by Leela Ash
Ethan’s eyes grew wide. Good. That meant he had his attention. “There are bears out there, and they’re not friendly to little boys. And while there isn’t a lot of traffic here, you could get hit by a car if you play in the road.”
Presuming that any car could go more than 5 mph on the rutted dirt track that passed for a “camp road.” Which he rather doubted. Still, better to say that than to try to explain that if his old enemies tracked them down, they’d come by road.
“You understand?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he sighed.
“Good.” Darian rose to his feet and stroked his son’s hair. “Give me your cereal bowl to clean and then I’ll come out and we can make that leaf pile, okay?”
“‘Kay!” A sudden thought froze the boy in his tracks and he puffed with excitement. “Then we go to Bangor, right? For groceries?”
“Maybe not all the way to Bangor, but we’ll go shopping.”
“Can we have lunch at that place?”
Kids remained a mystery to him, even after five years as a parent. “What place?”
“The one with the bear! Pleease?”
Oh, the “Black Bear Diner.” A beat-up shack about eight miles down the road. His son had been dazzled by their chainsaw ‘sculpture’ of a bear cub. “Sure. Why not?”
More cheers. Darian smiled as he scooped Ethan’s forgotten cereal bowl off the lawn.
Something yellow tumbled out as he rose.
Eggs. The remains of what looked like scrambled eggs.
Alarm flared, strong enough that, for one moment, Darian thought he could hear the distant roar of a Dragon.
He hadn’t bought any eggs.
“Ethan? What did you have for breakfast.”
“Cheerios and a emee-ar.”
“A what?”
“M. E. R.” the boy spelled.
An MRE? Army-abbreviation for a ‘Meal Ready to Eat’?
“Hey!” At his shout, Ethan froze. All of his childish petulance vanished when he realized that his father was truly, seriously upset. “Ethan Philip Morland, did you eat something you found in this camp?”
“No, Daddy.”
He held the dirty bowl up, glaring. “Where did you get the eggs?”
“The lady gave them to me.”
“What lady?” Somewhere deep within himself, his Dragon rumbled with suspicious anger. By nature, Dragons were guardians, protectors of the weak. The thought that someone – some stranger – had approached his son nearly drove him wild.
The boy pointed down their long dirt driveway. “The lady with the motorcycle. She lives in that house that’s all mossy. I told her I was hungry, and she gave me a emee-ar.”
Eyes narrowing, he glared at the bend in the road. No ‘lady’ would live in that abandoned shed. The realtor had promised him that they’d be completely alone.
No neighbors.
Which meant his enemies had found them.
“Ethan, go inside NOW. Lock the door and don’t open it again until I tell you.”
The camp’s flimsy door wouldn’t stop a Rat – much less any of the powerful Shifters that tracked them. But it was the best he could do.
For the first time, Darian bitterly regretted sending his Dragon away. He might not have its power, but he still had its enemies.
As his son fled to hide, he strode angrily down the road. He would protect his son, no matter who this ‘lady’ might be.
Chapter 3
Tess was duct-taping the leg of her lawn chair when, with a loud crash, the door of her cabin was kicked in.
Standing in her doorway was a hellishly hot – and highly annoyed – man. Tall, muscular, with broad shoulders tapering down to a powerful waist. Ruffled dirty-blonde hair, like he’d stormed in through a hurricane. Blue eyes, bright and fierce, in a square-jawed, strong-boned face straight out of an old 50s Western. His hands were balled into fists and the tail end of a tattoo, something long and sinuous by the looks, peeked out from under his sleeve.
Hello Mr. “Bad Choice” #13.
Damn, he was ticked off. Should she be worried? That seemed like a reasonable reaction when a stranger kicked in your front door; however, Tess didn’t feel even the faintest whisper of fear. She didn’t know who she was, but she was pretty sure she could defend herself. He must be the dad of that cute kid who mooched breakfast off her. Probably mad that she talked to his boy.
For a moment, the two of them stared across the tiny room. Him glaring, her bemused. “Uh, hello?” she said. “You know, in these parts, it’s traditional to knock before battering someone’s door in.”
“I know who you are,” he growled.
Oh, what a voice! Deep, bass honey-coated menace. Hell yeah, he had ‘mistake’ written all over him. The flash of heat that voice summoned almost made her burst out laughing. Wow, she fell for the Bad Boys hard. No wonder her life was such a mess. Or, well, she assumed it was a mess. Healthy people didn’t dump their past like last month’s garbage.
“If you know who I am, buddy, you’re one up on me.”
“What?” Her crazy answer made him pause, still scowling. Tess turned back to her repairs. “What are you doing?” he snapped.
“Fixing my bed.”
“That’s a lawn chair.”
“Yeah, well, apparently I didn’t leave a lot of furniture behind when I took off.”
“You’ve been waiting for me, then?” He stepped forward, looming over her as she sat on the floor. For the first time, she started to wonder if she had a serious problem on her hands.
“Hell no. I don’t even know who you are. Are you pissed that I fed your kid? If so, I’m sorry. He said he was starving.”
“No games!” Try as she might, Tess couldn’t keep her eyes on the lawn chair. They crept back to him, drinking in his fierceness, the raw, masculine edge of his anger. And… something else. There was something about him that captivated her. An aura, an air of power and importance. His mere presence demanded attention and respect. She found her usual jokes beginning to dry up on her tongue.
“Tell me the truth,” he said. “You’re with the Fangs of Apophis, aren’t you?”
“No. Is that a gang?” Maybe that explained that ink of his.
With my luck, he’s a drug dealer. Great…
Those gorgeous blue eyes bore into hers, as if he could see her messed up soul. Then they clouded with confusion. “You’re not lying. But… what are you?”
What the hell kind of question was that? “Uh, a woman?”
“Obviously.” He waved dismissively, uncurling his fists as he did. “I meant, what kind of Shifter are you?”
“Shifter? What’s that?”
Now he took a step back, alarm spreading across his handsome face. “But you have to be… I mean, I can see your link to the Other Side.”
“Other side of what?”
“Oh hell,” he sighed. “You’re one of the Lost.”
Just what she needed to start the first morning of her new life: a completely psycho conversation. “Well, I’m lost now. I mean, I understand every word you’re saying – and they don’t make any sense. Look, let’s start over, okay? I’ll pretend that you knocked and I’ll say, ‘Hi. My name’s Tess Everlyn. What’s yours?’”
He stared at her, a picture of bafflement.
“That’s your cue, Big Guy.”
“Uh, Darian Morland.”
“Nice name. You rich? That sounds like a rich-guy name.”
“No. Well, yes, but… no. Not at the moment.”
The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. And the picture they formed was, well, the typical bull manure that her life was sculpted from. “Let me guess. You come from a rich family. You wasted your money on drugs. No, wait.” No junkie kept himself in peak physical condition like this dude. “Scratch that. You lost it gambling. So you borrowed more from some gang called the Fangs of Apophis. Lost that too. Fangs show up looking for their money, you can’t pay, so you grab your kid and run for the hills. Now you
’re worried that I’m some kind of enforcer.”
He said nothing. Just stood, frowning, arms by his side.
“How right am I?”
Right enough, apparently, to send him inching back toward the door. “Miss Everlyn, I apologize for my behavior. I’ve damaged your home, and for that I’m sorry.”
Calm him down and he shifted from bruiser to Mr. Sophisticate. Tess considered, and decided she liked that. Loved it, really, how he intoned those charming words in his rich voice. She could see the two of them, laughing over wine and filets in some fine restaurant by the beach.
Okay, I was joking about Bad Choice #13. How about taking a break before you sign on with the next Guy With Issues? Like, a decade or two?
“You don’t need to apologize,” she said. “Though if you’re short on food, I’ve got a bunch of old MREs. Taste like crap, but…”
“Thank you, no.” He retreated outside, where the morning sunlight turned his hair into burning honey. “I think it would be best if we each kept to our own property. Please don’t contact my son again.”
“Hey, he was the one who…”
The stranger didn’t wait to hear her excuse. Without a word, he turned and left.
An hour later, Darian still couldn’t stop pacing. A father’s worry combined with muted complaints from his Dragon. Ethan was in danger. The magical part of his soul was certain of that.
Although he hadn’t fled from a gang, Tess’ story hit too close to home. The truth was worse: he’d fled his responsibilities.
A year ago, after a decade of silence, the Alpha of his Flight had called him. Brandon Lorde, First of Dragons. He offered shocking news: magic was returning to the world. For the first time in centuries, a Wellspring, a fountain of arcane power, had awoken. As a Dragon, Darian was a sacred guardian. His life, his soul, was forged to defend such magical places. “I summon you,” Brandon had said. “Come, and fulfill your purpose in life.”
Instead, Darian fled.
The memory enraged his Dragon, drove it nearly berserk. Yet, he barely sensed that. He rubbed his chest. Beneath his flannel shirt lay a tattoo: an image of his Dragon, in all its golden glory. Marred only by a crude ‘X’ inked across its mouth. A mark, the drug-addled Witch Hare who drew it had told him, with the power to silence a part of his soul.
He’d paid her a fortune for that spell, and it was worth every penny. Maddened by his betrayal, his Dragon longed to tear itself apart. To shred its majestic wings and turn it – and him – into a Worm. A crippled shadow of his true self.
It’s what you deserve.
Even with the muting rune, Darian knew what his Dragon thought of him.
You don’t understand. He prayed it could hear him, and leave him alone. I couldn’t answer that summons. Ethan depends on me. I’m all he has in this world.
Silently, the Dragon sneered at his excuses. His soul was a warrior’s spirit, a Protector. It didn’t understand how he could shrink from battle, even to save his son.
Because that was the part of the story that Tess got right: he was running from the Fangs of Apophis.
Many Shifters held true to the Old Ways. Packs of werewolves still roamed the wild, free and proud. Bears watched over families, guiding them through the generations. Yet, as the Wellsprings faded, many Shifters lost their path. Seduced by wealth, greed, and power, they abandoned their callings. The Fangs of Apophis were the worst. Led by Worms, fallen Dragons, they sought to dominate all of Shifter kind. To them, a Wellspring was a treasure beyond price. They would kill anyone who tried to keep it from them. A Dragon like him could face them and defeat them, of course.
But not Ethan. His son was just a child. Small, sweet, helpless.
Darian would abandon his duties before he risked his son’s life. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, as he’d lost Charity, the boy’s mother.
A distant roar, dim and wordless, warned that his Dragon disagreed with that choice. Violently.
He didn’t care. Nothing mattered as much as his son.
That was how they came here to Maine, to the edge of the Hundred Mile Wilderness. At the end of a long, rutted dirt ‘road’ that was little more than a four wheel drive track.
Now, despite his best efforts, danger had hunted them down.
With a deep, shuddering breath, he forced himself to stop his endless pacing. That wasn’t true. He didn’t believe Tess had lied to him.
He tried to convince himself that he had good reason to believe her, and that he wasn’t just charmed because she was such a beautiful woman. Greyhound-lean, with the heart-shaped, delicate face of a princess. Yet beneath her pale, spotless skin lay muscles unusual for a woman. She was strong, not some fragile Disney heroine. Only her hair marred her beauty. Someone – her? – had hacked short those thick, luxurious black tresses. Leaving her face framed by an awkward cluster of close-cut curls.
Why would she disfigure herself like that?
He ought to ask…
Tempting. Darian grimaced as longing and loneliness welled up inside him. He’d avoided women since Charity’s death. The thought of Tess, so close, so friendly, stirred desires that had lain dormant for five years.
Suspicion doused that hunger like a bucket of ice water on a candle.
Wasn’t it odd that when he moved to the end of the earth, a lovely woman mysteriously appeared next door? In a place so wild he didn’t think there even was a ‘next door’?
Destiny? Fate? Darian snorted in disgust.
No such thing. And the enormity of the coincidence unnerved him.
Sure, the Lost existed. Children who fell out of touch with Shifter society and grew up never knowing their true nature and power. But what were the odds that one of them would appear on his doorstep? Now, when he was on the run from the Fangs of Apophis?
No, it couldn’t be. That meant, then, that she was lying to him.
Again, he couldn’t believe that. Not because of her beauty, though. Because of her… her…
Sadness.
Startled by that insight, he paused. Outside the window, Ethan trotted back and forth across the camp’s pitiful lawn, gathering load after tiny load of dry leaves. His son was determined to build a proper pile for them to jump into. Darian waved. The boy didn’t even notice, too caught up in his quest. Leaving him to return to this puzzle.
Underneath her flippant jokes, sadness wrapped Tess. Not the passing ‘sorrow’ of a child, disappointed by one of life’s little setbacks. No, this was grief. The soul-sickness of a woman who had lost someone she loved. Someone who meant the world to her. He recognized that despair. He knew, fully, deeply, what it meant to wake up every morning to face the same question: how can I go on without them? What’s left in this world?
Only love – lost or betrayed – gave birth to that kind of grief. The sight of it made him long to trust her. You had to be a good person to feel that kind of love. No one in the Fangs of Apophis would recognize it, or feign it.
And yet…
And yet there was no sane reason for her to be here. It had to be a trap!
Or fate. Or destiny.
Which he couldn’t believe.
“Daddy!” Ethan barreled through the door, cheeks bright from the cold. “It’s done!”
“Your leaf pile?”
The boy beamed and nodded, stirring a melancholy happiness in his father. When was the last time that he, Darian, had felt such joy?
“Come see! Come see!” Tugging at his hand, his son pulled him toward the door.
Darian followed, letting Ethan’s innocent love dispel the gloom that clouded his heart.
He would do anything to protect him. Anything. Flee Boston and all his wealth. Turn his back on his sacred duties.
And refuse to trust the woman next door, no matter how gorgeous she might be.
Chapter 4
Despite his best effort, Darian didn’t make it to Bangor that day. After only an hour of play, a squall scudded in from the west, bringing icy rain and a sha
rp wind that scattered Ethan’s leaf pile back into the woods. When they retreated indoors, they found a steady stream of water pattering down from the cabin’s decrepit roof.
And so, Darian found himself spending the afternoon patching the roof with a tarp and some nails he found in a shed. When he finally came in, wet and freezing, he found his son bored ‘to death’ and sulking over the fact that he didn’t get his promised trip to the Black Bear Diner.
Some days, it was tough to be a father. Way tougher than being a Dragon.
Dinner and a bag of candy (hidden for emergencies like this) cheered the boy up. A little. As did the added promise of a few toys. How many toys? A bunch. Enough, he assured Ethan, that he wouldn’t have to worry about dying of boredom every time it rained.
Once the sun went down, there wasn’t much to do out here. Ethan dozed off by 7:00 pm. Not long after, Darian sought the warmth of his own bed. Worries could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he just wanted to sleep.
The dream began in a darkness filled with whispers. Out of them, a deep, inhuman voice spoke, words hidden within a rumble that sounded like thunder.
Love is the path that leads beyond the past.
Then a woman, her voice as cold and brittle as frost, replied:
No Claim without truth, as your Kind is wont to say. Let them see each other clearly.
Tess opened her eyes and found herself in a ruined garden. Heavy stone walls, thick with ivy, surrounded it. Everywhere she looked she found withered bushes and wilted flowers. A weed-filled path circled a dry fountain filled with dead leaves. Only two things defied the decay. One was the arbor she found herself standing in. Marble and alabaster, it gleamed with a pure, white light that seemed to well up from the stone itself. It held only a broad bed, covered with silken sheets of deepest scarlet.
The other living thing was Darian Morland.
Barefoot, he stood on the path below her, naked except for a black sash wrapped around his hips. Though its drapes hid his manhood, it left nothing else to her imagination. Hungry, her eyes devoured the sleek, muscled lines of his calves and thighs. For a moment, her gaze lingered on the sash, and the hidden treasure it teased her with. Then she passed higher, savoring the sight of his flat, hard stomach and sharply chiseled abs. Strong arms, broad shoulders made her breath grow ragged. What would it feel like to have those arms wrap around her? To nestle within their strength, their power? To give herself to them, holding nothing back?
