Stranded with the Cajun (Captured by a Dragon-Shifter Book 3)

by Michelle M. Pillow

“It means your quiet life here will be disrupted. It means we’ll have hundreds of idiots out in the swamps trying to catch you. If you think drunk rednecks on the water popping off shots at the shoreline is bad, wait until they start hunting you for real.” The man sighed heavily. “About six years back, some kid staged a photo of a ghost in an abandoned home over on Bebette Road, made up some legend of the Bebette monster with directions on how to find it. We still get trespassers out there. Last winter, a group broke in to the wrong home and was almost shot by the owners. Two winters ago, a couple idiots got lost in the forest, and we had to send out search parties. One stupid picture, and now I have a lifetime of headaches.”

  “And idiots on the swamp looking for me means more accidents,” Drake concluded.

  “Yes. If you think tourist season is bad, you haven’t seen anything. These idiots will start fishing for gators, trying to find you in the water.”

  Drake frowned. “That’s not good.”

  “No. Not good. Idiots will get themselves eaten, and suddenly outsiders will call for all alligators to be put down like it was the animal’s fault. There are a lot of people who owe their livelihood to hunting the swamps. It’s a delicate balance.”

  Drake frowned, understanding the implication of what the sheriff was trying to tell him. If he went to see Lori, it could be the end of everything he’d come to know on Earth. It seemed preposterous that love could be so damaging, but who was Drake to argue with a man who understood humans in a way Drake could not?

  “Let me talk to her. I can explain this.” Drake had given his relationship with her a lot of thought. She’d invited him to dinner, and he had every intention of showing up. Well, every intention until the sheriff had appeared.

  “Drake, trust me when I say privacy is better than the kind of attention that woman can bring you. Don’t give her anything else to write about.” He lowered his voice. “Forget the paranormal crowd. What about the government? You know what they’ll do to you if they discover an alien is living in the Louisiana swamps. I showed you those articles and videos. Do you remember?”

  “Yes. Area 51. Roswell. I do not understand why the Reticulans were treated so poorly. They are great ambassadors of medicine. They have cured many planets. I thought Draig royals were misguided, but your government…” Drake shook his head in disapproval. “I have no wish to be probed.”

  “Then please listen when I tell you this is for the best.” The man clasped Drake’s arm. “I’m not married, and I don’t have any kids. All I have is my brother’s family. When you saved my grand-niece from drowning after she wandered off from her mama, I promised you I would do everything in my power to protect your secret. Please, let me keep my word. Stay away from that woman. I can manage a few tourists and the locals, but even I can’t stop the US government.”

  “I wish to give her flowers and cake,” Drake said. “I love her. Lori is my life mate. I have connected to her.”

  The sheriff sighed. “Oh, son, it’s like I’ve told you. Earth isn’t like your home world. Earth women are not like dragon women. Even without your secret, a woman like Lori Johnston would never go for a swamp boy like you. You found your place here with us. She comes from an entirely different world. What you need is a good bayou woman who isn’t afraid of a couple gator bites, if ya catch my meaning.” The sheriff gave a small wink.

  “I don’t understand. You said humans have not figured out intergalactic travel. What planet is she from?”

  “Planet Yankee.” Sheriff Jackson laughed.

  Drake furrowed his brow. “Ursa told me of Yankees. Is that humor?”

  “You’re not laughing, so apparently not very good humor.” The sheriff let go of him. “You have the ideal situation here, Drake. No one bothers you. No one asks questions. You don’t pay taxes because legally you don’t exist. You’re living the dream.”

  “But I love her,” Drake said.

  “No one I know ever died of a broken heart,” the sheriff answered. “You’re young. You’ll find it again.”

  Drake arched a brow. He was well aware that he looked to be a human thirty when in reality he was a Draig sixty-one. “I’m older than you are.”

  “Only by a couple years,” the sheriff said. His wrinkled face shifted into a smile. “Us young guys have plenty of time.”

  Chapter 10

  “Welcome back, Miss Lori. How’d ya like the bayou?” Apparently, no one had told Janice, the Plantation Inn proprietor, what had happened.

  “My tour guide died, and I was rescued by the lizard man,” Lori answered.

  Janice erupted into a very girlish display of giggles. “Oh, you! You’re such a riot.”

  “I do try to entertain,” Lori drawled. It was best she leave before the poor woman got the blunt end of Lori’s bad mood. “Excuse me.”

  “So you saw him?” A Southern gentleman interrupted. He sat a book down next to his chair and stood. The foyer was cozy, and double doors opened to screened porch. His polo shirt and khaki pants were a clean-cut contrast to Lori’s borrowed T-shirt and athletic shorts. The last thing she wanted was to stop and have a conversation while dressed like she’d woken up naked in the middle of a frat house.

  Lori glanced at Janice and then back to the man.

  “Miss Lori, this is Mr. Howards. He’s a world traveler just back from Africa. Isn’t that exciting?” Janice introduced. “And this is Miss Lori. She’s a photographer. She’s writing a feature on my little piece of heaven.”

  “What were you doing in Africa?” Lori asked.

  “Big game hunting.

  Lori tried not to look disgusted. “Is that even still legal?”

  The man laughed but didn’t answer.

  “So what brings you to Louisiana?” Lori tried to be polite but didn’t really care about the answer.

  “Business. Pleasure.” He shrugged lightly.

  “Well, it was nice to meet you,” Lori turned to leave, but his words stopped her. Apparently, the awkward conversation wasn’t over.

  “You were on the bayou?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Whereabouts?”

  “Gator Boat Rides, wasn’t it?” Janice inserted, trying to stay a part of the conversation. “We have brochures if you’re interested.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Mr. Howards answered.

  “Actually, I’m not sure they’ll be open. My guide had a heart attack last night and, unfortunately, didn’t make it. I’d be surprised if they open up for business today.” Lori stepped away from them. “Please, excuse me. It’s been a long night.”

  “You mentioned a lizard man?” Mr. Howards insisted. “Were you at the swamps taking pictures? I would love to see them.”

  “There is no such thing as a lizard man,” Lori stated, a little too harshly.

  “Of course,” he conceded. “Have a pleasant day, Miss Lori.”

  Lori took her opportunity leave and quickly moved to the carpeted stairs to go to her room.

  “Speaking of the lizard man,” Janice said, following her to the second floor. “I was talking to an old woman I know who sells jams at the farmers’ market. She knows all about the lizard man legends. If you like to speak to her, I can get you her information.”

  “Um, yeah, sure, thanks,” Lori answered. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do about Drake. He’d saved her life. And, as much as she resented being told what to do by a backwater sheriff, she didn’t want to bring Drake harm. Exposing him might do just that. Journalistic tendencies came a far second to Drake’s wellbeing.

  “But you’ll mention the lizard man?” Janice insisted.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Miss Lori, please.” Janice’s tone begged for attention.

  Lori stopped in the hall outside her room and turned to the woman.

  “A local legend would be great for businesses. You said you wanted local culture. I’m not asking you to make anything up or write anything you’re not comfortable with. Just, if you could, please mention
the possibility of the lizard man. It would be greatly appreciated. We’re having lizard-man T-shirts made up, coffee mugs. My son is building a website.”

  A day ago, Lori would have said yes without issue. The inn was adequate as far as accommodations and the staff was very polite. Janice had the kind of bubbly personality needed to run a small inn. But now Lori knew the lizard man was real. Drake was real. “I’ll have to pass it by my editor, but I promise to see what I can do.”

  “Thank you!” Janice gave a small clap of her hands. Then, as if the idea just struck her, she added, “I’m going to get you a T-shirt and mug so we can get your picture for the website.”

  Chapter 11

  Lori waited at the inn for a full day, hoping Drake would take her up on her offer for dinner. She pretended to work on her travel article while sitting on the screened porch, but in reality she watched the road eagerly for travelers and flipped through the photos Sheriff Jackson hadn’t deleted. Unfortunately, her wireless device hadn’t picked up cellular service in the swamp and her images hadn’t synced to back up to her cloud storage. She should have charged the device when she charged her camera, but she hadn’t thought about it at the time since she was going to be going back to her hotel. When the sheriff deleted the pictures, he’d taken her only copies.

  There was one depicting a very small image of Drake in his shifted form. It was his head peeking out of the water as she’d busily flashed her camera at the surrounding alligators. Well, honestly, it could be his head in the shadows surrounded by tree limbs, or just another alligator. She had one of his human self as he watched the paramedics take Big Daddy from the airboat.

  That was all she had—a tiny maybe dot of his lizard man head and part of his human face.

  The idea of the lizard man frightened her, but the memory of the man caused her to ache. Yes, much of it was sexual desire. She was undoubtedly attracted to him. But there was more. She found she wanted to look at him, study the scar, ask him questions about these Var and Draig. There were more shifters out there in the world. There had to be. This man had come from somewhere.

  Then there was the man himself. He’d saved her. She sensed the goodness in him and was not afraid.

  Maybe she was crazy. Maybe she’d imagined the photos and the sheriff’s threats. She’d been scared when Drake had come on to the airboat. It had been dark. Alligators had her adrenaline pumping. She was creative and prone to imagining. Like the time she’d been convinced her house was haunted because of thumping in the walls. Twelve séances and a cleansing later, it had turned out to be old, loose pipes.

  No, Drake was real. She remembered his kiss, his touch, his hesitance and his eagerness. If any other man had started talking about marriage after one day, she’d have run for the hills. But remembering Drake do it made her want to head to the bayou.

  The photo of Drake by the paramedics was tagged with GPS data. Past experience told her it wouldn’t be exact, but it would get her close to where he lived. The backroads the sheriff had taken were a winding maze, but she had to try. No part of her could accept that this was it. One morning and then nothing? She would spend the rest of her life wondering, her mind stuck forever on that one event, unable to move on.

  “Are those the pictures from your adventure?” Mr. Howards’s voice startled Lori, and she jolted up in her chair. She’d angled her body so that people couldn’t see her screen from behind her…well, unless they crept up to purposefully gaze over her shoulder.

  Automatically, she reached for her laptop and closed it to hide the pictures of Drake’s maybe head in the water. “Just a few swamp landscapes.”

  Mr. Howards chuckled. “If I knew you better, I’d say something in those waters has you spooked.”

  “Yes. Hungry alligators.” She reached to pull the power cord from the wall plug.

  “Would you like to talk about it?” he asked. “You seem shaken up.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m all right.” She tapped her laptop a couple of times. “Just deadlines. Lots of deadlines.”

  Ah, the perfect excuse—even if it was true most of the time. No one ever asked for more details about deadlines.

  “Take a break. Let me buy you dinner,” he insisted.

  “Oh,” she said in surprise as she hurried to gather her laptop and camera bags. “That’s very kind of you to offer, but I have to finish this article tonight. The news never sleeps.”

  Okay, so that one was a lie. She had a week before she had to turn it in.

  “You won’t regret it.” Mr. Howards smiled. She could tell he was used to having his charming way, but there was something about his entitled personality that put her off.

  “I would, but I’m meeting my fiancé—” she began.

  “Janice told me you were single,” he interrupted. “She thinks we’d be perfect for each other.”

  “Oh, well, Janice is a busybody who apparently can’t be trusted with personal information.” She hoisted her bags onto her shoulders. “I didn’t inform her of my wedding plans.”

  “You’re not wearing a ring,” he pointed out.

  “You don’t take no very well,” she stated. “Have a good evening, Mr. Howards.”

  Chapter 12

  Drake felt a shiver of awareness course through his body. He jerked his head up from where he stared at the dark water. A car drove on the nearby dirt road. He stood next to the broken dock outside his home, listening for boats, as he did every night.

  The emptiness building inside him since Lori had driven away with the sheriff was unbearable, the loneliness worse than ever before. How could humans not know when they had found their life mate? One look and he’d been sure. At the time, he hadn’t realized what was happening on the airboat, but his body had known. He’d felt she was familiar to him.

  He kept the sound of the car in the back of his thoughts as he concentrated on the water. Had the careless hunters taken to land, he could have tracked them. Since they stayed on a boat, he had to stand and wait for them to come back. Perhaps this was his purpose in life—standing on the shore waiting. Jackson had called him a guardian of the bayou.

  Drake didn’t want to be a guardian.

  Duty demanded he do just that.

  The ache filled him, radiating from the missing piece of his soul. He’d given it to Lori. With each passing hour, that much became clearer. One second was all it had taken. One look. One touch. One kiss.

  One curse to live his days empty.

  Guardian of the bayou.

  Alone.

  The gods were indeed cruel.

  His shifted eyes peered over the water. In this form, he could better hear and see in the dark. He focused on the distant familiar details, watching for changes. The sound of the car slowed. It had come closer, but he ignored it. He again focused on the swamps.

  Drake had no idea how long he stood in his misery, waiting. Suddenly, he frowned. Something was not right. He looked toward his home, then to the trees. The forest did not make its usual sounds. He directed his hearing toward the dirt road. No car. No motor. Footsteps. Animal? No. Two legs. Slow steps. Stop. Rustle of leaves.

  Drake held perfectly still as he scanned the trees. The moon did not provide much light to help his search in the darker shadows. A tiny pop sounded, and he quickly turned his attention toward the noise. Fire erupted in his shoulder, forcing him to stumble backward.

  “Nice shot! That’s some fine hunting,” someone yelled, the tone laughing and excited. “You got it, Mr. Howards.”

  Drake grabbed his shoulder and felt blood trickle over his fingers. The initial fire did not lessen. Pain burned its way down his arm and up his neck.

  “Grab it,” a quieter voice answered. “Don’t let my trophy get away.”

  The sound of running footsteps crunched twigs and rocks. Drake stumbled again, a little dazed by what was happening. Another pop sounded. His leg hit the broken dock, and he fell back into the dark water. Liquid cocooned him as he bumped against the swamp bed. H
is leg jerked, but he couldn’t move his arm to swim or defend himself. Another shot sounded, breaking the surface of the water. A light passed over him. He heard yelling but couldn’t make out the distorted words.

  Some guardian he’d turned out to be.

  Another ache grew, worse than the pain in his body, as he thought about Lori. This was not how his journey was supposed to end.

  Chapter 13

  “You’re trespassing.”

  At least, that’s what Lori thought the old woman said in thick Cajun English. Even if the words were translated incorrectly by Lori’s brain, the fact Ursa held a rifle on her was easy enough to understand. She was trespassing, and she was not welcome.

  This was Ursa? The woman who filled Drake’s head full of nonsense and convinced him to drunken skinny dip in a fake Cajun induction ceremony? This was the woman Lori had been jealous of?

  Ursa’s thin, homemade dress hung on her small frame. But for all the look of frailty, Ursa held the gun steady. The woman had been easy enough to find once Lori had asked a couple locals…and bought a case of their local jams.

  “My name is Lori,” Lori stated loudly from her place on the woman’s lawn. She was careful to keep her shaking arms lifted to her sides to show she wasn’t a threat.

  “I know who you are. Sheriff warned me about you,” Ursa stated. Lori had to listen very carefully to understand her.

  The small shack looked as if it had been built by hand a hundred years ago but had been maintained with loving care, or at least care out of necessity. Two flame lanterns and one battery-powered light illuminated the porch and yard. The owner, by all appearances, never left her piece of the swamp.

  “Dat boy saved my life. He saves a lot of lives. Now you just get before dey…” The rest of the sentence was lost in a rapid, undecipherable stream of half Cajun English, half Cajun French threats that mumbled together only to be punctuated by the tilt of Ursa’s gun.