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There was no reason for Ethan to go along with yet another mad plot. It was enough that he was protecting her sister. “I’m going to have to make this look good,” he warned. “Are you ready for that?”

“Do your best.”

“Don’t you mean my worst?”

And then he wasn’t Ethan, nor even an Iron Crow with an unsavory past, nor a captain with a small army of thieves and murderers at his beck and call. He was the Dragon. Cold, calculating. Hunting, stealing, and taking for himself what anyone else would hesitate to even ask for politely. Magic, gold, weapons.

Briar.

He had her backed to the railing between one blink and the next, looming, scarred, and ruthless. She gasped as he bent her backward. Her hair fell loose, heavy with rainwater, scattering the last of the flowers she’d woven into the knot at her nape. His hand was warm at the back of her neck, gripping hard. The rain eased, but the lightning limned his face as he lifted his head and smirked. He was an oil painting, turbulent and seething with some inner depth. A story within a story. Glowing.

He brushed his lips over her ear. “Got his attention now, little thorn. What are you going to do about it?”

She pushed against his hard chest with the palm of one hand and he allowed it, easing back.

And then she slapped him.

Hard. His head jerked to the side, his black eyes never leaving hers. She swallowed, feeling bold and shocked at herself. And nervous. Very nervous. She had to stifle a mildly hysterical giggle.

Ethan said quietly, just for her, violence and vengeance carefully leashed, “You weren’t supposed to enjoy that, sweetheart.”

A shiver went through her.

“And neither was I,” he added.

The shiver turned hot. Hungry.

Deeply inappropriate.

But also deeply enjoyable.

How else was she supposed to react when Ethan was so near, so entirely focused on her? The rest of her might be in a panic, but her body did not seem to mind it. It was quite certain it could do more than one thing at a time.

“You! Release her at once!” Charles shouted.

Ethan sighed, his mouth ghosting over hers, denied. “I really hate that sodding git.”

Briar also sighed. “Me too. And I hate this even more.” She turned to face the beach. Charles was soaked through, the fur of his beaver hat spiky and ruined. There was mud on his breeches, ordered from London. “Charles?” she called out, tremulously. “Help me!”

Ethan growled.

“I’m going to make him pay for that,” he added quietly.

“You release her right now!” Charles said, approaching the ship with a combination of arrogance and uneasiness. Briar knew full well that were she in actual danger, he would save himself at the first opportunity. Every time. “This is not how we do things in Haven!”

It took some work not to grimace at him. Or roll her eyes.

“I’ll call the Order!”

“Not the Keepers,” Ethan said flatly. That Charles thought he could intimidate such a man only showed that he was truly an idiot.

Briar shimmied free of Ethan’s grasp, but he did not make it easy.

“Captain, what the hell?” Godric asked, disgusted. She had forgotten he was there. That anyone else was there at all.

“I know,” Ethan muttered to the satyr, equally disgusted. “The long con, Godric.”

She hurried across the plank to the dock, his gaze hot on her back. Charles waited until she was within reach before sauntering forward.