by Anna Lowe
The women had been friendlier, if wary. Still, they were the ones who’d talked the guys into letting him in. Of course, women had that mysterious intuition thing, and their eyes had bored into him as they decided whether to let him in or kick his ass back out onto the street. Those women were shifters too, and it was obvious they were not to be messed with any more than the men.
Clearly, Cynthia was surrounded by a healthy combination of brawn and brains. The question was, would that be enough? And was Cynthia aware of the imminent danger closing in?
“Cal who?” the pushy dragon shifter at his side hissed in his ear.
“Cal Zydler,” Cynthia whispered as she had the day he’d revealed his full name.
His lips quirked in the tiniest possible smile. She’d left out the Calvin part, thank goodness. It didn’t bother him that she’d revealed his last name, because who cared about names?
His inner wolf sighed. Dragons care.
Cynthia had about eleven middle names and three family names, as he’d eventually learned. All carefully chosen to reflect an illustrious family tree. A tree that had to be made of fucking gold, the way her parents talked about it the only time he’d ever met them, when they’d stiffly explained why it was impossible for him to mate with her. Hell, even loving her from a distance was a crime in their books.
He grimaced. They’d gone so far as to try to buy him off. As if he were more interested in money than his mate.
“Connor. Chase,” Cynthia whispered to the men locking his arms in place. “Let him go.” Neither made a move to obey until she added, “Please.”
The big shifters looked at each other before finally relaxing their iron grip. Still, they pinned him with murderous looks and kept their arms at their sides, ready to attack if he so much as twitched.
Cal shook out his arms, and he could tell the exact moment when Cynthia noticed the burn scars, because she cringed.
Oh God, her expression cried. What happened?
Shit happened, he wanted to say.
He watched her closely. Did she loathe what she saw, or could she see past the scars to the real him? The Cynthia he’d known over a decade ago had that ability, but fate hadn’t been kind to either of them. Of course, she was just as gorgeous as ever — maybe even more so, what with those noble, chiseled features and perfectly shaped lips. Those fierce, dark eyes. That proud bearing that practically screamed royalty. Hell, even her long, shiny black hair was swept up into an arrangement that resembled a crown.
Still, for all her blue blood, Cynthia had never exuded a single snobby vibe. Her eyes had always sparkled with curiosity, and she listened — really listened — to every person she met, from roughshod vagabonds like him to plain old humans on the street.
But now, sadness hung over her shoulders like a shadow she just couldn’t shake. She twirled her pearls nervously before straightening her shoulders and beckoning him up the stairs.
He clomped right up, hiding the little bit of a limp on his left side. The others stepped aside, but only barely, remaining alert. Cal braced himself as he reached out to shake her hand, being as businesslike as he could. But a crackling force field zapped his body the moment their hands touched, and he nearly wobbled on his feet.
Christ, lady. What you do to me…
He used to say that in a good way, like after they’d made love and sank, sweaty, into the sheets — if the heat of the moment had allowed them to get as far as a bed. Now, the sentiment only highlighted how much had changed.
Cynthia shuddered ever so slightly, and her lips parted enough to make his body ache.
“Good to see you again,” he said.
The thing was, seeing her again was going to kill him, and he knew it.
“And you,” she replied, so quietly he couldn’t tell what she really meant.
Then he forced himself to utter, “Sorry to hear about Barnaby. He was a good man.”
He meant it, too. Barnaby had turned out to be too good a man to hate, much as Cal had tried. Not that he would ever tell Cynthia how well he’d come to know her late husband.
Her eyes blazed, and he stared back. Didn’t she know that was as close as he would ever come to acknowledging she’d had to sleep with another man?
Apparently not, because her jaw jutted the way it did when she got mad, and she just about spat back, “He was.”
He ached to tell her the truth — the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. But damn it, he’d sworn to guard those secrets forever. A man didn’t have to be a blue-blooded dragon to know an oath was an oath.
Footsteps rushed up behind him, and before anyone could protest, a little kid whisked by, bowling right into Cynthia’s arms.
“Mommy! Mommy! Look at the shell I found!”
Cal glanced at the kid, then aimed his gaze at the floor. Damn it. The redhead — Joey, Cal knew — was the spitting image of his father. Which meant old Barnaby would always be there to haunt Cal.
Cynthia kneeled and cupped the shell in both hands. “It’s beautiful, sweetie.”
Her voice wobbled, making Cal glance over. Was that a tear fighting to escape her right eye?
She brushed at it quickly, then hugged Joey long and hard.
The little boy laughed. “It’s just a shell, Mommy.”
Still, Cynthia held him. It was almost a minute later that she gulped and extracted herself. “Yes, but it’s a beautiful shell, and it comes from the person I love more than anyone in the world.”
Cal squeezed his lips in a sharp line. If that wasn’t a hint, what was?
Cynthia straightened and shooed the boy into the house, then smoothed the wrinkles in her blouse. When she looked at Cal again, her gaze was soft and unguarded, and he swore her eyes brightened. But a moment later, she stiffened, and her face went cold again.
Cal shook his head. How right he’d been, all those years ago. That the flustered, inexperienced college girl he’d met on the side of the road would become a hell of a powerful alpha someday. Not that her perfect nails and silky hair suggested as much — just her steely nerves. The sharp discipline. The ability to make coldhearted decisions from time to time.
“Joey, right?” Cal murmured. “He looks just like Barnaby.”
Cynthia’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know my son’s name?”
Cal wanted to snort. If only she knew.
The moment her voice rose, the shifters beside him inched closer, and their hands balled into fists. Cal wouldn’t have minded taking on one or two. But four angry males, plus another four females who looked equally capable of tearing his eyes out? Maybe not.
He shrugged. “I know a lot of things.”
Yeah, that made Cynthia wonder, all right. She looked him up and down slowly.
“You look just like your mother when you do that,” he couldn’t help murmuring.
Her head snapped up, and his wolf growled to his human side, Quit riling her up.
He hid a bittersweet smile. It used to be, he’d rile her up for fun — just a little, and only when her blue-blooded upbringing showed. The same way he used to lean into turns or slalom his bike over the median line, just to make her squeal. Teasing used to be part of the game of love.
Not a game any more, his wolf mourned.
“What brings you to Maui?” she asked, watching him closely.
“You,” he said.
Her eyebrows shot up.
The bear shifter behind Cal let out a low growl of warning, but Cal ignored it. Circumstances might force him to keep some secrets from Cynthia, but he would never lie to her. Besides, he was too fixated on the thin, dark lines of Cynthia’s eyebrows. The hollows of her cheekbones. The tiny creases at the corners of her eyes. God, she was beautiful. But she looked…tired. Empty. A little like him, he supposed.
Her eyes wandered over to his Triumph. Yes, it was the same bike he’d owned way back when, shipped over from the mainland. And yes, the scarf she’d once given him was still wrapped around the handlebars. But one of the men moved
closer, blocking Cynthia from getting a full view.
Her brow furrowed, and she cleared her throat. “And what exactly have you been up to over the last few years?”
He snorted. “Do you really want to know?”
She pursed her lips. Was she as surprised as he was to discover he still had that cocky, roguish side?
“Yes,” she said. One clipped syllable — an order, not a question.
Against his better judgment, he replied.
“Killing dragons.”
Her mouth fell open and her eyes went wide. An unguarded expression he wouldn’t have minded relishing for a moment or two, just like in the good old days. But the lion and dragon shifter grabbed his arms again and wrestled him back.
“That’s it. You’re out of here, asshole.”
“No!” Cynthia cried.
Everyone froze and stared.
“I mean…” she stammered, flustered, perhaps, by the sheer need her tone had revealed. “I mean…”
The men looked at each other like they’d never seen their leader caught so off-balance. Then the big dragon shifter spoke decisively.
“Take him to Silas.” He leaned in close and let his eyes flash death and destruction. “Dragon killer? We’ll see about that.”
Chapter Three
Cal didn’t bother dragging his feet as the two shifters hauled him off. Part of him was still flying high after catching what he’d seen in Cynthia’s eyes. Love. Hope. Yearning — for him.
Of course, all that was way in the back, behind a decade-plus of regrets — and even worse, mistrust. But love was still there. Enough to make him hope.
Which was bad, but his stupid wolf couldn’t get some things through its thick, lovesick mind.
Mate loves me! She still loves me!
Well, of course, she did. They were destined for each other. But things didn’t always go according to destiny’s plan, especially when the fucked-up traditions of noble dragon clans intervened.
He sucked in a deep breath and hauled his focus back to his surroundings. Maui, huh? Even as a woman on the run, Cynthia had managed to end up in some pretty amazing digs.
“You know why I’m not killing you outright?” the blustery dragon growled as he bustled Cal along.
“Must have something to do with my charm,” Cal shot back. The lion shifter twisted his left arm, and Cal winced, then went on. “Or because you’re dying of curiosity.”
“Dying, huh?” The dragon wrapped a thick hand around Cal’s neck. “Don’t give me any ideas.”
Cal snorted. Way back when he’d first met Cynthia, he’d been a little wowed by dragons. Even a powerful wolf shifter had to respect a creature with wings, talons, and the ability to breathe fire. But dragons had their weak points, too. His right arm might be covered in burn scars, but the dragon who’d done that to him was dead.
He twisted, trying to break away — more to test the shifters who held him than to actually get free. A test they passed with flying colors, which was good. Cynthia needed real protection, not just a bunch of amateurs in muscle shirts.
“Do you have to be so rough with him, Connor?” the woman following them complained.
A she-dragon, Cal decided, judging by her scent. A scent with a lot of salt air and ocean mixed in. He sniffed again, then glanced back.
“Whoa. Sea dragon?”
She grinned, but her mate jerked Cal’s arm hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
“What’s it to you?”
If Cal’s hands had been free, he would have stuck them up to show he meant no harm. Not to these dragons — or the lions, bears, and wolves they lived among. Hell, if this bizarre little pack had a koala shifter, he’d be fine with that too. The more and the fiercer, the better, because they protected Cynthia. That much, he’d picked up from the very first glare.
Apparently, the rumor of Cynthia being holed up with a bunch of Special Forces veterans was true. Maybe she had a fighting chance against the shitstorm he knew was bound to rain down soon.
“Connor…” the sea dragon warned.
“Jenna…” her mate replied in exactly the same tone.
But a moment later, the dragon released his grip on Cal’s neck. “I don’t trust him.”
“You don’t trust anyone,” Jenna sighed.
“I don’t see why you and Anjali insisted on letting this guy in.”
“Call it a hunch.”
Cal would have loved to turn around and study Jenna’s expression, but Connor would probably tear his arm out if he tried. Did she know more than she let on? It had been impossible to interpret the looks she and the other woman — Anjali — had exchanged when he had first asked to see Cynthia. They’d almost turned him away, but Anjali had looked him over intently and whispered two words.
What if…?
The women hadn’t said a word after that, but he could sense them pushing thoughts into each other’s minds as all closely bonded shifters could.
What if, indeed. Women talked, right? Had Cynthia told them the whole long, sad story during a boisterous evening of girl talk? Had she described the lone wolf who’d come out of nowhere and swept her off her feet?
The more Cal considered, the more he doubted it. Cynthia didn’t do girl talk. She didn’t drop hints. She was a dragon, after all, and the only thing dragons hoarded more than treasure were secrets.
“We’ll see what Silas thinks of your hunch,” Connor muttered.
Other than the stomp of their footsteps and the occasional whoosh of branches swatted aside as they walked, the next few minutes passed in silence. Cal looked around, trying to get his bearings. The coastal highway he’d cruised in on was somewhere to his right, making a long bend away from this huge property. The shoreline had to be to his left, judging by the murmur of surf rolling over pebbles and sand. That left a long, thickly wooded strip between the shore and the road. The perfect shifter hideaway.
One stand of forest gave way to another, and he had the sense of crossing an unmarked property line, because everything changed. The underbrush was thinner, the woods tidier — more like a private estate than an overgrown farm. They even passed a clearing where neatly trimmed grass hemmed in a helipad, complete with a brown chopper with red and yellow stripes.
He stiffened, and his head snapped around to the left. Someone was stalking them from the bushes. A pair of tigers?
He nearly whistled. Maybe Cynthia had a bigger army at her disposal than he’d thought.
Finally, they emerged onto a patch of manicured lawn. Footpaths converged from every direction, leading to an open-sided, thatched building where several burly men stood, thick arms crossed over their chests. There were women too, and each looked just as capable of defending the place as the men. A row of tiki torches marked the main approach to that meeting house, and though it was high noon, he could picture them crackling and swirling at night.
All in all, a pretty impressive sight. Every subtly flexed muscle, every sure stance told him this was not a pack to be messed with.
Then a calico cat wound between the legs of those cold, uncompromising men, and Cal had to hide a grin when one or the other glanced down with a soft, indulgent smile.
So they were tough, but they had heart. Another good sign, at least as far as Cynthia was concerned. Still, that didn’t change the fact that there were about a dozen of them and only one of him.
In other words, the usual shitty odds. His wolf sighed.
Connor and the lion shifter marched Cal directly up to the tall, dark-haired man at the apex of the phalanx of shifters waiting by the meeting house.
“Let me guess. Silas Llewellyn,” Cal said, oh so casually.
The man’s dark eyes flickered, but he answered smoothly. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”
Before Cal could answer, Connor gave him a shake.
“A dragon slayer — or so he claims.”
Cal kept his head high as Silas’s dark eyes swept over him, taking in every detail.
Yeah,
look at me, dragon, he wanted to say. And don’t hold your breath waiting for me to be impressed.
If Cal were honest, he was impressed. Not so much by the man’s wealth, power, or reputation — yes, he’d done his homework before coming out to Maui — but by the solid wall of loyalty and respect Silas commanded from those around him. Up to that moment, Silas Llewellyn had only ever been a name to Cal — another name on a long list of snobby dragon clans. But now…
“Release him,” Silas murmured.
Cal pursed his lips. Logic dictated there had to be some decent dragons in the world other than Cynthia. It was just that he’d rarely met one.
The dragon shifter frowned, and the lion protested outright. “Silas, man. Did you hear what Connor said?”
Cal considered, impressed all over again. Soldiers who thought for themselves and didn’t hold back from questioning crazy orders, even if they respected their commander? The world could use more of those.
Silas nodded gravely, and the others complied, though they didn’t back away. They stood there bristling, ready to pounce if Cal tried anything.
“Dragon slayer? The one we’ve been hearing about?” Silas turned his head this way and that, studying Cal from different angles. “The one who strikes then disappears, leaving no trace?”
Cal grinned. Funny how a reputation could be a good thing sometimes.
He shrugged, playing it cool. “I’m one of them.”
Everyone’s jaw dropped, and even calm, collected Silas did a double take. Typical dragon — trying to hide everything, still revealing too much.
“One of them?”
“A dragon slayer who takes innocent lives?” a tall redhead on the right demanded, unimpressed.
“There’s not an innocent bone in the dragons I kill.” Cal’s voice went all gritty, and he chastised himself for letting a tiny hint of emotion slip out.
