by Holley Trent
Oh, my God.
She pushed him back, swatting at his chest like the prissy lady she most certainly wasn’t. She didn’t know what had gotten into her, but this guy was seriously fucking with her control.
He put his hand on her cheek and smiled his lopsided grin. “What’s wrong, little dragon?”
Dragon? She groaned, and put her hands up in a gesture of defeat. “Nothing’s wrong. Let’s just not get carried away here. I’m sort of on the clock, and I don’t want this situation to get complicated.”
“I appreciate you being upfront, but what’s wrong with complicated?”
She blinked. Was he kidding her? “You don’t hash your words, do you?”
He shrugged. “Why waste time? To me, it makes sense that if I’m interested in a person, I would behave as such.”
“I think you’re probably just happy to be rescued and want to repay me for it. No need.”
He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Sex isn’t a commodity for me. I kissed you because you looked like you were thinking too hard. I want to make love to you because I’m attracted to you. That’s all.”
Make love to me? Is this guy serious?
“Right. Nice story. And then what?” She pushed his hand down and backed up before he could reach for her again.
His mouth opened, then closed without words coming out. He shook his head. He’d understood the question, but probably didn’t have the words to answer her.
Good. Maybe that’d give him some time to think about it—to give her an answer that wasn’t pure bullshit.
“You stay,” she said, pointing to him, and then the floor. She kept backing toward the door. “Me go.” She pointed to herself, and then the exit.
He rolled his eyes.
“I’ll be back later.”
He gave his head a small shake, and settled back into the desk chair, reaching for his sandwich.
“Stay,” she admonished. “Don’t leave.”
“Goodbye, dragón,” he said, waving her off.
She didn’t need a translation for that.
* * *
Astrid pushed her shopping cart through the aisles of the big box store with a motivated efficiency, tossing in this and that while participating in a typically frenetic Shrew conference call.
“Have you gotten in contact with that agent yet?” Dana asked her.
“No, it’s on my to-do list.” Astrid held up two packs of men’s underwear, one of briefs and one of boxers, not knowing which Fabian preferred, if he wore any at all. She shrugged. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. She tossed one of each in size large into the cart.
“Do it today,” Dana said. “She’s waiting on your contact.”
“Fine.”
“How’s he doing?” Sarah asked. “Felipe wants to know.”
“As well as could be expected. Seems cheerful enough for a man who’s been intermittently drugged for the past six or seven months. On the thin side. And scruffy. I don’t like scruffy.” She angled the cart toward the personal care aisles. Dude needed to shave.
The deep-throated chuckle she heard next could only belong to Maria. Maria was the closest thing Astrid had to a partner as the two of them were most frequently paired up. They played off of each other well, and made each other bolder when situations required it. The other Shrews—Dana, Sarah, and Tamara—were naturally more aggressive in fights, perhaps because they’d had more training at it. Maria and Astrid tended to be more conservative, which meant sometimes they were on the defense squad instead of offense. They knew their weaknesses and were working on strengthening them.
Astrid sighed and scanned the display of disposable razors. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing, it just…why would you care whether or not he’s shaven?”
Would he care about refillable blades? Cooling aloe strips? Ergonomic grip? She squinted at the razors and did a mental eenie-meenie-miney-moe. “Who said I cared?”
“You did. You said you didn’t like it. Having an opinion is caring.”
Cooling aloe strips won. She picked up a five-pack along with a can of shaving gel.
Now what?
She stood on tiptoes and looked over the shelf top at the nearby aisles. “Maybe facial scruff is a triggering event for me,” she said.
“Or maybe Fabian is really good-looking and he flirted with you,” Maria chided.
“Isn’t that how it always starts?” Dana asked, and her voice went soft, almost sweet at the end. Unusual for her. Astrid imagined the lead Shrew was even smiling a bit way back in North Carolina, probably thinking about her beloved “dirty cat.”
“No. It doesn’t,” Tamara muttered.
Astrid hadn’t known Tamara was on the line. She’d been so enmeshed in the Were-bear drama raging in the Smokies, she’d been scarce lately. She’d only known she was a Bear herself for a couple of weeks, and her recent partnership of the Bear who would become her mate had been a situation that fell squarely into the category of Big-ass Coincidence.
“Sometimes, it starts with butting heads, thinly-veiled threats of physical violence, and some idiot with a fabulous ass strutting around naked,” Tamara said.
Naked? Astrid’s faced burned at even the thought of Fabian peeling off his clothes. Was he showering right now in her absence? Lounging on her bed in only his towel and beard?
She might even learn to like beards if that were the case.
Nope. Not going there. “Okay, well, none of those things are happening here. No one’s getting naked.”
Astrid paused in front of the very small book section and grabbed an English-Spanish dictionary off the shelf. It probably wouldn’t contain the complete vocabulary typical of a Shrew—phrases like “light his ass up and don’t stop hitting until his face hits the mud”—but at least she’d be able to look up words like “shower” and “smug” and…
She turned to the back half, and scanned the Spanish-to-English D section.
Yep. Dragón meant exactly what it sounded like.
“Ass,” she mumbled.
“Who are you calling an ass?” Sarah asked.
“Sorry. I’m shopping. Some guy just cut me off with his cart.”
“Careful, now,” Tamara said. “You know how you get when your road rage kicks in.”
“Look, that happened one time in the heat of passion. That was years ago.”
“It was last Christmas.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Maybe it was. Shit blurred together.
“All right, girls, let’s rein it in,” Dana piped up. “Astrid, has Fabian been able to share any information about Jacques’s movements? If we can’t finish the job in the next week, we’re going to have to turn this over to the Feds and let them handle it.”
“He hasn’t yet, but we haven’t really had a chance to hash it out. He’s…”
He’s what? Gorgeous and distracting?
She groaned, thinking back to how her body had tingled with need when he’d touched her, and how her panties had drenched with his brazen claiming of her. She’d forgotten everything that mattered when he’d put his lips on her skin. When he’d pressed his hard cock against her belly, she couldn’t think of anything beyond how good he’d feel stretching her, and she’d never been a casual woman when it came to sharing her body. In fact, since becoming a Shrew, she was even less inclined to let a man touch her. She even avoided handshakes.
Perhaps it wasn’t so much Fabian revving up her engine, but the fact she’d denied herself a basic human need for so long.
She idled her cart in the checkout line and plucked up a three-pack of orange Tic-Tacs. She wasn’t giving up onions anytime soon, but she could at least be conscientious about her consumption of them.
She rolled her eyes. When had she ever cared? She’d never been so careful around her brother or the Shrews.
“Hello? Astrid?” Maria said by way of nudging.
Shit. “Distracting,” she said to finish her earlier thought.
“Mm-hmm.
Felipe says Fabian has a masochistic streak that includes attraction to cranky brunettes, so I just bet he is,” Sarah said.
Astrid’s cheeks burned again, and that almost never happened, and certainly not twice in five minutes. She wasn’t the kind of woman who got embarrassed. Shame was something she didn’t like wasting energy on, but the Shrews knew her too fucking well, and they weren’t going to let her tiptoe away from hard truths.
She piled the contents of her cart onto the conveyor belt with an indignant huff. “You know what? Felipe can come get his own brother, and I’ll fly home. Maybe I’ll be back in time to help Eric with spring WienerFest.”
“WienerFest is cancelled,” Maria said, and her voice was unusually solemn. She was the most upbeat of all the Shrews, which maybe wasn’t saying much. They didn’t do enthusiasm well, but they were usually happy on the inside.
Kinda.
“What do you mean, cancelled? I just talked to him three days ago, and he was complaining about vendors having raised their rates for this year. It’s not about that, is it?”
“No, it’s…not that. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure he’ll fill you in when you get back. He’s been busy with all the freaks coming and going at the lodge. Probably hasn’t had time to tell you.”
Maria had said it in her typical blithe tone, but Astrid didn’t buy it. WeinerFest was a Falk tradition, and they’d been hosting it at the lodge since the end of World War II. The only thing that would make Eric cancel it was if the lodge closed, or if someone was sick or dying.
But, if someone had died, he would have told her, especially if it were one of their grandparents.
She opened her mouth to probe into the subject further, but before she could get the words out, Dana said, “Astrid, we’re going to try to get you linked up with Felipe sometime today. He was doing a job down in Charlotte, but should be out of the weeds by dinnertime. Let him confer with Fabian, and Felipe will pass on whatever needs critical translation.”
Good. The less touching she had to do, the better. “Send me a text message and let me know when so I can make sure I’m in an area that actually has cellular reception.”
“Yep. Call that agent when you’re done terrorizing store aisles.” Dana disconnected, followed by the other three Shrews in North Carolina.
Astrid sighed and tucked her phone into her jacket pocket.
Right. The agent. She’d do that right after she called her brother, orders be damned.
CHAPTER FOUR
The senior Felipe Castillo shifted behind the open doorway, furrowing his brow at the snatches of conversation he’d gleaned from his daughter-in-law.
Poor thing, she could barely walk because of all the water retention. His wife Jacqueline had been the same way when she was pregnant with Felipe and Fabian. Near the end, he’d hated leaving her, but he’d had to work—to get up on that tightrope without his partner and perform for Jacques and all the paying voyeurs.
This was the first time in the three weeks Senior had been watching in which his son had left the vicinity. Felipe generally stayed within a one-hour drive of his wife, but this job his boss had sent him out on was a short one and he’d be home by nightfall.
Sarah had been forced into early maternity leave, and good for her. Maybe they—the Shrews—were overcautious about her condition, but better safe than sorry. He knew that from experience.
His first grandchild! He’d never thought he’d live to see the day, and the only thing keeping him going in the past years was the idea he’d one day do to Jacques what Jacques had done to Jacqueline.
Senior had been following. Watching. Biding his time. They all thought he was dead, and that’s the way he wanted it. A few times, he may as well have gone ahead and pulled the trigger. He’d been close enough, but in the end, thoughts of his boys always made him take the gun out of his mouth.
At the circus, they’d been trapped the same way he’d been until Jacqueline died and he’d deposited his young sons at his aunt’s. He’d had to run away to grieve. He’d had to run away from the circus, and knew Jacques wouldn’t let him go easily. He’d had to hide, and a man couldn’t take children when he was hiding.
He’d thought he’d covered all his bases, settling the boys in the Spanish countryside with his elderly aunt. They could have had a real home that wasn’t on wheels. She was so far off the grid on that tired vineyard, few people paid her much mind.
He’d thought they’d be protected there amongst the old stone buildings and the ancient vines, but Jacques had found them.
He took them in exchange for some sweet lies to Senior’s trusting tia. He bound them to his freak show the same way he’d bound Senior, but this time, he’d had a new motive. Revenge.
Jacques and Jacqueline were supposed to be a match, Jacques had always said. They’d grown up in the same village in France. Their mothers had been friends, and both had fallen pregnant at the same time. They’d given their children the same name—one masculine, one feminine—and raised them up together.
The story went that when it was time for Jacques to leave the nest, he’d started the business he’d been planning since childhood. At first, his operation was merely a small carnival. Enjoyable to patronize, but not especially memorable.
He’d listened to those criticisms, and had vowed to Jacqueline he’d do better.
In time, his endeavor bloomed into a massive traveling circus that was met with some acclaim because of the magic of the performances. The crowds didn’t know what they were seeing, just that the shows were amazing.
Jacques was a good scout, and Senior had always given the man credit for that. He had an innate knack for locating supernaturals and recruiting them for his show, although he had no showy preternatural abilities of his own. Senior had thought he was just a regular man with keen observational skills. He’d done well for himself. He’d saved up his money and went home to claim the woman who was meant to be his wife—the baron’s daughter.
Senior would never forget what happened next in the old story his late wife had told him.
She’d joined Jacques for an evening at his circus when it stopped in her village. She’d been on his arm all night, even stepping out into the spotlight with him when he announced his acts.
Her eyes hadn’t been on the spectacularly colored tent or the performers tumbling in the two rings.
No matter where she went, her gaze had followed Senior.
She’d frightened him. Jesucristo, she was el negrero’s woman, and she was looking at him like she’d already had him.
He’d tried his damndest to avoid her when she came around during that long stopover, but he may as well have stood in the pouring rain and expected not to get wet.
She kept coming around, following him when Jacques was occupied. Watching Senior rehearse his stunts. She’d stood right there at the net’s edge, staring up at him.
He’d thought she was trying to kill him through distraction, so he’d confronted her. Asked what she wanted—wanted to know if Jacques was setting him up.
She’d shushed him, kissed him, and from that day forward, she was never more than a ten-second walk from him.
They’d suited each other in a way people wrote about in storybooks. She’d said she would have given up anything to be with Senior—to follow him—and she did.
Her love had been so strong that she’d left the comforts of her privileged upbringing to travel with him. To marry him.
She was his elegant Señora Castillo, and when she walked the tightrope toward him every night, her smile could light up the tent.
Jacques silently punished them both for their so-called treachery. He was passive-aggressive at first, and then downright murderous as years went on.
Senior had heard the whispers, but he had no proof. Jacques had Senior’s soul mate killed. She’d refused him one more time, and in payment, he’d had her pushed from the wire.
There’d been no net that day.
Now, that same vengeful man was tortu
ring his son—the man whom he’d thought had been just a lucky scouter of talent, but who’d actually had a supernatural gift of his own. Jacques could find freaks easily enough, because he was one himself.
Enough.
It was time for Senior’s hiding to end. He had a reason to come out of the shadows—one that would be born in a matter of weeks, not months, if the child was like the rest of the Castillos.
Senior wasn’t going to let another Castillo generation be born without squashing old grudges. That was his job. Abuelo. He’d be a better abuelo than he’d been papá, or he’d die trying.
He shook off his reverie as Sarah ended her call and shuffled toward the bathroom.
He morphed from his invisible form—his witness form—back into flesh and blood. Holding his breath, he eased out of his unborn grandchild’s nursery and slipped down the hall.
South Dakota, he’d heard Sarah say. Jacques was apparently up to his old tricks: waiting out in the rough where few people would search. The troupe had hunkered down in The Outback in a similar manner forty years before—after Jacques had kidnapped a trio of aboriginal shapeshifters. He’d never been brought to justice for that.
Senior believed it was time for el negrero to pay the piper, and he’d would make sure the circus master did.
Passing the old farmhouse’s console table near the front door, he pocketed the credit card Sarah had left there the previous night after paying the pizza deliveryman.
He’d bring it right back when he was done. He always paid back what he borrowed two-fold.
Right now, though, he needed to find a plane headed to South Dakota.
CHAPTER FIVE
Fabian eyed the bags Astrid deposited at his feet and raised an eyebrow. She’d gone shopping at a time like this?
She bent over one of the bags and pulled a pair of blue jeans. She thrust them at him.
He took them, and fixed his stare on the size label.
“You’re about my brother’s width,” she said.
He more or less caught the meaning. He held the jeans against his waist, trying the width for size. “Thank you.”
She gave his wrist the barest touch and said, “You lost everything. Starting from scratch probably isn’t much fun.” She pulled her hand back, but just briefly. Her fingers flitted over his wrist again. “Oh. There’s a backpack and toiletries and stuff. You can sort through it all while I make some phone calls. Maybe you’d like to…shave.”
