Mated to the Dragon

by Kayla Wolf

  Stay out of it, Lisa, you nosy parker. There's absolutely nothing to gain and a whole lot to lose by getting involved, she warned herself, trying to resist the urge to try and make out what they were saying. They seemed to have walked up the alleyway then turned the corner to the little secluded section around the back, where the bins were. She used to sneak out there for a cigarette, back before she'd had an office and was doing a huge amount of her online work on her laptop at this cafe. She'd since stopped smoking and found her nice little office space, and she didn't miss that stinky little corner of the city, that was for sure.

  The voices had stopped, but as much as she tried to focus on her phone and not get involved, she could hear the flat, hard sounds of flesh hitting flesh. It seemed that discussions had broken down after all. Very unfortunate. Stay out of it, Lisa, unless you want to get beaten up as well. No risking any facial injuries, not now. A few of her clients were engaged (she might be able to feature those on her 'success stories' page), she'd been invited to their wedding, and she didn't want to be sporting a black eye for the wedding pictures, thank you very much.

  Lisa gritted her teeth as she heard an unmistakable cry of pain. She'd never been much good at self-restraint. One hand slipped into the inside pocket of her jacket, and she nodded to herself, resolute – the voice of reason in the back of her head wailing in defeat. Casually, with the sort of energy that suggested she was allowed in any staff-only area on the planet, Lisa got up and walked through the screen door she knew led to the alley.

  There were only two of them left. One she recognized as the guy who'd nearly knocked her phone out of her hand, except he had a wild shock of green hair – twin brother, perhaps? The other she couldn't see very well – he was curled up on the ground and groaning. The white shirt he was wearing was patterned with red, and she realized with a cold shock that it was blood. A lot of blood. As she watched, he coughed weakly, and she saw more blood – fresh and bright – run from his mouth.

  “Shit,” she breathed. Her phone was still in her hand, and automatically she looked down at it to dial 911. The green-haired man was suddenly right in her face, close enough that she could feel his breath hot on her face. His eyes were silver. Not gray, or that pale shade of blue – but actually, honest-to-God silver. She'd be fascinated if she hadn't been so worried about the man on the ground bleeding to death before her eyes. This was possibly the most New York thing that had ever happened to her, a part of her mind thought, remotely. Another rather more concerned part pointed out that what had happened to the man on the ground may very well be about to happen to her if she didn't play her cards right.

  “He's in really bad shape,” she said to the green-haired man who was staring her down, trying to keep her voice soothing but serious. She held her phone up so he could see the screen. “Let me call an ambulance.”

  “No way, girl. Get outta here.”

  She didn't much like that, but she suppressed the flare of irritation at being called 'girl.' You'd think that approaching thirty the least the world could do would be to stop calling you a girl. “You've clearly made your point. Let me call someone to help him. Not cops,” she added. “Just an ambulance.”

  “What part of 'get outta here' don't you get?” the man snarled and struck her hand hard enough to send her phone to the ground, where he stomped on it hard enough to shatter it completely. Then he grinned and reached out to grab her.

  Several things happened at once. The man on the ground groaned and struggled to rise from his prone position. Lisa whipped her other hand out of her jacket, aiming it at the green-haired man's silver eyes. And her would-be assailant screamed, reeling backwards as though he'd been stabbed in the eyes. It probably felt like that, anyway. The small can she held confidently in one hand was a semi-joking annual gift from her mother – pepper spray. She carried it more as a reminder of her mother than for self-defense, and this was the first time she'd ever used it – but God, if this was how effective it was, she shouldn't have been so worried about all those late-night trips to the store or home from work after putting in overtime. The green-haired man had stumbled away from her and was frantically clawing at his face, screaming as though it was on fire.

  Served him right. She looked down with dismay at her shattered phone – the screen was completely destroyed, and the various mechanical parts from its insides were scattered across the alleyway. Definitely not something anyone was going to be able to fix.

  “Big mistake, bitch,” the green haired man spat, before turning tail and fleeing the alleyway. Lisa replaced the can of pepper spray in her jacket, a flare of apprehension in her chest. She wasn't entirely sure pepper spray was legal here. But he didn't seem like the kind of guy who was likely to call the police. Not when he'd just been kicking the shit out of someone. And something about the piercings, the leather jacket, the vibrant hairdo, and the overall mean demeanor suggested to her that he had bigger problems with the police than he did with the guy he'd been beating up with his pals.

  Speaking of which... Lisa moved to the prone man's side. He was still struggling to rise and had scraped himself more or less into a sitting position – but he didn't look good. His face was badly bruised, both eyes swelling – he was going to have a pair of magnificent black eyes in a day or so if he even made it that far. Blood was still running freely down his chin, whether from an internal injury or broken teeth (or both), Lisa couldn't tell. His nose looked broken, and there was blood beginning to trickle from one nostril there, too. He had an arm cupped around his torso as though trying to hold his ribs in place, and she could tell from the shallow, desperate breaths he was taking that there were at least one or two breakages there – thankfully the breath wasn't wheezing, which meant neither lung was punctured. For now.

  That was about the end of Lisa's expertise when it came to first aid. Her dad had been an ambulance driver for decades and would almost certainly have known better, but her dad was probably on the road to the Rocky Mountains right now on the other side of the country without a care in the world. And it wasn't like she could call him, she thought with some frustration, glancing back at the crumpled wreckage of her phone.

  She was certain the guy had more serious internal injuries beneath even the dramatic surface-level wounds – there was a lot that could go wrong in the all-too-fragile human body. But the fact that he was moving meant that they hadn't broken his back, so that was a good start. Aside from the spine, most things would heal, given the right support and attention. She dropped to a crouch and put a hand on his shoulder – he stared up at her with eyes that she noticed with a start were a bright shade of gold. You didn't often see that – not light brown or hazel, but true, proper gold. It stood in strange contrast to the blood that was beginning to creep down his forehead from a wound no doubt somewhere on his scalp, under a mop of dark, lustrous hair.

  “They really did a number on you, huh?” she asked, keeping her voice as calm and level as she could. She knew from her dad that a big killer was shock – if people started to panic about the injuries they'd sustained, they were a lot more likely to suffer than those who stayed calm. A good way to make that happen was to talk as though this kind of thing happened every day. Her dad was absolutely amazing at it. As a little girl, she'd fallen off the tire swing in their back yard and dislocated her shoulder on the landing. It had hurt like absolute hell, and she'd screamed for her dad – who had sauntered down from the porch as though they had all the time in the world and joked with her about competing in the Olympic Games of tire swing acrobatics as he'd ever so gently assessed the situation. Then he'd popped her shoulder back in as easy as popping the lid off a beer. She barely even cried – hardly noticed the pain of the shoulder popping back in because her dad seemed so calm. Much later, he'd admitted that it had taken every single scrap of willpower he had not to collapse in a heap at seeing his little girl so badly hurt. Sometimes being strong was an act you put on.

  So she smiled at this stranger, squeezed his shoulder r
eassuringly as he stared at her.

  “Got a phone on you?”

  He shook his head, then winced and raised a hand to his neck.

  “Alright. Tell you what. You stay here, alright? You're all good, no need to worry – and no need to move any further than you are. Just hang on for a second, I'm gonna duck inside and borrow a phone from someone in the cafe, call an ambulance and get you all sorted.”

  “No.” The man's voice rasped, strained and broken, but authoritative.

  “No to leaving you alone? We just met, buddy, no need to get clingy —”

  “No ambulance. I'll be fine.”

  Chapter 5 – Alexander

  He must have lost consciousness for at least a little while – or perhaps simply floated above what was going on in the real world – but he was brought back sharply by the sound of Rake's voice. He was talking to someone. Oh, no. A civilian had emerged from the coffee shop – he could just see her beyond Rake when he forced his eyes open. She had a rectangle in her hand that he figured out with some difficulty must have been a phone – he'd seen humans speaking into them everywhere he'd been. Was she threatening to call for help? Rake would kill her. He knew how these creatures operated – they'd rather leave no witnesses alive than to allow the chance of information passing to their enemies. No doubt there was an entire opera's worth of political intrigue lurking behind the scenes of this sordid little gang's dominion over New York City. Alexander steeled himself. He had to help this innocent person. She was only trying to help – and she had no idea what she was getting into. If he hadn't been able to overcome the shifters, what hope did she have?

  The pain was immense, but he gritted his teeth and powered through it (a tooth or two was missing, he noticed remotely. Not ideal.) The estimation of ribs broken definitely went up a rib or two – if he hadn't broken at least half a dozen, he'd be extremely surprised. There was something deeply wrong inside his shoulder, too – it made him double over and grunt after he'd struggled to a kneeling position, barely managing. His arm wasn't moving the way it had been earlier, that was for sure. Something very wrong in there. Dislocated? These apes had developed so poorly from their original ancestors that their shoulder joints were still capable of being dislocated. Popped out of place, like a poorly made piece of furniture. The disgust he felt for his human form had not been improved by this little foray into blunt force trauma.

  The girl. He had to save the girl. He could complain about his human body later – first, he needed to ensure that hers wasn't torn into tiny pieces by the shifter, who had dashed her phone from her hand and destroyed it, who was raising his arm to strike her, who was yelping and whimpering in pain as he —

  What?

  Rake was shrieking in pain, recoiling from the woman as though she'd hurt him badly – hurt him worse than Alexander had managed to hurt any of the three who'd jumped him. Impossible. Surely. She was a human. Did she have a weapon stashed in her phone, somehow? He tried to blink the blood out of his eyes and scrutinize her – she had taken a few steps after Rake, something small and cylindrical in her hand. An acrid scent reached his nostrils and made his eyes water a little – he blinked hard and felt fresh blood start the journey down his forehead. Wonderful.

  And then, miraculously, Rake fled the alley. No doubt he was heading off to fetch his buddies, Alexander thought with dismay. He'd need to get out of here as soon as possible. Hard to travel inconspicuously, looking as bad as he did. And here was the woman, all concern, offering to call an ambulance for him. He knew about ambulances – he'd seen quite a few, the night before. But medical attention would be very, very bad.

  “You're fine?” the woman said disbelievingly, the mask of calm she'd been wearing to help soothe him slipping a little. “You're fine. You, right now, are fine. That's what you're telling me, through a mouth missing teeth, from the ground because you're too badly hurt to stand up.”

  “I will be fine,” he updated his story, trying to seem more dignified than he felt. “I will mend quickly. Thank you. For banishing the pest. Now I will be on my way.” He hoped very, very sincerely that his legs were in more or less working order. Slowly, painfully, he began the work of gathering them beneath him. It seemed very, very difficult to move without jarring his ribs. That was certainly a design flaw.

  “On your way? Dude, you look a few pints of blood away from the morgue. Come on. You don't seriously expect me to just let you walk out of this alleyway?”

  “Let me?” He narrowed his eyes at her, feet finally gathered beneath him – good news there, his legs didn't seem broken. “Let me? Mind your tongue.” He rose to his feet with a supreme show of strength, managing to hold his balance fairly well – only a couple of minor staggers. The woman stepped to his side before he could stop her, offering her shoulder for him to lean on.

  “You can't even stand up,” she said irritably.

  “I am standing up,” he objected, his head pounding dizzily. Her shoulders were halfway up his chest and very difficult to balance on. “You are too short to aid me. Stand aside.”

  “Rude. I'm not leaving you here to die, you madman.”

  “I appreciate that you are trying to help,” Alexander said, teeth gritted, “but believe me when I tell you that a hospital would only be the start of my woes.”

  The woman ground her teeth – an unpleasant sound. He tried to remove his arm from her shoulder, but the world swayed alarmingly, and he replaced it. Just for the time being. Until he got his balance, that was – then he would set off by himself.

  “So – no hospital, okay. But where are you going to go? Do you know someone who can set bones? Because your shoulder looks pretty bad.”

  He nodded – felt a spasm of pain as he moved his neck and caught his breath hard, which sent pain splintering through his ribs again. The woman made an alarmed sound as more of his weight bore down on her, and he gritted his teeth. No, he didn't know anyone who knew how to set bones. He knew nobody at all in this city – just himself, and the three shifters he'd just met, all of whom were probably on their way here to kill him with their leader. This was a bad place to be. But the hospital would be worse, of that he was certain. The only person who had expressed any interest in helping him, in preserving his wellbeing, was this woman, panting a little now as she struggled to keep him upright.

  “I have gotten blood all over your clothes,” he said softly, dismayed by this realization. She looked up at him blankly.

  “Is that really what you're worried about right now?”

  “I just need to lie down,” he admitted, feeling like a fool for telling this near-stranger about his weakness – but what choice did he have? He needed a quiet space to heal. He certainly couldn't stay in this alley. That would be certain death, once Jax and his shifters returned to claim their victory. And even if this woman was also an enemy, at least there was also a chance that she wasn't. He'd just have to take that chance.

  “No shit you do,” the woman was saying, the impatience and confusion almost palpable in her voice. He imagined that this wasn't how the script usually went – the poor woman had probably expected to summon the medics. He hated to ask more of her. But...

  “What is your name, woman?” he asked, attempting to sound as gallant as possible. The way her eyes narrowed suggested that he hadn't done especially well.

  “Definitely not 'woman,' that's for sure.”

  “I am sorry. What is your name, my lady?”

  “Still weird, but better, I guess. It's Lisa.”

  “My name is Alexander,” he said solemnly, deciding against bowing on the grounds that he may very well pass out if he tried. “Lisa. You have done me a great service here today. Thank you.”

  “If you think I'm leaving you to bleed to death in this alley you're mistaken, Alexander.”

  “Do you have a home?”

  “Yes. I do.” Her eyes widened. The effect was almost comical – not that Alexander wanted to risk laughing with as many broken ribs as he had. “You don't mean
—”

  “Would you bring me there? Just for a few hours, until I am strong enough to leave. I will not bleed on your things, I promise.”

  The woman – Lisa – hesitated. He could see how conflicted she was. He supposed he didn't make an especially appealing prospect as a houseguest, covered in blood as he was, and attempted to recover some of his wits to speak in his defense.

  “You are welcome to search me. I am completely unarmed. And you can see for yourself that I am in no fit state to harm you. Quite the opposite. I am entirely at your mercy. Please, Lady Lisa – you would be saving my life.” He could see that she was beginning to give in to his entreaty. It felt very humbling to beg – ignoble, somehow – but for some reason, he felt that he could trust this woman, that she would be an ally worth having. Not anyone would have stayed after they'd seen the state he was in, that was for sure. A brave woman, and a strong one. “I will make it up to you.”

  “I can't believe I'm actually – okay. Just for a few hours,” she warned. “And I'm going to call my dad and ask him about what's going on with you, and if he says you need a doctor, I'm getting you a doctor, alright?”

  A doctor? Not exactly high odds that a human doctor would be a shifter – they tended to stick to jobs with less institutional scrutiny when they held them down at all. And with any luck, it wouldn't come to that. At any rate, the terms were probably the best he was going to get – he was miraculously lucky to have even received this much aid. Alexander inclined his head. More blood dripped from his face onto his shirt. “This is acceptable. Thank you, Lady Lisa.”

  “Alright, you don't have to call me that.” She seemed uncomfortable – then her eyes widened again in dismay. “Shit, my phone. How am I going to get you there? I can't call a cab or an Uber or anything without —”

  “I can walk.” He took an experimental step, wincing at the pain that shot through his abdomen – Lisa supported his weight and looped a careful arm around his waist as he took a second step. “Do you live far away from here?”