by Emma Alisyn
“Several greats, yes.”
Donato turned and walked off the deck and into the grassy yard. She followed him, slightly annoyed. He moved as if he just expected her to follow.
“I have to accept that Aleka wasn’t trying to swindle me, and that you aren’t a liar.”
“Excuse me. What have I lied to you about?”
He faced her, eyes bright. “Nothing. Scents don’t lie—though I’m sure there’s a spell for that, as well.”
“There is no spell to alter your natural scent. There are charms to give off the illusion of a certain aroma, but any magic wielder can choose to . . . smell though it if they choose. Most don’t, because what would be the point?” Besides, it was impolite. If someone wanted you to think they smelled like posies, forcing your nose to realize they really smelled like garlic was bad manners.
“Tell me you don’t know what the jewel around my neck means. Tell me, and promise you’re telling the truth.”
She wanted to lie. So badly. This was a complication she didn’t need. “I have an educated guess that it is meant to . . . alert you to the presence of . . . a potential partner.” She couldn’t say the word. Jezamine shifted from one foot to the other, unable to hide her discomfort.
He saw, of course. “Mate. Say the word, Jezamine. Mate.”
“I don’t have to say anything. And what it could mean isn’t necessarily what it is.”
Jezamine watched as he began to shift. “Wait! What are you doing? This is no time for you to go flying off into the sunset to brood.”
Her words had no effect. He hadn’t bothered to strip, so the clothing shredded around him, which had to have been painful, but perhaps not, because scales. A dragon stood in front of her moments later, tail swishing. He reared up on his hind legs and reached out, two talons coming around her waist it like a vice.
“What in Hekate’s name . . . .”
“We can’t talk here,” he growled as his legs bunched.
“You don’t have my permission!”
“I’ll grovel later.”
Jezamine swallowed a shriek of outrage, but unless she was prepared to use force—she just couldn’t—there was nothing she could do but simmer in resentful silence at his usurping her will.
“This isn’t a good way to begin a courtship, drake,” she yelled.
“I know. I need you alone right now. Let me fly.”
Jezamine folded her arms and rested them on his talons, fuming. The flight, once anger gave way to attention to her current surroundings . . . was breathtaking. It was undignified to be dangling from his talon, but his grip felt secure. They flew past the city and into the forest line, skirting swaths of trees and heading into the mountains. He was taking her to his lair.
He set down in a natural clearing in front of a mountain face, landing with a kind of three-legged hop, using his wings for balance. He released her, and she rolled instinctively, letting the movement absorb the impact, and eventually staggered to her feet.
When she turned, he was standing in front of her on two legs. Completely, gloriously nude. Jezamine averted her eyes.
“Don’t hex me,” he said. “The instinct to nest is strong, and I have to give way in some shape or form, or I’ll be in a foul mood until . . . never mind. Come inside. I won’t touch you.”
Feet padded towards the mountain, and she peered in that direction, glimpsing firm buttocks, thick thighs and a well-muscled back as he disappeared into the mouth of a cave.
She sighed and followed him in. The cave was deep, and there was very little light coming in from the outside the further she went. Jezamine rubbed her fingers tighter to summon energy and focused it.
“Light.”
A ball flared over her hand, and she flicked, sending it to float over her head. “Thanks, Caruso.”
“Donato.”
Fire flared, and a pit in the center of a cavern caught fire. She vanquished her ball and looked around. It was . . . basic. A few chests to hold things, she assumed. Packed dirt floor.
“There’s a stream further in for water,” he said. “But I don’t really have it set up for two-leggers. Our lairs back home were more sophisticated, but none of us had the heart to . . . .” He shook his head and stopped talking.
Donato approached one of the chests and opened it, pulling out a pair of jeans. He dressed quickly, especially since that was the only layer he bothered with, then dragged the chest towards the fire. “Sit.”
Jezamine sat. “Now what.” The light flickered over his face, making the bones appear nearly demonic. She shifted, uneasy, and stood. “I need sunlight. Well, moonlight, soon.”
He nodded. “There's a grotto I bathe in outside. Follow me.”
She wasn’t at all disappointed to leave the cave, having no desire to explore. They hiked in silence for several minutes until he led her to a small pool of water at the bottom of a gorge. They climbed down, Jezamine eyeing his bare feet and glad of her enamors. The moon was rising, and the brilliant pinks of yellow of the sunset peered through the treetops. The night song of the forest was beginning it’s evening symphony. Jezamine found a large rock and settled, crossing her legs.
“Now what. We’re here.”
Donato stood at the water's edge, arms crossed, and Jezamine, watching him, realized the tension in his body was slowly easing.
“I didn’t expect it to hit me so hard,” he said. “I thought there would be some warning.”
“Warning for what?” She did, and didn’t, want the answer.
Donato glanced at her. “With some mates the instinct builds over time, and then the instinct takes over. With some mates it’s instant, and it bowls you over. Or so I’ve seen. I’ve never mated before.”
“I’m not acknowledging that this is what this is, Donato.”
He shrugged. “You don’t have to. Besides, you’re not a shifter, so it won’t be the same for you. I accepted that when Aleka warned me my mate likely wouldn’t be a dracaena. There aren’t many in North America, and none in Felicity Falls, of course.”
“Donato . . . I’m not ready for a relationship. My life is complicated right now.”
He turned towards her. “Life is always complicated.” He was silent several long moments, watching her. “Are you, at least, willing to accept this is how I feel? Willing to think about it?”
Jezamine hesitated. Even that much seemed like admitting to submission. “It’s not that simple.” There was the book, her ex, the Hearn coven. He would be inheriting more than a mate, he’d be inheriting a potential coven war.
“It rarely is, with witches.” He approached, crouched down in front of her. “I said I wouldn’t touch you. I meant without permission, since I’m already in the hex house. Can I kiss you?”
“What?” he was bold, more than bold. Completely self-assured, not that he couldn’t imagine she would say no, but as if he couldn’t imagine she wouldn’t eventually say yes.
“Don’t you want to know, Jezamine? How the energy between us might feel?”
So cajoling. Gentle, even. Not a flick of an eyelash moved, though the early evening breeze stirred his hair. The control to remain so still, and in that position.
“Don’t lie,” he reminded her. “I’ll know it.”
She closed her eyes. “This is why no one likes shifters. Keep your nose to yourself.”
“It’s rather too late, tesoro.”
The something in her chest was swelling, not just desire but the blinding inclination to lean towards him, nestle in his arms. The certainty that he belonged to her and she knew him. A cacophony of music burst into the air. Her eyes flew open as clouds of lighting bugs launched from their hidings places, and the crickets intensified their song.
“See,” he said, voice satisfied. “My mother’s great grandmother told me once what it means when the flying insects glow and the hoppers sing.”
Usually, it meant nothing. But in the presence of a witch? It could often mean she was . . . falling in love.
Which was ri
diculous. She wasn’t falling in love. No, the creatures were simply responding to the swirl of her magic combined with an upsurge of sex-related pheromones. In other words, a witch in the presence of a potential mate.
She watched them flicker in the growing dark, a sense of inevitability settling in her chest. Slowly, she turned her head towards Donato. “It doesn’t mean I have to allow it.”
“No, it doesn’t. But why wouldn’t you?”
His eyes captured hers, spinning their weave again. Hypnotic. “A kiss, Jezamine.”
Jezamine leaned forward, and as she moved he rose, inch by inch, to meet her. Careful, in control. His mouth settled over hers, and the world spun.
The heart in her chest would have risen and sunk into his own if it were possible. A hand cupped her cheek as his tongue slipped in between her lips. His arm wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her roughly to her feet, trapping her against his chest as the hand on her cheek rose to bury in her hair. The kiss transitioned from soft to hard, hot. An answering wetness sparked deep in her core, her clit beginning to throb in response. Too much.
It was too much, too soon.
Jezamine pushed at his chest, tearing away. He let her go and stepped back. She realized then that at some point he’d lost his glasses. When had he lost his glasses? They were silly, anyway. What was the point of them?
She reined her bawling mind in and took a step back, almost tripping backwards and managing to save herself by sitting with a semblance of dignity back on the rock.
“Still not mine?” he asked.
“A kiss doesn't make me yours.”
“A kiss makes me yours.”
The words were so simple, said with such clear truth, that they shattered her heart for a second, before she scrambled to put the pieces back together.
“Donato . . . there are complications in my life. And I can’t just jump into a relationship, even with a male who is . . . destined.”
“There is all the time in the world, Jezamine. And as for complications, no man expects a woman to come to him as if she was new from her mother’s womb. You’ll trust me soon, and when you do, I will be at your side.”
Her mood was pensive rather than angry on the flight back to Donato’s house. He in dragon form, at least, provided a thin layer of buffer between her and the heating building between them. Had someone told her this week she would find a potential mate, a dragon, she would have laughed.
Too many life-changing events were converging at once. Evidence of discovery by her enemies again, a new grandchild which necessitated placing permanent roots . . . leading straight to a decisive fight she had been avoiding for years. Perhaps she should have hexed it out with Dahl and his people years ago. With a growing child to catch in the crossfire, hiding had always been the better choice. Her only duty was to raise her son and protect the book from magic wielders she knew teetered grey, if not quite dark.
So, now throw a dragon slowly spiraling into a mating heat in the mix. Her own reactions reminded her that witches could soulbond, even if they didn’t have the shifter matebonds. A soulbond was close enough though that shifter-witch unions, while rare, weren’t unheard of.
Jezamine saw a pacing figure as they approached the back of the house. She sighed, watching her son’s head whip around as soon as he realized they had returned. Yes, Donato snatching his mother and flying off with her might have bothered him a bit. Common sense should have asserted itself, though—it wasn’t as if the drake wouldn’t bring her back.
Donato set down and Joshua came rushing down the stairs of the deck, jaw set. Kayla, curled up on the deck couch and asleep, roused moments later, eyes widening when she saw her uncle.
“Josh, don’t say anything stupid,” she called.
“Mom,” Josh said, “you good?”
She studied the tight expression, the seething anger in his voice. “I’m fine, son. We just needed somewhere private to talk.”
“That’s not what it sounded like when you were shouting at him not to carry you off.”
Donato approached. “She’s fine, warlock.”
Joshua socked him in the jaw. Donato’s head snapped back, the sound of teeth clicking together shocking. Jezamine stared at her son for a stunned second.
“Joshua! What in Hekate’s name is—”
“That was a free one, drake,” Joshua said. “Take my mother against her will one more time, and we’ll be at war.”
Donato eyed the young man, expression cool. “Warning noted. That was a free shot, warlock, because perhaps I deserved it. It will be your last free shot.”
The drake pushed past the warlock and went into his house, sliding the doors closed gently.
“That was kinda cool,” Kayla said, snickering. “No one ever does that. Teach him to be high-handed. Well, Uncle Marcello, but he doesn’t count. He’s just naturally surly.” She paused. “Uncle Isaai is a maniac, and he never hits anyone, ‘cause if he hits you, it means you’re dead.”
“Violence is never the way to solve a disagreement,” Jezamine said.
“Yeah?” Joshua stared at her stonily. “It sure helps prevent a future misunderstanding, though.”
Everyone had gone mad. Jezamine stomped up the stairs and into the house.
9
She waited until everyone was gathered again, the males eyeing each other with barely concealed hostility, Kayla seeming highly amused by it all.
“We had a purpose to the meeting tonight,” Jezamine said, striving for pleasant and upbeat. “We’ve veered off course a bit, but that’s life. We just need to self-correct, and get back on topic. Perhaps we should all take a seat.”
She dug in her purse and brought out a stack of half-sized notebooks. Two pink with silver writing and flower designs for she and Kayla, and two neutral colored for the males.
“I took the liberty of purchasing us all notebooks we can use for the family meetings regarding the pregnancy. That way we’re all on the same page. Literally.” She smiled, fixing the expression on her face as she pushed one towards Donato and then pulled out a pack of cheap pens. “Shall we get down to business? Due date first, I think. Let’s get our timelines down.”
“No lectures?” Kayla asked. Donato remained silent, hands shoved in his pockets.
“I don’t think a lecture is conducive to a health pregnancy,” Jezamine said. “But we’ll have plenty of time to talk to you both about responsible choices and life planning.”
“The warlock and I will need to have a discussion. Between males.”
Jezamine wanted to throttle Donato. “I’m sure that will be fine—” over her dead body “—but can we focus?”
An hour long discussion was like pulling teeth. Donato was alternately unhelpful and controlling. His distracted edginess precluded Jezamine from fully relaxing and only half of the topics she’d mentally prepared to resolve were checked off in the notebooks. A notebook Donato hadn’t touched.
“Guys, can you excuse us?” she asked. “Mr. Caruso and I need to talk.”
He eyed her as the teenagers shuffled out of the kitchen. “Am I in trouble for not doodling in your little notebook?”
She’d very rarely in her life wanted to smack someone, but she was fast approaching that stage, and didn’t like it. Maybe he’d settle down into someone civilized in a few weeks. The idea of mating him, living in his house, sleeping in his arms? Not so appealing right now. He watched her, leaning casually against his counter, arms crossed, watching her like a—like a hawk. Like a dragon. Watching her with eyes that roved over her body as if he were plotting very adult things in his mind.
“Can you just stop that?”
His brow rose. “Stop what, tesoro?”
“Looking at me. Looking at me like lunch.”
“I am hungry. You’re beautiful, Jezamine, do you begrudge me?”
Jezamine waited until she’d throttled back her temper. This was no time for flirting, no matter what her jumping heart said. She found a stand mixer to focus on r
ather than his eyes and the dark, sensual message in them.
“I appreciate that this is a difficult situation for you—it is for everyone. But I think we should be mature about it. You don’t seem very willing to participate in the process.”
“Witches are like that. Controlling, always wanting a process for something that should just be allowed to happen.” His voice deepened. “Like right now, you don’t know if you want to kiss me or strangle me. Why not do both, Jezamine? I wouldn’t mind.”
Of all the nerve . . . . “You’re the one who—never mind. Well, I’m glad we’re of the same mind. We need to support the children through the pregnancy and birth and guide them to make the appropriate choices for their future.”
His teeth flashed, and she tried not to take it as a threat. “The problem is that we seem to have two very different visions of what that future is. I’m not unreasonable. My home is big. You two should move in.” His pupils slit, and a growl entered his voice. “But the warlock stays in his room.”
Her mouth almost dropped open with shock. That was moving fast, even for a shifter in the first stages of mating heat.
“I don’t think moving in is the best choice—” or even rational “—but thank you for your willingness. I think we should focus on—”
“You didn’t ask why we had Aleka make the spell.”
“We?”
“My brothers and I.”
He stepped closer, moving around the center island that separated them, eyes trained on her face. Why did he bother with the glasses, the soccer dad clothing, the mussed hair as if he thought the image he was trying to project—a harmless, albeit attractive, slightly geeky Dad—fooled anyone? She’d always thought the entire premise of the mortal movie Superman a joke. Any fool could see Clark Kent and Superman were the same person. Who was fooled by the disguise? Only humans.
“We flew to this continent over a century ago. Our clan was decimated in the homeland, and we wanted to make a fresh start.” His lip curled up in a half-mocking smile. “Isn’t that the classic American story?”
