Sirens and Scales

by Kellie McAllen

  Saff pointed down at her feet and the black flats there that complimented her dress. “We could have gotten you something else, could we not?”

  “I’m already barely feeling adequate at my height in these heels. In your case, you’re basically six-feet-plus of dragon. You don’t need the lift. Also, I assume you don’t dress up often in human finery.”

  Saff offered her the first smile Minerva had caught from her so far in their partnership. “I think I do as well as you.”

  “Luckily,” she said, walking with a ton of effort to her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. “We don’t have to fight. We go to this, get the info we need, and then we surprise the dealer in the cover of darkness.”

  “And that’s why you have knives strapped to your inner thigh and a spray can of something snuggled in between your breasts.”

  Minerva blushed. “You noticed my breasts?”

  “I noticed you preparing for battle just in case.”

  She nodded. “I have some mace here in case, and my favorite knives always go somewhere with me. It bought me enough time on the beach. The plan is we do recon.”

  The dragon shifter quirked her head and considered Minerva. “So far, I rescued you from the buyers who tried to stab you, then I made Mr. Johns soil himself, and we couldn’t get a hold of his cousin in person.”

  “Point?”

  Saff grabbed a wickedly curved blade of her own and strapped it to the inside of her right thigh. “Nothing ever goes to plan. I think your caution is the best course of action.”

  Minerva grinned. “Are you complimenting me?”

  “Perhaps. Now let’s get through tonight. I have no interest in wearing this torture device called Spanx any longer than I have to.”

  “Amen.”

  11

  Saffyranae

  Minerva was a puzzle. At first, Saff could admit she’d written the thief off as another self-serving human, one whose greed wasn’t that different from the thugs on the beach or Mr. Johns. But after offering to continue the hunt for the eggs and the things she’d said… It simply wasn’t possible that Minerva had felt the very heartbeat of Saff’s lost sister, of the hatchling who would never breathe or beat her wings. It was oddly sentimental, wishful thinking from a human, especially when they usually ran screaming from dragons—no matter their sizes—in their true form.

  Whether it was a lie that Minerva told herself, or one she told Saff, Minerva was always slick. Her words flowed forth like a persistent drizzle of honey. She had grown accustomed to seeing Minerva as smooth and confident, always in her element. Outside of that quiet hint of insight into her relationship with her parents, Minerva had confirmed that image.

  Until now.

  For all her talk and ability to adapt to situations, it was clear to Saff that Minerva had rarely attended fancy human gatherings. To be fair, neither had she. Still, she’d seen the change in Minerva the minute they’d gotten to the door of the clothing boutique. Regardless, even if Minerva had stumbled on her heels occasionally, when they arrived in front of the doormen, she’d stood straighter, and a focus had come to her dark brown eyes.

  Minerva had her target in her sights, and she wasn’t going to let it go. Saff hadn’t known her long, but she could already see that alteration in her companion’s behavior. Minerva was hunting.

  They’d split up once they’d settled into the cocktail party held before the auction. Both figured they could cover more ground that way, although it had taken a massive promise from Saff, the vow she wouldn’t strangle anyone or push them against or through walls. Small sacrifices. But she understood that it would scare these humans, and trying to get them to speak while they were jovial and imbibing might actually get them farther.

  Besides, Saff knew that there would likely be no shortage of fighting to satiate her anger. For tonight, she’d try things Minerva’s way.

  It wasn’t too hard in spite of her lack of experience. She’d never bonded with a mate—male, female, or otherwise—or made efforts toward courtship. She had been far too consumed by her shaman training. However, her experience with human men had taught her, even from her earliest efforts under the watchful eyes of her father, that little effort was required from her to lure the type of human male that sought females.

  She’d always respected her fathers and the other masculine presenting dragons she knew. Saff could not say as much of human men. Dressed as she was, she seemed to be an irresistible honey pot on which the buzzing men descended.

  A man, almost as tall as she was, stepped into her path. He wore a glitteringly fake smile and handed her a flute of champagne. He no doubt desired to lower her defenses, as she had been warned human men tried to do. However, her metabolism, shift or no shift, broke down human recreational poisons much more efficiently. It would have no effect. She took a polite sip, thinking that Aislinn flower nectar would have been a more pleasant beverage for the occasion.

  “Did it hurt?”

  She frowned, not familiar with this line of questioning. The clothes she wore were constricting, but they did not cause her pain. Squeezing her other form into the pocket dimension was complex, but it no longer ached as it had when she was a child. Of course, a human wouldn’t be asking about that.

  Frowning, she eyed the man more closely. “Did what hurt?”

  * * *

  “When you fell from heaven. Because, baby, you have to be an angel.”

  Saff forced her smile to stay planted firmly on her face. She’d suffered through equally cringe worthy lines and attempts to attract her all night. She could only imagine the irritation they caused to their females with that behavior. So far, none of the humans she’d made small talk with had offered her any hints. Perhaps the auction itself, when it started, would reveal what they needed. Still, loose lips and intoxication could be helpful. She could without a doubt outdrink anyone here.

  Saff tossed the dark hair of her wig back over her shoulder and smiled at him. She added a little giggle as Minerva had taught her. “That’s funny. I like that, but I’m no angel. I do fly though.”

  “Do you? Heh. First class? Mile high?”

  Saff creased her forehead and tilted her head to the side. This was gibberish.

  “This is a fine gathering, don’t you think?” she said.

  “Eh. I won’t complain about getting to see cute gals like yourself.” The man leaned closer and his breath reeked of hard liquor. Clearly, he’d been enjoying the open bar. “I prefer when we can go down to Annette’s. I like a direct hit, access to the jewels. It’s kind of a hassle to make chit chat when we all want to make a purchase, get a hit, and move on.”

  She took in a sharp breath and forced her anger back down. If she wasn’t careful, Saff would slip in forms, let scales emerge over her face where they couldn’t help but be noticed. It was hard. The anger roared through her like a blazing inferno. This human spoke of draining the life of her siblings like a “hit,” as nothing more than a drug to take advantage of.

  Granted, they didn’t know that they were leaching from living creatures, but all these humans had enough instinct left to know that they should not touch them. Human self-preservation ought to tell even the most magically insensitive mud-dweller that stones were not for them.

  Looping her hair around her forefinger, she made herself play the role of the eager heiress, whatever might disarm the swine further. “Yes. Annette’s is great.”

  “It’s simpler,” he agreed. “You go in, get the gem down in the basement, and she has a faster system. Guess a jeweler would. God, never seen anything like this stuff ‘till I was let in on the secret. I didn’t even know you could make gems that large, not with that kind of shine and cut.”

  “You can’t.”

  “What?”

  “I mean, I guess it’s just the touch of what Annette does and where our benefactor tonight trades for the gems.”

  “They’re masters at what they do.” His words were beginning to slur. He reached an arm over he
r shoulder, but Saff nimbly dodged under his grip. “Have you ever touched your stone?”

  Saff’s pulse quickened at the thought of this man tainting a helpless egg. She’d cared for more than one egg with her fathers’ help, worked hard to help transition a baby dragon to hatchling. The magic inside always called to her. It was what she shared with her fellow shamans. This connection no mere human could hope to understand. One they’d never be able to fully appreciate.

  “You cannot touch the gems.” She crossed her arms over her chest to emphasize her point. No egg was even near, yet she felt protective and ready to knock this fool on the floor.

  “They say that, but sometimes, darling, I take the cover off.” He grinned at her, nodding as though they shared a secret. “It’s… nice.”

  “You should not do that,” Saff said through gritted teeth. It was so tempting to grab his throat and pop him like a grape.

  “Rules. You sound just like Annette and Desmond. Rules were meant to be broken.”

  Saff stared at the human, at the way he swayed and the blood shot look in his eyes. Sweat pooled at his temple and something clouded his expression. He even smelled strange. For the first time, she wondered it wasn’t just alcohol affecting his perception.

  “Sir—”

  He squeezed her shoulder, and she pulled away. “Darling, it’s Jimmy. Call me that since I’ll be making you breakfast in the morning.”

  “Hardly.” She craned her neck, trying to locate Minerva in the room. In the far corner, the swish of red, flared skirt caught her eye. “You should drink some water, lest you crave death in the morning. Just a suggestion.”

  He snorted and his eyes wandered toward a blonde in the crowd. “Killjoy.”

  “Kill’s the operative word,” she muttered. Then, she frowned. Two large men in suits wearing small radio earpieces were leading Minerva out to the hallway. “I must go. Just, don’t touch the gems.”

  “Whatever,” he finished, turning from her. “Don’t need a lecture on my damn gem.”

  Saff swiveled around to where she’d spotted Minerva and rushed as fast as she could through the crowd. An outright run would only draw attention to her. Minerva had been spotted. The best she could do now was remain undetected.

  Bursting into the hall, she found that Minerva had already kicked off her shoes and was brandishing her mace at the men. Both were built like oaks, one taller and the other wearing sunglasses indoors. Saff couldn’t help the way her lips curled up into a smirk. For someone so small (and so tremendously human), Minerva didn’t seem to fear much of anything.

  “Back off, dipshits!” Minerva shouted. “My uncle runs Canada Dry, all that sweet ginger ale money, and he will not be pleased that you pulled me out of the auction.”

  The taller of the two men with a neck as thick as a telephone poll merely shook his head. “Your story didn’t check out. And there’s an alert for a pint-sized, double-crossing thief at Venice Beach. Now, bitch, who are you working for?”

  Saff slunk out from the shadows, her own knives clutched in either hand as a cool mist gathered around her. “For me.”

  The shorter guard frowned. “You two have no business with this shit. If being beaten on a beach the first time, didn’t teach you, chica,” he said, focusing on Minerva, “then you’re gonna have to learn the hard way.”

  Minerva eyed her. Saff did what she could to keep the temperature in the room dropping too low as she guided the mist to pool around them. There was no way she could change forms here. The hallway had no room for her bulk, and she couldn’t afford to reveal the truth about her nature, to let even more idiot humans know that dragons existed.

  Not when they played with eggs like toys.

  “You need to let her go.” Saff said, her voice dropping an octave. She couldn’t switch forms, but she wasn’t about to let the bastards win without a fight either. “If you stop now, you won’t suffer broken bones.”

  * * *

  Sunglasses and Thick Neck eyed each other and laughed.

  Sunglasses spoke first. “So, the supermodel and the mouse over there are gonna hurt us? Yeah, right.”

  Minerva gave no warning; she sprayed her mace directly into Thick Neck’s eyes. He screamed and swatted at her. The thief hopped back and swiped up with her blade at the same time. “We’re leaving, asshole!”

  Saff wanted to go to her. Her partner was smart, a gifted con artist and well-versed in the way of humans, of course. She had held her own on the beach for a time. But she was still so small. Saff darted left but found Sunglasses aiming an uppercut to her face. She dodged the blow and kneed him hard in the crotch.

  Sunglasses fell to the ground like a sandbag.

  She kicked him several times in the stomach for good measure. It wouldn’t kill him, but he wouldn’t be getting up either. Rounding on her heels, Saff rushed for Minerva and Thick Neck.

  The scent of copper was thick in the air and rage poured through her veins. It took everything she had not to shift to her other shape, despite the tight squeeze, and tear into the guard. Minerva had fallen against the far wall, her right arm hanging limply by her side. The deep gash in her shoulder dripped with blood, and the crimson drops pooling on the floor matched the color of Minerva’s dress.

  “Saff,” she said weakly as she slid to the floor. “Please help me.”

  Without hesitation, Saff surged toward Thick Neck and wrapped her fingers tightly around his throat. It was no effort at all to hold him up with one hand; he was truly nothing to her. She shoved him hard against the wall. Plaster rained down on them both. Her shape might have stayed intact, but the chill seeped from her fingers. A bluish tint as well as thick ice began to encompass the guard’s neck.

  “You don’t get to touch her!”

  “Screw you, bitch. Company’s coming. Backup will be here soon, and neither of you will ever leave.”

  Saff pulled her head back and butted it fiercely into the guard’s. He shuddered in her grasp and fell limp. It was her distinct pleasure to let him fall to the floor like the pile of garbage he was. Stepping over him, she hurried to Minerva. The other girl had crumpled up in a heap and shivered in the chill of the mist and fog surrounding them. Saff scooped Minerva into her arms as easily as a bundle of twigs.

  “Saff, we have to… So cold,” Minerva sputtered. Her fingers curled into the front of Saff’s dress but went slack as the girl passed out.

  Fury flared fresh through Saff, and she breathed in deeply, forcing back the scales she could already feel prickling across her face. “Don’t, Nerv. I have you, and I’m not letting you go.”

  12

  Minerva

  The cold rag on her head dripped water down her skin until it worked its way down her face and in between the curve of her modest breasts. Minerva shivered and opened her eyes. She wished she hadn’t. Being cut was one thing, but being able to see the congealed mess of blood and even the stray dark yellow of leaking viscera was too much. Minerva chewed back her nausea and looked up.

  And into Saff’s eyes.

  “Hi,” she said, unsure of what else to do. “I don’t exactly have medical insurance, b-but I probably shouldn’t be able to see fat or, you know, still be bleeding.”

  Saff nodded and stood up from her perch on the corner of the bed. Setting the wash cloth back in its bowl on Minerva’s (stolen) bedside table, she swallowed. “I needed you to be awake in order to help you.”

  Minerva frowned. “I don’t understand.” Her heart fluttered weakly, and her head spun. Christ. She must have lost more blood than she’d even guessed. “What if I hadn’t woken up?”

  “As a shaman, I can heal, but I’m not used to doing the process on humans. I needed you awake to help me through it,” Saff confessed, a splash of red coloring her pale cheeks. “I am glad it didn’t take you long after we fled home to regain consciousness.”

  She eyed the huge pool of crimson soaking into her pillow and groaned. “I’m glad because I’m pretty sure I’m missing about four or so
pints.”

  “I suspect it is not that bad.” Saff held Minerva’s good hand between her own. “I need you to concentrate, to tell me if you feel it working.”

  “What?”

  “Healing.”

  “Okay, so I know you’re a dragon who makes mad amounts of ice, but I’ve got a huge ass gash here. I know this guy, Jorge, his cousin got kicked out of practice for selling a few extra opioid prescriptions on the side. Anyway, the point is we could call him.”

  Saff shook her head. With her neck arched high, she looked like royalty, someone with bearing that Minerva couldn’t even imagine. Then again, the awe could also be the blood loss talking. Possibly.

  “I can fix this. Now, focus on your hand in mine.”

  Not too hard so far. With Saff’s surprisingly warm hands covering both of her own, the dragon shifter and the grip she had on Minerva was the only thing Nerv could concentrate on.

  “Now, breathe deeply. I know humans can’t tap into magic. I’m doing that part. I merely need you to connect with me, to feel the draw between us.”

  Minerva bit her lip, banishing any smart comments about how easy feeling the draw was. From what she could gather, the shaman duties Saff had been trained in were sacred. Sarcasm need not apply. Besides, she needed this to work, since she was awfully attached to her arm.

  At first, nothing happened except the pressure of warm hands against her own, the sound of Saff’s deep, measured breaths, and the slow patter of Minerva’s own heart. Then a soft, faint silver glow started to emanate from their joined hands and the warmth of Saff’s grip intensified to a simmering heat. Minerva’s first instinct was to pull back in shock, but she forced herself to sit still, to let the heat work its way through her. Her right shoulder pulsed in time with her heartbeat, and Minerva turned to look, to watch the skin and flesh knit itself back together as if it had never been cut at all.