Ronan didn’t notice when Siobhan slipped from the room, except that the energy between Natasha and him changed, becoming that much more intense.
“I…need to get my hands on you,” Natasha said, standing up and turning her back to him.
For the first time in a long time, Ronan’s body felt electrified in a good way. “You do?”
“Yes,” Natasha said, walking over to the massage table and turning down the blanket that covered it. “I need to understand better, and that only comes through contact.”
In the reasonable part of his mind, he knew that she was talking about her craft, which he was sure was well-honed and in no way sexual. In the male part of his mind, which was apparently unaffected by the curse, all he could think was that he wanted to learn her better through contact too.
“You’ll need to take your shirt off.”
Ronan bit back a groan, standing up and pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth gesture. He noticed that she looked carefully away, but there was a faint flush in her cheeks that told him that she might be as attracted to him as he was to her.
His body was still sore and weak as he made his way over to her table to lie down, but there was something about the energy between them that also felt as though it was recharging him. Maybe it was just the fact that he was out of the house and interacting with someone who just might be able to help him find the next step in his process …or maybe it was that he felt like a hunter again.
Lying face down on her massage table, Ronan closed his eyes, again biting back a groan as her palms landed on his back and pressed downward. When she began to rub though, he couldn’t help the little sound that escaped him, her hands incredible against his skin. “Wow, you really are magic.”
“Not magic,” Natasha corrected him. “I’m a healer. A sensor. I can feel what’s attacking you and draw it into myself. I can identify the origins of curses, and a lot of times I know how to cure them.”
“How did you learn all of this?”
“It was a gift I was born with. I have a healing touch, and illness and pain have no effect on my body. Would you like to see?”
“Your body?” The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from laughing. It felt good to laugh, though. “I mean—yes. I would like to see what you do.”
Chapter Four
Natasha
There was such disease within Ronan, eating him up from the inside out. The sickness called to her, begging her to relieve him of it, but Natasha knew herself and her power well enough to understand that it wouldn’t be an easy one-time fix with him. This wasn’t a bout of depression or a bad flu or even the kinds of small-time curses that she had dealt with any number of times before.
This was the king of curses, and there was power lurking beneath it that confused her as well.
“You have another form of yourself,” Natasha told him. “One that, right now, you’re disconnected from. I can feel it trembling. It’s sick. Its trapped beneath the curse you’re carrying. I can’t see what it is, but there’s strength there. So much strength.”
He was still and tense beneath her fingers as she spoke, and when he spoke, he sounded strained, as though the words coming from his lips were unusual for him. “Yes. I’m a shifter. My other form is a dragon. But I don’t have control of the transition right now. Is that what you’re feeling?”
“Yes,” Natasha said, picturing him as a dragon and biting her lip with a combination of attraction and fear. She had treated supernatural beings of all sorts—witches, mediums, vampires, and yes, shifters. But never a dragon shifter before. It sounded powerful and intense … and like something he needed to be able to control. “How long have you been having difficulty?”
As she asked the question, she let her fingers sink further into the muscles of his back, feeling the soreness and ache that permeated his body move through her fingers, into her hands, into her arms, and all through her. She felt the pain, but the sensation did nothing to harm her. Her cells seeped it up, absorbing it and channeling it into the healing power that vibrated within her.
“Mmm …” Ronan groaned, pressing back into her hands. “God, whatever you’re doing—that’s amazing. I’ve been…having…ahhhhh. Difficulty. I’ve been having difficulty for the past six months, but it’s gotten progressively worse. It started out as tiredness. Soreness. Pain in the transition process that had never happened before. Then everything hurt. Then …I would transition without meaning to. Nothing like this has ever happened before. If I had any other options, I wouldn’t be here, telling you this. No offense.”
“Why not?” she asked, keeping him talking as her hands moved over him, learning more about him and absorbing more of his pain.
“Because we live in secret,” he told her. “But you—you deal with the supernatural all the time. You must. So maybe we’re not that special to you.”
“I’ve never worked on a dragon before,” she admitted. Her hands had trailed down to his lower back, her fingers exploring his hips. She reached around to press against his abs, and he jolted against her. A shock of pain went through her, moving from his body to hers. “There’s something here. In your gut. There’s a source here.”
“You mean I’ve eaten something wrong?”
She half laughed, although it wasn’t a laughing matter. “No. Curses live somewhere in the body. They find a home, like anything else. Our bodies absorb them and are affected by them, and they are strongest in that homing place within us.” Natasha guided him to turn over, then laid her hand over his abdomen, pressing gently. But instead of getting the renewed jolt she expected, nothing much happened. Curiously, she prodded around a bit, using both hands. She was so distracted by her confusion that she almost didn’t notice how sculpted and perfect his chest was—almost.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice sounding just a touch husky as he watched her work. “You’re confused.”
“I thought I had found the source,” she said, frowning slightly. Her hand moved lower on his hip, and she felt power move up through her again. Her eyes widened as she moved her hand lower, letting it sit just above the hard length that she could see even through his jeans. Cheeks flushing, she jerked her hand back and turned away, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh my.”
“What?” he asked, sitting straight up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She didn’t know how to tell him this, so she just had to say it. Turning around, she looked him right in the eye. “Ronan …your curse …it lives between your legs. In your…”
He looked down at himself, his mouth falling open in surprise. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “You can’t mean what I think you mean.”
“I do.”
“You’re telling me that my cock is cursed? My cock. Is …cursed.” He stared at her, his eyes almost begging her to contradict his assumption. “No.”
“No,” she agreed, holding up a hand. “It’s not cursed. But the curse that’s affecting you lives there. That means that what you do with your…”
“Cock.”
“Yes,” she said quickly, wincing. “What you do with your …genitals …affects how the curse behaves. Using them, for instance.”
He wasn’t following her, or rather, he clearly didn’t want to follow her. “You’ve got to be joking. Are you actually some hack?” Ronan sat up and looked around, laughing. “Wait, I get it. Siobhan is pranking me. Okay, very funny, Siobhan. I get it. You’re upset that I’ve been abandoning you all, so you brought me here to tell me I have a cursed cock. I’m a player. Laugh it up—I’m in on the joke now.”
Awkwardly, Natasha folded her hands in front of her, nose scrunched in discomfort. “It’s not a joke. I’m afraid that someone put a curse on you that’s worsened…every time you…use …” she pointed.
“No,” he insisted, shaking his head. “That’s really not possible.”
“Why?” Natasha asked, letting him figure it out for himself that it was enti
rely possible. “Why would that not happen?”
Ronan sputtered. “Because! Because, who does that?”
“Who puts a curse on anyone?” Natasha asked, overcoming her embarrassment over the topic and perching herself on the cushioned windowsill, drawing her legs up to her body. “You don’t do it to be nice. Honestly, it’s a rather ingenious idea, if you ask me. I mean, it’s really…hitting you where it hurts.”
“No shit.”
“Do you use it often?”
He lifted both eyebrows. “Are you asking me if I use my cock often?”
Natasha tilted her head, biting her lip. “Could we call it something different? A penis, perhaps. Do you often use your penis?”
Ronan dropped his head into his hands as though in disbelief. “Yes. Obviously, I use it. I’m a man, aren’t I? I’ve been…using it less frequently of late, but yes, I do use it.”
“I see.”
It really wasn’t funny, but Natasha was still having to hold back her laughter just because it was so absurd—and because he was so upset about it. She felt badly for wanting to laugh, but under the circumstances …
Ronan glanced up and caught her eye, noting that she was having to work hard not to giggle. To her surprise—and delight—he laughed first, throwing his hands up in to the air. “My cock is cursed.” He threw his head back and really laughed.
Natasha dropped any pretense, laughing right along with him, and before she knew it, they were both doubled over, holding onto their stomachs as their laughter fed on itself, mixing the awkwardness and the humor of the situation into a cocktail that left them both a bit tipsy.
“Oh my God,” Natasha said, wiping at her eyes as she tried to get a hold of herself. “I’m so sorry. This is so unprofessional. I just—I was taken by surprise, that’s all.”
“You were taken by surprise!” Ronan pressed his hand to his chest, taking a deep breath to stop the laughs that kept bubbling up. “If you were taken by surprise, I was damn near shocked to death. God, it feels good to laugh though. I can’t actually remember the last time I’ve done that…”
She smiled, liking the way his eyes crinkled when he was chuckling. “It’s good, sometimes, to just let out all the pent-up emotion. Laugh or cry, right?”
Ronan winced, shaking his head. “God, if I sit here sobbing next time I see you, that’ll be a new low. Lower than having my cock cursed.” Dragging a big strong hand over his hair, he looked down at his lap and blew out a breath. “So. In all seriousness, what you’re telling me, is that someone put a curse on me—which I already suspected—and that the curse lives in …this region.” He moved his hand above said region. “And when I have sex, basically, the curse intensifies.”
“Yes,” Natasha said, reaching for a tissue to wipe the remaining moisture from her eyes. “That seems to be the case. I haven’t gotten beyond that though. Because, well—that was pretty distracting.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, it certainly was. I feel better though. Not myself, entirely, of course.” He sat up straighter, moving his shoulders around and getting a feel for his muscles. “I feel less pain and tiredness than I have been lately though.”
Natasha stood up, walking back over to him and stepping carefully between his legs, her hands landing on his shoulders and squeezing lightly. She closed her eyes and focused on the dark energy that was lurking in every one of his cells, making him feel tired and achy, and she began to draw it into her own body. It moved through her, and as she breathed outward, the pain released and dissipated back into the universe. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his chest, and she pressed harder there, whispering a healing mantra under her breath as she pushed lightness into him to fill up the empty crevices the darkness had left behind.
When she opened her eyes, she found him staring up at her, his expression intent. There was something in his eyes that took her breath away, and she licked her lips, her fingers curling against the muscles in his chest. She glanced downward, seeing how close their bodies were and swallowing hard. She was often in the personal space of her clients—it was the nature of her job. But the man before her was no ordinary client. Even in his afflicted state, he radiated manliness and power and sex appeal, and the way that he was looking at her made it perfectly clear that he was interested in her for more than her healing abilities.
“How are you doing that?” he asked, his voice husky again. “What are you doing when you put your hands on me and then I feel better?”
“I’m taking your pain,” she murmured, not looking away from his eyes. “Pain has no impact on me.”
“None?”
Natasha shook her head. “No. I feel the sensation, but it doesn’t hurt me. Nothing hurts me. I can absorb it and release it. I’ve always been able to.”
He reached up and covered her hand with his, pressing it closer to his chest. “Who heals your pain, Natasha? Anyone?”
The question took her by surprise. No one had ever asked her anything like that before, and she knew that he meant it figuratively. He wasn’t talking about the aches and pains of her body. He was talking about the pain that everyone endured in life from time to time—the emotional exhaustion, the daily lows, the discouragement, the uncertainty. All of it.
“I don’t know,” she murmured, looking into his eyes. She saw warmth there, and she wanted to sink into it, but then it was suddenly replaced by sheer panic. Startled, Natasha stepped back from him, pulling her hands away. “What? What happened? What’s wrong?”
Ronan was almost trembling on her massage table, his hands clenched as tightly as his jaw. “I need space. I need somewhere—I need a backyard. Do you have a fenced backyard?”
“Yes…” she nodded, not understanding.
But he was already on his feet, almost running toward the door to her studio. She followed him, pushing her way in front of him to lead him to the back door that he proceeded to race out of, barely making it off the deck before he flashed into the majestic shape of a jet-black dragon that shimmered in the sunlight and hovered in the air for the briefest of moments before disappearing and returning Ronan to his human form, naked and limp on the dewy morning grass.
Chapter Five
Ronan
He woke up groggily, grass prickling his skin and some sort of cloth draped over his midsection. When Ronan managed to pry his eyes open, he was staring up at clear-blue sky, the top of a fence visible at the very edge of his vision, and for a moment, he didn’t know where he was.
Then Siobhan’s face hovered over his, her brow furrowed, and her lips pursed together. “Are you in there?”
Ronan blinked at her, then the whole thing came flooding back to him. Natasha’s healing touch. The chemistry between them. His body’s yearning for her. And then the ice-cold realization that his transition was going to happen outside of his control. He didn’t even want to contemplate all the many ways that transitioning in the middle of suburban Boston in broad daylight could undermine the entirety of who the Dragon Clan was and what they did. He never should have taken the risk and let his guard down, spending so long out of the house where he couldn’t be in control.
“Get off me,” Ronan said, nudging Siobhan back and sitting up. There was a blanket draped over his middle, and he realized that—of course—he was completely naked. That just added another layer of frustration to the whole situation. “I’m going home. What just happened here could have exposed us to who knows how many people, Siobhan. I’m going home, and whatever I figure out will have to be from there.”
“Ronan,” Siobhan said, backing off of him and letting him stand up, the blanket wrapped around his waist. “How long have you been unable to control your transitions?”
“I can control them,” Ronan muttered, jerking the fabric closer around him and looking around for Natasha. “I can transition when I want to. And …sometimes when I don’t want to. But I can always transition right back. It’s fine. Just drop me back off at my house. I appreciate your help, Siobhan, but …”
&n
bsp; She rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t even try brushing this off. No wonder you’ve become a hermit, if this is what’s been going on. You have to deal with this head on, Ronan. Otherwise, you’re going to be housebound.”
Arguing with Siobhan was almost always an exercise in futility, which was why Ronan had been avoiding her—and everyone else for that matter. He opened his mouth to try arguing anyway, but then closed it, seeing Natasha come out the front door with a bottle of water in hand, her face a mask of concern.
Ronan closed his mouth, taken in again by her beauty, just as he had been the moment she had opened the front door. He remembered their moment of sudden laughter in her office and almost had to smile again, despite the condition he currently found himself in. He must have given her something of a smile though, because she smiled back at him, offering the water bottle as she grew closer.
“Here, this will help,” she said, looking him over. “How are you feeling?”
All the work she had done on him was pointless after a forced transition. His body was aching again, and he felt weak, tired, and wasted. “I’ve been better,” he told her, taking a sip of the water. “I’m really sorry about this, Natasha.”
“Don’t be,” she said, touching his arm lightly. “Nobody should apologize for being cursed. It’s not like you can help it.”
Ronan winced. “Well, I could have been smart enough not to do business with Josiah Webb. That would have solved all of this.”
“Who’s Josiah Webb?” Siobhan asked, pouncing on that tidbit of information immediately. “Where is he now?”
“Dead,” Ronan told her blandly. “He died during our business deal. Mainly when he tried to cheat me out of a quarter of a million dollars.”
Siobhan’s eyes narrowed darkly. “Good riddance to him then.”
With a sigh, Ronan accepted the fact that the only way he was going to get out of having this discussion with both women was to put his foot down, pull rank, and take himself out of the situation. He wasn’t the kind of leader who did that without really good cause, and he had to accept that maybe the time had come to open himself up to the possibility of a little assistance.
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