by Kim Faulks
He’s an unknown… Could be a fucking killer for all I know. He could be just like….
I reached for the rearview and angled the mirror down. Lightning slashed along my leg. Inside my head, the growl came to life. Low, guttural…and close. The memory circled me like a predator and there was no way out.
I grasped my leg as the past descended. The savage gnash of teeth filled my head. The brutal clash echoing over and over. Silver eyes stared back at me, incensed with madness—dripping with hate. This wasn’t real…this wasn’t real.
Agony coursed through my veins. Flash bombs blinded me. I could still hear my team calling me though my earpiece, searching as my attacker closed in. Half wolf…half woman, no more than a child. Her claws shredding my flesh. My knee. The pain was instant, driving through my leg. I shoved myself against the steering wheel and grasped metal. I still expected flesh and bone—but cold steel was all that remained.
The scent of my own blood filled me. Sickly hot, the smell of pennies was a perfume I’d never forget.
Panic smothered me. A hiss slipped through my lips. I released my leg to grasp the console. Plastic rattled from a packet. I raised it to my mouth, curled my lips around a fresh cigarette butt, and dragged it free.
I’m okay…I’m okay.
Metal kissed the tips of my fingers as I found my lighter. The flame was instant, lighting up the cabin.
I dragged in the heat and the drug and pulled the cigarette from my lips.
I’m okay…I’m going to be fine.
A harsh bark behind me was sodden and thick. The shifter coughed and whimpered, sounding pitiful and strange. I pressed the filter to my lips and drew deep.
Don’t…save yourself. His words surfaced.
I’d gone head to head with a muscle-bound brute…but a shifter, a shifter brought me undone. My muscles cramped as I bent across the seat and stabbed the glove box. White light spilled into the car, illuminating the butt of my weapon.
My fingers scraped the biting pattern. I gripped the steel and pulled the Glock free. This was my drug. Nicotine and gunpowder was what I lived for—that and my team were all I had left. I drained the cigarette as I slammed the compartment closed and reached for the door.
Pain flared along my side. I shoved the feeling to the back of my mind and climbed out, stamping on what was left of the cigarette before turning to stare through the window.
He looked like any other human, curled against the backseat of my car. I grasped the handle and opened the door with one hand, holding onto my weapon with the other.
He never moved, never lunged. His shallow rasping breaths sounded like bursting bubbles under the dull roar of the rain. I swiped my hand across my nose and stared at the shadows across his face. His head tilted. Yellow eyes found me—dull, sad, yellow eyes filled me with guilt.
I reached around the small of my back and slid the gun into the waistband of my khakis. The icy metal warmed against my skin. I kept the shifter’s gaze and stepped around the open door, and raised my empty hands. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I’m here to help. So here’s the deal. I’m going to take you into my room. I’ve got bandages…supplies, enough to help you until you heal.”
He never said a word, only held me in that beaten down gaze.
I softened my voice. “Can you nod if you understand me? Just a small one is all I need.”
He dropped his head, ending the stare and whispered. “Thank you.”
I turned and speared my fingers into my pants, dragging a key free. “Okay then, let’s get you inside where it’s dry.”
The lock opened with a click. I gave the door a nudge with my shoulder and turned. The shifter crawled forward, digging his elbow against the seat to edge toward the door. I squashed the need to rush in, to wrap my arms around him. I moved to the open door and held out my hand. “Let me help you, okay? You can…lean on me.”
He lifted his head and pierced me with a smoldering gaze before nodding. I moved close, capturing his hand. Strong fingers wound around mine and held tight. He tumbled, falling into me with a rush. I clutched his waist, steadying the sway as he slipped from the car. “Easy now. A couple of steps and you can rest, okay?”
He nodded, lifting his head to stare at me. “Your mouth…you’re bleeding.”
I winced and curled my lip into my mouth, sucking the blood away.
Still he stared at my mouth. “Why…why are you doing this?”
I stilled, clutching him against me. The warmth of his body seeped into my sodden shirt to warm my ribs. I didn’t know what to say—what wouldn’t sound like this was all for an interrogation?
Panicked thoughts filled my head. Questions cramped the space, desperate for answers. But this wasn’t the time. I opened my mouth, gentle words spilled out. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
His gaze pierced me, stripping away the lies and the pretense—exposing the deepest part of me. My hand slipped down his back. His body tightened under the heat of my palm. He knew all my secrets—all my fears. He knew everything.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” I whispered. “I promise.”
He moved his gaze to the open door and took one jarring step. I was stunned for a second, unable to understand he moved, until I matched his stride. He leaned on me, bearing down with all his weight. I clutched his body with my right arm and reached up to hold his hand with my left.
Feet felt like miles as we stumbled to the open doorway. I heaved, helping him up the step and followed, dropping my hand from around his waist long enough to hit the lights. The place was even uglier under the hard fluorescent glare. The faded sixties bedcover had probably seen more action than room five, three rooms down. I tried not to think about it and lowered the shifter onto the bed.
He hit the mattress with a moan and stilled, clenching my hand tight as I ducked my head, lifting his arm from my shoulders. Scruffy, long brown hair fell across his face, hiding his eyes.
“You okay?”
His nod was small, controlled. He relaxed, releasing my hand, and for a second I felt the loss. I headed for the doorway, focusing on my strides to step down with my left and follow with my right. The open car door waited. I shoved it closed and hit the remote. Orange lights flashed. For a second I couldn’t turn back, couldn’t see him in that room—waiting with his forlorn expression and busted face. I couldn’t see what he was…and what he wasn’t.
I knew not all shifters were killers. I knew not all humans hurt out of fear. But there was a line—a line inside me most of all. Wolves were on one side, and humans on the other. I’d felt the kindness of wolves—knew what they were like within their own pack. Hell, I knew what they were like when their pack included people like me.
But dragons were a different race altogether.
And this one…this man felt far too fucking real.
The bedsprings creaked inside the room. Guilt wore me down. I steeled my spine and made for the door, forcing my aching stump to be fluid—I’d show no weakness here.
I stepped inside and closed the door. The walls closed in. My fingers twitched, aching for something to hold—and my lips ached for the same.
He dropped his head and probed his scalp.
I crossed the room and knelt at my bags. I felt heat of his gaze travel across my back as I rummaged through my pack and pulled the medic kit free. “I can help you with that if you like? I’m not sure what you need, but I’ve got alcohol and thread and I’ve patched more wounds than I’ve sewn on buttons. You won’t win a beauty contest, but I’ll keep you ali—”
The words turned to dust in my mouth. I turned, catching his stare. Shadows and citrine—that’s what this man…this shifter was. His short scruffy beard melted into shaggy brown hair. He was an unknown—he was dangerous—but when he looked at me, the icy casing around my heart seemed to melt. He dropped his fingers; the tips glistened fresh with blood.
I jerked my head toward his hand. “Let’s start at the top and work our way down, okay?”
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I took his silence as a yes.
I peeled the pack open and laid the contents on the round table built for two. Sterile strips and alcohol wipes spilled out. An eye patch, saline, tweezers. What could I use on a dragon?
I pressed the sides of a collapsible container and grasped the single use salty solution. I knew wolves, understood their diseases—knew which places to touch, and which to avoid. I’d memorized their tell signs, the flattening of their ears, the baring of their teeth. I knew when to stop, when to back away slowly—and when to run.
But not here…not with him. I grasped the container and turned, still the liquid splashed the sides. Cotton gauze filled my palm. Soft wasn’t what I needed…my palm craved cold, mechanical steel.
The patterned grip rubbed the small of my back as I moved. My heart throbbed inside my ears, picking up pace. A fraction of a second was all I needed to draw my weapon free…
He lowered his gaze to my hand, catching the tremble. His raspy voice held no trace of fear. “You can hold it if you like. You can even aim it at me, if it helps you relax.”
I flinched, and then swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”
Strands of hair fell across his eyes as he murmured. “Your gun…I mean your gun.”
My breath was a hard ball in my throat. Heat rushed to my face. He lifted his gaze, kind eyes held me.
I shook my head and glanced at his swollen mouth. “I don’t need the gun. Wouldn’t save me anyway, would it?”
“You know I’m a shifter?”
I nodded. Don’t say anything else…not yet.
“I’d never hurt you.”
Those words stilled the tremble. I didn’t know him—didn’t even know his damn name. Yet, somehow, I believed him. “That’s real good to know…”
“Evander Kane.” He rose from the bed. His face twisted in agony. He clutched his side with one hand and reached out with the other. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Laughter welled in the back of my throat. I fought the need to scream and yell. I fought the need to berate, to break down, to ridicule. I wasn’t in the Marines anymore…but my blood still knew the drill. I passed the container to my left hand, and swiped my greasy palm against my shirt before gripping his with the other. “It’s nice to meet you too. I’m Regan, but most just call me Gunny.”
“Gunny…strange name,” he mused. The swollen corner of his mouth twitched. “I like it.”
I couldn’t help but follow with an awkward twisted grin of my own. One jerk of my head and I was back in charge. “Sit. Let’s have a look at you.”
The bedsprings squealed as he complied. “I’ll be fine in an hour, healed fully in about five, and will leave you be. So you don’t really have to worry.”
I shook my head and slid the container on the table. The gauze soaked up the solution. I turned and took a step, keeping his gaze. “This isn’t normal for you is it? I mean, getting beaten up on a Friday night? I heard that bitch say something about a deal, about money.” I gently parted strands of his hair. “I kinda got the impression she paid them to do this. I want to know why.”
The faint spark of happiness dulled. He shook his head, water dripped to the floor. “It doesn’t matter.”
Anger flared and leaked into my words. “It does. It matters to me. Besides I’ve nothing better to talk about.”
“They were just scared. People do things they don’t mean when they’re scared.”
“You were scared weren’t you? I mean, you’d have to be. Even a shifter feels fear, doesn’t he?”
He flinched as though I’d sliced him open and the truth spilled out. “I tried to help…tried to reach out to her. I saw her on TV urging us to come forward. I thought somehow I could use them…to find my brother.”
I stiffened at the word, brother, and dabbed his head with the swab. “So how many in your pack?”
The cotton strands turned red as I searched his scalp, finding the gash. The edges were jagged, small chunks of gravel were packed in deep. I brushed the length of the wound, waiting for him to answer. And when he did it was barely more than a whisper.
“I had a list.” He lifted his head. “Questions that didn’t reveal…”
Amber glinted from the sunburst in his eyes; fear lingered somewhere in between. He was afraid of us, afraid of what we might do. I dropped my gaze to the mangled fingers on his hand. Any other time I’d tell him to keep his secrets. Any other time I’d tell him we were something to fear. My heart sped, stealing the words from my mouth.
“I want to trust you… I feel I can trust you,” he whispered. “You saved me back there.”
Clumped strands of hair smacked my cheek as I shook my head. “I didn’t save you at all. You’re immortal, aren’t you?”
He reached up, placing his twisted, swollen fingers on my arm. “You saved me from becoming what they wanted—a monster. You saved my family. For that, I can’t thank you enough.”
My throat thickened. I tried to swallow the lump.
“We’re not wolves, Gunny. We’re dragons. We were the first ones created, before humans, before wolves, before everything really.”
“Jesus…dragons?” I tried to act surprised. “An ancient race, huh?”
His hand slipped from my arm. “There were only twelve created. One for each sign of the zodiac.”
Twelve…zodiac…dragons. I struggled to get my head around his words. “I might come off naive and stupid here, but what’s a bunch of hocus pocus got to do with a real life dragon?”
The corners of his mouth curled. “Hocus pocus?”
“You know witchy woooo.” I wiggled my fingers in the air.
He shook his head. “Humans are so strange. You’ll map your life by the sun…and by the currents of the sea. Yet you think the constellations in the sky are witchy woooo. Some humans have dedicated their life to the planets. Did you know since my family was created humans have charted their birth, their death, and all the turning points of their life in between?”
“People actually do that, look up in the sky and what? Chant and shit?”
His harsh bark of laughter filled the room, before he winced and bent to clutch his side. “Oh Goddess… Chant and shit…”
His eyes sparkled and the swollen corner of his mouth crumpled when he smiled. “Yeah, I guess some do. Well, they used to anyway.”
I waited for the chuckling and whimpering to die down and muttered. “When you’re finished laughing at me, I’ll fix your damn head.”
And suddenly the laugher was gone and he was back to the sad, serious shifter I dragged from the car. “I’m not laughing at you. I’ll never laugh at you, just trying to understand your kind. It’s been…a long time.”
His remark slipped from my grasp. “So twelve dragons, for each sign of the zodiac. Which one are you?”
The yellow in his eyes blazed. Red seeped into the edges blending to orange just like a burning cigarette in the dead of the night.
“Cancer,” he murmured. “My dragon is Cancer.”
Cancer—death, loneliness…pain. The word conjured demons I’d put to rest long ago. My mom’s beautiful face came to life. Her radiant smile gripped my heart and squeezed. She was so alive, so vibrant the last time I saw her—a month before I stepped on the plane and headed to Iraq. The mail was slow and the days were long in the place I had to call home. I closed my eyes…I could still see the neatly written letter from my father…I’m so sorry Regan. Your Mom…Cancer, stage three…no way we could’ve saved her.
I jerked my gaze away as the ache spread. I never saw Mom again. Never said goodbye…never said I love you. For years, I wanted someone to hurt, someone to hate.
And now here he was.
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About the Author
I’m an Aussie girl who grew up in the bush and one day found a book in the library… a book that changed my world,
Bram Stokers, Dracula.
And I’ve been searching for that magic ever since.
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Find me here
@AuthorKimFaulks
AuthorKimFaulks
www.hauntingfiction.com/
[email protected]
