Montana Dragons Collection: A BBW Dragon Shifter Series

by Chloe Cole

  “This” sounded like thees with his almost imperceptible accent, and just that little detail gave her comfort. Etienne was here. The voice in the dark that had saved her. It would be okay.

  For the next twenty minutes she recited it all. Everything she could think of, from the way the two men had smelled—grossly like rotting meat—to the way they spoke—one had a hint of an Eastern European accent she couldn’t place, the other what she guessed was a Montana native.

  Etienne handled it like a pro, asking questions when she was too vague, and gently compelling her to recall even more detail than she’d ever imagined. By the time it was over, she felt drained but elated. He had four full pages of notes scrawled on the pad. Surely, with that much information, the police would be able to locate them eventually. Maybe they could even distribute a sketch to the local news station.

  When she suggested as much to Etienne, he nodded, but didn’t respond, and his golden eyes flicked away from hers.

  Those eyes.

  “I forgot something else,” she murmured, a jolt of recognition running through her.

  “What’s that?” he asked, poising pen over paper, waiting for her to speak.

  “One of the guys had these eyes. I know this is going to sound crazy, but they did this thing. Maybe it was the moonlight, or the fact that I was out of my mind terrified, but…” She bit her lip before leaning forward, hoping against hope he didn’t go running out the door thinking she was a lunatic. “They glowed in the dark. Incandescent like. I’ve never seen anything like it, except on Nat Geo.”

  “Glowing, you say?” His tone was polite and he took down the note, but she could tell he wasn’t a hundred percent sold.

  “I’m serious, Etienne. Maybe they were on some sort of weird, psychotropic drug or something that did it.” More details came flooding back and she gasped. “Yes. That was probably it, because as healthy as they looked physically, they were saying weird things to me, and each other. Crazy things. Things a drug-addled junky would say.”

  Etienne rolled to his feet and stared down at her, moving to pace in front of the fireplace again. “What kind of things?”

  She shrugged helplessly as she tried to tap into the memory again.

  “Something about me being like a calf…or veal!” She thrust a finger up in triumph. “That was it. Veal. And lamb. Almost like they were planning to…” She faded off, realizing that she was sounding nuttier by the second, but also because saying it out loud would make it even more real and the reality of such a thing was too horrible to face tonight. “Anyway, they were talking about me like a cut of meat. So it could be drugs. Or a cult.”

  “Okay, we’ll make sure to tell that to the cops tomorrow.”

  She stared up at him, not sure she’d heard him right. “We?” she asked slowly, afraid to even hope it.

  “Yes, of course. You don’t think I’m going to abandon you now, do you? We’ll get you locked up safe and tight tonight, and then tomorrow morning, I’ll be back to sit in and talk with the police. I’m a witness anyway, and I’m sure they want to speak to me as well.”

  She nodded, her gratitude so great, she didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “If you want me, that is,” he added, his head tipped in question.

  If she wanted him? Who in their right mind wouldn’t want him? He was strong and sweet and her knight in shining armor. Safe and amazing and handsome. A Boy Scout in the truest sense of the word.

  He was perfect and the fact that he wanted to be around her at all, never mind go through all this to help her, was a little miracle in itself.

  “Yes. I want you. There.” She cleared her throat and tried again. “I mean, I’d really appreciate it if you came, thank you.”

  Even as she said the words, the tiniest part of her wanted to call them back. The part that knew the truth.

  If Etienne Beauchamp was even half the man he seemed to be, she was going to fall head over heels in love with him and find herself in a world of hurt.

  Chapter Four

  “She called you sweet?” Drake demanded incredulously, before throwing his head back and barking out a laugh. “Christ, that’s rich.”

  Willa elbowed him hard in the gut and faced Etienne with a smile. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous because no one ever called him sweet before.”

  In spite of her sharp words, she cuddled closer to her still chuckling mate on the couch, giving him a look that was far more loving than it was disapproving.

  “And I’m glad for it. Christ, who ever heard of a sweet dragon? You should be ashamed, man.”

  Etienne took the teasing in stride, taking a long pull from the snifter he was holding. “I’m afraid it takes a lot more to shame me than that, old friend. Although I must admit, I was surprised to hear it.”

  “Well, I don’t know about sweet, but what you did was very honorable,” Drake said, his green eyes going serious. “That woman would be dead right now if it wasn’t for you.”

  Willa nodded and shivered, burrowing even closer to her man. “Or scarred for life at the very least. I hope the police catch them and throw away the key.”

  Etienne pushed himself to his feet and set down his snifter. “Actually, that’s what I stopped by to talk to you about.”

  By the time he’d gotten Taya calm enough to sleep, it had been almost two in the morning. They’d sat on the couch for hours just chattering until finally her eyelids grew heavy and her speech started to slow. He’d all but carried her up to her bedroom and, when last he’d looked, she was burrowing beneath her comforter, primed for the sandman’s magic dust.

  Luckily, his friends were night owls and, when he’d asked to stop by, they’d welcomed him in with open arms. Now, though, Drake was looking like he was having second thoughts as he studied Etienne through wary eyes.

  He could smell the request for a favor coming down the pike, that wily Scottish bastard.

  “So you’re waiting for the police and you wanted to—” Drake stopped short and his green eyes narrowed as the light bulb flickered on. “You didn’t call the police.”

  “Indeed, I did not,” Etienne affirmed with a clipped nod.

  Willa’s gaze flicked between them and she shook her head, nonplussed. “I don’t get it. What are you—” She broke off and covered her mouth with one hand. “You lied. You told her you were calling the cops but you didn’t because you want to handle it yourself.”

  She rolled to her feet and gave his arm a hard shove.

  “Saving her was one thing, Etienne. Getting involved in revenge schemes against humans is another entirely. You’re going to call attention to yourself and cause all sorts of trouble. Already, people in town are talking about you and the strange sounds up your side of the mountain at night.”

  Before she could work up a full head of steam, Drake cut her short. “That’s what he neglected to tell us, little wolf. Don’t you see? Her attackers weren’t human, were they?”

  Etienne shook his head. “Nope.” The look that passed between them was laden with unspoken understanding.

  “Wolves,” Willa declared in a harsh whisper. “Wolves did this to her?” She sank to the couch with a groan. “Jesus, that’s so wrong. Now that my old pack is being run by Grey and the Pray pack has Liam as alpha, there is only one pack out there who would ever sanction such an attack on a human. But even they would be leery of something that public in a suburban area like that. So many humans around asking questions. Making humans curious is the very last thing any pack wants to do.”

  They all knew what she meant by that.

  The shifter world could be brutal. Clashes over lands and territory were often bloody and fights for supremacy often ended in death. But nothing in the shifter world was even close to as brutal as what some of them had seen in the human world. Shifters were outnumbered ten million to one. No matter how badass of a dragon Etienne was, if people found out he existed, he would be hunted and killed, the way that thousands before him had been in the Middl
e Ages. Just like if humans found out that the state of Montana was home to hundreds of wolf-shifters, they would wipe the majority out like they were nothing more than vermin. The unlucky few they spared would be tested on and poked and prodded until they could be weaponized for war.

  Which made the two men’s behavior more than passing strange. They’d let Taya see their preternatural strength. They’d let her see their eyes in the night. They’d let her get close enough to smell them in full heat.

  He called their scent forth now and wheeled around to pin Willa with a stare. “They smelled different. Like wolves, under it all, but not like you or Grey or his mate… They smelled like rancid meat.”

  Understanding dawned in her light brown eyes and she clenched her jaw. “Son of a bitch. Sounds like we’ve got ourselves a pair of rogues. Defectors. They have that smell because they don’t have a territory to hunt in and often have to make due with small game and carrion.”

  Etienne curled his lip in disgust. “Well, they apparently had eaten a lot of the latter before they went after Taya because they smelled foul.”

  “Which might explain why they attacked her. Maybe they’re rebelling. Sick of eating leftovers and they’re wanting to step up their rations,” Drake said, his expression thoughtful.

  “That could be,” Willa added, patting his thigh in agreement. “Oftentimes, they’re rogue because they’re excommunicated. They’re bitter. Angry. And already, they’ve proven they don’t play well with others. They band together in pairs to hunt, but they don’t have a true bond the way a pack would. It’s every man for himself. They’re bound by universal rule to uphold the Supreme Laws of Wolves, even on their own, so they’re not supposed to hunt humans in that way or call attention to themselves, but hunger is a powerful motivator when a shifter has a special taste for blood. And being a loner when they’re used to being part of a pack can damage an already damaged psyche to the point of no return.”

  That was something he’d heard as well. While dragons didn’t suffer from such an affliction because they only bonded in that way with their true mate, he knew Drake had been concerned about how Willa would fare without her pack. Turned out, if a wolf was of healthy mind and in a satisfying relationship, it wasn’t a concern. They made plenty of time to spend with her former pack, and spent every Sunday with them so she could bond and run in the woods, and she was flourishing.

  But he could see how such a thing could break a weaker being. Like an already violent man put in solitary confinement. They were a pair of powder kegs ready to blow and he needed to neutralize them before that happened.

  “So how do we find them?”

  “Let me call Greyson first thing in the morning and have him put out some feelers, give him your descriptions and have him make some inquiries. I’m sure I’ll hear back in just a few hours and we’ll go from there. In the interim, how are you going to convince her that the cops are on the case? You mentioned she’s expecting a sketch artist to come to her house tomorrow?”

  “Oui, she is. And a detective as well,” he said, bending to scoop up his snifter and swirling the amber liquid in it before taking a long sip. “Which brings me to my next question. Can either of you draw?”

  Run.

  She had to run and keep on running until she found help. But the pathway wound this way and that, and the brush and brambles only grew thicker as she fought her way through, her pounding heart nearly beating out of her chest.

  A thick branch slapped at her face and she paused to push it aside when she felt it. Hot breath and grabbing hands that turned to razor sharp claws as she struggled to get away.

  Taya jerked bolt upright with a gasp, sucking in great gulps of air as she took in her surroundings.

  Her bedroom. She was home, in her safe little house. Sunlight streamed through the window and she shuddered as the latest nightmare began to fade.

  It had been a rough night. She should’ve taken Etienne up on his offer to sleep on the couch, because every hour on the hour, she would wake and find herself drenched in sweat and choking on fear as another nightmare assailed her.

  Except the one time, when she’d dreamt of Etienne himself, pressing the softest of kisses to her mouth.

  “It’s going to be okay, cher.”

  “Stop, you idiot,” she muttered and flopped back to cover her face with a pillow. He was just being nice because he felt sorry for her.

  He would never be interested in a woman like her. Besides, wasn’t this some textbook syndrome anyway? She was just misreading her gratitude for affection. He’d saved her life. Of course she saw him as a glowing, haloed hero on a white horse. The sooner she realized that it was nothing more than a silly, misdirected crush, the better.

  Her doorbell rang and she flinched at the sound.

  Tomorrow. Definitely by tomorrow, the mere ring of a bell wouldn’t make her want to jump out of her skin. She took a quick glance at her bedside clock and blew out a sigh.

  Etienne had said the police were coming at nine and they were a few minutes early. She only hoped that she could get them settled with some coffee and run upstairs to swipe on some lip gloss and change into a pair of jeans before Etienne showed up.

  If he even came.

  Who knew if he’d thought better of getting more involved than he already was. That had surely not been how he’d wanted to spend his Friday night, and now he was looking at half his Saturday too. She wouldn’t blame him if he bailed, but she hoped he wouldn’t mind if she gave the cops his number so they could ask him any questions or details she might have forgotten.

  She jogged down the stairs in her pajamas, scooped up the pad he’d left on her coffee table and peered out the peephole. Two people, a man and a woman, dressed in plain clothes stood on the porch, arms crossed all official-like in front of them.

  The woman had a pretty, heart-shaped face, and her brown hair was scraped back into a no-nonsense ponytail. The guy was another matter entirely and she found herself instantly comparing him to Etienne. There was no help for it, just because of both men’s sheer size. Not often you saw a guy well over six feet tall that looked like a wall of muscle and had a face that could launch ships. But where Etienne looked like a golden god, this guy looked like a pirate. The kind you sort of wanted to steal your booty, but a pirate nonetheless.

  She hadn’t realized she was still staring out the peephole until the woman leaned in close, pressing her eyeball against the tiny circle of glass.

  “Ms. Briarcroft? Can we come in?”

  She jumped back, cheeks blazing, and laid a hand on the doorknob, but hesitated. Couldn’t be too careful. “And you are?”

  “We’re the police, ma’am. We’re here to ask you some questions about last night’s assault.”

  She was just about to ask for badges when another voice chimed in.

  “I’m here as well,” Etienne called through the door. “We all got here at the same time.”

  She sucked in a breath, legs going weak with relief. She’d been prepared to do this without him if need be, but she was so glad she didn’t have to.

  She turned the lock and stepped back to swing the door open, managing to squeeze out a tight smile. “Hello, hello. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “Not a problem,” the dark behemoth said, with a warm smile that belied his rather menacing looks. He had the hint of a brogue that only made him more dashing, and she found herself instantly at ease.

  “I’m Detective Blackbourne. I’ve been assigned to interview you today, and this is Officer Stone. She’s our sketch artist.”

  She waved them in and stepped aside, a skitter of nervous energy running through her as Etienne finally came into view, bringing up the rear.

  “Hello, cher. How did you sleep?” The sincere concern in his golden eyes touched her, and she swallowed past the achy feeling in her throat.

  Since her parents had passed away, she’d been pretty much alone in the world. Sure, there were colleagues at school, and she had cousins
she was fond of back in the Burgh, but in the past few years, here in Montana, there was nobody who worried whether she’d slept the night before or not.

  Until now.

  Fleeting or not, she was going to enjoy the feeling of being cared for the short while it lasted.

  “Not too bad,” she lied, as she closed the door behind him and led them into the living room. “I got some winks.”

  His knowing gaze and the way his tawny brows caved into a frown told her he wasn’t buying it, but thankfully, he didn’t press her. She was barely keeping it together as it was, and breaking down before she talked to the police was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Because, in all the time she’d spent awake the night before, the only constant, between the anger and the tears and the fear, was the bone deep conviction that she wanted those men to pay for what they’d done to her. Pay for what they’d likely done to other women in the past.

  She cleared her throat and pasted on a smile. “Coffee anyone?”

  They all accepted her offer and she rushed into the kitchen, glad for the moment to get her head together.

  “He really did a number on your chin, too,” Etienne said, stepping into the kitchen behind her. She turned at the sound of his voice and jerked back in surprise when she realized he was directly behind her.

  “Lord, you move fast for such a big man,” she gasped, pressing a hand to her galloping heart. She tried to laugh it off, but the sound stuck in her too-dry throat, because at precisely that moment, his scent wafted toward her and she nearly groaned.

  That was one part she wasn’t sure she’d gotten right no matter how many times she ran through it mentally. Her attackers had smelled so putrid, she’d tricked herself into believing that Etienne only smelled so delicious because the comparison was so stark.

  Nope.

  Not that.

  He really did smell like everything good in the world. Crisp, like coming snow, and clean, like laundry in the spring, and sensual…like Etienne.

  She knew she should say something else as the silence stretched between them, but she couldn’t seem to make her mouth work. He reached down and stroked her bruised chin with just the very tip of his finger.