by Jane Jamison
Dragon Love 2
Dragon’s Flight
Having suffered through her own battered relationship and the ensuing trial, Julie Brooks is ready to do anything she can to help other women trapped in abusive situations. She’ll give up not only her time and money, but her life to save another victim.
Ryan Draper, Micah McKnight, and Dane Nielson are best friends and dragons. Keeping their secret is hard, but finding one woman to share is even harder. When they meet Julie, they know she’s the fiery woman they want as their mate.
Things burn out of control when Julie’s ex-boyfriend is released from prison. He’s out to even the score and get Julie back.
Julie must fight for the lives of others while danger threatens her own. But will her life go up in flames when she realizes not who, but what, her men are?
Genre: Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Shape-shifter
Length: 46,159 words
DRAGON’S FLIGHT
Dragon Love 2
Jane Jamison
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
DRAGON’S FLIGHT
Copyright © 2015 by Jane Jamison
E-book ISBN: 978-1-63259-696-3
First E-book Publication: October 2015
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
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DEDICATION
The Dragon Love series came about from my love of dragons. From cute ones to terrifying ones, I love them all. The heroes of my Dragon Love series are strong men as humans, but as dragons they possess added strengths and abilities. Still, it’s their courageous hearts, both human and dragon, that I love. I hope you will, too.
Enjoy,
Jane Jamison
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
About the Author
DRAGON’S FLIGHT
Dragon Love 2
JANE JAMISON
Copyright © 2015
Chapter One
“Run!”
Julie spun around. The black silhouette loomed even larger, his bulk casting a giant shadow on the wall. The woman who’d shouted screamed again and went to her knees to scramble away. If another woman hadn’t been closer to him, Julie would’ve been the one he grabbed by the hair.
The captured woman’s face scrunched up in agony as he yanked her hair, pulling her onto her back. She cried out, tears streaming down her face, but she was helpless against his strength. He pulled her to her feet, laughed a sound only the Devil Himself could’ve made, then flung her away.
Julie heard the snap of her neck, and yet, still, she couldn’t move. The Silhouette Man laughed, and even though she couldn’t see his eyes or a face, she knew he was looking straight at her.
“Julie-bitch.” He stretched out his arm and wiggled his index finger. “Come here, girl.”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell him no. A guttural moan was all she could manage.
Please, someone help me.
He started toward her.
Oh God. No.
As he stalked toward her, he grabbed one woman after another, their screams blocking out all other sounds. They didn’t try to fight him. Why should they when they knew it was useless?
One woman then another was flung to the side, their bodies bent in awful angles, their necks snapping like twigs. One woman then another landed on the floor, never to move again.
Julie envied them their peace.
She moaned, sounding like a wounded animal. An animal caught in a trap from which there was no escape.
Silhouette Man kept coming, taking his time as though to toy with her. “Oh, Juuuulieee. Come here, Julie-bitch.”
Her knees gave way, bringing her to the floor. Her fingernails dug into the hardwood futilely, digging her way to safety.
Ohgod,ohgod,ohgod,ohgod,ohgod.
It was as much a prayer as a chant of resignation.
He drew closer, and she lowered her head. She couldn’t stand to see him. Closing her eyes, she readied herself for imminent pain.
Hot breath burned her ear. “Julie-bitch, why are you acting like this? It’s me. Your sweet lover man.”
She trembled and squeezed her eyes shut tighter. Whimpering, she laid her head on the floor. Every inch, every centimeter away that she could get from him counted. Claws dragged along her spine, forcing a small yelp of fear from her.
“Spread your legs for me, Julie-bitch. You know you want it.”
“Nooooo,” she moaned.
His laugh cut through her with its evilness. “Don’t be that way. Look at all the others I passed up. Just for you, baby. Only for you.”
Tears dropped from her cheeks to wet the floor. She shook her head, trying to deny what wouldn’t be denied.
“It’s time, Julie
-bitch. It’s time.”
Terror sent adrenaline coursing through her. On her hands and knees, she started to crawl as fast as she could, but fast would never be fast enough.
She screamed as he took her by the back of her neck and lifted her off the floor. Holding her up like a doll he no longer wanted, he shook her, violently, angrily. She kicked out, but her feet met only air. He was there, yet he wasn’t. He was real, yet he wasn’t.
“Don’t you want me, honeybun?”
“Please.” At last her tongue could form a word.
“Please what? Fuck you?” His breath made her skin crawl.
She opened her eyes, knowing what she’d see, yet fearful to see it. As it always was, she gazed into the face of nothingness. The silhouette remained, a horrible black outline against the darkness.
“Let me go,” she whispered. How many nights had she begged him?
He tilted his head to the side. “It’s your fault.”
At last, anger welled inside her. It couldn’t push the fear away, but the fury could give her enough power to pretend strength where there was so very little. “No. You got what you deserved. Hell, less than you deserved.”
She felt the rage wafting off him. As always, she was thankful that at that moment she couldn’t see his face. If she’d been able to, she would’ve seen straight into the face of Hell.
“You always were a fuckin’ bitch.”
She closed her eyes, knowing what came next.
The pain wasn’t half as bad as the fear. Hearing her neck crack then break was a relief, an escape from the terror. An icy coldness raced over her body as her soul slipped away, taking its warmth with it. Death was welcomed.
Julie Brooks sat up, waking as she did, a scream caught in her throat. Her fingers dug into the bed covers, and perspiration stuck her nightgown to her body. Her heart pounded, and her mind reeled as she fought her way out of the nightmare and into reality. Shadows cast into the room from the full moon played various characters against her bedroom walls, but none of them were the Silhouette Man. None of them were evil.
“It was only a dream. It was only a dream. It was only a dream.” She repeated the chant, the sound of her voice calming her as much as the words. The mantra took longer every morning as the dream became longer and more detailed every night. The end, however, never changed. She always died.
She glanced at her cellphone on the nightstand. Like so many nights before, she’d come out of the nightmare at four in the morning. And, just like all those other nights, she threw off her covers and got out of bed. Trying to go back to sleep never worked. Even taking sleeping medication at night wouldn’t bring her the nightlong rest she needed. Instead, she used the early rise to get more work done.
At least the nightmares were good for her paintings. Her most productive time was early in the morning after awakening from the terror. Buyers from a previous show had seemed to like the haunting paintings she created while the remnants of her night clung to her. Dark and foreboding, her work captured the terror lurking just out of reach in people’s minds, drawing them to buy her paintings, even when they weren’t sure why they liked them. Or, sometimes, even if they didn’t like them.
Was it because everyone had nightmares? Did they think by purchasing one of her paintings they’d find a way to wrestle their own demons into submission? Sometimes she hated parting with a piece, but most of the time, she was relieved to sell it. If only getting rid of the nightmare were as easy as selling a painting.
She changed out of her nightgown and pulled on her usual work clothes of paint-splattered jeans and a man’s used-to-be white shirt. As soon as she picked up her brush and started mixing her colors, she felt better. The sun would rise soon and, with it, a new day, free from her past.
At least that’s what she told herself. And yet, she knew it wasn’t the truth. She’d never be truly free.
Why didn’t the Silhouette Man have a face? She knew who he was. Only one person had ever called her Julie-bitch. Only one man had called her honeybun.
How could she have ever thought she loved Hank Arlan? She’d let herself be seduced by his boyish charm and seductive eyes. He’d treated her like a princess for the first three months, something she’d badly needed at the time, but then he’d changed, becoming more irritated, even furious, at everything she did. She’d tiptoed around him, knowing anything she said or did might set him off.
Toward the end, he’d finally gone ballistic, cursing at her, berating her, telling her she was a “worthless piece of slut no man would ever want.” She’d begged him to let her leave his apartment. She’d pleaded with him to put the gun down. The bruises he’d left on her that day were gone—at least on the outside. Instead, they’d remained on the inside, hiding, but never healed.
In the end, she’d had only one choice. When he’d set the gun down on the kitchen table, she’d had no choice but to pick it up.
If only her hands hadn’t shaken so much, she might’ve killed him.
If only she’d been able to aim truer, she wouldn’t have to worry about him any longer.
If only she’d gotten out a day earlier, the child she’d been carrying might be alive.
Instead of killing him, she’d only wounded him. But the wound in the arm wasn’t enough to stop him from coming at her. Not enough to keep him from clutching a hunk of her hair and throwing her against the wall. He slammed his fist into her abdomen, murdering their baby. By the time he’d clutched her by the neck, promising to snap it, she was already dead inside.
He would’ve made good on his threat to kill her if Mrs. Gallagher from next door hadn’t already phoned the police. When two policemen broke in, their guns aimed at Hank, he’d had the gall to back away from her and claim he was the victim. He’d lied, saying she’d shot him and he was only defending himself.
Thankfully, the police hadn’t believed him. Not when they saw the blood running down her chin and the black and blue marks already coming to the surface of her skin. Not when the blood coming from between her legs pooled between her feet.
Still, Hank had kept up the pretense, making it more difficult to get through the trial. He’d finally given up on his lie once the verdict was given. Turning to where she sat in the courtroom, he’d sworn to “beat the hell out of you when I get out.”
Julie shook her head, realizing she’d been standing in front of the canvas, brush in hand, lost in thoughts of the past. Stop it. Hank’s in jail. He can’t hurt you any longer.
At least for a while longer. How had the years gone by so quickly? A probation hearing was scheduled in the next few days. Her friends had urged her to attend the meeting and tell her story, to plead with the five people who could deny his release, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not having to face him to give her testimony helped, but talking about her life with him was too much, too soon. She was embarrassed and ashamed that she’d allowed herself to become his victim. Worse, he still had her locked in fear.
The few times he’d contacted her from prison, by phone and then, after she’d started refusing his collect calls, through his attorney, he’d sworn he wouldn’t bother her if he was released early. He’d promised he’d stay away and stick to his probationary regulations, which included maintaining a minimum of five hundred yards between them. He’d sounded so sincere.
She couldn’t believe him. His lies had already taken too much from her. She’d been a fool to allow him to contact her in the first place, but she’d still been under his spell, almost afraid not to do as he’d asked. But no longer. She’d long ago learned to refuse him to be a part of her life in any way.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to worry about it. If the members of the parole board had any sense at all, they’d keep him in prison.
Besides, the San Antonio district attorney had assured her that he wouldn’t be given parole. The parole board rarely gave criminals with domestic abuse records any leniency. At least not when the abuse victim still lived nearby.
She s
hould have moved. She should’ve changed her name. That was the advice she gave the women who fled to the women’s shelter where she volunteered. It was safer to find another city and new identity. Even then it wasn’t a guarantee that the men who had abused them wouldn’t find them, but it gave the women a decent shot.
But her home was in San Antonio. She’d been born and raised there, enjoying the Texas weather and all the local attractions. The artist community thrived in the eclectic town, and she had a life she wanted to keep.
Her reasons for staying were sound ones. At least until now. Now she was second-guessing her decision to stay. Yet a part of her, the part that had picked up the gun and shot Hank, wanted to fight back. That part of her was stubborn enough to refuse to let him take her town away from her.
God knew he’d already taken enough.
She glanced down at the long, ugly scar running from her left elbow to her wrist. It was a vicious-looking scar, a daily reminder of that horrible night. Yet it wasn’t the worst reminder of him. The worst came when she met a man and considered dating again. Then the fear would rise up and force her back into the mild, submissive girl she’d been in his home.
One of these days, I’ll find someone. Someone I can really trust. Someone who will be worth the risk. I’ll know him when I do.
Until that day arrived, she’d throw all her passion into her work.
* * * *
“Thank you so much. You’re an absolute godsend.” Brenna Scruggs grab Julie and hugged her close. “Molly’s always wanted a paint set.”
Julie loved Brenna’s enthusiasm. The woman had changed so much since the first night she and her daughter, ten-year-old Molly, had arrived at Haven House of San Antonio. Brenna had been withdrawn, looking over her shoulder for her terrible husband, Randall Scruggs, during the in-take interview. Since that night over a month earlier, she’d come out of her shell and started helping out at the shelter.
