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The Paranormal Dating Agency
Dragon my heart around
Marianne Morea
A Kindle World Exclusive.
“Sometimes the person you really need is the
one you didn’t think you wanted.”
Anonymous
Chapter One
Camille Forester jammed her straw into her iced tea and shook her head. “Seriously, if this is as good as it gets, I swear we’re doomed as a species.”
“Wow, Cam. Aren’t you a little ball of sunshine today.” Valerie Ross laughed, following her friend’s line of sight across the crowded café. “Is this why you asked me to meet you? To ogle men on their lunch hour?”
Cami crumpled the thin paper from her straw and flicked it at her friend. “Ogle? Girl, please. That’s my point. There are no real men to ogle.”
With a smirk, her friend gave the crowded café a quick once over. “And what kind of men do we have now? Fake ones?”
“No, dummy. I’m talking real men. The kind with skills.” Camille slid her eyes to the cash register where a guy was in a full tantrum over too much milk in his coffee. “They’re a dying breed, and in this city, all but extinct.” She spread her hand toward the man making a scene. “I give you exhibit one.”
Valerie’s eyes narrowed at her friend’s uncontained scowl. “Did something happen at work this morning? You’re not usually wound this tight, especially not over guys.”
Cami shook her head. “Work is fine. Great, even. I know my career isn’t the most exciting, but for a book geek like me it’s a dream come true. New York Public Library is one of the most prestigious in the country.” She winked. “Those lions guarding our steps are no joke. Librarians are fierce when it comes to guarding the written word.”
“Okay, so why are your panties in a bunch then?”
Camille lifted her chin. “They’re not. I merely made a clued-in observation about the kind of available men in Gotham these days. I mean seriously, what are our choices? Wall Street cutthroats, Madison Avenue workaholics, wannabe actors, hipsters in skinny jeans and stupid hats or overaged boys still in grungy hoodies and tees looking like they haven’t bathed or had their hair cut in months.” She made a face. “Batman has left the building.”
“Damn girl, you’re depressing the shit out of me.”
Camille exhaled. “I know, right? When it comes to survival of the fittest, the gene pool has seriously dried to a shallow puddle. Even more so if you’re a curvy girl.”
Val chuckled stirring her drink, watching the scowl deepen on her friend’s lips as the hissy fit continued at the checkout. “What’s the matter, Cam? Not a fan of generation man bun?”
Sipping her iced tea, Cami lifted a hand, nodding. “Can you blame me?”
“You know, Jason Momoa has a man bun,” Valerie shot back.
Cami choked, reaching for a napkin. “Not fair, Val. That boy is gorgeous no matter what. He’s the exception to the rule. Him and the guy who plays Jon Snow on GoT—what’s his name?”
Valerie grinned. “Kit Harington. So, we’re doing the Game of Thrones fantasy again, huh?” She winked.
A smirk softened what was left of Cami’s scowl. “Remind me never to tell you anything ever again.”
“Hey, I don’t blame you. You could do worse while working a little battery-operated action.”
“Val!”
“C’mon Cam, all things considered, it can’t be as bad as all that. You’re a beautiful, voluptuous woman with a lot to offer.”
“A lot of junk in the trunk.” She frowned for a moment, before lifting her gaze from her sandwich. “You know what? You’re right. I do have a lot to offer—” she stopped and an embarrassed smile tugged at her lips. “I didn’t tell you, but I got a promotion yesterday.”
Valerie’s eyes brightened. “That’s terrific! Why didn’t you say something before?”
Cami smiled to herself with a shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted to let it sink in. It’s what I’ve been hoping for since day one. Research fellows are very rarely allowed to work solo, but I was given the green light. Rare books and folios.”
Heat kissed her cheeks and her grin met Valerie’s excited face. “I probably sound like a mega geek to you, but the collection is unbelievable! We’ve got original manuscripts that go back centuries, Val. Political and historic documents, and some of the first pressings of classic legends like the first of the Arthurian stories and medieval mythologies—Arthur and Merlin, dragons and mythical beasts. Plus, I get to do a bit of restoration work.”
“Wow. More book boyfriends to add to your already extensive collection. And dragons, too. How do you contain yourself?”
“Go ahead. Make fun.” Camille shrugged, unabashed. “A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. And what’s wrong with wishing for a sweep you off your feet and toss you over the shoulder kind of man? A smart, confident, utterly masculine lover that leaves you breathless and robs you of coherent thought with a single kiss.”
She turned a disapproving eye toward the beanie-clad boys standing alongside the coffee bar. “This lot couldn’t pump one collective muscle, let alone throw a woman over their shoulder in the heat of passion. As far as I’m concerned, their skinny jeans spell premature ejaculation. In capital letters.”
Val laughed out loud. “Dude, that is so wrong. Funny, yeah. But wrong.”
Cam shrugged again. “You only think it’s funny because it’s not hard to picture. Admit it.”
Val considered her friend. “Well, if it’s a beefy man’s man you want, you might want to think about taking your nose out of your books for a minute and look elsewhere.”
Camille snorted. “Not anywhere around here, and stop looking at me like I’m color guard for the lonely hearts club band.”
Valerie laughed, but shook her head. “Well, Sergeant Pepper, I meant look elsewhere as in a different species.”
“Species? Jeez. I was only kidding when I said we were doomed.”
“I’m talking about shifters, Cami. They’ve got the brains and brawn you’re drooling over, plus they’re closer than you think. And unlike your books, they’re flesh and blood, not two dimensional on a page.”
“Not nice, Valerie.”
“I heard a rumor Jason Momoa was a shifter, and the dude that plays Jon Snow, too. Something about the author demanding shifters be cast for those particular roles.”
Cami rolled her eyes. “Yeah right. My legs are long enough, pull someone else’s for a while.”
Val grinned with her straw between her teeth. “Got your attention, though.”
“In a National Enquirer kind of way, yeah”.
Valerie eyed her friend. “You can sniff all you want Miss Bookaholic Pants, but I know you, Camille. Your interest is piqued.”
At Cam’s raised eyebrows, Val laughed. “Save the madam Librarian death stare for the shelves, girlie. When you get that crinkle between your eyes, I know you’re interested. Seriously, Camille. What do you have to lose? You should check them out.”
“Who? Jason Momoa and Jon Snow? Trust me, I google them enough.”
Val threw a crumpled napkin at her. “No, smartass. Shifters.” She paused, with a smirk. “From what I hear they love
curvy girls.”
“Ha. Nice try. But even if that’s true, what am I supposed to do? Ask random dudes in the street if they happen to be dual natured? I might as well wear a sign that says desperate fat woman in heat.”
Val’s grin faded and she leaned forward in her seat. “Again with the fat jokes. You do this to yourself all the time. Why? So, you’ve got curves? Big deal. So do half the women in the free world, me included. You just agreed you have a lot to offer and now you’re backpedaling. I’ve half a mind to revoke your membership in the curvy girl club if you don’t accept you’re a beautiful woman, inside and out…for real.”
“I know, but—”
She shook her head. “No buts. Especially when baby got back the way we do. As for finding shifter men who appreciate a fully fleshed woman, the answer is closer than you think.”
Valerie reached into her bag for her newspaper, opening it to the personal columns at the back. “Right here.” She tapped a large ad close to the bottom of the page. “The Paranormal Dating Agency.”
Chapter Two
“Camille Forester?” a feminine voice asked.
Cami glanced from the cracked leather-bound book on the renovation table. The woman waiting for a reply was striking. Sophisticated, and very New York chic in a black couture suit.
Giving her dowdy work smock a self-conscious tug, Camille blinked behind the magnifying glasses on the end of her nose and the older woman chuckled. “The better to see you with, my dear.”
Embarrassed, Cami pulled the magnifiers from her face, wrinkling her nose to stifle a sneeze. “I’m Camille Forester. May I help you?”
The woman extended her hand. “Gerri Wilder. We spoke on the phone yesterday.”
Nonplussed, Cami scraped her chair back. “Oh. Uhm…yes—” The abrupt noise echoed in the silence of the rare book room.
“I’m sorry. Did I catch you at a bad time?” Gerri asked, amused.
Camille scanned the desk, looking for something to wipe her hands clean, but settled on her pants before taking the woman’s hand. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m not usually this jumbled. I didn’t expect to meet this quickly—” she paused, “and not here.” She spared a glance for the door. “While we're on the subject, who allowed you through? This area is restricted.”
Gerri smiled with a wink, lifting her Louis Vuitton off her shoulder and placing the bag on the table. “The mayor is a friend.”
The older woman slid her perfectly made up eyes from the tools on Cami’s work table to an empty spot near the back windows. “I was hoping you could spare a moment to chat. After speaking with you yesterday, I’m intrigued.”
Camille’s eyes swept the petite woman, with her sleek silver bob and timeless style. Gerri Wilder looked as though she walked off the pages of vintage Vogue. Nothing like Cami imagined.
“Intrigued? With me?” Cami snorted and the sound was crude compared to their dignified surroundings and Mrs. Wilder’s obvious class.
“Yes.” Gerri smiled. “Your sincerity struck a vital chord, Camille. A genuine lack of pretension and interest in finding the right someone is exactly what I look for in a potential mate for my clients. They are a particular breed unto themselves and to say they’re selective is an understatement. Everything has to be right.”
“You make it sound like a silent auction.” Cami frowned.
“Not at all.” She eyed the young woman. “You don’t know much about shifters or how they recognize their mates, do you?”
Cami shrugged. “Only what I’ve read, but Mrs. Wilder you have to know I won’t be assessed or compared. I get that enough from regular guys.”
Gerri considered the young researcher. “Every relationship has a modicum of assessment, Camille. It’s nature. Everyone measures how much they like someone based on first impressions and personality, but also on physical attraction. It’s the same no matter if the couple is human or shifter or a mix. With shifters, it’s even more intense because of their special abilities.
“You’ll have to trust me on this, sweetheart. You say you only know what you’ve read, but there’s so much more to it than that. What you don’t know is my talents as a matchmaker aren’t just luck. I have a sixth sense about people and what makes them tick. I can see who will make them happy.”
“So, you’re psychic?” Cami asked, taking a chair across from Gerri, hoping her skepticism didn’t insult the woman.
The matchmaker inclined her head. “There are stranger things I could tell you about me, but to keep things simple, yes, I’m psychic. Though I prefer to think of it as knowing. When two people are right for each other, I get a specific kind of tingle. It’s uncanny, even if I do say so myself, and my success rate is nearly one hundred percent.”
“Nearly?” Cami asked.
The older woman’s face took on a faraway look, almost melancholy. “It was years ago. Too many decades to count.” She exhaled, her eyes meeting Camille’s curious gaze. “There was a man. He wasn’t my client, exactly, but he didn’t heed my counsel.”
Gerri angled her head, watching the young woman. “You’ve heard the old saying ‘think with the big head, not the little one?’”
A corner of Camille’s mouth curled up. “Who hasn’t?”
Gerri spread her hands. “Well, he chose to think with his dick, and no sooner did that gorgeous man shoot his load than he knew it was a mistake. I warned him not to play in the dark, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Confused, Cami shook her head. “I’m not sure I follow. Play in the dark?”
Gerri waved a light hand. “It doesn’t matter, dear. The result was nothing short of heartbreak. It’s a regret he and I both carry, and one I’d like to fix if I ever get the chance.” She smiled. “But I’m here to talk about you. Tell me, Camille. Do you dream?”
Cami’s brows knotted even more. “I’m not sure I know where you’re going with this, but everyone dreams.”
The matchmaker nodded. “Yes, but do your dreams make you reach for the dildo in your nightstand to take the edge off?”
Camille’s mouth dropped open at the older woman’s bluntness. She blinked, not sure how to respond.
“Shyness is not an option with me, dear. I need to know what makes your heart race and your panties wet. I don’t believe in pussy footing around, not when my gut tells me your pussy hasn’t been well served in quite some time.”
Cami coughed. “I beg your pardon?”
Gerri spared a glance for the library stacks surrounding their little alcove and the dust winking in the sunlight from the arched windows.
“You’re not a shrinking violet Camille, yet your kneejerk cough speaks volumes. There’s no need for embarrassment. Every woman deserves the kind of love you crave, and I make it my business to see they get it.”
Gerri stood from her chair and walked toward the shelves, running a gentle hand over the dusty volumes.
“You’re surrounded by books, Camille. Immersed in fact and fiction. It’s a safe bet you’re buried between their pages most of the night, too.”
With an abrupt turn she faced the young woman. “Wouldn’t you rather something else buried balls deep between your legs, instead?”
The question was rhetorical, yet Cami’s mouth went dry anyway.
Gerri’s inquiring look softened. “I’m not criticizing, dear, but if you’re going to curl up in bed it might as well be with someone you’d like to wrap more than just your mind around.”
“I have a life, Mrs. Wilder.” Cami bristled, finally finding her voice again. “I have friends, family and a satisfying career. You’re painting me as halfway to being the neighborhood cat lady. You and my best friend Valerie. You two seem to have a thing against fantasy.”
“Nonsense.” Gerri chuckled. “Fantasy is my stock and trade. I deal in matching shifters to their mates. What could be more fantastical than that?” She winked, but then her humor softened. “I love romance, Camille. All kinds of romance. From sweet and sassy to full out erotica. I hate that li
terary snobs love to paint romance novels as claptrap aimed toward lonely, desperate women. My guess is those same misogynists need Viagra by the handful just to get a hard on.”
Camille gawked at the woman.
“There’s nothing wrong with creaming over a fictional alpha, Camille. They make for an entertaining escape, and if you happen to have something fun stashed in your night table, they can even help take the edge off.”
The heat in Camille’s cheeks rushed toward her ears. “Funny how Valerie said practically the same thing. You two working some kind of sex life intervention?”
Gerri laughed. “Not at all. I merely speak from experience. Believe it or not, I have my own secret stash of books and toys.” She smiled, moving back to the table. “But, as much fun as that can be, it pales besides having the real thing hot and hard in hand or anywhere else you want.”
The older woman took her purse from the side of the chair and unclipped the top. Reaching inside, she took out what looked to be an old leather-bound book.
“This is one of a kind,” Gerri said, placing it gently on the tabletop. “It was recently entrusted to me.”
Camille licked her lips. On closer inspection, it was clear the manuscript was unlike anything she’d ever seen. “It’s beautiful, and so unusual.”
Inlaid gold circled the perimeter in strange symbols, but what caught her attention most was the dragon at the center of the cover. It seemed to shine with otherworldly iridescence.
“I can’t quite place the binding stitch or the cover material. It’s not like any leather I’ve seen, and the book’s pages look like a cross between parchment and papyrus.”
“The manuscript is very, very old, and if I told you how and with what it was bound, you wouldn’t believe me,” Gerri replied.
Camille curled her fingers into her palm, itching to get her hands on the tome.
The older woman’s gaze dropped to the ink on the inside of Camille’s wrist. “Angel wings?”
Cami shook her head. “No. Dragon.” Her eyes drifted to the image on the cover. “I have a full tattoo on my back, as well. A magnificent beast with its wings spread in flight.” A small grin tugged at her lips. “Dragons are my favorite mythical creature.”
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