by Lily Cahill
“When we were working on The Witch’s Brew the other day. We got to talking, a bit, and I gave him Jane Eyre.”
“Jane Eyre?” Joy snorted. “Right. Like you’re going to convince a man to read a chick book.”
Annoyance welled up inside of Marta, but she willed it away. Now was not the time to enlighten Joy as to all the ways she was intensely incorrect. “Be that as it may, I would really like my book back. Do you think Vincent could get it for me?”
“Doubtful. He said that Arryn hasn’t been returning his calls all week. Apparently, Arryn bought a house off the main road out of town. Dirt road and everything, can you believe it? And I thought Augustus was uncivilized.” Joy rolled her eyes, but she was smiling in a way that softened her words. “He has been holed up there for the past few days. I don’t know if he doesn’t have reception or if he just doesn’t want to talk.”
Marta nodded, trying not to let her disappointment show on her face. She couldn’t leave that book behind. It was all she had left of her mother, and the thought of living without—it was unfathomable.
Either Marta had a terrible poker face, or Joy was feeling unusually perceptive. She stepped toward Marta, sympathy rolling off of her. “I’ll ask Vincent, okay? Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out before you go.”
“Right,” said Marta, hoping that Joy was right.
Joy was wrong.
Marta had (barely) managed to wriggle out of her invitation to dinner—it had taken a lot of complaints about tiredness and the need to pack. She’d passed out on the couch and had awoken the next morning to find a note taped to her forehead.
She peeled it off and looked it over.
Hey, came Joy’s neat print. Vincent tried to call Arryn, but no dice. He said he could drive out there in a few days and get it for you, if you want?
And then, in tiny lettering below that: Also it’s like 9:30, why are you already asleep? LAME.
After living with Joy the past few months, Marta was sure that Vincent’s offer to drive out there in “a few days” would inevitably take “a couple of weeks.” Vincent was reliable, but Joy was sure to make him promise to drag it out.
It wouldn’t do. She simply had to go and get the book herself. There wasn’t another option; if she waited anymore she might lose her nerve and stay, and she knew better than to believe that anything lasted forever, even something as nice as her life in Augustus.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, she snagged the keys to her car and threw her bag over her shoulder. Butterflies raced around inside her stomach, even though she tried to deny them. There was no reason to feel nervous or intimidated. Arryn Dragomir was just some man she had met once, and he meant nothing to her.
She told herself as she got on the main road out of town, heading north.
The radio played some sort of terrible metal band. Wrinkling her nose, Marta flipped. Country was no better, and soft rock made her want to fall asleep. She flicked off the radio in frustration.
If only Joy had given her more specific directions to Arryn’s house!
There weren’t a lot of dirt roads that veered directly off the main road. In fact, Marta wasn’t sure she had ever noticed one. She kept her hazard lights on and went ten miles below the posted speed limit, her eyes flicking between the road in front of her and any roads that might veer off to the side.
The first one led to a decrepit, uninhabitable place, the walls of an old cabin crumbling to the ground. It didn’t look like anyone had visited in years. Discouraged, Marta flipped a U-turn and headed back out onto the road.
The second dirt road she saw, she felt it in her bones: this was the right place. Something about it made her magic stop running haywire and nervous through her veins. She navigated down the twists and turns, nearly breaking her axel over the first big bump. Slowing even more, she practically crawled the rest of the way. This was not the kind of road meant for small cars.
Finally, the road gave way to a clearing, and there—a truck she vaguely recognized from the few times she’d seen it parked outside of Joy’s apartment.
The cabin itself was surprisingly cheery-looking. She’d never thought she’d find anything charming about something so rustic, but it’s wood walls, the big porch with the swing in the corner—she liked it more than she expected. She parked her car and swung her purse over her shoulder. Stepping out of the car, she closed the door quietly and took in a lungful of air.
It was peaceful, out here. Everything was so green, the grass lush beneath her feet, the trees grown tall with great tufts of leaves sprouting out of long, thick branches. There was a bird chirping in the woods, and the sound of the wind through the trees, and that was about it.
It was too bad that the man who lived here was abrupt and rude. Even if they couldn’t have been more, like Marta had secretly wanted, she could have used a friend. She could see herself on that porch swing, could feel the hominess of it. It was too bad, she thought, that she’d never get to know this place better.
Part of her knew she was stalling, taking in the sights and sounds and sense of peace before she had to go confront him. She didn’t expect Arryn to be rude or cruel, per se, but she didn’t believe he’d be all that nice to her, either. There was nothing pleasant about confronting someone, even over something benign.
Marta hiked her purse further up her shoulder and strode toward the porch. She mounted the few steps and then, before she could talk herself out of it, she raised her hand to knock on the door.
Her fist never touched wood, though, as the door swung open before she could do so much as blink.
“Marta,” Arryn said, standing before her in nothing more than a pair of basketball shorts. His muscular torso was on display, his abs taut and moving with each quick breath he took. His skin was covered in a faint sheen of sweat.
The sight made Marta’s stomach go tight in a way that was strangely wonderful.
Arryn seemed unaware of her perusal. He arched a brow. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter Four
Arryn
ARRYN HEARD A CAR DOOR and paused mid push-up.
Inwardly, his dragon growled at the thought of someone trespassing on his space. He told his inner dragon to shut up as he pushed himself upright and padded toward the window.
The car was empty, and he couldn’t see its passenger, but he vaguely recognized the vehicle. He’d seen it outside Joy’s apartment.
Marta.
The thought of seeing her again filled him with equal parts anticipation and dread. He knew he’d screwed things up, the last time they’d met. He’d let himself get defensive over the whole dragon thing—now that he was away from the situation, he knew what a jerk he’d been. Sure, she’d stumbled upon a topic he particularly despised, but it wasn’t like she’d known that.
He sighed and went to the front door, opening it automatically.
Marta was on the other side, her mouth gaping open.
He’d hoped, on some level, that she would look different than he remembered. He’d spent so much time over the past few days dwelling on how gorgeous she was that he figured she might not live up to his imagination.
Wrong. The past few days had not diminished her beauty. He could see the beautiful curves of her body, the perfect cupid’s bow of her top lip, her pale, untouched complexion with the pretty blush rising up her cheeks.
He liked being the one to make her blush. He wanted to do it again.
Stop, Arryn told himself. There wasn’t any point in thinking thoughts like that. After all, he’d been an insensitive prick to her when they’d last spoken. Girls didn’t magically fall for guys who were mean to them.
Didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the view, though—and what a view. His heart kicked up to the double speed just looking at her. How did anyone look away when she was right in front of them? It was impossible not to stare, she was so beautiful.
His inner dragon seemed to agree with that assessment. He felt his dragon stretch and s
ettle, as if looking at her calmed it in a way nothing else ever had.
“Marta,” he said before he could stop himself. “What are you doing here?”
She frowned, and he wanted to close the door and open it and start over again.
“You borrowed my book,” she said, cutting straight to the chase. “I’d like it back, please.”
Her accent was faint, but not entirely absent. It came out in the long vowels of her words and made her voice sound exotic and tantalizing. He’d never met an Eastern European girl before; that now seemed like a very great oversight.
Or maybe it wouldn’t have been the same with any other Eastern European girl.
Arryn took a step back, letting the front door swing wide so that she could step in over the threshold. He padded on light feet through the living room, past the free weights he’d been using. His bookshelf was in the corner, an old antique he’d bought at the store in Augustus. It had been the first piece of furniture he’d ever bought for himself, and he was inordinately fond of it.
“I, um. I didn’t finish it yet,” he said, plucking up the copy from the shelf and turning to find that Marta was still hovering by the open door, eying him suspiciously.
He brought it to her, watching as she reached out and snapped it up with greedy hands. She cradled the book to her chest.
Her face looked like she was torn. She avoided his eyes as she chewed on her lip. Finally she said, “Did you actually read any of it?”
“Just up until she was starting to leave the school.” He shifted on his feet. “Honestly, it’s a bit dry.”
Marta’s gaze snapped to his, piercing and deep. The look hit in in the stomach and dropped lower, where it curled into something more complicated. God, but she was beautiful. The mid-morning sunlight cut across the room and highlighted her cheekbones, making her glow ethereally.
“A bit dry?” He’d never heard anyone sound so scandalized about a book before. “Are you insane? The red room, and Helen igniting Jane’s lifelong quest to conquer her nature, and ….”
She lit up when she talked about the book, her cheeks going red with passion, and he couldn’t help it: he laughed. He’d been rude to her the last time they met, and here she was, ranting at him about the book instead of about what an ass he’d been.
It was funny, and sweet, and—Arryn felt something shift inside of him, something important. It was like the dragon he’d always told to shut up was rising to the surface, demanding more of Marta and her passion.
An indignant look went over her face, and she was out the door before he could stop her, stomping down the stairs.
“Come on,” he said, following behind. “Wait! I didn’t mean it like that…”
Marta came to an abrupt stop, her head tipping back as she examined the sky. He stopped behind her, hovering at the bottom of his front stoop.
It was so quiet.
Usually the quiet was part of the appeal of living in the middle of nowhere, but this wasn’t—natural. It wasn’t what he was used to. There wasn’t a breath of sound, no wind, no birds, no animals scampering in the tall grass. Everything was silent and still.
Arryn looked up. It had been a bright, shining morning only a moment ago. Now the sky was an ominous black, clouds swirling overhead.
He suppressed a shiver. Something felt…wrong.
“Get back inside,” Marta said, her voice flat. When she turned to look at him, however, her face was white with fear. “Now!”
She went sprinting past him, reaching out to grab his wrist and tow him back up the steps and inside the house, slamming the front door behind him. She dropped the book in her hands and let her purse fall beside it on the floor. She reached in and grabbed a piece of wood—was that a wand?
She held the wand with one hand and touched her other palm to the door, whispering fervent words with her eyes shut. He couldn’t understand what she was saying, but it sounded like Latin.
There was a strange, piercing howl. Arryn went tense at the sound, and some part of him wanted to shift, now. Danger and adrenaline always made him want to be a dragon more than a man, even if his rational mind demanded something else. Around them both, the walls began to rattle. A painting that he had only hung the day before fell off the wall and went clattering to the floor.
Marta stopped talking very suddenly, a kind of blue haze formed around them before dissipating.
“What the hell was that?” Arryn said between gritted teeth. He hadn’t lost control of his form since he was a child, but now it felt like a very real possibility. “What the hell is going on?”
Marta took a step toward him, and he stumbled backward.
“Stay back! Stay away from me! I’m—I need to calm down.”
She stopped in her tracks, her eyes flying wide. “I should have realized—I can’t believe I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The fire in his blood didn’t fully recede, but it cooled a bit. He felt the usual stranglehold he kept on his dragon come down around it, hold it in place.
“Don’t be sorry,” he managed after another moment. “It’s not your fault. I think the sudden adrenaline spike just made me lose control.”
That wasn’t the whole truth. He knew that a shifter needed to let his dragon loose every once in a while. But he hated it so much that he went too long without changing. He let himself get so pent up that when he finally did shift, it was so intense he could hardly stand it. The thought occurred to him to explain, but he dismissed it. Why would she ever understand?
“Well,” she said. She sounded quiet, calm. It was definitely a nurse’s voice, the kind of voice used on unruly patients or when dealing with someone who has had bad news. “We’re as safe as we can be, for now. I’m not sure what’s happening out there, but that was no ordinary storm we saw. It wasn’t natural, it was magical.”
An inkling rolled around Arryn’s head. He knew the answer before he asked his question, but he had to be sure. “You’re sure it was magic made?”
She nodded solemnly. “Storms can come on quick, but to go from a bright, sunny day to storm warning conditions in two minutes? Impossible. Plus—can’t you feel it? The magic in the air? It’s…like you could touch it, if you tried hard enough.” She frowned. “What word am I looking for?”
“Tangible?”
“Yes, that. The magic is practically tangible.”
“Do you think this has anything to do with the witch that attacked Felicity and Damion’s wedding? Natasha?”
Marta frowned. “I don’t know for sure, but I can feel so much anger in the air. If I had to guess, I would say it was this Natasha woman. Her magic is full of rage. Can you feel how strange it is?”
Arryn closed his eyes and tried to feel the aftereffects of any magic. Shifters couldn’t wield power like witches and warlocks, but that didn’t mean they were unaware of it. It took a special kind of magic of their own in order to go to their second forms.
“I did a protection spell on the house. Felicity taught it to me after her wedding was attacked, just in case that evil witch came after Joy again.” Marta held up her wand, a slim line of wood in her hand. “I am not as strong as Felicity—she doesn’t even need to channel her magic through anything. Still, I think this should hold for a while.”
Thank God for this levelheaded girl and her practical knowledge. If he’d been alone, Arryn would have turned and then—what? He was strong and fast and agile in his dragon form, but he had also never made it a habit of practicing as his brother’s had. He’d never wanted to be a dragon.
Now, he realized that in doing so, he may have lost this fight. How many others would he lose in the future for the same reason?
A bout of wind hit the walls of the cabin again, making them quake, but nothing fell down. Nothing touched them. They were as safe as they could be.
“Thank you, Marta,” Arryn said. He was in awe of her, of this capable, beautiful girl who had recognized what was happening before he did and
who had saved them both.
She went a pretty pink again. He loved that color on her.
“It was nothing,” she said.
But that wasn’t true. He got the feeling Marta didn’t particularly like him; she thought he was too serious, too easily offended. And that had not stopped her from doing what was right.
He wanted her to think more of him, he realized. He had to show her his true self. He couldn’t hold back from her; she deserved better than that from him.
Holding out his hand, he said, “Can we start over?”
Marta’s eyes darted from his hand to his face. “You mean … I shake your hand and we pretend we’re meeting for the first time?”
“Yes.”
Marta gazed up at him, her wide blue eyes serious. Slowly, she placed her hand in his. The touch of her skin, so soft and pale, against his own sent shivers up his arm. From the way her back went straight, it seemed like she felt it, too.
This thing he was feeling between them—what if she was feeling it, too?
Chapter Five
Marta
MARTA CLASPED HER HANDS BEHIND her back, trying to ignore the tingling of her palm. She’d never felt anything like that when a man had touched her before.
Maybe there’s a reason for that, some snarky inner voice said. Marta ignored it. It sounded like her mother, scolding her for being stupid.
The shocks were still going up and down her arm, and her heart was beating too fast in her chest. There was a feeling of certainty growing inside of her that Arryn was …
She couldn’t even think the words. Could there have been worse timing? They were locked inside the house by an evil witch she knew next to nothing about. Now was not the time for her to realize she’d found her soul mate!
The magic she had felt outside still had her on edge; that was probably why she felt so strange. It wasn’t the prospect of being locked in a cabin with an incredibly attractive dragon shifter. Who happened to be shirtless. And who she was somewhat sure she was destined to be with. It was that when she had stepped outside, she had felt a magical signature that seemed to weigh her down with its hatred.
