her the time she needed to run.
She pumped her arms, running as fast as she could along the hilly, winding streets. But she didn’t get far before she was tackled to the ground.
“We could’ve played nice,” said an angry voice in her ear.
He flipped her onto her back and straddled her. Darcy didn’t scream or panic. Anger flooded her, helping to push away whatever stifled her magic and made her wanton. She called to every ounce of magic within her and let it build and build. The men were physically too strong for her. She would have to fight them with magic.
They laughed when she threw magic at the man atop her, which took her aback. The fact they weren’t shocked at her use of it told her they knew all about her.
Suddenly, the man was thrown off her. Darcy looked around, but saw nothing. She rose up on her elbows to see the man climbing to his feet, shaking his head to clear it. His four comrades were looking up to the sky nervously.
A huge, dark shape descended from the sky, vanishing quickly. Along with one of her attackers. Darcy was afraid to move and be taken as well. She remained still, her chest heaving.
Another shape formed out of the dark sky. She could only stare openmouthed at the dragon coming right for her.
Just before he touched down, the dragon shifted, taking the form of a man—a man that left her breathless and awestruck.
There was no denying she was looking at a Dragon King.
He stood naked, his hands at his sides while his gaze was riveted on the men who accosted her. The shadows kept much of him out of sight, but the streetlamps shed enough light on the hard sinew of his body that she wanted to see more.
His lips peeled back in a snarl as he fought the four remaining men. He moved quickly, as if it were as effortless as breathing.
The men began to throw huge bubbles of magic at the Dragon King. He dodged many of them. The few that hit him barely made an impact other than to infuriate him, if his bared teeth were any indication.
The man—or whatever he was—who had stopped her in the pub was struck down with lethal force by the Dragon King. Darcy almost cheered, but it got lodged in her throat when she saw something out of the corner of her eye.
Had she not turned right then, Darcy would never have seen the second dragon swoop from the sky and wrap its talons around another of the men before flying away, crushing him.
That left just two of her attackers. They and the Dragon King circled each other on the street.
“She’s ours,” one of the red-eyed men said.
The Dragon King merely raised a brow. “Think again, Dark.”
More globes of magic flew from the two Dark, but the Dragon King was too fast. He came up behind one of the Dark and ripped out his spinal column. The same instant the dragon grabbed the other. Both Dark fell lifeless to the ground a moment later.
Darcy hadn’t moved a muscle in the few minutes that had passed. The need that had assaulted her earlier with the Dark was now gone. But she wasn’t alone.
The Dragon King’s gaze turned to her. Darcy watched him standing in the glow of the streetlight, completely mesmerized by the dragon tat that ran from the King’s right shoulder, under his armpit, and down his side to the top of his right thigh.
The dragon’s head was at the front of the man’s shoulder and had his mouth open as if on a roar. He was rearing with his wings up and out. It was his long tail that stopped at the King’s thigh.
The King glistened with sweat that made his muscles gleam in the light. Darcy had the absurd notion to run her hands all over his body, learning the feel of his hard muscles and warm skin.
Her gaze traveled down his wide chest to his washboard stomach and narrow waist. She bit her lip when she saw his cock. His rod twitched, and her eyes jerked to his face.
Out of nowhere, a pair of jeans came sailing through the air. The King caught them without looking and tugged them on. Once the pants were fastened, he walked barefoot to her and held out his hand.
“You’ve no idea how close you came to death. Again.”
She frowned. “Again? You make it sound like this wasn’t the first time those creeps came after me.”