by Emma Alisyn
The door opened, and a man a few inches above medium height stared at her. Thin wire glasses perched on his nose, and his dark hair was a few inches too long, indicating there had been some time since his last cut. He wore a v-neck sweater and casual khaki pants. Out of habit she shifted her sight and analyzed him for spells. In the middle of his chest was a locus of concentrated light, very strong, indicating a casting of some power. She suppressed her frown and looked at him normally. The spell wasn’t dangerous, and it wasn’t her business. Maybe later she would puzzle out what it was for . . . though as she inhaled, the ‘scent’ of it teased the back of her mind. Something about it was elusively familiar . . . .
The dragon in front of her blinked, and shifted, the movement snapping her back into focus. He was staring at her oddly, probably because her mind had wandered for several seconds.
“Mr. Caruso?” Jezamine held out her hand, eyes wandering back to his chest. She jerked them back to his face. “I’m Jezamine.”
He looked at her hand, glanced back up at her with piercing green eyes, the blank pleasantness of his expression unaltered. “Ms . . . Jezamine. This isn’t a good time. If you have a matter for the council, then—”
That spell. The longer she stood here, the more noticeable it became. What was it? She took a step forward without realizing what she was doing. “No, sir. This is a personal matter. I’m the mother of Joshua, a friend of Kayla’s and—”
His expression altered, the slightly vague fake friendliness evaporating into something hot and feral before altering back to calm. So quickly she might have thought she hadn’t seen it if his aura hadn’t also flamed at that second.
“Joshua? I know that name.”
She bet he did. Jezamine smiled weakly. “I thought we could sit down and talk . . . um, did Kayla . . . talk to you?”
His eyes narrowed as she spoke, nostrils flaring, and for a moment, he seemed to be looking over her shoulder before the round pupils of his eyes abruptly narrowed to slits.
“Jezamine,” he said softly.
Something was wrong. Beads of sweat were at her forehead, and she realized she was locking her knees in place to avoid rushing towards him. She stared in his eyes, and for a moment, the world faded away. Jezamine grimaced, shaking her head, a hand on her forehead. What in the world . . .? She shifted her sight, wary, and the wild flare of his aura warned her something wasn’t quite right. The spikes that indicated danger were absent, but . . . not quite.
He took a step forward. “Come in,” he said in a soft, cajoling tone.
Okay, so he was inviting her in, but blocking the door. He seemed to realize it a moment later because he stepped back and pushed the door open. It hung on silent hinges, revealing a high ceilinged, bright entrance. Tiled, which she heartily approved of because there was nothing worse than to walk into a home, and you were in the living room without a few feet to situate oneself.
“Maybe we should talk outside.” The vibe coming from him wasn’t exactly dangerous . . . .
“I have fresh baked cookies,” he said, and blinked.
Just like that, all the almost danger was gone, and he was simply a human-seeming male of a bit above average height and a slightly messy hairstyle. “And some raw milk. Kayla prefers it.”
But average would never describe him. Had she fooled herself before, putting down her social media stalking of him to curiosity? Every event, all the articles and pictures, posts to his public account she’d followed . . . out of neighborly curiosity. Riiiiight. And now, in person, she felt as if she was beginning to lose her mind. Why else would it feel as if she knew him, as if he was hers?
What was that spell around his neck?
“Milk and cookies?” Shifting her vision again, she began to analyze the spell centered in his chest.
“Yes, chocolate chip. Fresh. Come in. Have one.”
Said the spider to the fly.
“What are you doing?” His voice sharpened.
What was she doing? She was trying to analyze the composition of the spell that she was certain was the source of her discomfort. It was unfamiliar, but at the same time, she thought she recognized—
“Whatever you’re doing, stop it,” Donato growled. “There is witch in my bloodline. I can feel you nosing about.”
Jezamine pulled her sight back where it belonged and blinked. “Oh. My apologies, I didn’t mean to be rude. The spell around your neck is very interesting.” Her head was beginning to spin, her fingers twitched. What was wrong with her? As she stared at him, his round pupils narrowed to slits. Jezamine wondered why the world was swaying and realized a moment later, it wasn't the world. Her system was on fire, fighting off whatever it was worming it’s way underneath her skin . . . she heard a curse, and Donato was there. Arms around her, holding her on her feet.
“Are you sick?” he asked. “Two-leggers are delicate.”
She blinked up at him, and it took a minute for the dizziness to clear. “No, I’m fine. I haven’t eaten today, and maybe my wards are draining my energy.”
That had to be the explanations. But what was the explanation for why she felt so at home in the arms of a stranger. Her hand rose towards his cheek. She realized it, and jerked away, curling her fingers into a fist. His eyes narrowed, lashes flickering over the brilliant green orbs, and his head lowered. She felt his chest rise as he inhaled, face in the side of her neck.
“Something . . . Jezamine . . . .”
Jezamine’s hands settled on his shoulders, and then she pushed away, or tried. He was reluctant to let her go, and she could have stayed nestled in his warmth forever, but this wasn’t right.
“You said . . . witch in your bloodline?” Was he casting some kind of spell over her? Why?
“Come inside. I'll tell you about it.”
They stared at each other. He released her, and she took a careful step back.
“We need to have a talk. Do you mind if I read your aura?”
He crossed his arms, looking a little irritated. “Go ahead. You did it once already, nothing has changed.”
“Well. Hmm.” He was sensitive then, but also correct. Nothing in the last several moments had altered, and there were no telltale dark edges indicating a threat to herself in any shape or form, any casting inimical to her will. Was it just the simple attraction between supnats that sometimes happened? Strong, instant, inexplicable.
“I would love a cookie.” Even if he was looking at her as if she were the goodie in the kitchen to be gobbled up. “. . . dragons don’t still eat witches, do they?”
5
Settled at his kitchen bar, a plate of cookies and glass of milk in front of her, Jezamine couldn’t believe she’d asked him that question. Like a human. A misinformed human. Dragons hadn’t eaten two-leggers for several millennia. Maybe she could be forgiven for being a little unsettled, considering her blood still raced through her veins, chittering at her.
He hadn’t answered, though.
“So, you’re Joshua’s mother,” Donato said, voice flat. “I have yet to make the young warlock’s acquaintance.”
Jezamine took a bite of her cookie to bide her time, and eyed him. “He’s a good boy. He speaks very highly of Kayla. He’s trying to find employment to help support them both.”
“Admirable.” He bit the word off, as if Joshua was anything but. He watched her like a dragon of old, guarding a mythical hoard.
Jezamine sighed. “This is not an ideal situation. And I imagine we need to sit the children down and have a nice long talk with them about poor choices and responsibility—”
The dragon snorted, the scent of brimstone wafting past her nose. His hands were clutching the edges of his counter, which was between them. His fingers were white. She frowned at him. What was the problem?
“There isn’t much we can do about the pregnancy now besides support and guide them as much as possible. Eventually, we’ll need to determine living arrangements. It’s traditional for a male to move in with his witch, but si
nce Kayla is a dragon, and they are not formally united—”
“I won’t have a warlock in my home.”
Her back stiffened. “Do you have something against warlocks?”
He leaned across the counter. “They’re sneaky. They trespass on other people's territory.” Donato inhaled, chest expanding, a swash of color in his swarthy cheeks. “Mine.”
Her eyes widened. How insulting . . . and what was wrong with him? “Sneaky is more of a reptilian trait, don’t you agree?” Jezamine reigned in her temper and chomped down on another cookie. “Insults won’t solve anything. I understand that as a father to a daughter you feel a little upset at the thought of—”
“I am not a little upset.” Donato smiled, showing even white teeth. “Tell me about yourself.”
“What would you like to know? Are you all right? You seem flushed?” She probed the spell around his neck again. She was almost certain now the spell was separate from him. A faint glow underneath the pale-blue cotton of his crisp dress shirt attested to that.
“I’m fine. You are the mother of my daughter’s baby’s father. I would like to know everything.”
Dragons were almost matriarchal as well, weren’t they? Not quite in the same way as witches, but dragon males deferred to dracaena in most matters except that of defense. Dragon females were famed for their tempers and capacity for mayhem. It just worked better to stay on their good side.
But everything? That seemed rather excessive.
“I’m a witch from the . . . I’m a witch. You know that, of course. I have a small home business.”
“Really?” He looked interested, coming slowly around the counter. “What do you do?”
“I sell tea infusions.” She watched him warily as he approached, almost as if he were stalking her. But she was sitting right here. Jezamine folded her arms across her chest.
“Tea? Or tea?”
She remained dignified. “My teas are infused with certain small spells. All perfectly legal, of course. Business is expanding. I was going to bring Joshua on board to help. He expressed interest in obtaining employment.”
Donato’s mildly pleasant expression evaporated for several seconds before he wrestled control over his pupils. She watched, both fascinated and wary, as they went from round, to slitted, and back to round as he quite distinctly throttled his temper. She cleared her throat.
“I do appreciate you not burning down our home.” He stepped closer. She held out an arm automatically as if to stop him, and he took the hand, pulling it against this chest. She inhaled.
Donato remained silent.
“I— I’m still paying on it, and I ra—rather like my home. What are you—let my hand go!”
A distinct nothing.
The dragon sighed. “Let’s not talk about him. You are much more interesting. You seem young.”
Jezamine frowned, torn between her desire to defend her son and her natural irritation at the action of the teenagers which led to this predicament. Her, sitting in the kitchen of an obviously perturbed dragon just one nerve away from flaming the neighborhood down.
Well, maybe she was exaggerating. He seemed calm, considering the circumstances.
But he wasn’t letting her hand go.
“There isn’t much to tell about me.” She tugged.
“Are you single?”
She could take the question one of two ways. It was natural for him to wonder if Joshua had a father around with whom he would also have to deal. Of course, it wasn’t personal. He was just clutching her hand as some kind of obscure dragon social custom. His thumb caressing her skin and sending shivers up her spine was . . . just being friendly.
“I am unattached.” Jezamine cleared her throat. “And is there a female head of household to whom I should introduce myself? We will all be co-grandparents, after all. I’d like the family to begin to get to know each other.”
She couldn’t quite read his expression. She half slid off her stool, an instinctive movement. His eyes tracked her, unblinking. Why did he wear glasses? To look less harmless? Ha!
“I have brothers, Marcello and Leandros. Isaai. Lazaros sleeps.”
“So, Kayla has no female relatives?” Jezamine couldn’t hide the dismay in her voice. When she tugged this time, he let her go, and she stepped back. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve done a wonderful job raising her . . . no females?” She was a witch. Her dismay broke through her attempts at diplomacy.
Donato frowned, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “She has been raised just fine.”
“No, I didn’t mean to imply that. I—does she need a woman to speak to?” Jezamine's hand pressed against her forehead. She’d thought she would just have to deal with her son. She’d assumed the girl had at least an aunt, a female cousin, to take up a proper role during the pregnancy and birth.
“When can I meet Kayla?” she asked. “I think we should arrange to have the first full family meeting on neutral territory.”
“Family meeting?” His teeth snapped. “Fine. But we’ll do it here.” On his turf, his expression said.
“Is that wise? You already appear emotional.”
His eyes widened. “Emotional?”
“Well, I meant, justifiably concerned over the situation and perhaps it would be more beneficial to one's nerves to—”
“Female, I do not have nerves. If you want a family meeting, we’ll have it. Here. Bring the . . . boy.”
Why did it feel like the dragon had been about to say ‘dinner’?
“Your chest is flashing.”
“I’m aware.” His eyes burned behind the glasses that fooled no one, except maybe humans. “We’ll discuss it soon. Everything will be discussed.”
They walked to the front door, his steps a tad faster than socially acceptable. “Well, when would you like Joshua and I—”
“Tomorrow.” His voice came out a snapping growl. He all but shoved her out of his house. “After school.”
Jezamine whirled, eyes narrowed as her usually latent temper sparked, but the door slammed in her face.
“I hope your manners improve tomorrow,” she shouted, then stopped, grit her teeth, and forced her temper back into the box where she normally kept it stuffed. Because everyone knew what a Hearn witch could do when she was mad, and that was a cycle Jezamine had vowed would end with her. Part of the reason she’d fled, taking her son and her family spell book.
No, not fled. Moved. And simply not left a forwarding address.
The door opened. “If you want to leave today, you had better do it now, or you will be staying the night.” Each word was distinct. Scales shifted underneath his skin, shoulders swelling.
Jezamine froze a split second, vaguely shocked at the desire to step inside the door and take him up on the offer. She nodded, backing away very slowly as he watched her, eyes tracking her movements like a dragon tracking a gazelle. She understood. No one who lived around shifters could fail to understand when a male was in the grip of . . . a biological imperative regarding a female.
She entered her car, taking care to shut the door normally, and drove home.
6
By the Skies, it had taken every last drop of self-control to shove that female out of his house rather than shift, pick her up in his claws, and fly off to his lair.
Aleka’s jewel worked. And his mate was a witch. How . . . ironic? Donato frowned. What were the odds? Suspicion reared its head because, well, he wasn’t exactly a trusting person. He could think of no reason why Aleka would have wanted to deceive him, however. There was no benefit in guiding him to mate a witch. The occasional witch in a dragon’s ancestry only strengthened their own naturally limited magical gifts. No one really liked the idea of giant fire-breathing creatures who could also cast competently. So, not much cross-breeding was done, and since dragons were deathly afraid of having children who were stuck in a two-legged form . . . .
A witch.
Shit. A witch who happened to now be the grandmother of his great-niece or
nephew.
What were the goddamn odds? Someone was laughing at him. Kayla, certainly, and probably Leandros as well, once they found out. But his brothers would be ecstatic, because it was proof the spell worked. It had burst to life, a glowing heat that shocked him enough his temper had evaporated in the face of meeting the mother of the boy who had knocked Kayla up. He should have been roaring, spouting smoke and ire, but he’d been as meek as a kitten, distracted by the thought of finally having what he’d always craved.
She was beautiful. A subtle beauty due more to health and warmth than physical perfection. Long dark hair and wide, mysterious eyes that watched him warily. Sun-warmed skin and a biteable mouth. Lush curves, suitable for a female in her prime. If her son was Kayla’s age, then she was young for a supnat, which meant she could easily bear more young. His young.
He needed to tell his brothers. And he needed to decide how he was going to handle the witch. She didn’t know, obviously, and there was something about her he couldn’t quite put his claw on—but he would.
Donato’s instinct was to chase after her as he watched the car speed down his driveway, faster than it had approached. He smiled a little. She’d shouted at him, then muzzled herself. Not out of fear, there had been no fear in her eyes or scent. No, she probably thought she was a good little witch. A respectable single mother in the community and a business owner. She likely tried to hide her temper the way he mostly hid his.
The way she’d tried to hide the flare of desire in her eyes, in her scent.
Very interesting. He knew she wouldn’t be boring.
“Dad.”
Donato finished dishing up the bowl of oatmeal and slid it in front of her. Kayla dropped her backpack on the floor with a thud and sat on the stool. Normally, she’d attack her breakfast. He made the oatmeal with milk and brown sugar, then covered it with yellow raisins, diced apples and finely chopped pecans. A dracaena her age required a high carb, high protein diet. The oven pinged, and he pulled out a sheet pan of uncured bacon, locally sourced from a bear shifter who also farmed. The shifter also grew sheep and sold them, whole and bleating, when Donato was in the mood for mutton.
