Shifter Origins (Series-Starter Shifter Variety Packs Book 1)

by Aimee Easterling

  “Do I regret quenching my father’s flames for good? Or do I regret asking Mason to fish him out of the reservoir before he died?”

  “Either? Both?” The older woman smiled, but she merely raised eyebrows rather than advancing further into Mason’s private domain.

  And even though it felt strange to play hostess in someone else’s space, Phoenix plugged in the electric kettle she’d discovered an hour earlier and offered Mason’s mother a choice of precious teas while waving her inside.

  “Maybe a little,” the younger woman admitted, once they’d both settled onto a soft sofa facing west across the broad valley. Off in the distance, she could just barely pick out the dark patch where charred earth soaked up sunlight and melted pockmarks into the otherwise solid expanse of white. “Still, it was the only real choice,” she added after a moment. “He’s my father, but he’s a plague on the face of the earth.”

  “And you’re the only powerful fire mage left? Or at least the only one that you know of?”

  It seemed like an odd question to ask now, after the woman had spent all day setting up yesterday’s invaders with beds and food to calm their aching bones and growling bellies. Most of Malachi’s underlings were able to call hints of flame to their fingertips, but the mages’ powers were weak enough that Zane and the twins hadn’t batted an eyelash when asked to ferry wives and children from Phoenix’s former home into the towers that made up the Aerie. Meanwhile, no one had questioned the sparks of fire that flitted around Phoenix’s head every time she thought about the absent Lord Dragon and their toe-curling kiss.

  Given that surprising hospitality, Phoenix had assumed the antagonism between fire mages and dragons ran in only one direction. Now, though, the wiry old woman leaned forward with a stiffness to her form suggesting that Phoenix’s reply was far more important than the latter could possibly understand or even guess.

  So the mage answered honestly. “I’ve never met a significant fire mage other than my father,” she said, and was surprised when Sarah’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. “Why, were you hoping for more trouble to show up on your doorstep tomorrow?”

  Which is when Mason’s mother explained why the Lord Dragon’s neck had grown so cold as they flew west away from the Aerie. Why he had almost failed to return in time to save Phoenix from her own trap.

  “The Fade,” Phoenix murmured, a chill running up and down her spine. The notion that Mason’s inner fire might wink out at any moment was almost more than she could bear, and she appreciated the older woman’s support when Sarah pulled her into an awkward but heartfelt embrace.

  “Not that I think Mason has much to worry about now that you’re here,” his mother said with forced brightness. “But Zane could be next...”

  “We’ll find a solution. I’ll do everything in my power to protect your sons. I promise.”

  And then Sarah’s face lit up with true happiness as her eyes darted toward the window in front of them. A dragon hovered there, all indigo scales and flickering fire. Mason tapped a lever on the side of the building with flame-tipped talons and a massive glass door slid open to invite in a treacherous gust of wind.

  “Hang onto the sofa!” Sarah ordered.

  But Phoenix was instead rising and running, falling at last into her dragon’s waiting arms the instant he changed from beast to man. She hadn’t been granted a chance to exchange more than a handful of words with the shifter before he left to carry Malachi away from her new home. In fact, if she added it all up, she probably hadn’t spoken more than a couple dozen words to Mason in her entire life.

  Regardless, Phoenix’s fire flared so brightly as his lips brushed across hers that she smelled the sizzle of charring fibers. Glancing down, she was mortified to catch sight of twin holes in the carpet at her feet. “Oops.”

  Mason’s eyes only crinkled up at the corners, though, as he lifted her off the smoldering floor to spirit her away from the open wall. Only after pressing the matching lever on the interior that closed the space up tight did he finally relinquish his protective grasp.

  The air must have dropped twenty degrees while the door was open, but Phoenix’s fire turned her cheeks red and her breath short anyway. Flames twirled around her body, begging to meld with Mason’s fire and never let him go.

  But, instead, Phoenix took one small step backward and dug into her pocket for the ring reclaimed from an aged ferry master after the morning’s drama had died down. She couldn’t imagine Mason taking offense at such a minor theft after every other betrayal he’d brushed away without complaint. Still, Phoenix’s hand trembled as she held out jewelry that didn’t belong to her. “Here. This is yours.”

  Behind her back, Sarah emitted an abrupt exhalation of air. But it wasn’t a disappointed gasp. More of a romantic, rings-are-being-exchanged-between-my-son-and-a-girl-he-likes sort of gasp. Phoenix had a feeling when such a gesture was less innocent and more associated with an “I do,” there would be major waterworks coinciding with the event.

  Only Sarah was right and Phoenix was wrong yet again. Because Mason knelt down at her feet for the second time in twenty-four hours, squeezing oversized jewelry between two glowing fists. And when he opened his hands back up the ring had been reduced to half its size, just the right fit to slide onto a female finger and stay put for as long as a fire mage might want it there.

  The mage in question was pretty sure that length of time would be...well...forever.

  “Phoenix,” her dragon started. He paused to clear his throat, a mist of steam rising up from abruptly watery eyes. Then he began again. “Phoenix. You barely even know me, so I won’t ask for promises. But you’re wrong. This ring isn’t mine; it’s yours. I hope you’ll wear it so everyone will know that you’re precious to me. You’re my treasure. And maybe some day you’ll feel the same way about me.”

  Two days earlier, Fee had thought she possessed no remaining reason to live. But now, as she breathed in Mason’s sweet marshmallow aroma and listened to the quiet sobs of joy from the woman behind her back, Phoenix realized she’d been naive.

  Not naive in attempting to win the love of a father who cared for no one except himself. But naive in thinking that just because her own family was irrevocably broken, she could never find a cherished spot for herself in the world beyond Malachi’s domain.

  The signet ring slid onto the third finger of her left hand like warm hope kindling inside a cold, dead chest. And as the shifter before her rose to his feet, Phoenix fell into his embrace yet again, feeling every bit like a lump of coal flaring bright as it dropped into a blazing inferno.

  Flames encircled them both. Magenta and blue, then red, yellow, and white as dragon and mage power danced and flared in joyous abandon. Together, they were far more than either had been apart. Together, they could take on the universe.

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” Phoenix said quietly above the crackling of flames. She leaned in closer, basking in Mason’s warmth, sweetness, and strength. “There’s no need to wait. I’m pretty sure I already love you too.”

  I HOPE YOU ENJOYED Incendiary Magic! If so, you won’t want to miss Zane’s story—Verdant Magic—now available on all retailers.

  Not quite ready to leave this particular book? Luckily for you, there's one last story left to feed your appetite....

  Jaguar at the Portal

  She's a veterinarian running from her past. He's a jaguar shifter hunting for his future.

  For Kayla and her mother, who taught me everything I know about gunshot wounds.

  Chapter 1

  Ixchel always dreaded May 3, but not because she worried about growing old. No, the twenty-seven-year-old was more afraid of never getting the chance to see her next birthday than of sprouting gray hairs.

  Which meant she usually ended up running into doors on her birthday due to excessive over-the-shoulder looking in search of brothers who had every reason to wish her harm.

  And, yet, nothing bad has happened for the last nine years, Ixchel remind
ed herself at dawn as she and Mr. Fuzzy set off for his morning constitutional. The coddled spaniel had been in her charge for five days now while his owner was on vacation, and the veterinarian had quickly grown attached to the borrowed bundle of fur. She'd even gotten to the point where she'd deemed the dog attentive enough to run off-leash...assuming they set out the back way and stayed far from any roads, that is.

  Now the dog bounded ahead just out of sight, and Ixchel hurried her steps to catch up as she heard him begin to bark. It would be just her luck if Mr. Fuzzy got skunked or otherwise ended up in trouble that would make the vet look bad when his owner returned that afternoon. Nothing like failing to take care of the mayor's dog to turn a newcomer to the community into the county pariah.

  Ixchel wasn't terribly concerned, though. After all, Mr. Fuzzy liked to bark at squirrels, birds, and even run-of-the-mill trees that the dog thought were looking at him funny. So most of the vet's attention remained focused on self-chastisement. Today is just another day, she told herself. It's high time I got over my jitters.

  Ahead, Mr. Fuzzy came into view, his front paws resting on the trunk of a spreading elm tree as he yapped up into the canopy. Treed another butterfly, have you? Ixchel thought with a grin. But she still did her best to bring the dog to heel. "Here, boy!" the vet called, before craning her neck to see what the spaniel had discovered.

  Oh no.

  This couldn't be happening. Not in the safest place Ixchel could think of in which to sink her roots. Her practice was rural enough that the vet couldn't see any neighbors out either the front or the back doors, but the building wasn't located deep in the back country. So there really shouldn't have been a tremendous black feline crouched on that branch. Maybe if Ixchel blinked, she'd realize that Mr. Fuzzy had simply treed a raccoon.

  Nope, still there. Still a mountain-lion-sized cat whose fur seemed to suck light out of the morning air due to the intensity of its blackness.

  "Mr. Fuzzy, let's go," the vet called, trying to keep her voice calm but instead hearing the words emerge as a shriek. She wasn't sure what kind of creature the huge black cat would turn out to be, yet she was pretty sure the feline could eat her charge for dinner.

  But Mr. Fuzzy was too intent on the hunt to listen to his temporary mistress, and the feline appeared to be growing annoyed at the spaniel's persistent barking. So Ixchel stood frozen in place and watched as the cat stalked down one of the spreading limbs. It was now nearly at the trunk and only ten feet above the smaller animal's head.

  This can't be happening!

  Ixchel told her feet that the smart thing to do would be to run away, with or without the cuddly-but-not-overly-bright spaniel. Mr. Fuzzy was only a dog, after all. And if the vet walked any closer, she would likely be mauled by the sharp claws that she knew to be embedded in the feline's dinner-plate paws.

  But Mr. Fuzzy was the closest thing Ixchel had to a friend at the moment. And how sad is that? Plus, she really didn't want to imagine the bad PR resulting from a dog she was boarding being eaten by a cat. So, instead of following her own advice, the vet instead found herself striding directly toward the spaniel and lunging vainly for his collar.

  At the same moment, the cat jumped down and landed lightly on his feet mere inches from Ixchel and her borrowed pet. The beast's eyes were a yellow more intense than Ixchel had ever seen on a living creature, and they seemed to bore through her skin and into her soul.

  Focus. What did they say to do if you meet a mountain lion in the wild? Stand tall and raise your arms so you looked bigger than you really were, maybe. Or was that the recommended procedure for scaring off a bear?

  Neither option seemed like a possibility when Mr. Fuzzy continued to think he was a rottweiler trapped inside a lap dog's body. The canine lunged forward, the feline hissed, and Ixchel found her disobedient feet following directly after those of her charge.

  Her heart was beating so fast the vet thought she might pass out, but she was somehow able to latch one hand into the spaniel's collar before he could sink his teeth into the massive cat. Ixchel yanked Mr. Fuzzy up into her arms, ignoring his yelp of annoyance at being manhandled, then she forced herself to stand upright rather than turning and running away.

  The vet fully expected to feel claws or teeth sinking into her skin at any moment. But, instead, the tremendous feline merely stood his ground and gazed directly into her face.

  That makes no sense, the vet thought inanely. Feral cats never look you in the eye.

  But the cat was looking. And he was so close that if Ixchel dropped the struggling Mr. Fuzzy, she could have reached out and stroked the feline's fur.

  Yep, I'm definitely going into shock now.

  "I'm sorry we bothered you," Ixchel said in her best soothe-the-terrifying-animal voice. "That was very rude of Mr. Fuzzy, and I'm going to take him right home and put him on bread and water. No doggie treats for him! In fact, you won't have to worry about either of us bothering you ever again."

  As she spoke, the vet slowly backed away, her gaze still trained on the wild animal that could so easily bite off her hand. And why should he stop at a hand? The words ran through her mind like a hamster on a wheel. The cat's jaws are so huge he could probably consume my entire arm in one gulp and have room for a hot-dog chaser.

  Then, so quickly that Ixchel almost didn't see him move, the cat turned and loped off into the shadows beneath the trees. Immediately, Mr. Fuzzy changed his tune from barking to face-licking, marring the vet's view of the long black tail disappearing from view. And Ixchel remembered how to breathe at last.

  Could it really be that simple? Could the feline actually be gone?

  Lifting the hand that she'd been using to pat the brave little spaniel in an attempt to calm him, Ixchel fingered the cat charm strung around her neck. Yes, birthdays weren't to be trusted. It was time to head back to her practice and hope that nothing else terrible happened on this third day of May.

  AFTER ITS ROCKY START, May 3 turned out to be par for the course. Ixchel passed Mr. Fuzzy back to his owner (slightly tearfully), immunized a few kittens (with much better cheer), and handled the usual array of major and minor catastrophes that sent pet owners scurrying to her practice for professional assistance every day. Now, after shuffling the receptionist and her last customers out the door, Ixchel only had to finish a quick sweep and mop-down in the exam rooms before she could retreat to her apartment above the practice for a well-deserved rest.

  Rrrriiiing!

  The vet laughed at herself as she jumped a foot in the air at the sound of her own telephone. She operated a business, for crying out loud. The phone often rang.

  And maybe it's someone calling to wish me cumpleaños feliz.

  Unfortunately, that speculation fell firmly into the category of wishful thinking. Because who did Ixchel have left in her life to remember the relevance of the current date? No one except the brothers she had worked so hard to escape...and she certainly hoped they didn't know her number.

  That thought made her consider not even picking up the phone. But what if someone was calling after hours because of a severely ill pet? Despite this potential scenario, Ixchel's "hello" was much more hesitant and unprofessional than usual, and she waited to hear the caller's voice before continuing to sweep up stray pet hairs in preparation for the next day's deluge of sniffling puppies and erratic felines.

  "Hi, my name is Sophie and I'm calling you today from Salt Lake City on behalf of Failsafe Insurance," the telemarketer began. Then the other woman launched into her spiel without giving Ixchel a chance to get off the line.

  Someone had once told Ixchel that the compassionate response to unwanted solicitations was to end the call as quickly as possible so the telemarketer could move on to the possibility of a commission someplace else. But the vet couldn't quite muster up sufficient rudeness to cut into this woman's speech. Not when the caller's accent reminded her so strongly of the homeland she'd never seen. Ixchel would bet dollars to donuts that so-called Sophie was act
ually Sofia and lived in a village in Mexico rather than in Utah as she'd claimed.

  Not that Ixchel blamed the other woman for the subterfuge. It was hard to be a brown-skinned woman in white-bread West Virginia, and Ixchel's own accent was intentionally subtle enough that it wouldn't give her away. After all, the vet had worked hard to lose that Latina lilt.

  So instead of trying to tell Sophie/Sofia that she wasn't interested, Ixchel allowed herself to drift back into memories of the last birthday that she'd spent surrounded by family...and by that catchy accent. There had been a cake, of course. Until the confection was greedily consumed by Ixchel's five older brothers, all but one of whom still lived at home despite their relatively advanced years.

  And there'd been the mandatory presents, which those same older brothers tried to lay claim to as soon as the gifts came out of their wrapping paper. Then José had turned up the music far too loud and Papá had swept Ixchel into his arms in order to tango her around their tiny living room. The space wasn't really that minuscule, but ten young male feet got in the way of everything. Or so the vet recalled.

  Mamá had been subdued, though. The older woman's grave face looked the same way it had when Ixchel carried in blood-stained panties five years earlier, at which time the tween had gone away with a lecture on the facts of life...along with a box of tampons. So Ixchel wasn't entirely surprised on this birthday when the clan's matriarch drew her sole daughter into the elder Morenos' bedroom for privacy. Clearly, her mother had something serious on her mind that couldn't be shared with five unruly brothers bouncing around and tripping the two of them up.

  "You are my oldest daughter," Mamá began once the door was solidly closed behind them, and Ixchel barely refrained from rolling her eyes. I'm your favorite—and only—daughter too, the teenager wanted to add. But Mamá was clearly not in the mood for joking around, so the girl simply nodded.