by Sean Michael
Bound by Thorns
By Sean Michael
Meet the Beteferoce brothers: five dragon shifters, each with a strong elemental power. And each with a fierce desire to find his soul mate...
Park ranger Luke Beteferoce likes the quiet of the forest—a place he can be alone. The dragon shifter keeps himself busy maintaining his territory in the park...that is, until he meets ex-soldier Greyson Paulson. Suddenly, Luke finds himself thinking of all sorts of scenarios that involve Greyson. And with the kind of tension he’s feeling, hot, sweaty, nonkinky sex is only the beginning.
While he’s perfectly fine being left alone, Greyson finds he enjoys the company of the bossy yet tender park ranger. Soon, trying to fight the heat between them is a losing battle: he’s ready to give in to the irresistible lust he feels for Luke. Greyson may not be ready to completely submit, but he still can’t stop himself from following every command Luke whispers his way.
Luke hasn’t felt this kind of connection and satisfaction with anyone ever before, leading him to discover Greyson’s marked as his mate. But with Greyson battling his own limitations and lack of experience, it’s going to take Luke more than hours-long hot sex to convince Greyson to stay and accept his destiny.
Book three in the Dragon Soul series
This book is approximately 73,000 words
Carina Press acknowledges the editorial services of Alissa Davis
One-click with confidence. This title is part of the Carina Press Romance Promise: all the romance you’re looking for with an HEA/HFN. It’s a promise!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Also by Sean Michael
About the Author
Chapter One
The snow was whiter out here. In the city it turned gray so quickly; here it just built up around the cabin and insulated the world, leaving him alone with his whiskey and his private war.
Greyson had never been anywhere this isolated. It wasn’t a matter of his nearest neighbor being a certain distance away—he had no nearest neighbor.
The whiskey burned all the way down and he winced. He needed to grab wood. He needed to make a tin of soup. He needed to do a lot of shit.
What he did was sit and watch the snow.
The leafless trees made interesting shadows and he watched them moving, changing with the wind. That one there looked like a dragon, big wings flapping across the landscape. Then the next looked like a missile, and he closed his eyes against the memory of fire licking against him, of the shrapnel biting into him.
No. No. Eyes open. Focus. Snow. White. Cold. Implacable. The snow simply was.
Greyson took another swig of the whiskey and let it drown him that much more. Please, God, I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to dream.
A crunching noise made itself known, getting slowly louder, drawing near.
He frowned and stood on shaky legs, looking out the window. No one was supposed to know he was here. No one was supposed to be here. No one.
A guy geared up for the winter appeared, some sort of insignia on his sleeve. He kept coming toward Greyson and he didn’t disappear. Not a hallucination, then.
“Great. Fuck.” He made sure the door was locked, closed the curtain. He wasn’t talking to anyone.
The knocks on the door sounded like shots, breaking the heavy silence.
“Go away. I don’t want any.”
“Park ranger. Open up.”
Goddammit, he didn’t want to see anyone. He imagined “park ranger” was as good as “police” out here in the extreme boonies, though, and not answering the door was going to be more trouble than not.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He opened the door. Christ, he hadn’t changed his clothes in two days. At least. “What can I do for you?”
“You can tell me who you are, what you’re doing here, and how long you’re staying.” The voice was all growl.
“I’m just a guy. I rented this cabin. And as long as I want to.” He could snap with the best of them.
The ranger crossed his arms. “This land is a part of the park, so you’re in my territory. You respect that. You respect the land.”
Greyson snapped to attention and saluted.
Piercing dark green eyes narrowed. “Are you sassing me?”
Sassing? Really? Did he look like a fucking twelve-year-old? He’d been a fucking sergeant for Christ’s sake. “I am. I rented this place. I’m not hurting anything.” And he’d asked for their most isolated cabin when he’d made the arrangements. He hadn’t wanted to be bothered. He’d paid for a month in advance and they had his credit card number to keep charging unless he told them otherwise. This was not in his plans.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Yup.” It took the edge off the constant ache in his thigh and made the daily muscle cramps and shooting pains more or less tolerable. Not that it was any of this asshole’s business.
“Out here all by yourself? You might want to reconsider. If you forget to put on winter clothes when you go out—or even if you do, but pass out in the snow—it’ll kill you. And then there will be paperwork. I don’t like paperwork.”
“Paperwork. God forbid. I’ll try not to freeze to death on your watch.” He’d bet dying like that wouldn’t hurt.
“See that you don’t. I’ll be back to make sure of it. You got enough fuel? Food? Water?” The words were concerned, the tone more exasperated.
“I think so, yeah. Thanks.” Did he? How the hell did he know? He’d never done this before. But he wasn’t about to tell Dudley Do-Right that.
“You think so?” Dudley snorted. “I’ll be back. Try not to die before then.”
The guy was huge, and, Greyson imagined, intimidating, if he was in a place to be intimidated. Either way, Greyson wasn’t fucking impressed.
“I’ll do my best. Have a fab day.” Asshat.
That earned him another snort. “Ditto.”
“Yeah.” He closed the door with a click, locked it, and stumbled to his chair.
The crunching of the ranger’s footsteps faded away, leaving him alone in the woods once again.
Alone with his nightmares. Alone with the snow.
It was all he needed.
* * *
Luke patrolled the forest every day, shifting into his dragon and flying over it, making sure everything was as it should be. For a couple of weeks, he avoided the quadrant where the stranger was staying. No one had been at the little cabin on that corner of the land in a long time. It was too far out even for the service to use as storage, so it sat empty. He went by twice a year to make sure everything was in good repair, but aside from that, it had been empty for years.
It wasn’t empty anymore, as he’d discovered by accident when flying over it some fifteen days ago.
No. Now it was filled with a shaggy blond drunk with the palest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Someone had dropped the ball somewhere, not letting him know the place was now occupied, especially given the t
ime of year.
He found himself flying too close again, sniffing hard, seeking the stranger’s scent to make sure the guy was still alive. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to get caught. There was only one thing for it. He was going to have to go back. He’d take over a lasagna, a case of water, and maybe some milk and a box of cookies or something. Check up on the man. That ought to assuage his need to make sure the guy wasn’t about to expire on him.
He packed the cooler on the trailer behind the snowmobile and headed for the cabin. He was going to deal with this nonsense, once and for all. These were his forests. Nobody came here during the winter. It was too isolated, too far north, too easy to get trapped once the rain turned to snow.
He pulled the snowmobile up next to the cabin, and slowly got off it, noticing a car-shaped tarp next to the building. Was the guy going to come to the door because of the noise, or was he really going to wait until Luke knocked? It wasn’t like he was here for anyone else. He took a moment to look under the tarp, finding a beat-up jeep that had seen better days. Letting the tarp go, he went back to the front door.
When no one appeared, he shook his head, then knocked.
The man answered the door in a pair of boxers and nothing else, long blond hair covering his shoulders, beard masking a heavy frown. Fuck, that lean body was covered in scars, most of them concentrated on one thigh. Luke tried hard not to stare, but damn, they were brutal. Made him wonder what had happened to the guy.
“Can I help you?”
“Wellness check,” he said, pushing his way in. Luke wasn’t waiting for an invitation, especially as he didn’t figure he was going to get one.
“What the fuck? I’m fine!” The place was cold and a wreck, the roof leaking heat, the scent of whiskey almost, but not quite, faded.
“You’re freezing to death. When was the last time you ate?” He closed the door firmly, then put the cooler on the ground in the little kitchenette. First order of business was getting the fire going. “You got clothes?”
“What? I was... I was... I’m fine.”
He took off his gloves and went over to the guy, grabbing his arm. Freezing. Fucking freezing. “No, you’re not. You’re halfway to hypothermia. And I’m not coming in here in the spring to find your fucking frozen body.”
Fucking idiot. If this dude wanted to kill himself, he should do it on his own turf, not Luke’s.
The guy yanked his arm out of Luke’s hold. “I’m fine. I was sleeping.”
Oh, this guy could growl. Electricity shot through Luke, buzzing along his nerves.
“You weren’t going to wake up at this rate.” He went over to the fireplace and quickly put together a bunch of kindling. He set a match to it, then began to build the fire.
“I—Why are you here?”
“To make sure you don’t die.” He added a log, watching for it to catch before he put on another one. “And I brought dinner.”
“I’m fine. I’m great.” Those blue eyes were fastened on him, watching every move.
“Sure you are.” Once he had the fire going, he went over and grabbed a blanket off the couch. He went right to the idiot in his underwear. Despite all the scars, he seemed to be in good shape, whipcord lean without an ounce of fat. Some might say too lean. The guy even had an incredible belly. Some scars there, though the worst of those were on that poor thigh. Luke wrapped the blanket around freezing cold shoulders. “Sit down. I’ll get you some water and get the lasagna heated up.”
“I—I’m fine, man. I just...fell asleep.” The guy sounded aggrieved.
More like passed out, but Luke wasn’t going to split hairs. He held out his hand. “Luke Beteferoce.”
“I’m Greyson. Greyson Paulson.”
A rhyming name? That couldn’t have been easy growing up.
“So what brings you here, Greyson?” he asked, going over to the stove.
“I needed to get away.”
“Well, you don’t do things by halves, do you?” Luke didn’t figure there was more away than here. Shaking his head, he turned the oven on. Only to have it not come on. He checked it. “You haven’t even lit the pilot light! How the hell are you eating?”
Greyson rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. I have granola bars and shit.”
Fine. It was like this guy didn’t know the meaning of the word.
“Granola bars, booze, and no heat. That’s a recipe that will get you killed.” He grabbed the matches and lit the pilot, nearly singeing himself. He didn’t, though. It took a lot of heat to burn him. Setting the temperature to 350F, he put the lasagna in.
While he was doing that, Greyson was busy pulling on sweats, and yanking his hair back. Luke watched out of the corner of his eyes as the lean body was covered—making sure the guy was getting dressed.
He unpacked the cooler and brought Greyson a bottle of water. “Drink that, okay?” He was going to make coffee, but Greyson needed that water first.
“Thank you.”
He shook his head as Greyson sucked it back, throat working as he drank.
This man needed a keeper. Luke ignored the voice in his head that said that looking out for people in his territory was his job, as the park ranger. At the same time, one of the reasons he was out this far was because eight months of the year the place was, for all intents and purposes, deserted. He didn’t really like people. He was a loner. He certainly didn’t need to be anyone’s keeper.
“You bring food to every stranger in the forest?” Greyson asked, voice dry.
“You’re the first one who’s needed it. Of course, you’re also the first stranger I’ve seen here in the winter in a lot of years.” And summer hikers tended to be self-sufficient. “Besides. When was the last time you had a real meal?” He found the old—really old—tin coffeepot and filled it with water before sticking it on the stove and turning the gas on under it.
“I’m not here for meals. I mean, I’m just trying to get away from things.”
What did that mean? Drugs? Crime? A woman? The last would surprise him. He had a hunch Greyson wasn’t into women.
“If you don’t eat, you get away from life in a pretty permanent way.” The chill was gone from the air so he took his parka off and hung it on the hook by the door. “You want some more water?” He didn’t wait for an answer, simply tossed Greyson a second bottle. He was going to have to find out if the guy had put in a store of water. If Greyson hadn’t, Luke would bring more. Dehydration would kill a man as fast as the cold could.
“I’m not suicidal. Just tired.” Yeah, he looked tired. Actually, he looked exhausted. The second bottle of water went down more slowly.
“Glad to hear it. You do seem ill-prepared for a winter here, though.” Luke went back to the stove and added grounds to the top of the percolator, then let it do its thing while he scrounged around for a couple of mugs. They were in the second cupboard he checked, after finding the first one pretty much empty. Had Greyson brought any food other than the aforementioned granola bars with him?
Greyson stared at him like he’d lost his mind and those pale eyes looked bruised. “I needed to get away.” Greyson kept saying that.
“So you simply came.” That was insane. And he’d just become this man’s keeper. At least until the spring, when Greyson could have supplies put in. Now that he knew Greyson was here and alone and in need, he couldn’t ignore the man. Didn’t Greyson have anyone to look out for him back home?
“I just came. It seemed like the best option.”
“That must have been a hell of a situation you were leaving behind if this is your best option.”
The coffeepot began whistling, so he went over and pulled it off the ring. When he looked up, Greyson was curled up in the window seat again, eyes on the snow.
Luke poured the coffee and added a touch of milk to his own. “How do y
ou take yours?”
“Black.”
Yeah, that figured.
He brought the cup over and handed it off, nearly hissing at the electricity that went through him as their skin touched. Crazy. Clearly it had been too long since he’d last had any human interaction
“Th-thank you.” Greyson’s eyes opened wide.
He held Greyson’s gaze. “You’re welcome.” Taking a sip of his coffee, he kept staring. He wondered if he could talk Greyson into leaving. That way he wouldn’t have to worry about the guy dying out here under his watch. “You know, I’ve got the snowmobile. I’d be happy to get you back to civilization, where you don’t have to think about things like supplies for the next six months or so.” He was pretty sure Greyson’s jeep wouldn’t survive the trip in the snow.
Greyson folded his arms across his chest, and jutted his chin out. The man looked as stubborn as they came. “I’m good right where I am.”
Looking away, Luke wandered back to the fire. “If you keep this thing stoked, it’ll keep the entire cabin heated. You haven’t got much wood in your stack, though. I’ll bring a bunch in for you before I go.” If Greyson wasn’t going, he could at least make sure the man didn’t die out here.
“You don’t have to. I’ve got my crutches.”
“Crutches?” Luke frowned.
“Yeah.” Greyson pointed over to the wall, where a pair of arm crutches stood.
“But you weren’t using them when you got the door?” Luke frowned. “What happened?”
“Landmine. I do fine around here. Inside is easier and it’s not a lot of space to move around in”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Now that he knew the guy was injured, he needed to take care of Greyson more than ever.
“I don’t advertise.”
“Makes you coming all the way out here on your own seem even stranger,” Luke admitted. Not to mention now it would make even more sense to get Greyson back to civilization. He settled on the couch, watching Greyson closely.
Greyson stared at him, quiet, still, so steady.
He could be as stubborn. Maybe Greyson would take the hint and decide to go. Or maybe the man would tell him why he had come out here. Either way, the lasagna had an hour to cook and he had his coffee. To get the message across better, he leaned back and put his feet up on the coffee table, demonstrating what an immovable object he was.
