by Anna Lowe
A hook-nosed, ugly-fucker gargoyle whooshed in behind the Jag. Trey cranked the wheel left and caught a fleeting glimpse of blazing red eyes as the monster hurtled past him and spun out of control, barely clearing the limo.
Gargoyles were protected by magick that prevented humans from seeing them as anything other than really big, really ugly birds — but that was enough. The party girls screamed and threw their glasses in the air. The gargoyle yelped. Trey hit the brakes and screeched the Jaguar into a hard left turn, nearly clipping the limo as he shot onto a cross street.
Horns sounded all around him as he merged into traffic, chugging down his avenue of escape. A pickup coming up from behind careened into a signpost in front of a liquor store, and the SUV behind it slammed into the bumper.
Oops.
Trey retracted his claws, threw the Jag into third gear, and started weaving in and out of cars, trying to gain some ground while his mind spun. How to shake the gargoyles? Preferably without leaving a trail of destruction down Fremont Street. Because, crap, he was on the main drag now. Traffic was slowing ahead, and a glance showed the gargoyles coming on fast from behind.
He beeped the roadster’s horn, but no one so much as flinched. A guy on the sidewalk aimed a video camera at the Jag, though, crying out to his wife. “Check it out, honey!”
“Doesn’t James Bond drive a car like that?” the high-pitched wife said.
Trey grinned.
“No, Austin Powers did.”
He frowned and left them behind, accelerating into the tiny space that opened up between two cars, then tucking back into the right lane behind a truck.
Orange lights blinked ahead. A utility company truck was parked beside an open manhole cover, and a guy in a Day-Glo suit waved two lanes of traffic into one.
“Oh, Jesus,” Trey muttered.
He leaned out to see and found a long line of oncoming traffic closing off the short way around. He twisted and, shit, there were the gargoyles, closing in fast, and they were not amused. He swept a hand across the dashboard, wishing the Jag came equipped with a rocket launcher. But all it had were the usual instruments, which showed engine temperature, 2500 revs in neutral, and three-quarters of a tank of gas.
Great.
He lifted up a little in the driver’s seat and shouted a second before hitting the horn. “Watch out!”
A group of Japanese tourists on the sidewalk turned around, then scattered as he bumped the roadster onto the sidewalk and threw it into second gear.
“I said, watch out!”
Screams filled the air. Limbs flailed. A camera flashed.
Trey kept one hand on the horn and the wheel and the other waving frantically in the air. “Watch out!”
What the humans saw, he had no idea, but they didn’t seem to be screaming in horror at the gargoyles so much as screaming at him. Which made him the bad guy, and that really pissed him off.
“Get out of the way!” he yelled again.
A glimpse in the rearview mirror showed the gargoyles coming closer. He had enough of an opening to pull back onto the road, but if he just held on a second longer…
Trey glanced back, then forward, making a thousand calculations in his head. A sidewalk vendor jumped aside, sending a makeshift display of sunglasses flying through the air. A low, steel-frame awning spanned the sidewalk ahead with a ten-foot neon sign that flashed dollar signs and the words, Win Today!
One second longer…
He yanked the wheel left so hard, he was afraid the thing would break off. Sidestepped neatly onto the road while the foremost gargoyle smashed full-tilt into the steel sign with a solid crunch.
Trey pulled the Jag into the oncoming lane and gunned through the next gap in traffic, opening up his lead again.
He glanced in the rearview mirror. One down, two to go.
Make that two really pissed gargoyles still on his tail, but he was on a roll now. He raced past a vintage motorcycle with a side car that he could have sworn carried one of those blow-up sex dolls, and the driver gave the Jag a thumbs-up.
Only in Vegas could a man break a thousand traffic laws and get a hearty thumbs-up for his ride.
He waved back.
Traffic opened up again, and he barreled onward, pushing seventy miles an hour in a thirty zone. He could practically feel the Jag grin.
The air pressure behind him dropped exactly as it had each time a gargoyle dive-bombed him, so he floored the gas and skidded through a hard right at the next intersection.
“Shit!”
A double-decker, open-topped tour bus with a single passenger in the back was coming the other way down Main Street, and the Jag skidded perilously close to the oversized wheels. The g-force of the turn threw him into the car door, and for a scary second, he thought the hinge just might give way.
The sound of squealing brakes and shattering glass — the low-flying gargoyle smashing into the tour bus — chased him down the road.
He flinched and glanced back to see an open-jawed tourist lean over the side of the bus, gaping at the damage.
The good news: no one seemed to be hurt, except, of course, the gargoyle. Trey grinned. Two down, one to go.
The bad news? The last gargoyle’s face was twisted in fury. It bared its teeth and shot forward.
“Shit.”
Trey stomped on the accelerator and raced for the highway on-ramp not far ahead. He swerved from side to side, trying to shake the monster as it dove at him, again and again. Then he zipped diagonally across three lanes of traffic, hoping the gargoyle would wipe out on a laundry truck or RV or one of the other high-profile vehicles on the road. He nearly wiped himself out instead, which sent his heart rate into triple digits. Shifters could survive a lot of damage, but not the kind that came from being dragged under a truck.
He pulled into the right lane and saw green signs flash overhead. Left lane: Los Angeles, 265 miles. Right lane: Reno, 445.
He huffed. Right, Reno. Like he’d ever hit a gambling town again. In fact, he’d never play cards anywhere but in a quiet bunkhouse with a couple of buddies way, way out on a ranch.
The gargoyle flattened its ears and thrust forward in what looked like a final, desperate attack. It strained its claws, just about shaving the hairs off the back of Trey’s neck. Those hairs were standing straight up, because he had the Jag going all out with no bright ideas on how to evade the gargoyle this time, not now that he’d managed to get boxed in by a couple of trucks.
The gargoyle screamed, reached…and peeled away in a whoosh accompanied by a furious scream.
Trey shook his head, the way he did when his wolf pelt got wet, trying to dislodge the feeling of yet another close call. He craned his neck, catching a last glimpse of the gargoyle, wheeling high in the air, arcing back toward the city. He could sense the gargoyle cursing, shaking a fist.
A sign flashed by, telling him he’d cleared Vegas city limits and was now in Paradise, Nevada. And suddenly, the old stories made sense. That gargoyles were stone statues, magicked into life, but only up to strict limits beyond the marble bases they called home.
Trey didn’t really care. All he knew was that he was clear of the monsters at last.
It took half an hour and nearly fifty miles for his heart rate to settle enough for him to string together a couple of rational thoughts.
Well, not entirely rational, because instead of cutting his losses and driving that sweet roadster straight out to the Pacific coast, he swung right on an unmarked road and followed it for miles. Even when it turned into smooth dirt, he kept going, pulled by some weird sense of direction that told him this was a good way to go. The miles rolled by until Vegas was nothing but a brown smudge in the air to the east. A ridge of dusty gray mountains reared up out of nothing straight ahead, scraping the pale desert sky.
Easing his foot off the accelerator, he let the Jaguar coast to a stop. He pulled his hat on because the sun was inching higher and listened to the motor bubble for a minute. Then he shut it off,
got out, and leaned against the front bumper to listen to the wind instead. He closed his eyes and let the sun burn down on him for no particular reason other than it seemed right for that instant in time. His wolf sniffed the open space and all that enticing wilderness, folded into the shelter of the mountains.
A shadow passed overhead; he could feel the flicker on his eyelids. The air wavered as it had when the gargoyles had swooped in, but he stood perfectly still. His nose told him exactly who it was.
Not a gargoyle, because gargoyles didn’t smell like peach and lavender.
Gargoyles didn’t smell like steamy, soul-baring sex, a couple of hours old.
Gargoyles didn’t smell like a sweet, fresh wind out of some pine-filled mountains hundreds of miles north.
Dragons did.
He opened his eyes and watched the red-black dragon scoop its wings, fold them, and settle gently to the ground. Luminous, sea-glass-green eyes looked deep into his.
When he opened his mouth to speak, he made sure it sounded a hell of a lot stronger and steadier than the butterflies fluttering in his stomach.
“Hello, Kaya.”
Mine, his wolf rumbled deep inside. Mate!
Chapter Six
Kaya stood under the harsh sun of the Nevada desert, staring Trey down. Pretending the same unrelenting magnetism that had pulled them together the previous night wasn’t still swirling around her ankles like the beginning of a goddamn hurricane. Pretending they were just a couple of ordinary people on another ordinary day.
Except he looked good enough to eat, damn it, and sounded even better.
Hello, Kaya.
He might as well have said, Let me lick you right into another orgasm, the way her body reacted. Pulse racing, blood pooling, face flushing…
A good thing she was still in dragon form.
She stepped back into the last edge of shade cast down by the edgy hills and clawed the ground, wishing she had a little more height. Except for the long neck and tail, she was pretty much the same size as she was in human form. Shifting didn’t actually change body mass, just shape.
She huffed at Trey, trying to produce a little flame.
Failed miserably. Resented him a little more.
Hello, Kaya, my ass. The only person who’d ever greeted her dragon that casually was her great-grandmother — the one with really poor eyesight and a very absent mind.
She gave her wings a good shake and wiggled the claws at the tips for extra effect, because that would show this cocky he-wolf what he was up against. No way could he be as cool and collected as he looked. She peered closer and gave a little snort.
His pupils were wide, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. So, yeah, she wasn’t the only one with a pounding heart here.
She grinned, showing off teeth as long as his fingers.
And what did the bastard do?
He leaned casually against the bumper, as if weary from carrying all those layers of muscle around. Tipped that Stetson of his back and hooked his thumbs in his jean pockets. His thick brown hair was disheveled in a near-perfect match to the man in her midnight fantasies of the past ten years.
“Good to see you again,” he said, as if she’d agreed to meet him in the middle of nowhere.
She huffed and lashed her tail.
He grinned.
Grinned, like he started every morning with high-speed car chases and gargoyles. She’d flown back over the city just in time to see the whole thing from high above, although she hadn’t dared show herself in broad daylight. Whatever magick kept humans from seeing the gargoyles certainly didn’t cover her. It was enough of a risk to land in this remote corner of the desert and show herself to him.
Focus, dammit! Focus!
She shook her head and told herself to get on with her plan, which meant keeping cool, calm, and collected. Her sister’s life depended on her now, which meant she needed her phone and the number. This was about life or death, not the most mind-blowing sex of her life.
She cleared her throat, producing a grumbly dragon growl, and shifted — slowly. She tucked her wings, retracted her claws, let her scales pull back under her skin. That part always burned, but she ignored it, keeping a row of scales down her chest even as the rest of her slid back into human form. It was bad enough to have to negotiate with Cowboy Scrumptious; she sure as hell didn’t want to do it naked. Not totally naked, at least.
He stroked his gaze up and down her body like he wanted to memorize every curve. Like he wanted to live in that moment forever. His eyes glowed. A quick lick made his lips shine, and a little bit of white showed where his top teeth bit down.
His eyes roved a little more, and the glow in them said he was claiming that territory as his own.
“Have a good flight?” he asked.
Her fingers curled into a fist, clenching and unclenching just like her teeth.
“That’s my car,” she started.
He looked behind him as if he’d forgotten what he’d been leaning against and patted the hood with both hands.
“My car now.”
“It’s mine!”
The sun slid closer to high noon, and her tiny sliver of shade retreated another inch. They’d roast to death if they spent all morning arguing out here.
“How do I know you didn’t steal it?”
She stomped a foot. “It was my grandfather’s!”
He didn’t even blink. “Seriously? You stole a car from your grandfather? That’s just wrong.”
She sputtered. “I inherited it when he died, okay? It’s mine!”
Damn it, her voice was shaking, the way it usually did when she thought of the kindest, gentlest dragon shifter the world had ever known.
Hot Stuff’s smile disappeared as he tilted his head, studying her. He let a minute tick by, giving her the chance to compose herself before speaking again.
“A dragon with a vintage roadster?”
She shrugged. “My granddad retired to Palm Springs after my grandmother died.” The Jaguar was just about the only thing her grandfather had ever indulged himself in, but Trey didn’t need to know that. And he sure didn’t need to know what was in the glove compartment, either.
“The way I see it, this here’s my car now.” He ran a finger over the chrome edge of the headlight. “Most expensive car I’ve ever bought. Ninety grand.”
A bubble jumped into her throat. Well, of course, he’d noticed the missing cash.
“I need the money.”
“So do I,” he countered.
“It’s important.”
He crooked one perfect eyebrow, going from sinfully cute cowboy to smoking hot outlaw. The man could do every flavor of handsome with tiny gestures he probably wasn’t even aware of.
“I saved your life,” she threw out, standing as tall as she could.
“Not sure that’s worth ninety grand, sweetheart.” He grinned. “And anyway, all I remember is getting jumped by a couple of werebears, then dive-bombed by gargoyles. Not much saving happening there.”
“They spiked your drink in the casino. They’d have hauled you right off to the fighting pits if I didn’t…um…if I hadn’t…”
She lost a little steam there, searching for words, because she really didn’t want to come straight out and say, If I hadn’t dragged you over hill and dale to lose them and taken you to a hotel where I shagged you senseless for the rest of the night. Or, If I hadn’t panted over every hard inch of your body the way I’ve never done with any man.
“Um…uh….” she stuttered on.
“Fighting pits?” he asked, then shook his head, dismissing his own question. “Wait. You don’t exactly seem the gambling type. What were you doing in the casino anyway?”
“Like I said, I needed the money.”
“Needed to steal my money?”
“I can explain,” she mumbled, fidgeting under his gaze.
He crossed one ankle over the other and folded his arms. His eyes charted her long, bare legs and then he flashed that shit-ea
ting grin. “Be my guest. Explain.”
“Damn it,” she cursed him as much as herself. “Give me a shirt or something.” She crossed her arms over her chest. The scales were itchy as hell, and it was hard to concentrate while hanging on to that last bit of dragon.
His wet lips gleamed. “Shy, all of a sudden?”
She winced, remembering some of the sounds she’d made the previous night. The cries. Oh, Trey! Harder! Deeper!
“Okay, then you shuck the jeans,” she challenged him. “Put us on equal footing.”
For one horrifying moment, his thumbs twitched in his pockets and his eyes gleamed. He fingered his collar as if he really were considering stripping there and then.
Her nipples jumped to attention, and her face burned from a blush that must have made her beet red. She’d seen her share of naked men, but somehow, this one set off a whole different set of reactions in her gut. Remembering him naked in the whispering shadows of night was one thing. Drinking in the sight of him in broad daylight, though…
She exhaled, shooting the air up across her face, trying to cool down.
Just when she thought she might actually shift into dragon shape and roar at Trey, he relented. He took two steps back, reached into the rear seat, and tossed her a shirt. The bastard even had the manners to look away while she pulled the shirt on. He’d be so much easier to despise if he peeked or cackled or leered. But no, he was playing the gentleman now, all charm and wit.
Damn him, damn him, damn him.
She tugged the hem down as low as it would go.
“Want the pants?” he asked.
She did a double take. How on earth had he managed to grab her clothes while eluding the bounty hunters?
Her pants came flying at her next, landing on her outstretched arm.
“Undies?” He grinned, swinging them on a finger.
She snatched them and yanked them on as he rooted around in a backpack. “I think I have a bra in here somewhere…”
Part of her wished he’d pull out some other woman’s bra, because that would make it so much easier to do what she had to do — namely, swindle him not only out of his money, but her phone, her clothes, and oh, yes, the car, too.
