Instead, he’d chased her across Sydney, fought with a fucking dragon hunter, battled druid magic and watched her walk away from him after a mere brush of their lips.
His Fire Mate.
Except she wasn’t. Not anymore. Thanks to Derek Garrison.
Derek Garrison—currently alive.
Breathing air. Taking up space.
Destroying hope…
Fury erupted inside him and, a low growl tearing in his chest, he pivoted on his heel and stormed across the warehouse floor, his stare fixed on the unconscious prick.
“Slow, slow, slow.” Tyson stepped into his path, palms facing him, expression relaxed and calm. “Put a hold on that murderous rage, Drake.”
Ari narrowed his eyes at the alpha. He stood taller than Tyson by half a foot. In human form, Ari could beat him. Break him.
“You know what he did,” he ground out. “To me. To Jilly. I can’t—”
“Kill him,” Tyson cut him off. “Trust me, I know you want to. But even our kind have to live by human law. He’s not a hunter, he’s currently defenseless and unconscious. You kill him…it’s premeditated murder. And unlike Extraho Venator, I have a feeling if he went missing, people would notice. He’s got a pretty big reputation in this country as a chef, remember. And it wouldn’t just be customers who wonder where he went. I bet my left nut he’s got investors in his business. You’re the best Cleaner in Australia, mate, but you can’t make every hassle disappear with a click of your fingers and a flash of grin. Do you really want the cops tracing his disappearance to you and your Fire Mate?”
“Jilly isn’t my Fire Mate anymore.” His head pounded. His body thrummed. “Thanks to Garrison!”
“So?” Tyson shrugged. “Does that mean you can’t see the woman ever again?”
Ari balled his fists. “The druid stole the magic meant for us. He needs to hurt for that!”
The emptiness in him where his hunger for Jilly had been grew colder. And yet it was nothing compared to the emptiness at not seeing her smile, her eyes. At not hearing her quick wit and feisty bravado.
Tyson studied him, expression unreadable. Enigmatic. “He wanted Jillian Parker for himself, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then what better suffering than for him not to have her? Can you imagine how bleak, how miserable a lifetime of wanting someone you can never have would be?”
Ari clenched his jaw. He pulled another breath.
“Did Jillian tell you she never wanted to see you again, Arriman?”
The low question, asked with a calm Ari found unnerving, jerked his stare from Garrison’s motionless body. He regarded Tyson, head roaring.
“No,” he answered. “In fact, I’m meant to take her out Thursday night. But what are the chances she’ll still want that when she gets home, when she’s had time to think about everything that’s happened to her?”
“She knows what you are?”
Ari nodded.
“And she’s human?”
“A little bit more than that. Garrison told her she’s a dragon shifter of pagan descent, incapable of shifting due to some kind of ancient ceremony. It explains why we’re Fire Mates.” His gut clenched. “Or…were.”
Tyson chuckled, the sound low. And as enigmatic as his earlier expression.
Ari scowled. “That’s funny to you?”
Tyson laughed this time. Actually laughed. “No. No, not at all. What’s funny is, I know all about your history, mate. I know you’re smarter than you let on, and you’ve a taste for scholarly learning. Five university degrees, am I correct? That’s how many you have?”
Ari sucked in a sharp breath and stared at the alpha.
“Go do some reading, Arriman.” Tyson clapped a firm hand on Ari’s wounded shoulder, mischief dancing in his eyes as Ari bit back a wince. “Use that big brain of yours you hide behind the tough-guy Viking persona, find out what you can about pagans and dragons, and then turn up at Jillian Parker’s door with a bouquet of flowers Thursday evening.”
A thick lump filled Ari’s throat. “And if she doesn’t want to see me?”
“Woo her. The old-fashioned way.” Tyson grinned. “Sometimes the magic of love has nothing to do with ancient destinies and everything to do with the power of the heart…and simple conversation and common interests.”
Heart beating fast—too fast—Ari searched Tyson’s eyes for any hint of mocking jest.
There wasn’t any. Just a sincerity that stirred something deep in Ari.
Hope.
“Get out of here, Drake,” Tyson said, releasing Ari’s shoulder. “I’m going to have a chat with our druid over there when he comes to. Maybe suggest to him a trip to Scotland or Wales or, hell, I don’t know, Iceland is in order. It’s probably best he’s as far from you and Ms. Parker as possible.” He arched a dark eyebrow. “For his own wellbeing.”
Ari grunted.
“Go.” Tyson pointed at the warehouse door behind Ari. “Now. Before I have to call in Windemeer to clean up this mess.”
At the mention of the beta Cleaner, Ari growled.
Tyson chuckled.
“Wear something nice, Ari. Girls like it when their men get dressed up for them.”
And with that, Tyson Conley turned and walked away from Ari, dismissing him as surely as that.
Ari watched him approach Garrison, who stirred, lifting his head, squinting up at the alpha.
A rush of rage consumed Ari, hot and demanding. He stiffened, stare fixed on the barely conscious man.
I promise I won’t hurt him.
His words to Jilly filled his head and, with a slow exhalation, he turned on his heel and walked from the warehouse.
He didn’t know what Tyson had planned for Garrison, but the time to care had passed.
He climbed astride the borrowed Ducati, kicked over the engine, pointed the bike toward his home and took off. He had reading to do. And a dinner reservation to make.
He could do this. Living life like a normal human couldn’t be that hard, right?
A block from home, he changed his mind.
Books and dinner reservations be damned.
He wasn’t human. He was a dragon shifter. And so was his Fire Mate…regardless of what the druid had done to her.
He knew exactly what had to happen next.
Regardless of what the outcome would be, it had to be done.
It took him over forty minutes to arrive at Jilly’s apartment.
Alighting from the Ducati, he looked up at the floor he knew to be hers. Curtains wafted through the open windows. He didn’t have to look closer to know there was no glass in the frames. Only a few hours ago, he’d blown out those windows with his rage at Garrison. A lifetime had passed since then.
There was no evidence of shattered glass on the footpath. Someone had cleaned up the mess. Who though? Dragon? Human?
Didn’t matter.
What mattered now was Jilly. Talking to her, letting her know—
The curtains wafted through her windows and his heart smashed up into his throat.
Jilly. Moving through her living room.
His pulse quickened. His stomach knotted.
The reaction was nothing like the mating-fire response, and yet so much more potent.
Was this what human desire felt like? This…this raw uncertainty and yearning? A longing beyond description threaded with an unknown expectation? The mating fire meant desire and sexual hunger was unquestionably mutual. What he was feeling now…
Fuck, what if Jilly told him to go away?
What if she—
He shut down the bleak thoughts. Ground his teeth on the self-doubt and fear gnawing at him.
Chest tight, breathing shallow, he strode into the lobby and crossed to the stairwell. Screw waiting for the elevator.
He took the stairs three at a time. Apprehension ate at him. Longing and desire and worry and uncertainty warred in his core.
Goddamn it, human desire was a tormenting, harrowing and dow
nright daunting thing.
And now, you’re experiencing it.
His heart tried to choke him as he came to a halt at her door.
He stood, frozen. Stared at its painted wooden surface. Strained to hear the noises on the other side. All he could hear was the canon of his pulse thumping in his ears.
Shuffling his feet, he looked down at himself.
Wear something nice, Tyson had said.
Ill-fitting, borrowed Levi jeans, a black Blackthorne T-shirt that was too damn tight around his chest, biceps and shoulders, and hiking boots that had seen better days.
Wear something nice?
The knot in Ari’s gut twisted. Was this to be the first of many failures to come?
Closing his eyes, all too aware of the panic welling up inside him, he sucked in a slow breath.
You can do this, Drake. You can.
He opened his eyes and knocked on Jilly’s door.
Three pounding, bone-shaking heartbeats later, she opened it.
His breath burst from him in a rush. Hell, she was beautiful.
A pair of baggy jeans and a Star Wars T-shirt covered her lush curves, smudges of soot and ash anointing her cheeks and forehead. Her hair hung over her shoulder in a thick braid and the distinct scent of her played with his senses.
Behind her, the mess he’d left of her apartment tormented him. He should have arranged someone to clean it up for her. She shouldn’t have to be doing it herself. That wasn’t fair or just or—
“Ari…” she whispered, gazing up at him.
He stared at her. Devoured her with his eyes.
“What’s your favorite movie?” he asked, the question little more than a husky croak.
A frown pulled at her eyebrows, and then that same shy smile he’d adored back in the warehouse curled her lips. “How to Train Your Dragon. Yours?”
He smiled. An exquisite warmth began to spread through him, fill him. “Date Night. Steve Carell is a comic genius.”
“I liked him in Anchorman.”
He let out a chuckle, even as he forced himself to stay still. What happened next for them was all in Jilly’s court now. Had to be. Her decision. Her choice…
She may be a dragon shifter, but the mating fire no longer ruled either of them.
Her decision was no longer based on ancient Fate and magic, but something far more profound. Far more…real.
Genuine attraction, interest and desire.
Fuck, he’d never been so scared in his life.
“Anchorman is one of my favorites,” he said, voice huskier than ever. “Made me laugh so much I got the hiccups. Plus, I feel like I need to go to San Diego at some point, just so I can tell it to ‘stay classy.’”
Jilly caught her bottom lip with her teeth. Her eyes danced with laughter. “If I asked you to come inside and kiss me, would you, Arriman Drake?”
Ari dragging in a steadying breath. “Hell yeah,” he growled.
Her cheeks turned a delicious pink. “Come inside and kiss me, Ari.”
He did.
A lot.
And before he stopped, the desire consuming him, consuming them both, burned hot.
As hot at the mating fire ever could.
And then hotter.
As they moved together as one, their bodies joined, their hearts in rhythm, his croi ignited once again, and Jilly called out his name and erupted in the magic blue flames of the mating fire’s soul connection.
Ari… Her thoughts whispered through his mind as her gaze found his. My Ari, my Fire Mate…
Hell yeah. And no magic on earth could ever destroy that.
The End
Thank you
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More Romance From Lexxie Couper…
Fire Mates Series
Sera’s Dragon
How to Love Your Dragon
Crouching Tigress, Sexy Dragon
Dragon, Interrupted
See the full book list…
First Chapter Preview: Sera’s Dragon
Fire Mates, Book One
Is it wrong to want to jump a complete stranger’s bones? Even a deluded one who thinks he can turn into a dragon?
Sera’s Dragon
(Fire Mates, Book One)
Available Here
Sydney, Australia
Heartburn sucked. Even when you were a dragon shifter.
Tyson Conley pressed the heel of his palm to his sternum and rubbed, knowing it would do sweet F.A. to relieve the pain. This is what he got for eating spicy meatball pizza. Every friggin’ time, he ended up in hell. At some stage of the game he was going to learn his lesson.
He could already feel the insidious heat radiating up through his throat from his chest, but whereas a human would pop a Tums or two and be done with it, he was now in for a bloody scorcher of a time. Thankfully he couldn’t exhale fire in his human form, but that didn’t stop the inferno in his chest scalding the lining of his digestive tract. Or stop him wishing he were dead.
Hell, it hurt.
He let out a growl, a thoroughly bestial sound that made the old duck sitting at the table next to his flinch. She stared at him, washed-out blue eyes wide behind her thick glasses.
Tyson gave her an apologetic smile, fighting the urge to fidget in his chair. “Sorry.” He pushed the remains of his pizza away. He was done. If Ryan ever turned up, he could eat the rest of the damn thing. As far as Tyson knew, spicy meatballs only made his younger brother more—
A million pinpricks of fire raced abruptly over his flesh. Then another million. His breath caught, his mouth turned dry and, despite feeling like he was about to spontaneously combust, an arctic chill swept through him.
What the hell?
The old duck beside him glared some more, thin mouth puckered with disapproving disdain. Why? Had he made a noise? He must have, though what it was he didn’t have a bloody clue. Another growl? A groan?
Invisible fire swept over his skin again, hotter this time—so much hotter. And purposeful. Shooting over his skin like an inferno until his prick was so fucking hard he wanted to cry out in pain. And pleasure. Oh God, did he want to cry out in pleasure.
Holy shit, it can’t be the…
“No,” Tyson muttered, burning up. He twisted in his seat, frantically looking around the beachfront café. No one gazed at him with open hunger. No one stalked toward him with single-minded purpose or made coy goo-goo eyes from afar. The only one paying him any attention was the old duck with the sour-lemon face, and there was nothing hungry or sexual about the way she stared at him. She looked as if she were about to pull an Uzi from her handbag and save the world from a psychopath.
She leaned toward him, eyes narrowing behind her pink glasses. “Are you on drugs, son?” Her lips—painted the same pink as her coke-bottle glasses—pursed tighter. “Are you tripping?”
Fresh fire scalded his flesh, so hot, so intense, he gritted his teeth. His cock throbbed with such impatient insistency he feared it was going to erupt. He blinked at the old woman. Opened his mouth. Closed it. His throat wouldn’t work. His balls felt ready to burst.
All signs of the mating fire.
It made no sense. How could he be experiencing the mating fire? There were no unmated female dragon shifters in Sydney. Hell, there weren’t many dragon shifters in Sydney, full st—
A woman jogged toward the café, holding the leash of a massive animal that could be a dog but looked more like a hairy…thing…loping beside her. She moved at a leisurely pace, dark-red ponytail flipping behind her head like a dancing flame, slim body radiating energy, breath slipping from her in streams of delicate mist Tyson knew only he could see.
She ran past the café, dog-slash-thing keeping pace, and Tyson’s entire body went up in invi
sible flames. Heat and lust and want. Need.
Urgent need. Hungry want. Dire lust.
His heart slammed into his throat. His mate. His Fire Mate. Fuck, he’d seen his Fire Mate. And she was—
He bolted to his feet, stare locked on the woman jogging through the crowded footpath. His table went skidding, bumping into the old duck’s. His pizza clattered to the floor, along with his untouched beer, his phone and the old duck’s glass of wine. Beer and wine splashed his ankles, dribbled inside his Vans, but he didn’t care. He had to catch her. Had to—
“Sonny!” the old duck hissed. “You’re making noises like a—”
Dragon.
The word reverberated through his head, drowning out whatever word the old duck had used just as the crowd swallowed up the jogging woman.
Dragon.
He was making noises like a dragon. A dragon in heat.
He was making noises like a dragon in heat because he was a dragon in heat. And Christ on a pony, his Fire Mate had just jogged by, oblivious to his existence, triggering the mating fire—and she was human.
Human.
How the fuck could she be human? He had to be wrong. True, he didn’t detect the distinct honeyed-sulfur scent all female dragon shifters exuded…but since when did dragon shifters mate with humans?
Since never, that’s when. They may fuck them every now and again, but mate with them?
No. It wasn’t possible.
Of course it isn’t. So tell that to your body.
His body, however, wasn’t listening to logic and millennia-old fact. His body was well and truly on its way to shifting—shifting for fuck’s sake!—and unless he did something soon, something drastic and/or crazy, the busy Bondi Beach esplanade was going to find itself plus one very horny, very large, very medieval mythological dragon.
He stumbled away from his table, trying to find the woman—his mate—in the flow of pedestrians filling the footpath that ran between the café and the beach. He had to get to her. What the hell he was going to say, he didn’t know, but he had to get to her and, if nothing else, kiss her. And hope to all things holy that simple contact would quell the shift.
Dragon, Interrupted (Fire Mates Book 5) Page 9
