Bound to Change: A Limited Edition Spring Shifter Romance Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  There was so much in life that didn't make much sense either, from Billy's rationale for his actions to how Dennis's generosity could be answered with murder. The whole world didn't make sense at times. So why not fall for a dragon who adored her, and went out of his way to care for her and avoid hurting her?

  She watched him sleep for a while after waking up from her doze. He seemed so peaceful now, neither the usual thoughtful scowl nor his hazy confusion present on his relaxed features. His breathing was deep and even; now and again, he moved a little, eyes tracking back and forth behind his closed lids. Dreaming.

  She lay beside him, wishing she could just stay there. But her body's aches and pains started to assert themselves, and she got up, pulling on his shirt like a short nightgown and going out in search of her aspirin bottle and a drink.

  Maybe it was the relaxation, but she felt a little better as she took her pills and went to the bathroom to shower off. In the full-length mirror across from the door, she checked herself, and saw the purple bruises, fully developed now, but a few starting to show lighter spots in their centers, where she was starting to heal. And that was when she smiled.

  Fuck you, Billy. You thought you would own me forever. But now you're dead, the marks you left on me are fading, and even before you're in your grave, I've moved on to someone who treats me right. The guy who killed you, in fact. I know that would piss you off to find out. To Hell with you, Billy. Literally, I hope.

  She came back to the bed, damp-haired and already a bit less sore thanks to the aspirin, and found Jason rolled over, one arm stretched out toward the shallow hollow in the featherbed that her body had left. Faint smile widening, she climbed in with him, lifting his arm and settling in under it. He let out a grunt and pulled her closer, nuzzling her sleepily. She responded with a kiss, and he slowly blinked awake.

  “Mmh... time is it?” he managed after a few seconds of muzzy confusion.

  “Around lunch time. There's more chicken and waffles if you want them, but I think I demolished the strawberries.”

  He yawned, his brow furrowing slightly as he took in the room and the circumstances, and their bodies curled naked together under the comforter. His hands slid over her bare skin, and she shivered happily. A gleam came to his eyes.

  “Food later. More of you, first.”

  They kissed, and she felt his sex stir against her belly as he pulled her against him. For a fifty-year-old man — er, dragon — he certainly recovered quickly. Her little, affectionate giggle turned into a moan as his fingertips slid up her spine, and she caressed his chest in return as their mouths explored each other.

  He had her number now, and she loved it. Astonishing how quickly he had learned and retained what pleased her, even while discovering his body's own needs under her hands and inside her body. She knew in the end that it was because he listened, and cared about what he heard. Too many other men had never even bothered to ask what she liked, or remember when she told them. Too many men had gone in dry or nearly that, barely bothering with foreplay if at all, hurting and irritating her as they had jumped on her too fast and poked away at her like sewing machines. Selfish sex, inept sex, never letting her get aroused enough before they started in — if they even thought of that at all. One boyfriend, Tim, had asked her what she wanted in bed, but had then forgotten it as soon as they were actually in bed. He had always done the same thing: bounced on her until he came and she was sore, and then told her that she was to blame for her dissatisfaction — since she had ‘never’ told him what she wanted. He, along with other guys, had written her off as ‘frigid’ or ‘not liking sex’ because their inept fucking had left her sore and dissatisfied.

  And yet this man, who had been a virgin last night and thus had an actual excuse to be overeager and inept, had remembered her needs, and let her guide his hands and his sex whenever he wasn't yet acquainted with those needs.

  First time, and he still made me scream. That was just amazing.

  She kissed him back eagerly, and when the kiss broke, she looked up at him with a naughty little smile.

  “Roll on your back for me?”

  He blinked, and the confused look was back, but then obligingly rolled over. She straddled his belly, his sex rubbing against her bottom, and leaned down to kiss him and offer him her neck and breasts. Both hands free to play now that they didn't have to support him, he explored her with all the thoroughness he hadn't been able to earlier, when urgency had drowned out curiosity. His hands cupped and kneaded her ass cheeks, slid along the muscle of her thighs, explored the back of her neck, the line of her jaw, the hollows behind her ears. He covered her face and neck with kisses, and then leaned up to kiss and knead her breasts. By the time he got to suckling them again, his slowness had already left her panting and shaking.

  Finally, when they were both shivering uncontrollably with need, she sat up on her knees, reached behind to take him in hand, and settled over him, feeling his girth stretch her deliciously now that she was ready for him. He let out a long moan, hands settling on her hips.

  “Oh... Laurel....”

  “Just relax,” she cooed gently.

  His head fell back to the pillow; his chest heaved, and she braced her hands on his shoulders and rolled her hips, drawing partway off him and then sinking back down as slowly as she could manage. His eyelids fluttered as he raised his hips to meet her; she did it again and again, watching him squirm and tremble under her until his every breath came out as a little shout.

  His head rolled from side to side on the pillow as she rode him, speeding up only very gradually, wanting to give him a chance to savor it before he climaxed. Pure bliss suffused his expression again, and he stared up at her adoringly as she came up on her knees and then ground down against him — only for his face to crease in almost-pain every time their hips met. She stayed at the edge herself, a little frustrated, but fine with being taken care of afterward. Right now, all she wanted to do was drive him toward ecstasy, and watch as he tumbled over the edge.

  Those little shouts grew into long, panting groans as she sped her movements; his tremors grew so strong they shook her body. He opened his mouth, his cry an inarticulate plea — and she bore down on him hard, feeling him spasm inside of her as the cry rose into a hoarse scream.

  “Laurel — yes — oh yes!” He collapsed under her, his eyes hooding as his chest heaved. When he could speak again, he gasped softly, “I never... I... I never knew such... sensations existed....”

  “I'm glad I could introduce you to them,” she purred, lying down over him. He nuzzled her hair... and then she felt him slide a hand between them. “Mm? What—”

  “Your turn,” he said simply, running his thumb against her sensitive flesh in slow, gentle circles while he was still firm inside of her. Her mild frustration dissolved; her eyes closed, and she clung to him as his gently moving hand teased her toward her own ecstasy. He was tireless, despite the rest of his body being limp with satisfaction, and her body tightened around his length as she started to tremble.

  When she came, she buried her face in his chest and cried out, her voice muffled against him. The climax was so intense that she collapsed from it, her consciousness fading almost at once. She laughed a little when she woke up again in his arms, and the sun was visible halfway down the sky through the west-facing window. Great, now I need another shower.

  Once they were both showered and dressed again, they attacked the rest of the leftovers while talking.

  “A few years ago, I received correspondence from a very old Italian man, Antonio, who had helped smuggle my clutch and the rest of the Pompeii artifacts out of Italy back when he was a teenager. He gave me this.”

  Jason fished in his pocket and came out with an old photograph. She set down her cold fried chicken leg and wiped her hand on a napkin before taking it, and then gazed down on a stone bowl filled with eggs that looked rough hewn from stone themselves.

  “He was the one who told me the circumstances behind my h
atching. He said that he had once known one like me, who had taken an interest in the eggs, which was when Antonio had come to understand something of their significance, but that all he had been able to tell his mysterious friend was where the artifacts had been stored, back before city officials moved them so they could build the new stadium. Soon after that, communications with his friend ended suddenly. He had presumed this person... I can only hope it was another dragon... was now dead. But in any case, he reported to me that, his friend and I had the same eyes. I had been photographed as part of a news article on the use of mercenaries in Afghanistan, and he had recognized me and tracked me down.”

  “Is he still around?”

  “No. He died last year. I met him twice; he used to have an apartment in Menlo Park. But he gave me this, and described to me the X-ray experiment that had resulted in my hatching. He had followed the experiment at the time, purely out of curiosity, so he’d seen one of the few articles that mentioned the ‘missing artefact’ in New York. He said that perhaps the burst of energy had resembled the specific properties of dragon fire enough that it had set off my hatching. His friend had explained to him that normally, dragons hatch their eggs when they are fully matured by breathing their fire upon them.”

  “So... he knew another dragon. Meaning that as of a few years back—”

  “Ten.”

  “As of ten years back, there were still other dragons around, living in hiding.”

  “Yes.” Jason took the photograph back and tucked it carefully away before taking a big, crunchy bite straight through a chicken breast. She could hear him grinding the bones to powder in his powerful jaws as he chewed away. Then he swallowed and his brow furrowed. “He did not mention much about his suspicions about his friend's death. But he did bring up his one worry — that 'they' might have found his dragon friend and killed him.”

  “'They'? And he never elaborated on who these suspects were?”

  “He was too afraid to. I pressed him for more information, but he insisted that it was best I did not know.” The line between his brows deepened, and he shot her a worried look. “For a while I thought he meant the remnants of the Fascists, such as the ones rumored to be in Argentina. But conventional weapons can't kill a dragon, so I'm not certain.”

  “Strange.” And a little worrisome. “So the local government has the clutch?”

  “Yes, but they're treating them as antiquities. When I hatched, there were no security cameras. All they found were pieces of the egg and a smashed window. The X-ray never came out, as I had absorbed all the radiation that they had fired at me. The whole incident was eventually reported as a break and enter with vandalism, with much regretful commentary on the loss of a precious antiquity.” He sighed through his nose, taking another bite of his chicken. “They don't know what they have, and that is fortunate... but since the antiquities aren't on active display, finding a listing of their location has been impossible. The only thing I know is that they are still somewhere in this city, likely in one of the huge storage warehouses of one government scientific organisation or another.”

  “If there's anything I can do to help you find them, I will,” she said. “You shouldn't be alone if you don't have to be.”

  He smiled softly.

  “I am glad. Though... it seems that I am not alone anymore.”

  The gleam in his eyes made a warm flush run through her, and she nodded.

  A week passed; and her body healed, the last evidence of Billy's abuse vanishing from her skin just has he had vanished from the world. The fire had made the papers; it was assumed to have been a gas line explosion.

  Five bodies were recovered, but all were so badly damaged that even their teeth couldn't be used to ID them. Laurel moved her belongings into the room that Jason had given her, lining the bookshelves on the walls with her books and comics, and setting up her easel in the lush garden that dominated the rooftop.

  They talked, and got to know each other, and made love; they tended the garden, went to movies together, and examined leads on the missing clutch and other evidence of dragon-kind. Nothing yet, but Jason seemed far more hopeful now, just from having her around.

  One rainy night he curled up on the warm stone of his den, and she lay against his broad, scaled chest while one forelimb half-curled around her. The scene was nothing she had ever dreamed of experiencing in her whole life, but she felt such contentment just curling up with him — regardless of form — that she hoped it would never, ever have to end.

  “Jason?” she asked softly, and his huge head swung around on his sinuous neck to look at her. “Do you think maybe... you want me to stay for good?”

  He squinted with pleasure at the very idea... and then nodded, letting out a contented rumble. She scooted forward a little, and he laid his massive head in her lap, closing his eyes. She stroked the sensitive skin at the base of his crown of spiral horns, and he sighed, as a smile curved her lips. I will then. I'll stay.

  I love you.

  Chapter 7: Setting a Trap

  Lisse stared at the screen before him. It had been years – years – since he had ‘arranged’ his way into this job, doing story selection and layout for a small-time newspaper. Years in which they had gone from purely print to mostly online – years in which he had studied every passing story, looking for any hint, and hope.

  Years in which he had bred, again and again, only to see his hopes, and his offspring, die, when that one necessary ingredient for his children’s future remained elusive. Now, finally, months after that moment on the rooftop, when hope had flared again, here was another crumb of information.

  But this one had far greater potential. This one confirmed the rumor he had heard, forty years ago or more – and gave him the thing he had longed for – a location.

  But surely, if that fleeting glimpse against the moon had been real, then someone else would be seeking these as avidly as he was. Someone he might hate for his existence, yet perversely needed.

  If he was to obtain these, then he would need to be ready to trap his opponent, to obtain leverage over him or her if he could – for if the first possibility failed, he would need to somehow get that opponent to breed.

  He read the article again – a simple thing, discussing an upcoming exhibition of ancient artefacts, with a picture for illustration – a picture of four egg like shapes, seemingly carved roughly from stone, set in a giant bowl. The article put forward the scientists’ opinion – that they were ritual objects of some kind, used in ancient roman religious rites.

  Lisse gave a hiss of stifled laughter.

  ‘Ritual objects’ indeed – but not in the way that those fool scientists thought, not at all. He allocated the article to a prominent position in the morning edition, and a rare smile curled his face. That should, hopefully, be obvious enough to get the right person’s attention.

  Now, to discover the arrangements for the security at the exhibition.

  Humans were so easily subverted – this should not be too difficult at all.

  Chapter 8: The Lead

  Jason woke in Laurel's arms on the tenth day after she had come to stay with him, hearing a faint beeping coming from the computer room. He blinked his eyes open, staring at the sunlit room blearily for a moment before gently disentangling himself from her small body and the blankets covering them both. He had never felt comfortable trying to sleep in human form, not before Laurel. Now, he got up only with the greatest reluctance, the warm nest of her bed more comforting in its own way than his den upstairs had ever been.

  Pulling on his black jeans and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he poked his head out of the bedroom door, only to hear the beeping continue. He had calibrated the system alerts very carefully after three years of tinkering, and now wondered what had satisfied enough of his parameters to actually trigger one. His stomach clenched slightly with excitement. What was happening? Whatever it was, was he prepared to handle it?

  No, that was nonsense. Strange as it was to find h
imself with a human mate, the truth stood: with Laurel by his side, he could handle any challenge.

  He padded quickly to the computer room door and pulled it open, looking over the bank of screens as they flicked on at his entry.

  A photograph of his missing clutch struck his eyes right away; he gasped aloud, for it wasn't the old one from the 1960s, but one brand new and highly detailed. Four eggs the size of his head, covered in thick shells that so closely resembled rough-hewn rock that he wouldn't have known better without context. Amazed, he went to that workstation, quickly realizing that the photo was part of an article released on the San Francisco Academy of Science's new Pompeii exhibit.

  They're taking the collection public. After all these years, they're finally letting that hidden trove see the light of day.

  His chest hitched. The eggs were sitting in a display case, still nested in the carved stone basin they had been excavated with. His eyes actually stung a little as he gazed upon them. My kin.... Perhaps the last left, holdovers like himself, preserved under the ashes of Vesuvius while whatever had happened to the rest of the dragons had come to pass. He knew how to hatch the eggs, now, thanks to the details he had gained from the old Italian. If he could contrive to steal them, soon enough, he and Laurel would have a family to raise.

  He paused, and a smile spread across his face.

  Now there's an idea I could get behind. Hopefully, she can too. But now what do I tell her?

  This was big news, huge, and he hesitated at waking her up suddenly with it.

  Finally, though, he went back to her, sliding under the covers and wrapping her naked form in his arms.

  She was so warm and soft against his chest that he felt his desires stirring again. Since she had woken him sexually, it took little to do that: her smile, a twinkle in her eye, watching her walk across the room in one of his shirts. He was proud of how fast he had learned to please her in return; he had worried about that at first, as her needs were physiologically different from his own. But practice had made perfect, or close enough that she was still blissfully asleep now, long since the scratch marks she had left on his back last night had vanished entirely.