Undaunted (Battle Born Book 6) by Cyndi Friberg

yet.”
    Something in the statement caused her to tense. She drew her hand away and took a step back. “Do you know everyone better than they know themselves?”
    Here we go again. Whenever she felt insecure, she went on the offensive. It was totally irrational, yet strangely endearing. He’d tried being patient, demonstrating his interest without using their natural chemistry to influence her. Then he’d unleashed that chemistry, let her feel how hot the fire would burn once she surrendered. He wasn’t sure what else he could do to earn her trust. “There was no need to read between Dravon’s lines. The first question out of his mouth was whether or not you were available. The second was asking if we could free his magic. He wants a mate and he wants control of his magic. What more do we need to know? He has skills that can benefit the rebellion and we have something we can use to motivate him to cooperate.”
    “I don’t trust him.”
    “That’s understandable.” Suspecting she would twist his words, he said nothing else. Instead, he recaptured her hand, scooped up her shoes and walked her across Rachel’s backyard.
    They’d climbed to the deck and his hand was on the handle to the sliding glass door when she finally broke the silence. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
    He pushed his fingers into her hair and tilted her face up with his thumb. “I’m not angry and I’m not punishing you, but I can’t be alone with you unless you’re ready to let me mark you. I want you too badly to pretend you’re not my mate. If I take you upstairs, I’ll use every trick I know to bend you to my will.” He let his hand trail down her neck and settle on her shoulder. “And I know that’s not what you want.”
    She lowered her gaze with a sigh. “I don’t know what I want.”
    “And that’s why we’re saying good night here.” He bent and kissed her lightly on the mouth. Her lips started to part, but he pulled away, not willing to torture himself any further. “Rachel has your overnight bag. I’ll see you in the morning.” His entire body ached with regret as he turned and walked away.
    * * * * *
    Quinton Keire stretched his arms and arched his back without bothering to open his eyes. After the disconcerting conversation with Guild Master Lont the night before, he’d summoned three of his most energetic concubines and indulged his sexual appetites until exhaustion claimed him. He felt a slight weight across his belly and something soft against his cheek. Damn. They were still here. He hated the awkwardness that inevitably accompanied waking up with females, so he generally sent them away before he fell asleep.
    His bed sat on a dais, a stately centerpiece in the lavish room, surrounded by gilt and ivory. He opened his eyes and stared at his reflection on the underside of the box canopy. In a moment of brutal honesty, he assessed his physical form. He was small for a Rodyte, neither tall nor muscular, like so many of his subjects. And his ancestors. He indulged in a long, frustrated sigh. He’d been born into a family of giants, ruthless warriors who took what they wanted and effortlessly bent others to their will.
    Somehow the Keire ferocity had never developed in him. He was timid by nature, much more comfortable avoiding conflict than wresting control of volatile situations. He was a third son and both of his older brothers had been perfect examples of Keire brutality. No one ever dreamed that he would become crown stirate. But war took its toll on even the royal family. He’d lost his oldest brother to an explosion and the second to an enemy’s treachery. He was the last of the Keire line. It was his duty, his sacred purpose, to continue the Keire dynasty.
    Which meant he had to squelch this ridiculous rebellion.
    With infinite care not to wake his unwanted companions, he wiggled out from under one female’s arm and scooted off the end of the bed. He slipped into the chamber robe neatly folded on