by Lizzy Ford
“This guy has been a bitch to track, but I think we finally got him,” replied the voice of Dillon via the small bud in her ear. Dillon’s tone was always clipped and irritated, a reminder that he was more than a coworker – he was also her ex-boyfriend.
“You mean I finally got him,” she replied.
A dragon slayer, Skylar was tracking one of the most elusive shifters they’d ever met. It meant he was old. Experienced. Not likely to go down easy, which was why she had a team of two more shifter slayers waiting in the parking lot. The three of them could handle anything. She wore tight leather pants and a snug, soft t-shirt that clung to her body in all the right places. Her steel-toed boots would crack a skull and the slender, golden lasso in her pocket would tame even the strongest dragon.
If she got it over his head, of course. That’s usually where slayers got into trouble, because it wasn’t exactly easy to lasso someone discreetly, especially if they knew what was coming at them.
An image popped into her thoughts, one that made her pause.
A dark-haired woman sat beside her at a table in a large kitchen. Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of the window over the sink, and music played softly somewhere in the house.
The woman beside her was gorgeous with blue eyes and a smile that filled Skylar with warmth.
“We are the dragons’ protectors,” the woman said.
“They’re so big, mama! How do I protect them?” Skylar heard herself respond. She was no more than six or seven at the time.
“You only have to protect one. You’ll get your very own dragon.”
“Woooooow. When?”
“When the time is right. You must learn how to guard them from harm, first.”
“I want to learn now!” Skylar leapt out of her seat. “I want my dragon! Where is he?”
“You’ll know him when you meet him, Sky.”
“Yo, Sky. You’re standing there like an idiot.” Dillon sounded amused.
Skylar blinked, unable to understand the strange vision. The dreams were becoming more vivid, more like coherent memories and less like disjointed nightmares. It was too real to be a dream, but her mother had died before she turned a year old. And what was this business about protecting dragons? She was a slayer!
“Sorry. Just uh … whatever,” she said, embarrassed. It wasn’t the first strange memory she’d experienced. The woman – her mother? – had been in her dreams for three days straight.
Forcing herself to refocus, Skylar wove carefully through the row of motorcycles lining the parking lot in front of the bar. Located off the highway, the bar was convenient for those travelling, but a potential nightmare if something went wrong. The nearest town was twenty minutes down the highway, which meant if she got shredded by dragon talons, she’d be dead before she made it to a hospital.
Assuming the dragon is satisfied with just shredding me, she added silently. Skilled and lethal, she knew the difference between life and death was often discipline and instinct. She’d been trained how to try to calm down a dragon, but sometimes, there was just no reasoning with a furious fire breather.
“Bring him in. If you can’t – ”
“ – slay him,” she finished. It was the dragon slayer’s motto, one of the few traditions that survived the thousands of years of the cat and mouse games the shifters and their slayers had been playing. “Although technically, no one has had to kill a shifter in like, a hundred years. Wish me luck.”
“I wish you skill,” Dillon replied, amused. “If any of us had luck, we wouldn’t be doing this shit. Keep him calm and talking so he can’t shift.”
“Amen, brother,” she muttered. “Going in.”
With a deep breath, Skylar stepped into the smoky, hot bar. She looked over the people quickly enough to get a feel for where he might be but not long enough to draw attention. Rough riders were squeezed around tables, hovered over pool tables and stationed at the bar. The music was louder than their combined voices. While most of the tables were full, it wasn’t as crowded as she expected from the number of bikes out front. There was room to maneuver if she had to fight.
Her instincts – the same that led them to this bar after years of searching – tugged her in one direction, towards a relatively quiet corner. She didn’t let her gaze linger longer than to discern that there were four men at the table. Walking to the bar, Skylar tried to engage her senses, the ones inherited by the dragon slayers in her family, to sense which exactly he was.
“I’m standing right here and I still can’t pick him up consistently,” she said, ducking her head to keep those around her from noticing she was talking. “I’m getting all kinds of weird vibes, though.”
“We got a partial description. Blond-ish brown hair.”
“Hopefully he’s the only blondish-brown haired guy here.” She leaned against the counter as the bartender approached. “Guinness.”
“Pint or half-pint?” He looked her over skeptically.
“Pint. I can hang,” she said and winked.
“If you say so.”
She watched him tilt the glass and pour then place the beer on the counter, where it’d sit for five minutes until the air bubbles had settled near the top. Skylar watched the room behind her through the mirror lining the back of the bar area, her eyes straying from the rows of high end liquor to the reflection of the men in the far corner where she felt the slightest tingling of intuition.
“Narrowed it down,” she said into the microphone. “I think.”
“Alone?”
“With friends.”
“He know you’re there?”
“Shit, Dillon,” she returned. “I’m not even certain which one he is. But no, don’t think any of them have looked my way.” Unlike the furry grizzly bear at the table beside them.
The dark-haired man was more beard than face and staring straight at her.
“Here ya go,” the bartender put the drink on the bar before her.
She handed him a ten and took a sip, enjoying the rich flavor for a moment before turning to face the room. With her back against the counter, she noticed for the first time that the bar wasn’t scary like she first thought. The clientele looked rough, but the bar itself was well cared for.
Rather than take comfort in the contradiction of a nice biker bar, it made her uneasy.
Just one more sign this dragon is just … weird.
The latest to try to track the elusive bigfoot of the dragon world, she and her team had pooled their resources for a chance at doing what no one else in the past thousand years had been able to: capture the mythical Teal Dragon, named for the color of wings he was thought to possess. At a thousand years old, he was probably the largest dragon ever to exist as well.
Which meant his talons would be the size of her hand at least.
She sipped her beer, eyes settling on the corner where she could almost sense someone.
Just my luck. Three of them have blond hair.
“You, um, got any more info on what he looks like?” she whispered between sips.
“Tall.”
“Never mind. I’ll figure it out.”
“Maybe if you get close enough, you’ll be able to sense him.”
“Or get my heat bitten off.”
“Either way, right?”
The only female among the three, she was the natural choice for flushing a male dragon shifter out of a bar. There were moments when she didn’t think Dillon was involved for the sake of helping the team bring in the elusive dragon but for bringing in the Teal Dragon on his own. Which meant he wouldn’t mourn her, if she did get her head taken off in the process, especially after how hard she dumped him a month before.
“I am the only dragon slayer here,” she reminded him. “You wouldn’t get near him if my head gets taken off.”
“I’ll take my chances,” came the arch response.
She rolled her eyes.
Skylar debated for a moment then decided to take the long route to the restro
oms at the back of the bar. She pulled out her phone and pretended to be texting, tilting the glass of beer at an angle where it’d slosh over the rim if she bumped someone. Or tripped. Whichever she decided to do to get to her target.
Her concern grew as she approached the four in the corner. To make it appear that she was walking a natural route, she’d have to veer before reaching their table, but she couldn’t yet tell which was the one she needed to spill beer on.
If anything, all of them were radiating some small source of shifter magic, old enough to be too faint to identify whose was whose, yet present nonetheless. Like a small burst of scent from an air freshener if she stood in just the right place to smell it.
“You’re new here.”
The dark-haired man who had been staring at her interrupted her attempt to concentrate.
“Just passing through,” she replied.
“You alone?”
“Look, I’m not interested okay?” she snapped, facing him. “So, just … back …off.”
The man had gotten out of his chair at her words and stood close to seven feet tall. He was huge, the bulges of his biceps like small bags of potatoes and the unfriendly glint in his dark eyes borderline animalistic.
Skylar looked up, startled by his size. It took her a moment to realize that he, too, was radiating the subtle magic of a shifter.
Five of them? What the hell is this place?
The mountain of a man snatched her phone first then the choker at her neck, crushing them in hands as big as her head. He grabbed her arm and yanked her close, flipping the earpiece out of her ear. His grip on her arm hurt, and she sensed now was not the time for heroics. He was glowering and angry. It was the time for talking her way out of here.
“Um, you spilled my beer,” she managed in a light tone, testing his viselike grip on her arm.
“You know what I do to scum of the earth like you?” he snarled.
“Down, boy. We’re expecting her.” The low, sexy growl of the newcomer behind her was accompanied by an arm sliding around her waist and the warmth of a hard, male form at her back.
She elbowed him back instinctively.
“Trust me. I’m the lesser of two evils.” His whisper tickled her ear and sent shivers down her spine.
Caught between him and the angry mountain of a man, Skylar decided to take her chances with the man she couldn’t see. She nodded once.
He pulled her into his strong body, the grip around her firm and possessive. He wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, drawing her fully against him. The top of her head rested just below his chin, and she could judge his impressive width and size by the body pressed against her. Her shoulders fit inside his perfectly, and she glanced down to see the roped forearms of the arms around her.
The angry man who was more beard than human released her slowly, eyeing the stranger holding her.
“We don’t welcome her kind here,” he said.
“She was invited.” As he spoke, the man behind her eased back a step, maneuvering her body with him.
Skylar tried not to let her confusion show as the angry man studied her once more. Finally, he stepped away and resumed his seat, albeit unhappily, as if he was looking forward to eating her this night.
“You know you’re in trouble, right?” the man behind her asked without releasing her.
“I, um, thought we could … talk,” she said, heart racing from more than fear. How did he know who she was? What did he plan on doing with her, now that she had no chance of calling for backup and was wrapped in his thick arms?
“You were supposed to bring it with you. It better be in your pocket.”
Skylar racked her brain, unable to understand what he was talking about.
“Sure,” she said slowly. “It totally is.”
“Good.”
“Can you let me go?” She made an attempt to move away but was held in place. She was incapacitated and couldn’t reach the lasso, let alone the emergency beacon in her shoe.
Is he even the right guy? Her senses told her nothing.
“When you tell me where it is.”
“Or …” she started, thoughts racing. “We could just talk this out.”
“Problem, Chace?” the mountain of a man asked, eyeing her.
“Not sure. Do we have a problem?” Chace asked her casually.
Shit. Skylar tested his grip again. It was unyielding.
“Maybe …” she pushed at one arm unsuccessfully “… we can just … work things out …”
The huge man rose again. She froze then twisted in Chace’s grip. He loosened it enough for her to turn then tightened it instantly when she faced him, trapping her against his body.
For a moment, Skylar didn’t speak, not expecting to find the man who held her to be quite so stunning. Chiseled jaw and cheekbones, large, intelligent eyes the color of the ocean’s depths, perfect, full lips, long dishwater blond hair held loosely in a band at the base of his neck … he resembled a Viking god, at once too perfect to be real and yet, she was too aware of being pressed against the length of his hot, strong body.
Thirty three percent chance I got the right blond guy.
“… in private,” she finished, eyes drawn to his sculpted lips. Unsettled, she was nonetheless certain she stood a better chance with him alone than with the huge man waiting for a chance to crush her head the way he did her phone. It was hard not to be aware of the body pressed to hers or the fact that one hand was resting just below the small of her back, an erotic pressure point.
Chace was studying her closely, and she held her breath, hoping that whoever he thought she was, it wasn’t bad enough to turn her over to the angry shifter behind her.
“Just us,” she added, lowering her voice for his ears only. “I’ll make it worth your time.” Unable to free her hands to touch his face, she stood up on her tiptoes instead, touching her lips to his.
Strange fire shot through her, stirring her blood and making her shudder. More images from her dream popped into her mind, distracting her momentarily, despite her desire.
“You okay?” Chace asked.
His attention was on her, and he held her gaze, the dark blue depths of his eyes unwavering. For a moment, she thought she’d pissed him off worse. He was hard to read, though he’d gone still when she kissed him.
“Yeah,” she said breathlessly.
His eyes dropped to her lips, and he lowered his head, kissing her. The light pressure of his lips lingered longer than her peck, and instinctively, she responded to him. His lips were warm and soft, and she didn’t recall a boyfriend whose kiss she’d experienced in such detail. A kiss was a kiss.
From Chace, though, it was something more – a spark of chemistry she wasn’t expecting. She found herself leaning into him at the combination of his hard body, the arms wrapped around her, and the gentle yet insistent pressure of his lips.
He withdrew long before she was ready, and raised his head.
“Okay. You win. We’ll do this in private,” he said, the timbre of his voice lowered after the kiss. “But if you think I’m giving you a chance to run …”
“I won’t,” she replied, recovering her senses. “Scout’s honor.”
“Girl scouts don’t come to biker bars.” Without awaiting her response, he released her and stooped, tossing her over one shoulder.
“Is this … necessary?” she grunted, face red from the rush of blood to her head but also from the knowledge her ass was stuck in the air.
“Later,” he said to the three at the table, who wore smirks in various stages of amusement.
Never coming back here, even if everyone in this bar is a shifter!
She still didn’t know if Chace was the one she sought. Frustrated and uncomfortably turned on after the brief kiss, Skylar hung over his shoulder like a laundry bag and waited, trying to keep track of where they went.
It wasn’t far – through a door into the cool night and into a small building behind the bar, one she hadn’t noti
ced when they surveyed the bar area earlier in the day. He locked the door upon entering then set her down without completely releasing her.
Chace steadied her then left one hand on her hip, keeping her close to him.
Skylar glanced around, surprised to see the comfortable, one-bedroom cabin. A small wood stove was in one corner, a kitchenette in another, and a king size bed taking up the space opposite the cozy living room area. The cabin was neat and pleasant, the wooden floors covered with thick, colorful rugs and the walls bare.
This place wasn’t here when we were doing surveillance earlier. How did a cabin just magically appear out of thin air?
“You wanted to talk. Talk.” His words drew her focus back to her danger.
Skylar tried to brush his hands off her. He responded by closing the distance between them, one arm going around her to draw her into his body once more. Distracted by the feel of the handsome stranger, she drew a deep breath.
“Talk. Not touch,” she said, pushing at him.
“You kissed me first.” He pulled her back against him.
“I didn’t really want my head crushed by gigantor in there,” she said.
“Start talking.”
Skylar gazed up at him, aware she had no idea what it was he wanted from her. How long would she need to stall him for the guys to come rescue her?
He leaned past her towards the door.
“No!” she exclaimed, shifting between him and the door. “Why talk when we can …” her eyes went to his lips again. After only a moment’s hesitation, she took his cheeks in her hands and kissed him again.
Chace froze, as if undecided.
Skylar nibbled on his lower lip then deepened the kiss, parting her lips in a silent invitation.
His arms both wrapped around her, and his hot tongue darted into her mouth. She dwelled on the taste of him, marveling at the feel of his plush lips and the heat of his velvety mouth.
What started out as a means of distracting him grew into something else, as desire bloomed within her, and fire raced through her body. Skylar wrapped her arms around his neck, surprised at how easy it was to lower her guard for this stranger. Being in his arms felt comfortable. Natural. Even when he’d held her in the bar, she hadn’t felt threatened by his strength or the sexy purr he used to address her.
