by Leela Ash
Dragon Aflame
Dragon Dreams
Tabitha St. George
Leela Ash
Copyright ©2018 by Tabitha St. George & Leela Ash. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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… also check out these stories of mine!
DRAGON DREAMS
DRAGON PROTECTOR
BANISHED DRAGONS
CAPTIVE TO THE DRAGON
DESTINED FOR THE DRAGON
STONYBROOKE SHIFTERS
DADDY SHIFTER’S VIRGIN
A SECRET BABY FOR THE SHIFTER
THE SHIFTER’S MAIL ORDER VIRGIN
DADDY SHIFTER’S FAKE FIANCE
THE SEAL SHIFTER’S SECRET BABY
CLAIMED BY THE ALPHA DADDY
NANNY TO THE SHIFTER
THE SHIFTER PROTECTOR’S VIRGIN
SECOND CHANCE WITH THE SHIFTER
OAK MOUNTAIN SHIFTERS
HER BILLIONAIRE SHIFTER BOSS
HER SECRET PROTECTOR BEAR
A SECRET BABY FOR DADDY BEAR
THE ALPHA’S MAIL ORDER BRIDE
THE ALPHA DADDY’S NANNY
DRAGONS OF KALDERNON
THE DRAGONS OF KALDERNON COMPLETE SERIES
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…and if you are interested, here is another series from Totally Romance Publishing that I think you may enjoy!
THE LOST CREEK SHIFTERS
The Lost Creek Shifters series is a collection of novelette length standalone Bad boy romances that fit together to tell the longer story of the ancient tale of the bear and wolf shifters in a small mountain town. Enjoy!
ARLO (Book 1)
SCAR (Book 2)
BLU (Book 3)
BODHI (Book 4)
KODHI (Book 5)
ZEKE (Book 6)
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Collections
Lost Creek Shifters
Time Travel Romance
Dragon Shifter Romance
Bear Shifter Romance
Highlander Time Travel Romance
Alien Romance
Love and Survival in the Time After
The Runes of Argyll Trilogy
Wolf Shifter Romance
Chapter 1
This is how it starts. This is always how it starts.
Tess Everlyn opened her eyes, fighting an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu.
She stood on a tiny island near the shore of a pine-skirted lake. Steel grey sky glowered overhead, turning the pond’s water a cold, foreboding black. An icy wind whipped its surface into a froth and made her shiver and pull her leather jacket closer.
Nothing except the wind broke the silence that surrounded her. No sounds of cars, people, music… nothing. She was alone, standing in thigh-high grass. Staring at the island’s one other occupant.
An enormous elm tree, tall and straight, soaring a hundred feet into the air. Not a single leaf graced its branches.
That explains the wind, then. It must be November.
But why did she need to guess that? Why couldn’t she remember the date or how she got here?
Because I never do.
She knew that. Knew she’d stood here before, a dozen times, struggling to recall herself. Gently, she probed her own mind. There were some things she did know. Her name. The fact that a flimsy log bridge lay behind her, tying the little isle to the mainland. That if she followed the path beyond it, it would lead her to a log cabin about a half mile from here. Her cabin, with a lawn chair, a cord of wood for the fireplace, and a beat up Harley Davidson hog hidden under a dirty sheet.
Skills bubbled up in her mind. A scattering of languages – English, French, German, Spanish, Russian. She knew how to handle that motorcycle, recalled laws of the road and driving permits. Slowly, other facts swam to the surface. This was the country of America, in the state of Massachusetts. No, this part of Massachusetts had broken away at some point and become… what did they call it now? Maine? Yes, that was it.
Her neighbors….
Like leaves caught in a whirlwind, images swirled up in towering chaos. Her neighbors were the Penobscots, a quiet, courteous tribe who left her gifts of venison in the fall. Or were they lumberjacks; rude, prone to drunken affronts, carelessly leveling the woods around her home? No, nosy tourists, begging her for directions to The Hundred Mile Wilderness… snowmobilers roaring past on machines that first enraged her, then enchanted her with their speed and howling fury.
Tess closed her eyes again and shivered, letting the wind and the silence wash away that mad flurry of memories. She didn’t know which of them were true. Maybe they all were.
There was only one thing missing from these memories.
Her.
As the past returned, she recalled places, times… all the debris of a life. But herself? Her lovers, family, friends?
Gone. Completely.
Weirdest thing ever – and yet, it felt natural. That sense of déjà vu settled over her again, like a child’s security blanket. Things were as they should be, a part of her mind whispered.
Yeah, right. She wasn’t the kind of woman who believed things just because people said them. Not even when the person talking was her.
Her eye spotted some small form at the base of the tree. Kneeling, she pushed aside the grass. Amongst the roots lay twelve stones the size of her hand. Each one contained a primitive drawing of a couple. A princess and a harpist. Two farmers with pitchfork and hoe, like a stick-figure version of American Gothic. A pair of hippies decked in flowers, surrounded by arcs of rainbow color. The ones on the left had faded and sunk halfway into the island’s soft earth. The farthest right – the newest? – looked brand new. On it, a shaggy-bearded man drove a motorcycle, while a woman stood on the seat behind him, laughing madly as her long hair blew in the wind.
Is that psycho me? she wondered. Did I ever do anything that crazy?
She reached for the stone, but as her hand neared it, a shiver swept over her and the hair on the back of her arm rose.
These stones were dangerous. She knew it in her heart. She should never, ever touch them.
So, of course, she did.
The moment her finger brushed the rock’s cold surface, a fire-hose of memories slammed into her.
Michael. The way his beard tickled against her skin as he kissed her. The giddy power she felt, standing on that bike, surrounded by wind and thunder. Knowing that any twitch, any error he made would send her plummeting to the pavement. A stupid, pointless death. Yet she trusted him. With her life. With her love. Until…
Tess threw herself backwards, away from the last thoughts. Drugs, bought and sold. Another woman. And another, and another, until…
She sat in the grass, the taste of bile in her mouth.
<
br /> Why did I touch that damned stone? I knew it was dangerous.
But she knew the answer to that. Because she made bad choices.
That’s my life in five words.
Struggling to her feet, she grimaced at the twelve stones. Apparently, she’d made a lot of bad choices.
In her mind, Michael was growing faint again. Feelings died with him. From a pain as sharp as staring at the sun to a vague ache. She still recalled the life they’d begun together, in a cold, distant way. Like the memories of some sad movie she’d watched once, long ago. A few moments later, even that was gone. Leaving her standing, alone, glaring at the stone.
“Okay. Point taken,” she said to nobody. “I don’t touch those things again.”
So what did she know? She ticked the facts off on her fingers and spoke aloud, just so she didn’t feel quite so alone. “I’m Tess Everlyn. I guess I’ve lived a long time.” She prayed that picture of a princess depicted a trip to Disneyland, not some medieval romance. “I have really bad taste in men. Apparently, I come here when it all gets too much and I dump their memories in little stones.” She frowned down at the rocks with their crude paintings of past loves. “I don’t draw very well.”
Now what?
A quick scan of the little island offered no advice. Except for a tree and rocks, it was empty.
Stay here? Nah, that was a daft idea. Her leather jacket and pants looked badass, but they weren’t all that warm. Besides, what was the point of sitting on a cold, grassy island, surrounded by your mistakes?
Might as well leave. Cross the worn bridge, see where that path leads. Start living again. Get back on that horse and…
…make more bad choices.
With a sigh, she headed out. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe she’d be smart.
Somehow, she doubted it.
Chapter 2
…Rage, soaring higher. Scales and fangs answering its deadly song as the fury swept over him, changing him. The fear on the robbers’ faces, their howls of terror… then a woman’s scream, an innocent’s terror. The squeal of tires and that thud. That terrible, horrible sound he could never forget…
Darian Morland opened his eyes and let the last traces of the dream leave him.
Pale sunlight streamed through the window, countless dust motes dancing in its rays. A more poetic soul might be enchanted by that. To him, however, it was just a reminder of yet another chore on his to-do list: air this place out. The stale, musty scent of his blankets added another prompt: clean the bedding. And the chill in the air hinted that maybe this ‘year-round camp’ wasn’t as well-winterized as the realtor implied.
Another thing to get to… later. For now, he burrowed deeper under his ragged quilt. Letting the dream fade completely. Enjoying the bed’s warmth and the silence of the Maine woods, so different from…
Wait. Silence?
He sat bolt upright, sheets and quilt spilling off onto the camp’s dirty floor.
“Ethan?”
No response. Was it early?
The wind-up clock beside his bed warned that it was 8:45 am. Far, far too late for this stillness!
Darian scrambled out of bed and snatched up yesterday’s pants. His stomach roiled at the first touch of adrenaline. Once upon a time, that would have summoned something… greater.
‘Greater?’ He snorted as he trotted into the cabin’s tiny living room. Try ‘darker.’ ‘More dangerous.’ I’m better off without it.
“Ethan?” The door to the second bedroom lay open, its bed empty. A handful of Cheerios lay scattered across the kitchen floor. Another stray “O” at the front door sent him trotting outside, heart hammering.
I told him to stay inside! Why can he never obey me? That’s the Hundred Mile Wilderness to our north. If he got lost there, if he wandered off. Or…
If he was honest, it was the ‘or’ that worried him the most. Trees, woods, even the odd black bear – none of that was as frightening as the ‘or.’
…or if someone followed us out here.
“Ethan!”
“Over here, Dad!”
Relief made his knees weak as he spotted the boy. At seven, he was tall for his age, hinting that someday he would equal his father’s height and strength. Try as he might, Darian couldn’t see any sign of the boy’s mother in his son. Maybe the roundness of the child’s face, the upturned tip of his nose. But his tousled, honey-blonde hair, his bright blue eyes, those he got from his father.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay inside?” he snapped. Lingering traces of worry made his tone sharper than he intended. Ethan noticed that and scowled. His small chin shot up in defiance.
He got that from me, too.
“I was hungry and you were asleep.”
“Nice try, sport.” He folded his arms across his chest, refusing to feel guilty. “The food’s inside.”
“There isn’t any food!”
“How about that cereal you spilled all over the floor?”
“It was gross!” the boy protested. “There wasn’t any milk!”
Now the guilt did come. Darian sighed and let his arms fall to his side. “I know. I’m stuck with black coffee this morning too. I’m sorry. I didn’t do a good job shopping, did I? Tell you what. We’ll drive into town after I shower and we’ll get groceries together. Okay?”
“Can we get Oreos?” Ethan’s face lit up at the prospect.
His heart immediately agreed. He wanted to shower the boy in toys, sweets, and whatever else his heart desired. The father in him, however, knew that ‘what the boy wanted’ was cookies, ice cream, and as much candy as he could carry. He’d probably still cave and let him have the cookies. Ah, hell, who was he trying to kid? He knew he’d cave. But he still had to pretend to be in charge. “I don’t know if you deserve cookies today. I told you to stay inside.”
“I did it for us!”
At this rate, the boy was going to grow up to be a lawyer. Darian frowned harder to keep from smiling. “You disobeyed me to help ‘us’? How exactly did that work?”
“Come see!” Without waiting, Ethan sprinted towards the edge of the dark woods that surrounded the camp. “See what I made?”
“A… pile of leaves?”
Ethan planted his hands on his hips and surveyed the small, leafy lump with pride. “Yup! I couldn’t find a lot because everything’s pine trees out here. But I’m gonna get more and then we’ll have a HUGE pile and we can jump in it! Like we used to do!”
Back when they summered in Tennesee. Guilt returned, stronger. His son loved their camp in the hills. Fresh air, walks in the forest, piles of leaves taller than he was. Darian had hoped that Maine could replace it. The sight of that tiny, sad leaf ‘pile’ gave him doubts, however.
Still, the boy was trying. “You’re right. Pine needles aren’t soft enough. Tell you what: I’ll help you collect them, okay?” Ethan cheered and started to turn, but his father caught his arm. “First, though, we need to discuss what you did. When I tell you to do something, you need to do it. Understand? When I woke up and didn’t know where you were, I was upset.”
“But I was bored! There’s no tv!”
“No, there isn’t. And there won’t be.”
“But why?” Frustration added a grating whine to the boy’s complaint. “Why did we have to come here? We had tv before. And leaves. Real leaves!”
And there it was. The question he couldn’t answer. The best he could do was, “It’s safer here.”
“Why?”
What could he say? The truth?
Because I’m a Dragon. There’s a war going on and Dragons are at the heart of it.
Ethan didn’t even believe in Santa Claus any more. Dragons? Not a chance. He had no idea that his father was more than human. He was a Shifter, a man linked to one of the great Dragons of the mysterious Other Side.
Once, he could have proven that Shifters existed. With a thought, he could have summoned his Dragon’s power to him, let its magic transform him into a winged
drake. Hell, he could give Ethan a ride. How was that for a cure for boredom? To sail through the clouds on the back of a…
…A woman’s scream of horror. Brakes. That soft, terrible thud…
Darian gasped, closing his eyes tight to banish those horrible memories.
“Daddy?” A small hand touched his shoulder, squeezing. “Are you okay?”
No. I’m a monster.
Those days of flight and fire were gone, and he was better off without them.
He forced himself to open his eyes and smile. “I’m fine.”
Ethan would never see that side of him. He’d banished it. Closed the door to the Other Side and thrown away the key. It would break his heart to see his son stare at him in horror.
Like Charity did, right before she died.
As his son, Ethan had Shifter blood. That made him Kindred: touched by magic, with a soul strong enough to bear the sight of a Shifter. Normal people were usually overwhelmed by panic – even madness – when they saw a Shifter transformed.
…Her scream. Such shock, such horror. Because of him…
His son could handle watching him Shift. As well as anyone could handle the sight of their father changing into a thirty foot long Dragon.
No. Nothing good would come from this. If he told the boy about Dragons, he’d have to explain everything. Better to be just ‘Dad.’ A normal, slightly inept, single father. Trying desperately to keep his son safe.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No,” he whispered, as he pulled the boy into a hug. “Let’s make a deal. You can play here in the yard but you can’t go into the woods or down the road. Okay?”
“Why?”
In the years since Charity’s death, Darian had come to hate that word. He loved Ethan, and being unable to make the world make sense to his son broke his heart. But, as he always did, he turned away from the truth and offered a half-lie. “Those woods go on for a hundred miles. If you got lost in there, I’d never find you.”
