Free The Mating Season: Werewolves of Montana Book 6 by Bonnie Vanak Page A

But you are my first love, my only love.”
    And then she heard the triumphant horns sound, and relief made her shoulders sag. Nikita peered at the gray horizon and saw a silver dragon take flight toward the castle as the troops began to emerge from the forest. Joy turned to a new worry.
    Turning, she started to flee for the safety of the turret, but the dragon was swift. He landed on the roof, folded his massive wings and waited.
    She sighed. “I know.”
    The silver dragon smiled, showing rows of wicked, jagged teeth. His tail swished back and forth like a cat’s. Drust, Tristan’s best friend and his ally in the war.
    “I’m not supposed to be here. Drust, let me pass.”
    Blinking, the dragon did not move. Anxiety filled her. Perhaps the dragon had bad news to share.
    “Shift back to your human form so you may speak to me,” she directed.
    The dragon did not.
    Frustrated, she scowled. “Then do not remain silent! Tell me! Is Tristan hurt?”
    Drust shook his head.
    Sighing with relief, she pointed to the ground. “Go fetch him, and bring him to the chamber straight away. He will be hungry and thirsty. Go!”
    The silver dragon stretched his wings and flew down to the ground. As she scurried to the turret, she peered over the side and saw the dragon lift into the air again, this time bearing a rider upon his back.
    Tristan would not only be hungry and thirsty. He would be furious.
    Nikita hurried through the castle until she reached a large chamber. The heavy wood door stood open to show a fire crackling in the hearth. The chamber was a bedroom. The same bedroom she’d visited each night.
    Near the fireplace were two carved chairs and a wood table. Upon it were two large basins, one filled with water, and a stack of clean cloths. A trencher filled with fruit and a joint of beef were next to a goblet filled with ale. A bench was near the table.
    She paid no heed to these pieces of furniture. Her interest remained in the massive bed covered with furs. The furs were to keep warm in the drafty castle, but she had him to heat her body from the inside out.
    The dragon rider strode into the room in silence. Nikita stood near the bed, watching him. Standing over six feet, he was strong and handsome. His eyes were dark as night, and his black hair brushed against his shoulders.
    The warrior crossed the room to the fireplace. He unbuckled his sword belt and then carefully set it upon the table. It remained in easy reach. Always the warrior, never allowing his weapon to be far from him. He could fight in Lupine form, but the Fae were clever, and riding Drust gave Tristan an advantage in a war filled with flying fairies and sprites.
    He washed the dirt and grime off his face, then dried it with a clean cloth. Removing his shirt, stained with the blood of others, he turned to her, the strong muscles of his broad shoulders gleaming in the firelight.
    “You finally returned home, for you won the battle,” she told him.
    “I always win. Drust is a strong dragon, and one cannot defeat an army led by a dragon.”
    “But you are his rider, and his warrior. You are their leader.”
    A crooked smile touched his sensual mouth. “Your flattery will not distract me, my sweet.”
    Her pulse skipped a beat at the look on his face. “Distract you? From what?”
    “You disobeyed me,” he said softly in a tone that brooked no disobedience.
    Nikita blinked. “Did I?”
    Tristan took the cloth and dipped it into the warm basin of water. He began scrubbing the blood and dirt off his chest. Nikita sighed with relief, seeing he was not wounded. There were a few nicks and deep purple bruises, but nothing serious. As he scrubbed his armpits, he studied her.
    “I told you to never show your face where the enemy can see you while I am gone.”
    “Drust told you I was pacing the battlement.” She knew the dragon would, for the shifter confided in Tristan.
    “He worries about your safety much as I do.”
    Quivering with sensual