by Amber Kallyn
Dragos
The Complete Series
(Books 1-4)
by
Amber Kallyn
Burned: Dragos 1
What happens when a dragon falls in love with a fireman? Someone's bound to get burned.
When Calla, a dragon shifter, heads to a sleepy mountain town to investigate their recent arson outbreak, she doesn't expect to come face to face with the dark dragon who killed her mother, or find her destined mate beneath the burning rays of the moon.
Firefighter Scott O'Neil can't fight his attraction to her, even after he finds out what she is, and the shocking secret of his own past.
Burned Beneath the Mistletoe: Dragos 1.5
(A Christmas Short Story)
What happens when a dragon falls in love with a fireman?
Dragon shifter Calla O'Neil can't stop the emotional rollercoaster taking over her actions.
When she finally finds out why, she's going to celebrate by making her husband, Scott, her very own personal body buffet.
Scorched: Dragos 2
A bounty hunter and a dragon shifter face off on opposite sides of the law, but must work together when evil attacks them both.
Cynthianna ‘Anna’ Hernandez has never known trust, peace or safety, not even by fleeing to the deepest wilds of Canada. When bounty hunter Garreth Dragos shows up during a blizzard, things get complicated as their inner dragons decide they’re perfect for each other.
Things get worse when the dark mage hunting Anna finds them, sending his creatures to return her to his evil clutches. He's willing to sacrifice anything and anybody to further his quest for power. Together, Anna and Garreth must trust in each other or all will be lost to evil.
Blazed: Dragos 3
A fire nymph and a dragon shifter must conquer their dislike for one another to prevent a blazing catastrophe.
When someone comes after the rock band Brianna Jones works with, she must not only embrace the fire nymph within herself, but also the growing desire she feels for bounty hunter and dragon shifter Tyler Dragos. Together, they will try keeping not only the band members, but Bree safe from the dark mage hounding the Dragos Clan.
Inflamed: Dragos 4
Together, a dragon shifter and a succubus find love might just conquer all.
Pete is the youngest of the Dragos Clan, but when the woman of his dreams begs for help, he’s not about to let anyone else save her. Isabella, a demon succubus, has been a prisoner of the black mage for centuries. But in her dreams, she finds the one man who can love her without the cost of losing his soul. Can the two find each other, and defeat the evil mage that’s been hounding the Dragos clan, once and for all?
Copyright
Burned: Dragos Book #1
Revised Version Copyright © 2013 Amber Kallyn
Original Copyright © 2010 Amber Kallyn
Burned Beneath the Mistletoe: Dragos Book #1.5
Revised Version Copyright © 2013 Amber Kallyn
Original Copyright © 2010 Amber Kallyn
Scorched: Dragos Book #2
Revised Version Copyright © 2013 Amber Kallyn
Original Copyright © 2011 Amber Kallyn
Blazed: Dragos Book #3
Revised Version Copyright © 2013 Amber Kallyn
Original Copyright © 2011 Amber Kallyn
Inflamed: Dragos Book #4
Revised Version Copyright © 2013 Amber Kallyn
Original Copyright © 2011 Amber Kallyn
Excerpt from
Bloodstorm: Heart of a Vampire, Book #1
Copyright © 2012 Amber Kallyn
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be produced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover art by: Dawné Dominique
http://dusktildawndesigns.com/
Digital Formatting by Author E.M.S.
Burned
Dragos Book 1
by
Amber Kallyn
What happens when a dragon falls in love with a fireman? Someone’s bound to get burned.
When Calla, a dragon shifter, heads to a sleepy mountain town to investigate their recent arson outbreak, she doesn’t expect to come face to face with the dark dragon who killed her mother, or find her destined mate beneath the burning rays of the moon.
Firefighter Scott O’Neil can’t fight his attraction to her, even after he finds out what she is, and the shocking secret of his own past.
Chapter One
The Other was here.
Lowering the truck window, Calla Dragos sniffed the chilly afternoon. Pine trees, asphalt. All overshadowed by the distinct stench of sulfur. Her stomach lurched, vileness rising to choke her. As she drove into the blink of a town, it grew stronger, overpowering all other senses.
Drawing closer to the Jasper Fire Department, she focused on keeping her clammy hands on the wheel, her concentration on the light traffic. Keeping her foot on the gas pedal, rather than slamming the brakes and fleeing.
How could he be here?
It was bad enough her job as an arson investigator brought her to this small, mountaintop town of Jasper, Arizona. Bad enough she’d left her family behind in the midst of yet another argument about her independence. The possibility of facing Eric brought tremors to her body.
Parking her cherry red pickup in front of the station, Calla shaded her eyes from the late afternoon sun and searched the colorful wood-front buildings. The stench faded.
Eric marked her, then fled. Like a coward. And he was a coward. She needed to remember that fact. Otherwise, the fear coiling in her heart would drive her batty.
After a couple deep breaths, she calmed the nausea a little. She could do this. She would do this. And if that bastard decided to show up, she’d face him with all her strength.
Calla stepped from the truck on shaky legs, smoothed her navy skirt and slipped on the matching jacket. Reaching across the seat, she grabbed her oversized black bag, which held a notebook, pens and her kit. After another soothing breath, filling her lungs with the crisp mountain air, she headed around the corner to the firemen’s entrance.
Giggles drew her attention to a group of barely-eighteen girls, scantily dressed. And the man they huddled near.
In nothing but low-slung jeans, the top button carelessly undone, the man gave off the rugged air of a male underwear model with a sexy, take me to your bedroom now look. His blond hair, slightly too long for a clean-cut look, dripped water, from a recent shower maybe. Or a drenching with the hose. The scruff on his chin, a shade darker than his hair, enhanced the bad boy aura.
Gods, he was just like Petey. Playboy and chick magnet, an older version of her youngest brother.
“So can we have your autograph? Please?” one of the girls begged, her voice high. The other girls giggled some more.
“Certainly, ladies.” The man’s voice was as smoky and smooth as his gray eyes.
His gaze flicked to Calla. The intensity shooting from his eyes made her tense, caught like a rabbit in the headlights. His lips twitched. A flush spread up her cheeks. Calla stared at her feet, hurrying along the flower-bordered sidewalk. Before she reached the door, the teen girls filed past, happily waving calendars with mostly naked men.
Figured. A playboy, just like Petey. Which month was he?
Bare feet filled her view. She took in the long, jean-clad legs, the scruff of hair above the gaping waistband
. A blond trail led up a golden, ripped abdomen and chest, to dark eyes. This close, flecks of green and blue mixing with the gray were visible.
His scent, suntan lotion and hay, punched into her, dissipating the last remains of the sulfur.
Her libido woke and started clamoring. She gritted her teeth. Not why she was here. And besides, she had no business being attracted to this man. This human.
“Howdy, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary hat, a lusty smile twitching at his lips.
“Excuse me,” she replied, her voice steady and cool, the payoff from years of practice working around other untouchable hunks. “I need to see the fire chief.”
Something unreadable flashed in his gaze and the smirk disappeared. “What would a beautiful woman like you want with him?”
“Frankly, it’s none of your business.” Knowing the best way to turn him off, she put a hand to her hip, jutted her chin and raked her gaze over his long, lean form. Unfortunately, her normal barriers weren’t working. The only thing she wanted to do was reach out and touch his glistening tanned skin. Instead, she added in a sharp tone, “Let me guess. Mr. October.”
His face hardened, all amusement fleeing. The playboy took a step back as if she’d actually offended him. Then, his grin came back, along with a devil-may-care shrug. “Actually,” he drawled, “I’m December. I wanted a Santa hat on my lap, not a pumpkin.” Leaning closer, his minty breath a whisper on her cheek, he added, “Why? You need a calendar?”
A shiver worked its way down the back of her neck. With a dry mouth and fluttering stomach, Calla strode past him and pushed into the icy air of the building. His stare burned into her back. She welcomed the cool relief when the door snicked closed. Without pausing to lean against the wall for support, Calla straightened and forced her feet to move.
A typical fire station layout confronted her. She headed down a short hall with two doors, one most likely to the truck bay. The tan walls led into a kitchen/living room combo. Crossing around beat up furniture that should have been relegated to the dump many years ago, she entered the hallway on the far side of the room.
With her luck, she’d end up running into one of the bedrooms and another half-naked hunk before finding the chief’s office.
An older man stepped out of the first door, blocking her way. Faded brown eyes widened when he spied her. “I’m sorry, miss. You can’t be in here.”
Calla slipped her ID from her jacket pocket. “Calla Dragos. Arson investigator. Your department called me.”
Smiling broadly, face wrinkling, the old man nodded. “Good, good. I didn’t know such purty young things were in the business nowadays.”
“Um. Thanks.” She nibbled her lip. Did all the men in this town flirt so shamelessly?
“Well,” he said, taking her hand in his bear-like grip. “Come along. Chief’s office is just down here.”
“You’re not the chief?”
He slapped his leg, chuckling. “Ah, no, miss. I’m surely not. I’m Fred. Call me the mascot, though I don’t have no spots or tail.”
She followed him to the last door on the left and entered behind Fred, into an empty, disorganized office. Paperwork spread haphazardly across the desk. Books lay piled on the windowsill. At least the place seemed clean, just scattered.
“Guess the chief’s outside. I’ll go get him for you.” Fred hurried out.
Stepping lightly, she pushed a chair from the desk and sat down, hands itching to straighten some of the piles.
The door creaked open as Fred peeked back in. “Sorry. You want anything to drink?”
Calla smiled at the man’s simple spirit. “No, thank you. Just the chief.”
Fred nodded as he disappeared once more.
She wrote a heading on the page with the date and time, then glanced around the office, impatient to get started. With Eric in town, she needed the details of the four fires. Gods, she hoped she was wrong and it wasn’t him. But she had to find out for sure, before something happened beyond buildings destroyed. For her, the past was all too clear on everything that could be taken away, things unable to be rebuilt.
He hadn’t bothered her family recently. Well, as far as she knew. Being one of the few women in a houseful of overprotective males, she rarely heard anything directly. No matter how much she grumbled and complained.
But why come to this small town and stir up trouble? He couldn’t have been sure she’d be sent.
Nerves stretched taut, Calla set her notepad precariously on the desk, then strode to the window, needing the calming heat of the sunlight to soothe her. Weak rays fell over her face and arms, warm enough to push the ball of ice from her chest.
A minute later, a creak came from the hall. Calla hurried back to her chair. Her hip bumped the desk and a picture frame teetered. She grabbed it before it crashed to the floor. As she reached to put it back, the picture caught her attention.
She groaned silently as the smiling face of the playboy stared at her, young blonde girls plastered to either side of him.
* * *
Scott O’Neil grabbed a shirt from his room, then met Fred back in the hall. “Say again?”
“She’s the purtiest thing I’ve seen in a long time. And she’d only be an investigator if she had brains. It’s the whole package. You won’t meet another filly like her in this tiny town.”
Slipping the shirt over his head, Scott snorted at the old man’s hopeful tone. He didn’t mention he’d already met Fred’s filly. Or that one of her cold glances could turn a man’s lust to icy shards. He hurried down the hall, looking forward to her reaction when she found out he was the one she’d come to see.
Scott pushed open his office door and strode inside, his gaze landing on her slim body. Her hair fell partway down her back, soft waves beckoning for a man’s touch. Sparkling womanly-clippy-things held the sides from her pale face. He’d never seen such red hair on a woman before. It made his palms itch to find out if she was natural or not.
Instead, he wiped the grin from his face and cleared his throat.
The woman turned, holding the picture of Scott and his two little sisters in a white-knuckled grip. He crooked a brow, meeting her stunning blue gaze.
She looked from him, back to the picture, then set it on the desk. “Sorry. I just…” She faced him, hands clasped in front of her.
“Can I help you?” Scott asked, not bothering to try putting her at ease as he’d normally have done. With a woman like her, it wouldn’t do any damn good. Besides, if she really was an investigator like she’d told Fred, he didn’t see the point.
She tugged a leather ID from the front pocket of her navy jacket and held it out. “Calla Dragos. The Phoenix Arson office sent me to look into your fires.”
Scott glanced at her as he headed to his desk. The irresistible quip tingled on his tongue. “Mister December, at your service.”
He didn’t feel like explaining the picture of him in the charity calendar. She probably wouldn’t care he’d only been talked into posing for the damn shoot to raise money for the Jasper Orphanage. The place was falling down around the nuns’ ears and the free labor of the fire department only got them so far.
She shifted on her feet, sighing. “Look. I’m sorry about that. But can we get down to business now?”
Long black lashes framed those baby-blues. Her pert nose contrasted with a stubborn chin. Figured. Looking closer, he realized the creamy complexion belonged only to her. She wasn’t wearing a drop of makeup. Interesting.
Most women with looks like hers seemed to take great pleasure in covering it with layers of colored plaster.
He took his seat, wishing his jeans weren’t so tight. “What do you want to know first?”
She smoothed her hands down her hips and perched on the edge of her seat. His cock twinged at the glimpse of pale thigh peeking beneath the skirt as it rose. Picking up a long yellow notepad, she tapped a pen against her lush lower lip. Scott couldn’t tear his gaze from the strawberry mouth. Hell, he didn’
t want to.
“Your real name, for starters,” she said.
The words coming from that kissable mouth swirled in his brain, making little sense. “Huh?”
Her pen stopped moving. “Look. If you’re just going to give me the runaround, you can figure this out yourself. I’ve already apologized.”
“Oh.” He was acting like a randy idiot. “Scott O’Neil.”
She leaned over the pad and began writing, giving a great view of the swell of her breasts. A hint of white lace peeked out from beneath a light blue shirt. A small freckle dotted her left breast where it curved into cleavage. His cock stretched to full attention, pressing tightly into his jeans. Before he gave in to temptation and jumped over the desk, he clenched his fists and hid them from view.
“When was the first fire?” she asked, then jerked upright.
With great force of will, Scott forced his gaze up to meet her eyes. Heat rushed to his ears, more to his throbbing cock. How juvenile to get caught ogling. “Um. Two weeks ago. The Riley farm.”
“What burned?” she asked with a glare.
“Their feed barn,” he said, trying to get his mind off her body and onto the town’s pressing concern—which wasn’t his straining dick. “Being spring, it was almost empty, but it’s still gonna take a chunk out of their pockets to replace everything.”
Calla wrote some more, her back ramrod straight. “Do you have a map I can plot the fires on?”
Scott gladly used her question as an excuse to swivel his chair and rifle through the filing cabinets against the back wall, even though there was a perfectly good map with the fires already outlined in his desk drawer. But he needed to look at something that wasn’t the sexy woman sitting on the other side of his desk.
