Montana Dragons Collection: A BBW Dragon Shifter Series

by Chloe Cole

  Shit.

  She might be tricky, but now that he could see her eyes, up close?

  The need was real.

  Underneath all the bluster and banter, she wanted him. He knew it as sure as he knew his name. Could feel it in his bones. What kind of man was strong enough to refuse a woman like this? A woman with hair like Pocahontas, a body like Wonder Woman and a wit sharp enough to cut?

  A man far stronger than him.

  When she tilted her head up, bringing her lips within an inch of his, every sane thought in his head sizzled away under the strength of heat coursing through him.

  He slanted his mouth over hers, growling deep in the back of his throat the second her soft, full lips touched his. Her low hum of response only drove the flames higher as he trailed the tip of his tongue along her bottom lip. She opened to him immediately, and her tongue flicked out to meet his in a dance that made him ache.

  She shifted beneath him, her hips bouncing restlessly against him as she tugged her arms to free them. He traced his thumb over her fluttering pulse before releasing her, half expecting her to punch him in the kidney. But Mina continued to buck expectations, sliding her arms around his neck and pulling him closer, taking the kiss deeper.

  He threaded his fingers into her silky hair, anchoring her as he slid a knee between her thighs. A jolt of pure male satisfaction coursed through him as the heat of her core seeped through his jeans. His cock was hard enough to cut glass, and throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

  More.

  He needed more.

  Blood rushed to his ears as he wedged one hand between them, sliding it between the leather of her jacket and the silk of her bustier. Her full breast filled his hand, the nipple pouting out to greet him.

  "God, you feel good," she muttered against his mouth before trailing her fingers down over his traps to trace his back muscles. "A human male has no business feeling this damned good."

  Her strange words penetrated his sex-starved brain and he froze.

  To protect and to serve. That was his job. And as badass as she'd proven herself to be during their sparring, she was obviously still inebriated enough to talk nonsense.

  Human male?

  He pulled away and swallowed a string of curses as he rolled to his side, cock swollen and aching.

  "You really should go inside now, ma'am," he managed to squeeze out through gritted teeth. He pushed himself to his feet and then bent to take her wrist, pulling her to stand with him.

  She ran a trembling hand through her hair and then lifted her chin, fixing him with a haughty gaze.

  "Really? We've flirted, you walked me home, then we rolled around on the ground together, and you're still calling me ma'am? Surely we’re past that, Sheriff."

  Her hair was mussed and wild, eyes half-mast and hot with want, despite the bravado. It took every ounce of his self-discipline not to drag her back down and finish what they'd started, and his cock bucked against his jeans in protest.

  "You've had a lot to drink. I overstepped. Let's get you safely inside before either of us cause any more trouble tonight."

  She took a step toward him, and then another, until they were toe to toe. "Sure thing," she said. Then she rolled up onto tiptoes and nipped his jaw sharply before sauntering off toward the closest room of the motel just a few yards away.

  He said a silent prayer for strength as he trailed behind, gaze firmly locked on the back of her head so that ass didn't mesmerize him into doing something stupid again.

  "Here it is. Luxury room one eleven. Comes equipped with a vibrating bed, a cracked ice bucket and, very possibly, bed bugs." She slid the card key into the door and turned the knob before glancing over her shoulder. "You sure you don't want to come in?"

  He opened his mouth to respond when an all-too familiar smell assailed him, coppery and sickly sweet.

  Fresh blood.

  And lots of it.

  She must've sensed his sudden tension, because she froze, hand on the doorknob.

  His heart pounded as he gripped her arm and yanked her back toward him, holding a finger to his lips. To her credit, she didn't need to be told twice. Her gaze was razor sharp as she tipped her head in a curt nod.

  He tugged his pistol from its holster and motioned for Mina to step back, then he kicked the door open wide.

  "Police. Put your hands up!"

  He quickly scanned the tiny room and the adjoining bathroom by the dim light of the neon sign and determined that it was empty...

  Save for the dead guy on the middle of the bed with the note secured to his chest with a butcher's knife.

  "Ah, fuck."

  Chapter Three

  It was a blood bath.

  She'd heard the phrase before, but even in all her years of dealing with the underbelly of the shifter world, she'd never really understood what the term meant.

  Until now.

  The stuff saturated the bed in a sea of red. It dripped from the walls, clung to the lamps and spattered the ceiling.

  She shoved back her revulsion at the gory scene and focused her attention on the body. The torso, neck and stomach were ripped to shreds, but the face was perfectly intact.

  Paulie, his nametag had read. He was the front desk clerk who had rented her the room earlier that day. His features were twisted into an agonized grimace that told her at least some of that torture had been inflicted while he was still alive.

  Her stomach pitched and she pressed a fist to her mouth to hold back a hot rush of bile.

  Christ, he couldn't have been more than twenty-three. Longish, wavy orange hair that had made her think of a golden retriever. He'd been preoccupied with his cell phone when she'd first walked in, and it had taken three rings of the desk bell just to get him to look up. Once he had, though, he'd been warm and pleasant. Had even told her about a trick to get the ice from the machine without paying a quarter.

  Now he was dead.

  And it was her fault. A critical error, thinking they wouldn't be looking for her here yet.

  She didn't know how she'd missed it when she'd first walked toward the room...distracted by the Sheriff or off her game from all the drinks, but now? She could smell them now, as clear as day.

  Two shifters. One an eagle, one a mountain lion. They'd come for her and, when they hadn't found her, they'd made sure to leave a message behind.

  She didn't need to read the note to get the gist, but Sheriff Dan McCafferty read it out loud anyway.

  "Come home, Mina."

  Come home so we can punish you.

  Come home, or more innocents will die.

  Come home, or we will make your life a living hell.

  The tequila that had seemed like such a stellar idea just an hour before blazed its way back up her throat and she ran outside onto the grass to retch.

  She was still heaving when she felt a warm, large hand on her back.

  "Shhh, shhh," Dan murmured. "It's okay. It's going to be all right."

  A hysterical laugh bubbled to her lips as she swiped a hand over her mouth. He didn't know how wrong he was.

  She straightened and nodded to let him know the sickness had passed, but couldn't bring herself to speak, knowing if she did, she might fall apart completely.

  His gaze was steady and sure as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I think you should have a seat while I call this in, all right?"

  She allowed him to lead her to the stone bench a few doors down from her room and lowered herself to sit as he tugged a cell phone from his pocket.

  He punched out a quick number and paused for a short moment before speaking into the receiver.

  "Yeah, I need a couple uniforms over at the Dew Drop, pronto. We have a homicide in room one eleven," he muttered into the phone, his face a mask of weary sadness that only added to her misery.

  The shock and subsequent vomiting had killed the last of her buzz, and she tried to wrangle her scattered thoughts.

  More cops were coming, which would only com
plicate things if she wanted to disappear. So what to do?

  If she stuck around, she was going to have to answer some questions she wasn't prepared to answer. But if she hightailed it out of Montana before the police had gotten a statement from her and cleared her to leave town, that would only make things worse. Hell, a murder like this was big and splashy enough to start a national manhunt, especially if she'd made herself look guilty of something by running.

  And somehow she knew, deep in her heart, the Sheriff wouldn't shirk his sworn duty to solve this case by letting her walk away no matter how much he wanted her. Especially when the note clearly indicated that she was involved with some seriously bad characters, at the very least.

  So it was settled. If she ran, she'd just have another very dangerous opponent on her tail. The last thing she needed when her cup already runneth over on that front. She had to stay put, at least for the time being. At least until she was cleared of any wrongdoing.

  But after that?

  She'd do what she'd always done, until tonight. Swallow her loneliness and misery and go it alone. She'd made the crucial error of allowing herself the comfort and camaraderie of others during a difficult time, but she wouldn't make that mistake again. She was an army of one. No more innocents would suffer because of her choices.

  She cleared her throat and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the sudden chill.

  She wasn't going to think about the poor boy behind the desk. Not yet. Not until she was alone. Then, she'd lance that wound and let it bleed.

  Maybe then, once she'd let herself feel the full brunt of the guilt, she'd be able to shake the intense despair threatening to drag her under. Maybe then she'd be able to focus on something far more satisfying.

  Like vengeance.

  A shadow passed across her face and she saw Dan standing over her.

  He looked as weary and sick inside as she felt and she wished for the hundredth time in the past five minutes that she'd never set foot in this town. He struck her as a man who'd seen enough destruction in his life and she'd brought more to his front door. Between him and poor Paulie, she'd have a lot to atone for the next time she darkened the door of a church.

  "Why don't you wait in my car while we process the scene, all right?" He handed her a cold bottle of water he must have gotten from the vending machine and she took it with a nod of thanks.

  As she unscrewed the top and took a long swallow, she could hear sirens in the distance. His backup was arriving and soon the scene would be buzzing with activity.

  "Thanks," she heard herself whisper miserably before taking another sip of water.

  The cold liquid soothed her aching throat and washed the sour taste of tequila and bile from her mouth. She pulled the bottle reluctantly from her lips and set it to the side.

  "I'm sorry, Sheriff."

  She hadn't intended to say that. She hadn't intended to say anything at all, but for some reason, she couldn't seem to stem the flow of words. "The second you saw me, you pegged me as bad news and you were right. I'm so, so sorry."

  The sirens grew louder as he cocked his head and studied her, eyes narrowed. "What are you sorry for, Mina? Did you kill that kid in there?"

  She shook her head and was oddly stung that he'd asked the question, even though she'd known it would have to be asked at some point or another.

  "No, of course not. Why would I let you anywhere near my hotel room if I knew I had a dead body on my bed?"

  "Then what are you apologizing for?"

  She'd been so riddled with guilt she didn't realize that he wasn't actually accusing her of anything. He was trying to make it clear that, if she didn't commit the murder, this wasn't her fault. But just because the clerk didn't die by her hand didn't change the facts.

  She was most definitely to blame.

  That much would have to remain unsaid. She'd already said more than she'd meant to.

  The sound of a door slamming in the distance broke the tense silence between them, and they both turned their heads to look towards the parking lot where two uniformed police officers were exiting a black-and-white police car.

  The first was a tall, lanky man in his mid-thirties with a brisk gait and a solemn face. Close behind him came a compact woman built like a gymnast with a pop of brassy red hair and a face that looked given to smile under normal circumstances.

  But these were far from normal circumstances.

  "The M. E. has been called, Sheriff," the lanky guy said as they approached. "He was on his way home from Bozeman after visiting his wife at the hospital, so it might be a little bit."

  His gaze flitted from the Sheriff to Mina and back again as he slowed to a stop in front of the bench where she and Dan sat.

  They both stood and the Sheriff gestured in her direction.

  "Jim, this is Mina. Mina, this is Deputy Jim Andrews. And this here is Deputy Erica Ripley. The body was found in Mina's room." Dan jabbed a finger in the direction of her motel room door before continuing. "She was across the street at the bar until about thirty minutes ago. I can vouch for her whereabouts since ten, and prior to that she was there with Chuck and Lance."

  His tone was brisk, and all business, but the redhead's entire body stiffened as he continued.

  "She left the bar and I followed in my car to make sure she arrived back safely. When I walked her to her door and unlocked it, it became clear that something was very wrong."

  The redhead's eyes narrowed on Mina as he finished. She could almost hear the gears turning in Deputy Ripley's mind. Was she trying to figure out what they had been doing for the thirty minutes between the time she'd left the bar and the time they'd gone toward her room, or was she wondering exactly what her boss had been doing opening the motel door for a stranger?

  It was clear when she'd come to some sort of conclusion that didn't sit well with her as her top lip curled and her cheeks went ruddy.

  "Should we start processing the scene?" Deputy Jim asked, Adam's apple bobbing as he spoke.

  There may have been a lot of issues around this town lately, but, judging by the expression on his face, it was clear that Deputy Jim still hadn't gotten used to murder.

  A motel door a few down from Mina's swung open and an old man popped his head out to see what all the commotion was.

  Dan blew out a sigh. "You go ahead, Jim." He turned to the little redhead. "Rip, you contact the owner of the hotel and then start knocking on some doors to see if anyone heard or saw anything suspicious. Start with that guy," he jerked his chin toward the man in the open doorway, "I'm going to stay here and ask Mina a few questions while we wait for the M.E."

  "Roger that." Jim moved toward the door without another word, but she couldn't help but notice the glare Ripley gave her as she stepped away to make her call.

  Poor woman was in love with her boss. And didn't that suck the big one? Mina hadn't spent an hour with Dan and she already knew without a doubt that he was too honorable to sleep with one of his employees. Deputy Ripley didn't have a chance in hell with him. She felt a twinge of pity for the other woman before she squashed it.

  She had enough to worry about.

  "I'm not going anywhere, if you want to help them,” Mina assured the Sheriff. “I'll be fine waiting in the car."

  There was a lot to be done, and with only a three-man force, it was going to be a long night. But he shook his head and pulled a tiny notebook from his inside jacket pocket.

  "I know it's been a rough go and you're probably not all there yet, but we need to try to get as much information as we can while your memory is fresh."

  His tone was gentle but firm. He wanted answers, and she couldn't blame him.

  "I'm going to cut to the chase and assume that you want this handled as quickly as I do." He pulled a pen from his inside jacket pocket and gestured for her to sit, lowering himself on the bench to sit next to her. "So who is it? An ex-lover? Husband? Who's looking for you, Mina, and why?"

  She'd been without friends or family for so
long, she would've thought the urge for human connection would've faded by now. That she would finally get used to being a country of one. But she found herself wishing more than anything in the world she could tell him the truth. That the Council was after her and they would stop at nothing to find and punish her for what she'd done. That she had no ex-lover or husband, or anyone in the world who would want to find her besides her enemies. If she thought she could tell him the truth without him winding up exactly like that kid on the bed in there, she would.

  But she wouldn't put him any more at risk than she already had, no matter how alone she felt right now.

  She nodded slowly, relaying the story she'd cobbled together in her mind over the past fifteen minutes in preparation for exactly this line of questioning.

  "My ex. His name is Vincent Sullivan. Or, at least that's what he called himself when we were together. He was a smalltime gangster in Denver, we met about a year ago. It was fast and furious, pretty much over before it started, but he wasn't ready to let go. I've been on the move for the past six months, but this is the first time he's caught up with me."

  The lies rolled off her tongue like butter, and she hated herself more with each word. But sending the Sheriff and his team off on a wild goose chase would keep them busy long enough for her to figure out her next move, and keep them safe while she did it.

  And right now? That was all that mattered. She couldn't handle another drop of blood on her hands.

  She looked up to find his eyes locked on her face as he skewered her with his all-too perceptive gaze.

  "So you mean to tell me that you've been on the run for the past six months?"

  She didn't need to see the doubt etched on his handsome face by the light of the neon motel sign. It fairly dripped from his voice.

  Her brain whirred as she thought back to their short time together and she realized instantly that she'd made a critical error. She definitely didn't come across as a runner. Hell, they'd known each other barely an hour before she'd gone toe to toe with him in this very parking lot without hesitation. Either she'd underestimated how smart he was or she underestimated her talent for lying.