by S. A. Ravel
His eyes confirmed what his nose already knew. The woman was alone now, but she hadn't been when she came to find him. A sheen of sweat clung to her flesh, it's acrid smell reaching his nostrils beneath the blood. The shredded material of her soiled tank top and flannel pants revealed gashes in her skin. Something horrible must have driven her into the mountains…straight into the path of a dragon who had already banished her.
He huffed. What hell could have possessed her to come to him for help? He had made it more than clear he never wanted to see her again. Spells and charms could only hold back nature for so long.
Ronin lowered himself, drawing on a minute portion of his powyr to guide himself to the ground. She could answer for herself back at his home. He wrapped his claws around the woman. A muffled cry came from beneath her body, unmistakably an infant’s wails.
His eyes widened. His concentration, essential for such a delicate task in flight, wavered. Ronin released his form, shrinking from dragon to man in mid-air. Bone and muscle, skin and scales ripped away and resettled, leaving a nude human man suspended in the air. He dipped into the Wyrd, using the burst of power to propel his body away from the woman just as his knees slammed into the dirt.
I fucking hate doing that. The surge of pain was enough to drive away any building desire that came from being near her again. He focused on the pain, letting it keep his attention on the matter at hand.
Ronin knelt beside the woman and pushed her body away. The infant's cries grew more desperate as the cool air hit its tear-streaked face. Each piercing shriek struck Ronin like a dull knife in his midsection. Flames of rage rose in his chest at the sight of the little thing--a girl judging by the faded, pink blanket wrapped around it. He glanced at the blood-covered skinwalker again, her eyes still closed and her full lips slack. There was no mistaking the resemblance between the woman and the infant. The way she cradled the girl, used her own body to protect it, marked it as hers. A fact which only further stoked the flames of his wrath.
What the good hell were you thinking, woman, bringing this child here?
He looked down at himself to make sure the fire hadn't taken true form. More than once his emotions had gotten the better of him and sought release in his dragon power. Adad spent years training him to control the powyr. Evette tried for years before him.
The skinwalker must have thought he would take pity on her. Surely, the baby would soften his heart if the sight of her bloody body couldn’t. Only a monster could turn a hard eye to a suffering child.
He gritted his teeth as he scooped the baby into his arms. “Sssh, no more tears from you, little one." He coughed to clear the ragged edge from his voice. How many days had it been since he’d spoken to another person?
A week this time. It would have been more if my agent hadn’t called.
The infant's cries waned as her watery eyes met Ronin's. Her small body relaxed in his arms. She waved her hands, squealing with excitement. Ronin's lips curled up as he pulled her closer to shield her from the chill air of the desert at night. The girl smiled and cooed as if to reward him for seeing to her comfort. If only infants weren’t designed to be easy to bond with.
The child was an innocent. It wasn’t her fault that her mother chose an abusive asshole for a mate.
Ah, but it isn’t really hers either, is it? You knew what would happen when you sent her away.
He pushed the thought away as soon as it appeared. Guilt was as unwelcome an emotion as any other.
Ronin rolled his eyes as he wrapped the girl up again. "Don't get used to it, Little One.” He slung the girl’s fabric carrier around his neck. The extra weight didn't even register. Carrying her mother’s limp body back through the mountain passes on foot wouldn’t be as easy. If he’d known he would be hauling dead weight back to his house, he would have brought Bandit with him.
He didn’t use half the tenderness as he had with the baby when he scooped the skinwalker woman into his arms. Her innocence was still in question.
2
The trailer at the end of the dirt road cost Sanaa her life savings and then some. A rare surge of pride filled her chest the day she paid it off. The rusted side paneling and leaky windows didn’t matter to her. With no husband, father, or brothers to build a home for her, Sanaa made do with what she could scrape together herself. Luxurious bedding had no place in her humble trailer. Neither did the rich, creamy scent of sandalwood.
Sanaa pried her eyes open, groaning as sunlight flooded her eyes. She heard the baby's gentle squeals, nothing like the cries of terror from before. The comforter draped over her body might as well have been made of cement instead of feathers. Every ounce of strength evaporated from her limbs.
She heard a gruff voice from the other side of the room. “I would stay still if I were you,”
What a stupid thing to say to a woman running for her life. Sanaa flipped over onto her side. A wave of nausea crashed over her. She slumped against the pillows, gasping for breath.
“You should have listened,” the voice said.
“I’ve never been good at that,” she whispered. Now that she was still, Sanaa could feel the gashes the guppies’ claws left behind. Something wasn’t right. Skinwalkers healed as fast as any other shifter.
Sanaa opened her eyes again, this time letting them adjust to the light. A vague sense of familiarity settled over her as the man the voice belonged to came into focus. Her thoughts turned slowly, held back by the guppy demon poison in her veins. Tortured, deep-brown eyes peered at her through black locks, which framed either side of his face. His chiseled jaw was set with barely contained rage. The broad muscles in his chest dwarfed the infant cradled in his arms.
She recognized him, of course. Ronin Nori. His horse, Bandit, like most horses in the country, received veterinary care at the office where Sanaa worked as an assistant. But that wasn’t why she remembered him. The man was beautiful. He was also a romance novelist. His face was plastered on back pages in every grocery store, drug store, bookstore, airport, and train station in the United States. Maybe further.
But the smiling charmer on the paperbacks was nothing like the fierce man slouched in the chair near her. Danger and curiosity lurked just beneath his mild expression. It wasn’t Ronin Nori staring at her. It was the Dragon in the Mountain.
The revelation rose goosebumps on Sanaa’s skin. The Dragon knew exactly who she was, and he wasn’t happy about her being there.
The night she offered herself to the Dragon, Sanaa wondered why he had been so careful to hide his human form from her, blindfolding her, pushing her hands away when they lingered on his body too long. At the time, she wrote it off as the dragon enjoying his sexual dominance. It hadn't occurred to her then that his human identity might be a secret in need of keeping. In fact, she’d been too busy enjoying herself to care. Was that why he banished her?
Her eyes flitted to the baby in his arms. "That's her hungry face. If she doesn't get a boob in her mouth in the next sixty seconds, she'll pitch a fit."
The lie came out more easily than she expected, given her mental fog. Her daughter would fuss and whine when displeased, but she wasn’t a crier. Ronin Nori turned a withering eye to Sanaa. How long had she been unconscious? Apparently, long enough for the Dragon to learn her baby’s temperament. At least twelve hours judging by the sun outside.
He climbed to his feet all the same and passed the baby to her. “You’re already trying my patience, Skinwalker. It’s not in your best interest to make it worse by lying to me.”
Sanaa tugged the hem of the plain white tank top up to her collar bone and brushed her nipple against the baby's cheek. The infant snatched the offered nub between her gums and gulped down mouthfuls of her mother’s milk. “If you’re worried I’ll gossip around town, don’t be.”
The Dragon settled back into his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Somehow, the gesture made him even more threatening. “They wouldn’t believe you. If they did, you’d be in just as much trouble as I
would.”
Sanaa turned her eyes toward the baby. “I won’t tell the tribe either.” The Bloodbones were more likely to condemn her for approaching the Dragon than to listen. The unclean had no business approaching a god.
“Do you believe for one second that I would let you into my home if I thought you were a threat?”
The wave of anger that welled in Sanaa took her by surprise. There was an edge of condescension in his tone that pissed her off, but it wasn’t unexpected. The Dragon never spoke to skinwalkers as if they were his equals. They weren't. Every skinwalker in the shadow of the mountain knew their continued existence depended on his tolerance. He could burn every building in the community to cinders without the slightest fear of reprisal. The Bloodbones held the land first, but only by human laws. The strong dominated the world of powyr, and few could match a Dragon. Skinwalkers, with their pacifist traditions, couldn’t even compete.
She bit back the bitter retort that came to her lips. Her daughter's survival depended on her playing the next few minutes well, if not flawlessly. But the venom made it hard to think.
“I wouldn't have come here unless it was a matter of life and death." If there were a single refuge for Sanaa and her daughter, any place at all where they might be safe, she would have run there instead of into the Dragon's mountains. She had some sense, and more than a little pride. Both screamed at her, even now with nowhere else to turn, the Dragon was the last person she should go to for help.
The Dragon screwed his lips upward for a moment. “I believe you. I will hear your request.” Sanaa opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with a raised hand. “Later. The bathroom is down the hall on the right. The kitchen is straight ahead, though I recommend washing your hands at a minimum. I can still smell the venom."
“Thank you.” If the Dragon was content to delay his ire for the few minutes it took to tend to mundane matters, she was happy to play along. Every second of delay gave her time to think, a necessity as the minion's poison worked its way through her veins.
Ronin jerked his head toward the baby in Sanaa’s arms. “Thank the princess’s ripe diaper. Make a list of things you need from your house. I will go there and–"
"No!" Sanaa shouted before she could help herself.
The Dragon's eyes seemed to catch fire in front of her eyes. His lips curled into a sneer. Sanaa lowered her head, gritting her teeth at having to make a gesture of supplication. "I mean...there won't be anything there. If you can take me into town, I can buy what I need myself."
“Until I decide different, skinwalker, you and that child are under my protection, and you should be thankful for it. We do this my way or you can pack up your shit and leave right now. “
A quiet battle of wills raged in Sanaa's mind. His cocky toned begged for response, but she couldn’t afford to let her tongue get carried away. If the Dragon kicked her out of his sanctuary, she wouldn't find another. What little family she still had living had turned their back on her months before.
Sanaa swallowed. “Can I get some ground rules? I’ll be a lot less likely to piss you off that way.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” he snapped. “For now, there is only one rule: stay in the house unless I say otherwise. The others we will get to if I decide to help you.”
“You want me where you can see me. Fine, but that doesn’t do anything about little miss’s diapers.”
Ronin pulled his cell phone from his pocket and passed it to her. Sanaa brought up the local superstore's website and scrolled with one hand, while she held her daughter with the other. It might have been faster to tell him to get one of everything they had in the baby section, but a bestselling author might take her seriously.
“I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
Ronin snatched the phone from her and slid it back into his pocket. “The only thing I need from you is silence and distance. Meanwhile, bathroom. Kitchen." As he spoke, he pointed in the direction of both rooms as he walked away.
When Sanaa heard a car engine roar to life, she let out a tense breath. Her skin was red and inflamed where they'd scratched her, though little by little the pain faded. How long would it take for her system to metabolize the poison? How long would it be until she was ready to fight again?
Probably longer than she had before the next attack. There was no doubt in her mind it was coming. Even a dragon ally wouldn't spare Sanaa from the hell spawn's Mistress. Bitter tears sprang to her eyes. She wanted so badly to indulge them, but she needed to clean herself and the baby before the Dragon returned. Her presence alone was enough to piss him off. If she caused too much trouble, he might refuse her. Sanaa wiped the tears way with the back of her hand and reached for the baby. There was no time for tears. Her daughter needed a strong mother, a protector.
The dark walker would come for the infant again. Niabe Chavez, her mother, never broke off from the hunt.
Ronin stumbled into the house, arms filled to the brim with canvas shopping bags. Once he got to the Superstore and checked the Skinwalker woman's list thoroughly, he found it was totally insufficient. Not that he knew what items were required to care for a baby of...however old the child was, but surely even a baby would appreciate the finer things in life. Things like the diapers on the top shelf, with the gleefully, chubby-cheeked baby emblazoned on the box. And the frilly dress which served no earthly purpose, except the blood-red fabric caught his eye. And organic wipes, because who would want their bare ass rubbed with chemicals?
He bought things for the mother, too. Fresh underwear, and blue jeans, and a pair of satin pajama pants which would feel better than flannel or cotton against the injuries to her legs. The baby's sizes were easy enough to guess, he found, but the mother was a different story.
Pregnancy and child birth had changed the skinwalker's form, softened her body, giving rise to luscious curves he ached to run his fingers over. The three-hour shopping trip hadn’t tempered the fire that burned in him. Fuck he wanted her. To taste her on his tongue again, fit their bodies together. To lay claim to her for real this time. But he wasn’t stupid enough to think he could escape bonding a second time. Seducing wasn’t the skinwalker’s game. Not this time.
The Heat hadn’t been half this intense the first time. He’d barely been twenty at the time, just young and dumb enough to mistake the signs for infatuation. They were similar enough, a racing heart, a rock-hard cock, and sudden preoccupation with one woman. Now he knew better. The Heat was only a quirk of biology, another gift from his mysterious parents that he learned to cope with.
Only one sensation was stronger than his need for her…the need she had for him. The memory of her panicked eyes doused Ronin’s fire. That woman and her child needed his protection. He needed them both as far away from his house as they could get. Spells would only hold for so long.
He found her in his kitchen, clinging to a mug of steaming coffee like a life preserver in a raging ocean, a bath towel still wrapped around her breasts. It would be so easy to tear the terrycloth away and expose her breasts to his hungry eyes. Her back stiffened, a small, almost imperceptible movement as he entered. Whatever hell had driven her to him needed to be dealt with quickly.
"What do I owe you?" she asked.
"A fast explanation." There was no way in hell Ronin would accept money from a woman on the run. Not when her eyes were still wet and rimmed in red. He had some pride. "Start with your name, unless you prefer Skinwalker."
She shrugged. "It's accurate, isn't it? But the name is Sanaa."
"And the baby?"
"She doesn't have a name yet." Sanaa turned back to him clutching her cup. Her body language shifted again. She pulled inward, arranging her body in the wooden dining chair to take up as little space as possible. “I hope you don’t mind me making coffee.”
She was afraid of him. Good. The less comfortable she was around him, the better. The strangeness of the encounter alone might be enough. “It’s a four-dollar bag of coffee. Even if I cared, it’s
already made.”
Sanaa swallowed. “Okay, so you’re pissed.”
“I said something very specific to you the last time we met. Was I unclear?”
She set the mug aside and looked at him. There was no emotion in her eyes. “Believe me, Dragon, I wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t someone that scared me more than you.” He didn't miss the venom in her words, nor the pain. It seeped into her words, tainting her usually dulcet tones.
The shift in tone coaxed his instincts. The slight bond between them hung in the air, an invisible thread connecting him to Sanaa’s emotions. Ronin curled his lips and took a deep breath. If the skinwalker’s pain intensified the Heat, he would have to tread carefully.
Not that he had the time or patience. “Then let’s get this over with. You can start with who tried to turn your leg into steak tartar.”
"Three weeks ago, a dark walker came to call. She said she only wanted to pay me and my daughter tribute, but I know her better than that."
“You know there are some people who would say a dark walker and a skinwalker aren’t that different.” Modern skinwalkers liked to play pacifist, but their bloody history begged to differ. Tribal wars had driven their numbers down to near extinction.
“Those people are ignorant. Ignorance makes people afraid.”
“More like they don’t want their throats ripped out to still their powyr.”
Sanaa sighed and raked her fingers through her hair. “I’m too tired to argue with you. Think whatever you want. It doesn’t matter.”
Another pang of guilt. Another urge to protect her. Ronin pressed his back against the counter harder. “Why would a dark walker owe you tribute?"
"Because she's my mother, or she was when she still had a soul.”
Ronin quirked an eyebrow. “So?”
“I don’t know how your people do things, but the birth of a grandchild is a big deal for skinwalkers.”
He narrowed his eyes. The urge to comfort her and his annoyance with her presence collided, giving the Heat ample tinder for the fire. Lust. Anger. Guilt. The skinwalker pushed too many emotional buttons. “What happened last night?”
