Dragon Hunter Box Set: A Dragon Shifter Serial

by Carina Wilder

  Neko froze when she got her first look at him, a gasp catching in her chest.

  She’d never seen anything like him.

  Stranger

  That face.

  Those eyes.

  They were the lightest aqua blue, intense, focused. Staring her down, fearless and curious at once. Never had Neko seen such a colour in nature or elsewhere, unless she counted a trip her family had taken once to the Caribbean. Light, impossibly turquoise water, the essence of clean, refreshing and enticing. Yes, that was it. The moment she saw his eyes an irresistible desire set in to dive, somehow, into his very soul.

  And Neko felt suddenly ill, a sort of overwhelming sensation of dizziness, as though someone had struck her in the head or the stomach. She reeled as she stood before him, weakened and confused, though by what, she couldn’t say. His perfection, perhaps. It was as overwhelming, as frightening in its way as a hideously disfigured face would have been.

  He was a shifter, of course; he had to be. But he was unlike any that she’d ever seen, and she’d seen a hell of a lot of them.

  Quickly she leapt off the slain feline, leaving its body to fade into a pile of scattering particles of dust even as startled onlookers began to move away.

  As always, the humans were already retreating into an accelerated state of denial, convincing themselves that all of it had just been a dream, a momentary lapse in their mind’s judgment.

  They hadn’t really seen a woman slay a giant cat in their midst. That would be absurd. Besides, there was no body. No blood. Not a trace of violence.

  But two figures standing among them knew what had transpired, and they remained in place for a moment, facing one another. The man, the tall one with the light eyes, wasn’t retreating. Not yet, at least.

  After an all too brief moment, he nodded silently before pivoting away and walking down the street, newspaper tucked under his arm.

  It seemed that he didn’t want to be friends.

  “Wait.”

  Neko had no idea if he’d obey her command or keep walking. The one thing she’d been able to figure out, other than that he was jaw-droppingly gorgeous, was his obvious desire to remain hidden. So drawing attention to him probably wasn’t the greatest idea. But curiosity and something deeper—something within the far reaches of her mind—were telling her not to let the guy out of her sight.

  The man paused for a moment, and she sensed him pondering his next move; determining whether she was a threat or an ally. Whether she was worth his time.

  And for a moment it looked as though he might move away again, take off down the street without another glance.

  But his body seemed to disagree, remaining in place. Maybe he wondered if she wanted a simple acknowledgment. She’d just rendered him a service by taking down his would-be assassin, after all. It was a simple question of common courtesy.

  Not that she cared about that; all she really wanted was to see that face once again before it departed forever.

  And she got her wish as he turned, slowly, to face her a second time.

  “Hello,” he said, offering a warm smile, as though nothing had just occurred involving stabbings and death. A mask over whatever emotions were bubbling up under the surface. And his voice, it turned out, was as beautiful as the rest of him, its effect on her body stunning. A massive cloud of endorphins seemed to burst inside her, shooting through her like explosives.

  He was, it seemed, working a sort of spell on her. And to say that it was effective would have been a gross understatement.

  “Why was it after you?” she asked, trying to keep her features stern and her voice controlled in spite of the feeling that she might fall to the ground, suffering—or enjoying—the pleasure of a massive orgasm.

  Her eyes were searching, focused on his as she eased towards him. Assessing him for truthfulness, among other things. “What did that Lapsed want with you?” she asked again.

  “Who knows? I suspect that it was quite mad. But I suppose I should thank you for what you just did…ehm…”

  “Neko.”

  “Neko.” Her own name went through her like a slow moving bullet, exploding pleasure throughout her body again. “Well, thank you for your brave act.” He looked as though he’d pivot and walk away again, but Neko moved quickly towards him, eyes still on his, appraising. Halting him in his tracks once more.

  He was so different, his looks aside—whereas most shifters were of little interest to her, he was magnetic, his allure pulling her in even as he stood in place, seemingly indifferent to her existence. Whether this was deliberate or not, she couldn’t say. But it was certainly effective.

  All of a sudden she needed to know more. Where was he from? What sort of shifter was he? When could she see him again?

  Wait—why the fuck did she want to see him again?

  She needed to shake her head, to run away, to loosen the hold that he’d gained. But the most she could do was to lock her feet in place and to focus all her strength on staring him down.

  “All right. You know my name. And you are…?” she said, her voice tight, her eyes moving down his body.

  “Me? I’m very grateful, of course,” he said, breathing an apparent sigh of relief as he glanced around. People were beginning to pause and to watch them now. She, the strange woman who held daggers in her hands; he the very tall, very unusual looking, very unarmed, man—her apparent target. His eyes moved quickly to a row of connected buildings across the street.

  “Listen, Neko,” he said, leaning towards her, “I feel that we should get out of sight for a few minutes. There’s a café across the way. Would you allow me to buy you something hot?”

  “Sure.” If that’s what it takes to get some answers.

  Her heart pumped ferociously, overjoyed not to have to let him go so soon. And she began to hate the accursed organ for abandoning her.

  * * *

  The woman hadn’t smiled at him once, but she was, without question, very beautiful. Determined and strong, able to confront him without caving in to any weakness. Intense, intelligent, graceful, her body’s curves straining against very form-fitting clothing.

  Desire had already struck at his chest, not to mention his cock, the second he’d seen her. And something inside him was now fighting his earlier instinct to get away, dictating not to let her go just yet. The tables had turned, and perhaps he needed to spend just a little more time with her before he could let her out of his sight.

  An invisible barricade surrounding the woman intrigued him, drawing him in despite her attempts at coldness, or perhaps because of them. He could feel her fighting off his charms, his appearance, rebelling against her own body’s desires.

  Sniffing the air, he was all too aware of her physical response to him. Already her panties were wet, her beautiful form offering him a series of messages.

  Want. Need. Not to mention confusion. Poor, beautiful thing.

  He set off across the road, paper still under his arm, and she kept pace with him, daggers finally hidden away, her jacket closed, hands tucked tightly into her jeans pockets.

  When they’d made their way into the café, purchased two coffees and sat down, he leaned forward again. His eyes locked on hers—those large, brown irises, searching desperately for answers. But he would give none, of course, and reveal nothing of his true nature.

  He would ask the questions.

  “Tell me, Neko, when did you first know?”

  “First know what?”

  “That you were a Spyrian. A Seeker.”

  * * *

  Innocence

  Neko swallowed hard. Nothing and no one had ever intimidated her in her twenty-four years of life. But outside on the street, this man had managed something close. In his presence she’d felt herself shrink, as though he were pressing her towards the ground with some unseen force. Robbing her of strength in a way that was both frightening and delicious.

  And, what was worse, now that she was with him in an isolated corner of a quiet caf
é, it seemed that he’d unleashed a new attack, even more powerful than whatever spell he’d cast outside. As she tried once again to meet his gaze, invisible ribbons of intoxicating scent began to dance about her head, consuming her inch by inch, messing once again with her mind.

  Somehow she hadn’t picked up this extraordinary bouquet outside. It was almost as though he’d concealed this aspect of himself, trying to appear human while he’d remained exposed in such a public place. Perhaps that was why the Lapsed had done so poorly at locating him; a sort of olfactory camouflage.

  And now, it felt almost as though he’d released this heavenly aroma deliberately in her direction. And it was overwhelming; a drug being pumped into the atmosphere around her, mystifying, beautiful, and maddening at once.

  Stop it. Please, stop.

  For a moment she gripped the edge of the table with both hands, willing away the lack of control. This beautiful, weakening ecstasy.

  But she wasn’t sure, either, that she really wanted it to end. It would be like wishing for a gorgeous man to stop pleasuring her; to stop sweeping his tongue over her most sensitive places.

  Pleasure permeated her every pore, each strained breath she took intoxicating, erotic, her body being stroked by invisible hands guided by centuries of experience. Seductive and sensual. Without moving a muscle, he was doing this, somehow, and no doubt deliberately. And it was the most exciting and frightening thing she’d ever experienced.

  She stared once again at his face, trying to focus as a drunk attempts to convince himself that the world is crystal clear before taking the wheel of a car. Glorious features, those bright eyes with the shallow lines at their edges denoting a profound, infuriating amusement, light brown hair, square jaw, broad shoulders, full lips. And that essence of his, weakening her from the centre outwards.

  His voice was deep, rich as dark chocolate. And as he’d moved towards her and asked the question, Neko had wanted nothing more than to tear off her clothing and expose herself to him, scars, weaknesses and all.

  She’d never done such a thing for any man—lovers had always been forced to contend with her covering up various parts of her body, even in the most intimate moments. A defense mechanism ingrained deep inside her all her life. Concealment against their hungry eyes.

  Exposure, after all, was weakness. And she was anything but weak.

  Be strong, she told herself, her grip on the table tightening. Fight this.

  For a moment she felt herself strengthen under her resolve, considering telling the stranger that she wasn’t a Spyrian, whatever that actually meant; that she was just a woman who carried some very sharp knives with her on occasion. Well, many sharp knives. Strapped across her chest like a menacing sash.

  Surely that wouldn’t sound entirely implausible.

  But since he was a shifter, he would have sensed exactly what she was, without even seeing her arsenal of blades. Their kind was intuitive far beyond humans, and some had been reputed to read minds, even. It was very difficult, if not impossible, to pull off a lie when faced with such beings.

  And so, experience compelled her to open up to him in that moment. To come clean, even though she might live to regret it.

  “So, you know what I am,” she said at last, pushing herself back in her seat, trying to escape his powerful allure, if only for a moment.

  “That you hunt the Lapsed? Yes. Just as you no doubt know something of what I am.”

  “I’m not at all sure what you are, in fact. You may be a shifter, but I’ve never seen anything quite like you.” Her tone was accusatory, tinged with resentment rather than admiration.

  “Like me? And so tell me—what am I like?” The bastard was teasing her now. He knew that he had power over her mind, and he knew just how to wield it.

  Neko drew herself erect, trying to convince herself that she was invulnerable to his ongoing, almost heavenly attack. “You’re…perfect.” The words were drawn out of her mouth, extracted, rather than offered voluntarily. Damn this man, whoever—whatever—he was, for his control.

  “Perfect. Thank you for the kind words,” he said. He looked as though he were holding back the beginnings of another smile. Good lord, was he really this arrogant?

  “It wasn’t a compliment,” she retorted, her voice sharp. “Perfection is inhuman and unnatural.”

  His smile evolved, expanding across his face. “Well, I have no great desire to be human. So it suits me perfectly well that you should consider me perfect. Though, of course, I’m not. No one is. It’s only your altered perception in this moment that leads you to believe that of me.”

  “Are you saying that you’re some sort of mirage, then? An illusion, distorting my brain?”

  The man reached for her hand, which was now lying near the edge of the table. Slowly he drew his fingers across its back, sending fire through her veins, deep into her core. Between her legs, a deep, shuddering and sensual tremor as she pulled the hand back, tucking it under the table. Good lord, that touch—had it been some sort of a magic trick? How could anyone, even a shifter, send heat through her as though he’d injected her with molten steel?

  “As you can see,” he said as he cocked his head, his voice soft, “I am no mirage. I’m solid, and I believe you felt just now how real I am.”

  Yes. A little too well.

  He continued. “So, back to my question then: When did you know that you were a Spyrian—a Hunter, if you prefer the modern term?”

  There was no point in resisting her own reply. He was going to pull it out of her regardless, a puppet master yanking at invisible strings. Easier simply to speak up.

  “I knew when I was a little girl. Five years old, in the Cotswolds with my parents,” she said. “We spent a summer there, on holiday.”

  “I see. And that was your first time seeing one of the Lapsed?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know they existed—or that shifters did, for that matter. I thought they were all fodder for fairy stories, myths. But then one day, my mother and I were wandering down a little street lined with shops. Across the way I saw a man, oddly cloaked in a long, fluid coat. It was his eyes that I noticed first.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  Neko looked down, examining her hand—the hand that he’d touched a moment earlier. She could still feel his fingers on her, her body still a mess of tingling nerves. “He was devoid of any trace of humanity. Blank. Dead. And while tourists looked into shop windows, the man just stared, empty, into the distance.”

  “Seeking.”

  “Yes. But what he was looking for, I couldn’t say at first. I only sensed that he was stalking something, or someone.” She wondered for a moment how this stranger was getting her to open up in this way; she never spoke of herself, her experiences, to anyone but her closest acquaintances. And those were few and far between. “I’ve had nightmares about him ever since. The sort that make me wake in a cold sweat, night after night.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. There are worse things to endure.” She fidgeted for a moment with the handle of her coffee cup. “Anyhow, until the moment I saw him, my childlike innocence, I suppose, had erased all notions that such creatures could exist. A murderous entity walking among humans seemed too strange, too surreal. And nor did I know that anyone who tried to touch him in his human form would have found that their hand went right through him. As though he were a ghost.”

  “True. It’s why they’re so difficult to kill.”

  “Yes. They can’t be taken on until they shift, and by then it’s often too late.”

  “Except for one so skilled as you,” the man said with admiration in his voice. Neko felt a series of prickles move along her back, as though his fingers were stroking her again. God, how did he do that?

  “I tugged on my mothers’s sleeve,” she added, trying to ignore what he was doing to her. “And I pointed. But she scolded me for it, said that one should never point at anyone, let alone an unfortunate person. I’ll never forget tho
se words.

  “Seconds later, it changed into something far more frightening than any creature I’d ever seen. And then there were screams, piercing the air all around us. The beast was lunging at a tall, handsome man who’d been walking down the street. I’d noticed him a minute earlier, with his wife and child.”

  She took a sip of her coffee.

  “Tell me what happened next,” said Lumen, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  “When the Lapsed jumped at him, he tried to change into his déor.”

  “His animal form. So he wanted to fight it off.”

  Neko nodded and took another sip from the cup. “Yes. He hadn’t anticipated the attack, and he was too slow. It was enormous, you understand, this creature—a giant, disfigured hound. And it slashed his throat with teeth that looked like razors, then it was gone, running down the road. Needless to say, everyone around us was in shock.

  “I remember the blood, streaming along the crevices in the cobblestone. A woman and child, broken and bent over the body that had only just begun to shift, so he was neither human nor animal. To this day I don’t know what sort of shifter he was. Only that he’d died for no reason that I could discern.”

  “Did anyone go after the Lapsed after it killed its victim?”

  “No. No one so much as took a step after it. And I wondered for the longest time why not a single person had tried. I wanted to understand why the people around me seemed to recover so quickly, to go on about their business a few minutes later, as though nothing had happened.”

  “But now you know. You know how this works—that humans are all but immune to it.”

  Neko nodded again. “It’s not their fight,” she said. “Not their world. And the laws don’t apply to them.”

  “No,” said the man. “But soon they may.”

  He rose from his seat, looking down at her with those glorious, fluid eyes, and Neko felt once again like that small, helpless child. He was so beautiful, so perfectly made. She didn’t want him to go, and yet wanted him as far away as possible from her; the effect he’d had on her was almost more than she could endure.