wanted to do was reveal himself.
“Who the hell are you?” the man—Pete he was called—snarled, still holding Claire tightly.
Pietro’s eyes narrowed at the fear he saw in her eyes, his dragon rousing itself, blood flowing faster, temperature spiking. The urge to protect was growing stronger, becoming something that he simply couldn’t ignore. Animalistic instinct was threatening to take over, urging him to close in for the kill, to draw blood and prove to any challengers that she was under his protection.
Easy there, he chided himself, taking a deep breath to steady his mind.
“This is none of your business,” Pete growled. “So just go away, and you won’t get hurt. Got it?”
Staying hidden wasn’t going to work. His hope that a simple intimidation and the knowledge that someone else was around would convince Pete to let Claire go faded swiftly. He was going to have to reveal himself.
“Let her go, Pete,” he said harshly, stepping out of the shadows and into the light, where Claire could get a full glimpse at him.
He saw the moment her eyes flashed with recognition. Once everything was over, he was going to have to explain things to her. How he’d found her, why he’d intervened, all of that. It didn’t promise to be a pleasant conversation either, but at the same time, there was no way Pietro was going to simply stand back and let this Pete character assault her.
It just wasn’t who he was.
The male holding Claire was about Pietro’s size, with just as much muscle, and a bunch of tattoos to go with the undershirt and jeans look that he was sporting. It must have made him feel tough, because he just sneered at Pietro.
“This doesn’t involve you, but if you want to try and play hero, be my guest.” Pete whistled, and another pair of men appeared from across the street, where they had been out of sight behind a hedge. “Now, get out of here, got it?”
“No,” Pietro said calmly. “Not going to happen, Pete.”
The other two men, one of whom was taller than Pietro, but skinnier, and the other, a short, wiry, sketchy-looking fellow who kept reaching for a pocket, spread out on either side of Pete.
Small one has a weapon in his pocket. Pete will throw Claire at the big one. He doesn’t look like much of a fighter. Then, he’ll come at me.
“Last chance asshole,” Pete snarled, jerking his head at Shorty.
The wiry man pulled out a switchblade from his pocket and flicked the blade open, pointy end directed at Pietro. The dragon shifter eyed the weapon with disdain. All it would do to him was slash his clothing—not that these men knew that.
Neither did Claire. She wasn’t aware of what he was, and Pietro would prefer to keep it that way. He didn’t know how she would react. Not everyone who had come to Five Peaks was a dragon lover, and plenty of people out there were voicing their dislike of his kind. He didn’t want to risk her running away from him when she needed his protection most.
All of which meant he had to do his best to appear human in the fight to come. Because there was going to be a fight. Neither side was backing down. Not that Pietro cared. As long as Claire wasn’t hurt, he didn’t mind a little bloodshed.
Pete deserved it. Nobody should lay hands on a woman that way and get away with it. Sending him to jail would be the preferred course of action, but the police weren’t around. Pietro was.
“Agreed,” he said. “This is your last chance. Let her go.”
“You’re gonna regret that,” Pete said. “I’m gonna hurt you bad now.”
“You probably shouldn’t do this,” Claire said suddenly, speaking up for the first time.
Pete tightened his grip on her mouth, the hand having come free while he was facing off with Pietro. Claire squirmed.
“I’ll be fine,” Pietro said, his eyes focused on her assaulter.
Claire managed to get her mouth free of Pete’s hand again. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Pete.”
Pietro frowned as Pete flung Claire into the arms of the tall, gangly thug. “Don’t tell me what the fuck to do,” he spat. “You think I can’t take this wannabe hero piece of shit? Is that it? You think he’s gonna be able to take me down?”
“Yes,” Claire said with a dry tone of voice.
The furrows on Pietro’s brown deepened. If he didn’t know any better, he would say Claire was trying to provoke