Dangerous Decisions (Obsidian Flame Book 3)

by J. C. McKenzie

  The dragon flew over them and joined another dragon with flashing blue eyes and obsidian scales.

  That was close.

  Hank tugged her arm and she turned into the heat radiating off his body. He cupped her face and kissed her in front of the entire field of warriors. The background noise dropped away. Her guilt from feeling only relief from her father’s death eased. The stress of the unknown disappeared. In the end, there was only Hank.

  Epilogue

  Misha sat across from Lara at the table in the old diner and tried not to squirm. The swelling on her face had eased and the bruising turned to a nice shade of yellowy purple. Her friend bit her lip and palmed the half-empty mug in front of her. When Lara had opted for peppermint tea, Misha nearly fell out of the booth.

  Rowen, the dragon tasked with guarding them both, stood by the booth with an expression somewhere between bored and miserable. He’d failed to keep Lara away from the battle and, as punishment, now accompanied Lara to all mundane social outings. Instead of fighting the presence of her bodyguard, Lara appeared at ease. She apparently found great joy in dragging the young dragon male around.

  “So…” Lara said. “You and my brother?”

  Heat flushed Misha’s face and memories from this morning and last night flooded her thoughts.

  Hot damn.

  Hank did, in fact, burn on contact, but in all the right ways. The ginger giant had lit her on fire and she still struggled to fan the flames from the memory of his touch.

  “Yeah,” Misha said.

  Awkward silence fell over the table again. This wasn’t their first attempt at conversation.

  “Look—” Lara started.

  “I need—” Misha said at the same time.

  They both stopped and stared at each other. This was getting a bit ridiculous.

  Rowen groaned and dropped his head back to thump it against the wall.

  “You can go first,” Misha said. “If you want.”

  Lara sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

  Misha straightened. Her back pressed against the padded booth seat and the material creaked. “For what?”

  “I, uh…” Lara looked away. “Killed your father.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “Yes, that.”

  Misha’s stomach untwisted a little. Was this why Lara had avoided her? Not because…of everything else? Something warm expanded in her chest. Hope. The feeling fled with one look at Lara’s pained expression.

  “My father was an asshole. He physically and mentally abused my mother and myself for as long as I can remember, and I was too conditioned to realize how wrong it was until recently. I don’t know how someone could hurt those they claim to love, let alone a true mate. My mother was meek where he was assertive, and caring where he was heartless. I don’t understand how the true mate system works, but I think it failed with my parents. My mother complemented my father but was never able to temper him, and after her death he got worse.”

  She took a deep breath and continued. “Talking to the therapist has helped me realize his anger and hatred wasn’t my fault. He would’ve ruined our only chance at peace for his pride and greed. Part of me grieves the loss of what he could’ve been in my life, what he should’ve been, but I’m not sad he’s gone. And I’m certainly not mad at you for being the one to end his hatred. He was responsible for your parents’ deaths.”

  Lara visibly relaxed. She released a deep breath and the tension in her shoulders faded away.

  “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me,” Misha said. “And I am. I’m so, so, so sorry.”

  Lara’s brows knit together. “What are you rambling about?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was ispolin once your true nature was revealed. I thought you’d hate me. And that you’d never forgive me for the awful things my people, my father, did to your family.”

  “Bah.” Lara waved her hand in the air. “You’re not responsible for those actions. Although, if I’m being entirely truthful, I’m gutted you can’t transform into a grotesque giant. Part of me really wanted something about you to be a little less perfect, you know?”

  “I’m far from perfect and we both know it.” Misha shook her head. “I have more to apologize for.”

  “If you apologize for being too beautiful, I will throat punch you.”

  “You can try.” More of the built-up tension in her neck and shoulders flowed away.

  Lara smirked. “You have nothing else to apologize for. Where’s your familiar? That’s so cool, by the way.”

  “Duke’s outside. They had a fit when I tried to bring him in here.” Her heart warmed again at the thought of her familiar. She had no idea she was missing a bird in her life, but the moment that featherhead clamped his talons on her shoulder, she couldn’t imagine life without him. She’d pored over the few remaining ispolini books in the archives that survived their many moves and battles, but nothing really explained the crow’s purpose, so they figured things out as they went.

  “Stop distracting me, though,” Misha said. She needed to get everything out now. She needed to say everything in her heart and beg for forgiveness, or she’d carry this unsettling unease with her forever. “I’m sorry that I stole your brother away. I know you just found him and instead of bonding with his sister, he’s bonding with his mate,” Misha added. “In a different way, of course.” Misha winced. “You know what I mean.”

  “You’re welcome to that giant ginger pain in the ass. I’m so happy for the two of you. I know how intense and overwhelming the beginning can be. Even if I objected, which I don’t, I would never stand in the way of a truly mated couple. I don’t understand how some would even try.”

  Misha relaxed in her seat. “And I’m sorry Hank and I have partially taken over the dragons. Though, I guess we should be apologizing to Raf for that one.”

  Lara dropped her head back and laughed.

  And laughed.

  And laughed.

  Misha pursed her lips and balled her hands on top of the table. What the hell was so funny? She waited while Lara continued to giggle. Okay, it wasn’t that funny. How was it funny at all?

  Lara straightened and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She reached forward and placed a hand over Misha’s fist. “Your new position with Hank is the best thing that could’ve happened to us. Not only do we have peace and no longer have to fear the ispolini, Raf can finally take a step back from leadership. I mean, he’s still the head of the dragons, but he gets to off-load a bunch of the responsibilities to you. He’s not quite sure what to do with himself and I’m loving every minute of it.”

  Misha raised an eyebrow.

  Lara leaned forward and winked. “I’m giving him plenty of other things to get distracted with.”

  “Oh.” Misha laughed. “So, the Dragon Princess should really be thanking me?”

  “First of all, stop calling me that.” Lara’s hand squeezed hers. “Second…absolutely. Thank you. You’ve made the world a better place. Not just for those of us around today, but for our future.” She flattened her other hand on her stomach.

  Our future.

  Stomach.

  “Oh!” Misha said again, a broad smile threatening to split her face in half. This must be the reason Lara hadn’t been in the battle. “Oh!”

  Misha leapt across the booth and hugged her friend tightly.

  Yes, it had been close. And terrifying. But the dangerous decisions they made had been worth it in the end.

  ~The End~

  Do you like your heroines sassy and a little badassy?

  Conspiracy of Ravens (Raven Crawford, Book 1),

  a full-length book in a new Urban Dystopian Fantasy world by J. C. McKenzie,

  releases OCTOBER 21st, 2019

  Read the first chapter now!

  Sneak Peak

  CONSPIRACY OF RAVENS

  The bell above the entrance door chimed and Raven’s impending doom walked into Dan’s Diner. She froze with a coffee carafe in one hand
and an empty mug in the other.

  The cool night air washed into the twenty-four-hour restaurant in North Burnaby. Anywhere else the breeze would be welcomed, bringing in subtle hints of late summer, like the honeyed perfume of fragrant night-blooming flowers. Not here. Instead, gasoline and gloom from the neglected division of the city accompanied the oily scent of Dan’s Diner with the arrival of their newest customer. Victim was more accurate. But neither customer nor victim described the latest patron.

  Tall, dark and dangerous. TDD.

  A shiver ran along Raven’s spine as she took in the late-night patron. Well over six feet, with broad shoulders, his presence commanded attention. The sweater’s hood covered most of his face, but dark jeans and a hoodie failed to hide his powerful build or how he moved with the confidence of a well-trained fighter.

  The lights flickered and the music playing over the speaker faltered briefly before the static cleared and the low voice continued serenading the customers.

  “My coffee?” The surly customer at the table in front of Raven scowled. He wore a stained wool sweater and smelled of sawdust and old coffee grounds. This particular regular never tipped and always looked at her as if everything he hated about his life was somehow her fault.

  She plunked his mug on the table and straightened to greet the newcomer. “Grab a seat anywhere and I’ll be right with you.”

  TDD nodded and stalked past the counter, his black boots meeting the cheap tile without a sound. His silent progress mesmerized her. She got the impression he’d take care of everything and anything. If mountain trolls attacked the diner at this very moment, he’d eliminate the threat with cold, quick efficiency.

  “Waitress.” The surly regular lifted his empty coffee mug and waved it in the air.

  Oops. Raven flipped her long ponytail out of her way, the dull black hair trailed greasy strands along her neck. Her mane’s lustre disappeared a while ago, along with hope. She turned back to the customer and his potent glower and forced a smile on her face.

  Snatching the customer’s ring-lined mug, she filled it. If only she could wave a magic wand and look her best. Her power didn’t work like that, though, so instead, her forearm shone under the artificial light with a thin layer of grease from working close to the kitchen. She smelled like vat fat even when she wasn’t working.

  She needed to drop off the carafe and pick up a menu for the new customer. And perhaps deliver a better greeting than staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth.

  “Miss?” A woman snapped her fingers a few booths over.

  Raven clamped her mouth shut and turned to the middle-aged woman and her miserable husband. She’d drawn the short straw for customers tonight—and every night—but she needed this job and the potential tips that came with it. She repeated her “be nice” mantra in her head and smile at the customers.

  The woman raised both hands and mimed writing on paper. There should be a degree in waitressing sign language—probably the only qualification Raven could now afford. She’d given up her dreams of getting an actual degree years ago. Now, she busted her ass to pay off someone else’s debt.

  “I’ll bring the cheque right over,” Raven told the woman. She returned the coffee carafe, printed the cheque and slipped a menu under her arm. Her skin prickled with unease as the tiny hairs on her arms stood. Was TDD watching her every move?

  Get a grip. He wanted a menu.

  TDD took the small booth on the far end of the restaurant. Table Fifteen, used mostly by late-night lovers for tonsil hockey or loners for brooding. She gulped and resisted the urge to look at him. Act normal.

  Normal? What in the Underworld was that? Stale coffee coated her tongue. She popped another mint in her mouth and walked like a drunk lumberjack toward the table with the demanding wife. The loose change in her apron jingled with each step.

  The longer Raven served the general public, the more she hated people in general. The drunken frat boys at table six yelled at each other over the static speaker crooning oldies. Their excessive banter appeared to impress the young women hanging off them but did little to endear them to Raven.

  “Here you go.” She placed the cheque down on the table along with two mints in front of the middle-aged couple, and left before the woman could demand anything else. Taking a deep breath did little to quell Raven’s nerves. She pulled the menu from under her arm and turned in slow motion to the booth across the diner. With a pace closer to a shuffle than a hustle, she made her way over to the new customer’s booth. Her black pants grew tight and her white work blouse suddenly felt frumpy.

  Instead of staring her down, as she expected, the man’s gaze focused on the window to take in the nightlife of North Burnaby. The corner of his full lips tugged up in a slight smirk as if he found something amusing. Raven found nothing about working at this crappy restaurant amusing.

  Unfortunately, any decent job these days required a bachelor’s degree at minimum. Dan’s Diner required the ability to speak passable English and had flexible hours that allowed her to work for the family business on the side.

  Raven clutched the plastic menu tightly and closed the distance. One of the drunken frat boys spoke as she walked by. Something about her ass. Her step faltered. It wasn’t the first time, nor the last, a customer commented on her body. Positive or negative, it was always unwanted, but she needed the tip, so she let it slide. The size of her ass had never prevented her from taking orders or delivering food. Fitting into certain clothes, maybe. Avoiding table corners that seemingly jutted out of nowhere, certainly. But never waitressing.

  The others at the table snickered.

  Screw them.

  TDD stiffened and his gaze flicked first to her and then to the rambunctious, entitled group of wealthy students behind her. His face darkened and an eerie sense of foreboding filled the diner—as if rage itself flowed from his pores and radiated through the grease-laden air. The lights flickered and the room dimmed. The music stopped.

  The table behind her went quiet.

  Raven shuddered and completed the final steps to stand at the man’s table. She slipped the menu in front of him and smoothed down her thick cotton apron. The entire time, his focus remained trained on the now-silent, mini-frat party.

  Raven cleared her throat.

  Nothing.

  “Welcome to Dan’s Diner. Our special tonight is—”

  The man turned his attention to her, and the music and lighting returned. His Otherness rolled over her in a sweet, dangerous wave. His skin shone like smooth porcelain, contrasting sharply with his dark features and ink-black hair. His gaze enthralled her—piercing eyes, pools of black, as if the pupil bled into the iris, leaving only a sliver of silver along the edges. She could easily fall into the murky depths and not care if she ever resurfaced.

  Eyes of the Underworld. Like hers.

  Raven’s scalp prickled as if all the hair on her head decided to stand up and say, “Take me!” Mom had kept her and her brother away from anything remotely connected to the Underworld, and all the realms within its domain, going as far as making them wear contacts to hide their nature. Raven and her brother grew up pretending to be fox shifters like the rest of the family.

  The man’s black brows rose. “You were saying?”

  His deep gravelly voice danced along her skin.

  Oh, sweet baby Odin. No. The low rumbling timbre made her want to do all sorts of things. Dirty things. Naughty things. She squeezed her thighs together.

  Within five minutes, not even, this man turned her into a mewling kitten with three words. Raven mentally cursed. Instead of what? A bitter, late-twenty-something waitress with a mountain of debt? Ugh.

  Grandma Lu always said Crawford women had strong backbones, not wishbones. She’d throw punches in her casket if she saw her granddaughter now.

  Raven smoothed her apron. “The special is—”

  “I’ll have a coffee, black.”

  “Like your soul?” The thought slipped through her li
ps before she could stop it.

  He blinked.

  “Any food?” Good save.

  He narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

  “One black coffee, coming right up.” Cheap ass. She snatched back the menu and walked away to get his order. The weight of his gaze pressed against her skin like a strong wind.

  Server Pet Peeve Number One, Campers. Raven hated customers who ordered one of the cheapest items on the menu and nursed it through her whole shift—essentially taking away a perfectly good table where other, potentially higher tipping customers could’ve sat. Campers pitched a tent, laid claim to their campsite and stayed for a relaxing, extended vacation.

  Raven slapped the useless menu back on the pile. Making numbered lists helped soothe her and the restless dark energy she harboured inside. It was an old habit. She wrote down all sorts of lists in her notebook at home, and if she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, she could see the lined page containing all her Server Pet Peeves as if it lay in front of her. Raven lacked many skills, but memory wasn’t one of them.

  Raven’s gaze scanned the near-empty diner and sighed. One good-looking, if not ominous, camper wouldn’t destroy her already-dismal tip prospects tonight.

  Or any night.

  Raven grimaced. At this rate, she’d never pay her way out of the hot mess money hole her useless sack of an ex dumped her in.

  Hot coffee spilled over the mug’s edge and burned her hand.

  “Odin’s balls!” She sucked in a breath and pulled her arm back. Flapping her hand in the air didn’t help. The skin stopped screaming and settled to a dull ache while the surface bloomed a lovely shade of red. Raven slammed the coffee pot back on the burner.

  After sopping up the mess with a rag and delivering the cheque to the now mute party table, she made her way back to TDD.

  Behind her, the frat guys and their groupies slapped money on the table and cleared out of the diner in under a minute flat. No jeers, leers or otherwise typical behaviour of the early-twenty-somethings trying to use alcohol to find themselves.