by Mina Carter
Fun or not, he needed dealing with. Fast. I’d gotten lucky with the breaking glass. Troy had to be the heaviest sleeper I’d ever come across, which was a bit of a surprise for a cop. I thought they were all light sleepers—ever ready for a call to get them back out to put the bad guys away and woken by the slightest thing. Damn you TV for skewing my preconceptions. Right now though, that was working in my favor.
The Lycan snarled as I lobbed more fruit at him. Apples, oranges, even the bananas. Fruit salad littered the kitchen as he advanced, claws clicking on the tiles. I lifted my blades, ready for battle like some ancient warrior maiden, and then heard a sound that made my heart plummet and sing at the same time. Troy wasn’t the slug-a-bed I’d though he was, he was a sneaky son of a bitch who’d been pretending.
“Hey, asshole. Get away from the lady.”
Great. I was in a kitchen, fighting a werewolf I didn’t have the clearance or training to reap. If that wasn’t bad enough, I think the love of my life was threatening it with a gun.
Boy, am I screwed now.
***
She was quiet. Troy had to give her that. He’d heard the glass breaking downstairs at the same moment she’d jerked awake, but he’d schooled his reaction and focused on her instead. He’d mentally categorized her as a pixie woman, well known to be non-combatant, and assumed she’d gotten caught in the alley by mistake. But now, seeing how easily she woke at the first sign of danger, he was forced to reassess.
The way she slid from the bed and padded across the floor, even in those clumpy boots, was near silent. Keeping his breathing deep and even as though he still slept, he watched her from under a cracked eyelid. She’d make an excellent cat-burglar, but somehow he didn’t think that’s what she was about. Which was good, since he didn’t want to arrest her after a night of mind-blowing sex. Besides, he had nothing worth stealing.
He was proven right when she bent, distracting him for a moment with a view of her curvy ass. God, he loved her ass. He almost gave himself away when she pulled two vicious-looking curved knives from nowhere. Startled, his lidded gaze flicked back to the belt, but it looked like a normal belt. He’d thought there was something odd about it. When he’d carried her clothes upstairs, they’d been too heavy and oddly balanced to be simply the fabric he saw and felt.
Magic-user. She had to be.
He slid his eyes shut as she turned toward him, no doubt checking he was still asleep, then slipped out of the door and pulled it shut behind her. He didn’t fall for the bait. Instead, he lay there a little longer, in case she pushed the door open again. She didn’t, and after a minute, his breath eased from his lungs in a long rush.
He surged into movement, flipping back the covers and on his feet in a heartbeat. Like her, he dragged the minimum of clothing on before grabbing his sidearm and heading out the door. It shut behind him with a soft click, and he froze. A crash from downstairs assured him no one had heard it.
Swearing under his breath, he ran down the stairs, eyes trained on the bottom and his gun at the ready. He tried for quiet, really he did, but at six foot plus was wasn’t a lightweight and the sound of his heart thundering in his ears made it difficult to tell if he managed it.
Fear raced through his veins like a thousand marching ants with hobnail boots on. A terrible tattoo that accompanied the racing of his thoughts. She’d be okay, she had to be okay, he told himself, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to listen.
Instinct and the smallest of drafts, little more than a whisper of sensation over his skin, turned him in the direction of the kitchen. Instead of turning left and going through the small study area, he headed right to the main room. The door into the kitchen there was wider with a better line of sight. Whatever was in there wouldn’t be able to hide from him, not from that angle.
He turned the corner and did a neat half-step to the left, his movements slick with experience. He’d walked around his own place often enough he could do it blind-folded. The main room was rendered monochrome by night. The warmth leeched out of the beiges and browns.
Half an apple flew out of the doorway ahead of him, hit the floor, and slid a few feet across the wooden floor before it came to a stop at the edge of a rug. He spared it a glance and tucked himself against the wall to approach the door. Three slices of banana, complete with skin, followed the apple and landed on the floor with wet splats. What the hell was in there...the lesser-spotted fruit-monster?
Snarls had him focused on the doorway again. Reaching it, he swung around the corner, hand with the gun slicing in different directions as he checked the room out. What he saw almost stopped his heart. A fully-furred up Lycan advanced on Laney, wickedly sharp claws glittering in the dull light through the window.
“Hey, asshole.” He aimed for the back of the creature's neck. Sever the spinal cord, and no matter what supernatural mojo the fucker was channeling, it was all she wrote. “Get away from the lady.”
The reaction was instantaneous and so not what he expected. Far from the damsel in distress swooning gratefully at his timely intervention, Laney shot him an irritated glance.
“Troy, will you fuck off? The monsters are playing here.” As if to underline her point, she threw the now-empty fruit bowl at the creature. It hit the creature up the side of the head with a clang, and shattered on the floor. The Lycan snarled, whipping its head around to focus on her again.
“Come on,” she snarled back, spinning those strange blades of hers over the back of her hands. The look on her face was determined, with a dark edge that sent a shiver along Troy’s spine. His jaw dropped, mouth opening like a guppy’s, as she advanced on the beast.
She met the creature head on, bellowing with rage. The blades in her hands flashed as she landed blow after blow. Silver shimmered along the wicked edges. Within seconds, the shine was gone, replaced by dark wetness.
Troy’s hand wavered, trying to pick a clean shot, but she was everywhere, dancing around the Lycan like a prima ballerina. What the hell was she? She moved like nothing he’d ever seen before, lethality and grace wrapped in one kick-ass package.
Spinning, she sliced downward and the Were roared in pain. Blood splattered over a cupboard door, a gory pattern that was almost beautiful. He spotted an opening, lifted his arm to take the shot. The retort of the gun rang out twice, the sound near deafening in the enclosed space of the kitchen. The bullets thudded into thick fur, the creature jerking with each one. Dark, wet patches spread out like flowers blossoming, but the thing didn’t drop like he expected.
And it needed to go down before it took another swipe at Laney. Sure, she was shit-hot with those blades, and fast as all hell, but it would only take one mis-step and... His heart clenched in fear, he didn’t even want to think about it.
“For fuck’s sake, would you die already,” Troy snarled, stepping into the room.
“Stay out!” Laney yelled, but it was too late.
He pulled the trigger again, aiming for the back of the thing’s head. With a preternatural speed, it ducked, the slug slamming into the cupboard behind it. The creature turned its head and fixed him with a yellow stare. He swallowed, fear rooting him to the spot for a second before he fought it off. Damn that whole human “freeze, flight, fight” response. He was so going for fighting, every time.
“Get out of here,” Laney bellowed, and Troy’s world became something out of a fantasy film. Her voice deepened somehow at the end of the sentence, becoming more. Bigger. Like the sound of a thousand men screaming in pain on a battlefield, or the near silent rattle of a terminal illness as it claimed its victim.
He blinked as she vaulted over the island counter, the petite woman he saw overlaid with something else. Something that wore a robe, the hood shadowed with a darkness every cell in his body told him he didn’t want to look into. The small blades in her hands lengthened, became a scythe between one blink and the next.
Her booted foot lashed out and up, catching the Lycan under the chin with a click and a crunch as his
mouth was forced closed before the jaw broke. With a wordless bellow, she crossed her arms, slashing the small-again blades up and outwards. The lethally-sharp, curved edges caressed the sides of the furry throat before they disappeared within, parting fur, skin, and flesh with ease.
“Ya!” Movement complete, Laney kicked out, blades down and dripping gore as she planted a small foot in the center of the creature’s chest and sent it backward. It toppled like a tree and hit the tiled floor. The ruined mess of its throat chose that moment to give, as though it hadn’t realized yet that she’d cut through from ear to ear, and dumped the contents of its circulatory system on his kitchen floor.
He looked at the body, wide-eyed, and jumped as it shuddered.
“Shit, it’s still alive!” He jerked his gun back up, determined to empty the damn thing into it if necessary, but a small hand on his arm stopped him.
“No, it’s dead. Watch.”
Sure enough, the jerk was followed by a popping and cracking. The body wriggled and danced like a marionette with broken strings. The fur slid back, disappearing into the skin with a sharp snick. His mouth dropped open again as the wolf-form morphed back into that of the youth he’d warned in the bar.
“Shiiit, never seen that before,” he breathed, looking sideways at her, and his breath caught. Dressed in vest, panties and boots, and plastered with blood, she was still the most breath-taking thing he’d ever seen. Even if he had seen a brief glimpse of her other nature, the one that meant he wasn’t sure if he needed to protect her, or run from her, the little ache in the middle of his chest grew.
“What are you?”
She smiled, a little enigmatic tilt of the lips that sealed the deal for Troy. With a shock he realized he was utterly, head over heels, in love.
“If what I think is happening in this town is really happening sweetheart, I might be the only hope you got.”
About Mina Carter
Mina Carter is a USA TODAY bestselling, multi-genre author. She lives in the UK with her husband, daughter and a bossy cat.
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Her Dragon to Slay
Dragon Guard Series #1
by
Julia Mills
There Are No Coincidences.
The Universe Does Not Make Mistakes.
Fate Will Not Be Denied.
Her Dragon to Slay
Copyright © 2015 Julia Mills
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
NOTICE: This is an adult erotic paranormal romance with love scenes and mature situations. It is only intended for adult readers over the age of 18.
Edited by Lisa Miller, Angel Editing Services
Proofread by Alicia Carmical with AVC Proofreading
Proofread by Tammy Payne
Cover Designed by Linda Boulanger with Tell Tale Book Covers
http://telltalebookcovers.weebly.com/
Formatted by Danielle James
DEDICATION
Dare to Dream! Find the Strength to Act! Never Look Back!
Thank you, God.
To my girls, Liz and Em, I Love You. Every day, every way, always.
Her Dragon to Slay
Index of the Words from the Original Language of the Dragon Kin
Drakes Male Dragons
Vibrias Female Dragons
Mo chroi My Heart
Mo ghra’ My Love
Evgren Sunshine
Ta’mo chroi istigh ionat My Heart Is Within You
A Thaisce My Treasure
M’Anamchara Soul Mate
A Chumann Sweetheart
M’Fhioghara’ Mate
Fi’orghra’ True Love
CHAPTER ONE
“Dammit, Grace, pick up the phone,” she growled through gritted teeth at the third voicemail she’d had to listen to in the last five minutes.
“Everything okay, Kyndel?’ Barney, the nice guy in her office, asked.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just trying to find Grace.”
“Oh! Anything I can help with?”
Kyndel thought about telling him her troubles, but Barney had been spending an inordinate amount of time in her office lately. At first, she’d thought he was just being nice, but then he joined her hiking group, and just yesterday he showed up with her favorite no whip, nonfat, iced white chocolate mocha from the frou frou coffee shop on the corner. It had been then Kyndel realized she was Barney’s newest crush. It had been a long time between boyfriends and Barney was nice, but… um… no. As flattered as she was, there was no way she was having an office romance.
‘Don’t shit where you eat’ was one of the pieces of sage advice Granny had given her just after graduation. Not that it ever truly made sense to Kyndel, but she got the gist of it… keep your personal life out of the office.
She saw the puppy dog look on Barney’s face and hated to crush his spirit, but Kyndel decided a brisk walk home would be better than leading the poor fellow on, in any way.
“No, but thank you so much.” Then, to make sure he got the hint and skedaddled, she added, “Have a nice a weekend,” before turning her chair and dialing Grace’s office for the third time.
Voicemail again. Time to pack up and get the heck outta dodge before someone found something else for her to do. Bag on shoulder, scowl on face, and more than a little disgusted, Kyndel headed out of the office.
Never loan Grace the car… Never loan Grace the car… was the mantra playing on a loop in Kyndel’s mind. She was madder than a wet hen and getting hotter by the minute. It was no fun to walk home after ten hours of work. No fun to be abandoned and forgotten by the best friend she’d loaned her car to. No fun to make the five-block journey past the park… in the dark.
At twenty-six, she rarely admitted her fear of the dark and held her aunts responsible for the phobia. Had they not made her watch ‘The Brain Eaters’ when she was only six years old, Kyndel was positive everything would’ve been just fine. It wasn’t that she believed aliens would set loose a horde of parasites to eat every human brain on the planet; she had a little more sense than that. It was the feeling of being watched… like someone was hiding in the shadows, just waiting for an opportunity to scare the living daylights out of her. At the mere thought of her ‘phantom stalker’, the hair stood up at the nape of her neck and she walked a bit faster.
A sudden thud, and what sounded like footsteps pounding on the hard ground, had her stopping in her tracks. “What the…?” She gasped, opening her eyes wide, hoping it would help her see through the shadows.
Several tense seconds later—that felt like damn near forever—and Kyndel moved again. This time, her eyes slid side-to-side like the stupid black and white cat clock her granny used to have in the kitchen.
The farther she got from where she’d heard the ‘thump’, the easier it was to convince herself it had just been kids sneaking into the park after hours. Manlove Park was a well-known make out spot for teenagers. There might’ve even been a time after moving to the city when Kyndel herself had been convinced to take a walk on the wild side, but that was a story for anot
her day.
Shoot, now I wouldn’t know the wild side if I tripped and fell in it.
It had been almost a year since she’d dated the muscle-headed jock from the gym. Three long, tortuous dates and all because he had an incredible body. Of course, dating the douche bag had come at a price. She’d spent the entire time listening to him drone on about his body parts… and not the good ones… and only when he wasn’t checking out every other woman in the joint.
It wasn’t that he’d hurt her feelings. Kyndel knew who she was and had never been under the misconception she would be Miss America. She had a few extra pounds and her curves had curves, but she was cute and had a brain, something not everyone could claim. What had pissed her off the most about dating Vinnie was, she’d wasted three whole evenings of her life that she could never get back. The one compliment the jerk had given her had been about her skin; he thought it was beautiful. Her granny always called her complexion peaches and cream and said her freckles added character.
Yeah, cause I need more of that.
She sighed as she thought about how much of her youth she’d wasted hating those tiny brown spots, until the day she realized they weren’t going anywhere. It was time to buck up and learn to love them, or stop looking in the mirror. From that day forward, she stopped using makeup to cover them and embraced her ‘freckled-self’. She also learned to accept her curves. If ya don’t like em, don’t look at em was her motto. For the most part, she ate right and worked out at least three times a week. But dammit if she didn’t love her Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia and someone would lose a hand if they tried to take it from her.
