by Leela Ash
“Sure! I mean, uh, yes. I do. I will. Or… whatever.”
Laughter erupted around them and the applause rose once more. Grinning in triumph, Daven slipped the ring onto her finger.
“That is one impressive rock,” she had to admit.
“Only the best for you!” He sank into his chair, nodding thanks to his admirers. “You had me worried there for a minute.”
“You surprised me.” She twisted her hand back and forth in the candlelight. Half delighted, half embarrassed by the size of the diamond. This was not a subtle ring!
“Sorry about that. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
Huh. She hadn’t.
Not that Bree wanted to confess that.
“I thought we could aim for an October wedding,” he continued.
Four months from now? “That’s a little fast, isn’t it?”
Daven shrugged. “Shouldn’t be a problem. My secretary can whip a party together in a month. Plus, I’ve already drawn up a suggestion for the pre-nups.”
Yeah, nothing said ‘love’ like a prenuptial agreement. Now, she did take a big gulp of her drink. Still, she couldn’t blame him. No matter what people said, marriage wasn’t really ‘till death do us part.’ It was more like, ‘till boredom do us overtake.’
Yet, Bree remained unsettled. “A lot of people’s event calendars will already be filled out, though. And October’s kind of an off season. The summer residents are gone, and the skiers haven’t arrived yet.”
“Hmm. Good points,” he admitted. “What about December? New Year’s Eve, maybe?”
“Sure. We can steal the crowds away from the resorts.”
He grinned at the challenge in her words and raised his whiskey to salute her. “New Year’s it is, then.”
“New Year’s!” At least that bought her a couple more months.
Bree tapped her glass against Daven’s and then downed the rest of her drink in one swallow.
This far north, the summer sun set late. Bree leaned her forehead against her Jaguar’s steering wheel and cursed herself for a fool.
I’m drunk. Not falling down drunk, maybe, but bad enough to rack up a hell of a ticket if I got pulled over.
Why had she driven home? Why take that risk? She should have switched to water and stayed at Lafferty’s for another hour or two.
With Daven and her agency.
Instead, she’d fled fifteen minutes after his proposal. The restaurant felt stuffy, close… and she needed to be alone.
Here. At home.
She loved this place. A luxurious log ‘cabin’, small by Jackson standards, surrounded by mountain meadows and patches of old pines. The obnoxious Mr. Nielsen, her only neighbor, was hidden behind an acre of trees.
Home at last, routine took her, and she found herself grabbing a bottle of wine to finish the evening, as she always did. Tonight, she put it back on the rack. More alcohol wouldn’t clear her thoughts.
What she needed was the pool.
Her own personal retreat, the pool was a scrap of sanctuary from the world’s cares. The little spring-fed pond had persuaded her to buy this place despite the fact that the house didn’t have a good view of the Tetons.
Even in the evening gloom, her feet found the path easily. It was a trail of her own making, worn by her steps alone. Into the pines behind the house. Up a small hill and down the other side. Then straight through the cathedral-like arches of the grand Ponderosa pines until she reached the golden meadows along the edge of Rainey’s Creek.
There, nestled among the wild grasses, lay a tiny pool, surrounded by worn stones and tall grass. Her secret spot. Fed by a strong artesian spring, its waters bubbled constantly. Clear and sparkling, they tasted almost sweet, as if eternal summer dwelled within the pool. A silver thread of glittering water wove through the grass, tying the pool to the creek.
Bree had never told anyone about this place. Never mentioned that when she sat there, her feet cooling in its crystal waters, all worries and cares vanished. Her mind became clear, sharp as a knife, and there was no problem she couldn’t solve.
She still couldn’t explain how she’d found the place. It wasn’t on maps of the property. Neither the realtor nor its former owner had mentioned it. But the first time she set eyes on the woods, she’d been sure something important lurked in its depths. She’d left the realtor (still babbling about how, really, the lack of a Teton view wasn’t that big of a downside) and followed her instincts. Along the route that would, in three years, become a path. And as soon as she saw the pool and its mysterious ‘boiling’ waters, she was sold. She paid full asking price for the property and never regretted it.
Now, once more, she traced the path to her sanctum, hoping it could work its charm on today’s baffling events.
This time, however, when she stepped out of the woods, she wasn’t alone.
A Dragon towered over her pool.
Chapter 2
As he limped up the slow rise, one emotion dominated Finn Donnelly’s thoughts.
Relief.
Thank God my Flight can’t see me now.
For Heaven’s sake, he hadn’t even gone a quarter of a mile! Up a slope that he couldn’t even call a hill. Yet, already, a dull soreness blossomed in his hip. A nagging ache that throbbed into true pain without warning.
Once more, he cursed the Witch Hare who’d stabbed him. Finn was a Dragon, the greatest warrior of the First Flight. There was no Shifter he wouldn’t face gladly.
Except Witch Hares, damn them and their magic. Their sneaky, treacherous poisons and curses – one of the few things in this world that could actually harm a Dragon like him.
She was dead now, she and a Nest of Rats that served her. They’d been kidnapping Shifter children, forcing their families to serve the vile Fangs of Apophis. He’d rescued a dozen kids, all home with their parents now. But before he put that Hare down, she left him one last gift. A three-inch scar on his left side that would not fully heal. Four months later, a walk in the woods left him limping.
It wasn’t going to stop him, though. He had a job to do. Not a particularly interesting one, but a job was a job.
He needed to find a Wellspring.
Wellsprings were doorways between the worlds, gates that allowed the magical energies of the Other Side to flow freely. For centuries, they’d been closed, and the world grew cold and mundane. Then, three years ago, one awakened. Since then, his Flight had learned that love was the key to the Wellsprings. Left alone, they slept, dormant. Tended by a loving couple – by a Dragon and his Mate – they bloomed like desert flowers in the rain.
Now, the Dragons of his Flight warded a handful of Wellsprings, tiny beacons of hope in a tired world. His Alpha, Brandon Lorde, sent Finn here in hopes of finding another that could be fanned back to life by love’s touch.
Somebody else’s love, not his. He didn’t have a Mate and didn’t want one.
What he did have was the phone number of a Wolf pack in Montana. Once he found the Wellspring and acquired the land, he’d give them a call and turn it over to their protection. Wolves weren’t as powerful as Dragons. But a Pack was a formidable foe, and with his Flight’s backing, Finn was sure they’d be able to keep it safe from those who would exploit its magics. People like the Fangs.
First things first, though. He needed to ensure that there actually was a Wellspring here, as Lorde’s research suggested.
And that was what had him limping up this sad little hillside and grumbling to himself.
A faint current ran through the air. A soft, invisible force that gently urged him to follow it. That was the call of the Other Side. The Wellspring was close now. And healthy, judging from the strength of the draft.
Sure enough, his Shifter instincts brought him out of the woods less than fifty feet from the Wellspring. No surprises awaited him.
The first time he’d found a Wellspring, it set his heart racing. For one moment, he felt like a hero. As if he, alone, brought magic back and bre
athed life into this dull world. Six Wellsprings later, the excitement had faded. A little intuition, a little luck, a ton of hiking, and there you had it. Another Wellspring. Ready for someone else to fix.
This one looked like all the others. A charming pond half hidden by long meadow grasses. No signs of harm or damage. It was only a stone’s throw from the edge of the property line, but that was fine. No neighbor would build a house this far back from the road. And the Wolves would love this place. Hell, they’d probably abandon the stodgy ranch down by the road and just camp out here, under the night skies.
Simple jobs were always a pleasure! Finn carefully measured the distance from Rainey’s Creek to the Wellspring. As promised, the property line fell five feet beyond the spring. Good enough. Time to make an offer on Mr. Nielsen’s property!
Movement along the wood’s edge caught his eye.
Then a major problem stepped out of the forest.
A Witch Hare.
Tall and leggy, her brilliant red hair screamed she had a Witch’s soul. Fate always seemed to bless Hares with beauty, and this one was no exception. Lithe and graceful, with the high cheeks of a noble lady and a rogue’s full lips.
Whoever she was, she wasn’t on his side. And she couldn’t be alone – no Hare would challenge a Dragon directly! As he scanned the woods for her allies, Finn invoked his Shifter soul.
He grew, arms and body lengthening. Scales, thick enough to turn bullets, burst across his skin. Long scars crisscrossed them, mementos of battles past. His handsome, craggy face twisted into a fierce, fang-lined maw. A tail as long as a bus uncurled, and he reared back, spreading his wings wide.
A Dragon loomed where once a man had stood.
Finn tensed, expecting an ambush to burst forth. Yet, nothing happened.
The Witch Hare’s jaw dropped… and then she closed her eyes.
What the hell? Finn sniffed, drawing in deep breaths. His keen senses found no hints of lurking Rats or fallen Wolves. Nothing but the scent of crushed grass and pine needles.
The woman opened her eyes. Blinked at him. Then closed them once again.
Details he’d missed suddenly popped into focus. She wore a little black dress, a skimpy, form-fitting piece of cloth that hid hardly any of her luscious curves. The 4-inch heels she clutched weren’t made for hiking. In fact, her feet were clad in nothing more than stockings−now ruined.
Okay, that was not battle garb, even for a Witch.
Once more, the Hare opened her eyes. Finding him still there, she winced and peeked at him sideways, as if he might make more sense viewed from some other angle.
“What the hell did Daven put in my drink?” she hissed.
The odds of a fight seemed to be plummeting. With one last survey of the area, Finn dismissed his Dragon. Its majestic form faded away, leaving him human once again.
This seemed to calm the Hare, though she kept scrubbing at her eyes.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
At his imperious tone, she scowled. “Who am I? I’m the woman who owns this property. Who the hell are you and what are you doing on my land?”
“I am Finn Donnelly of the First Flight.” If the Fangs had bought the land next door, he could have a major fight on his hands!
“Never heard of your company, mister. Why are you trespassing?”
To his shock, she seemed sincere. As if she’d never even heard of the world’s most powerful Flight of Dragons.
Was she one of the Lost? Shifters who became cut off from their Kin as children and grew up never knowing what they were?
If so, that could explain why she wouldn’t look at him straight on. Shifters recognized each other instantly. But if she’d never seen one…
She must feel like she’s going mad.
Concentrating, Finn damped his power down as low as he could. His Dragon balked at the order. Roused by the threat of battle, the great serpent wasn’t inclined to retreat. Despite its complaints, he dismissed it firmly.
Immediately, the blinking stopped. The Hare gulped and shook her head but grew calmer.
“I’m interested in buying the land of your neighbor, Lars Nielsen.”
“Oh.” Her nose wrinkled. Must be bad blood between the two of them. “Well, you’ve wandered off his property.”
Wonderful. He had a Lost Hare camped on his Wellspring. “According to his deed, the property line runs to a point twenty feet west of Rainey’s Creek. That would be,” he pointed at the woods behind her, “ten feet into those trees.”
“Wrong,” she growled. Her Hare’s ears folded down along its back and its little tuft of a tail jutted out stiffly.
Damn, Hares looked silly when they got mad!
“See, a landslide altered the course of Rainey’s Creek about eighty years ago. It’s now closer to my property than it was when the deeds were drawn. So, the true property line, as I’ve told Nielsen several times, is twenty feet that way. This spring,” she jabbed a finger at the Wellspring, “is on my land.”
“Property lines based on water features move as the water does.”
“Not if the change is caused by avulsion rather than accretion.” Her Hare took two short, aggressive hops toward him – and it was all he could do not to burst out laughing.
“I’ll have to ask a lawyer what those words mean,” he admitted.
“You do that. Best one in town is a good friend of mine. He’ll also be the lawyer representing me if Nielsen decides to contest this.”
Funny as her irate Hare was, the situation was quickly losing all humor. “Perhaps you’d be willing to sell the contested property? I’m happy to pay extra. I’m rather fond of this spring.”
“So am I. And I don’t intend to part with it.”
She could probably sense the Wellspring’s power, even if she didn’t know what drew her to the site. This was turning into a right bloody mess. Finn made one last effort. “I’d be willing to pay…”
“Forget it.” With a chop of her hand, she shut the conversation down. “Some things can’t be bought. Good evening.”
Without another word, she turned her back on him and started to stomp back the way she’d come.
“Ma’am? May I ask what your name is?”
“Bree Williams,” she called over her shoulder.
“I’m Finn Donnelly. Look, we got off to a bad start. Maybe I could…”
The Hare gave no indication that she’d heard him. Just marched, bare-footed, into the gloomy woods.
Well, hell. What a mess.
Chapter 3
So much for stealing some quiet time to think! Caught between anger and fear, Bree peered into the mirror, searching for any damage to her eyes. A scratch… discoloration… anything that might explain why she was suddenly hallucinating. The alternatives – drugs slipped in her drink or madness – were even scarier.
What the hell is wrong with me? How could I make up a dragon?
The full vision hadn’t lasted long. Yet, even once it disappeared, she couldn’t look straight at that stranger. His form continually wavered, shifting between man and a gigantic beast with eyes of blue ice.
Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. She needed to see a doctor tomorrow, first thing.
And then Daven right after that. Fury melted the block of ice in her heart as she remembered her true problem. That pest, Nielsen, was trying to sell her land. Her pool!
Good thing her fiancé was a shark. As she slipped out of her dress and into a nightgown, Bree congratulated herself on tonight’s choice. Marrying Daven was definitely the right thing to do.
In the dream, she stood in a prairie, waist-deep in golden grass. Blue sky arched overhead, cloudless and bright. A soft wind rustled through the field, setting the blades of grass whispering against each other. She wore nothing except a simple robe, tied over one shoulder like an ancient Greek dress. In her hands she held a silver goblet. A dragon with eyes of mother-of-pearl coiled around its stem.
It was a dream, clearly. Yet, so real that it
took her breath away. She could feel the soil’s cool damp against her bare feet, the way the sun warmed the skin on her arms.
From the grass ahead of her, a man suddenly yelped, “What the…?”
Finn Donnelly bolted to his feet.
Naked, apparently. Well, at least shirtless; the grass hid whatever he was (or wasn’t) wearing below. Broad shoulders, bulging muscles, and a square jaw… boy, her subconscious wasn’t sparing a single masculine trait. Now that he wasn’t trying to steal her pool, she noticed other pleasant details. His blonde hair, cropped short in a no-nonsense buzz cut. His square jaw, Roman nose, and broad cheeks. And his eyes. Lord, what eyes that man had! Grey-blue, intense, like nothing she’d ever seen.
Bree informed herself that she approved of her taste in dream men.
His rippling muscles, gleaming in the sunlight, were crisscrossed with small scars that stood out white against his bronze skin. And as he gazed about him, his pale eyes filled with wonder and some dark, unreadable emotion.
“Oh hell,” he whispered. “It’s really happening. The Rite of Claiming.”
Which made absolutely no sense. Then again, who expected sense from dreams?
As she pondered that question, an inhuman voice boomed in the clear sky, like the Voice of God. “No Claim without Truth. Show her your soul.”
That sounded ominous. Bree waited… but nothing happened. Finn stood there, hands planted on his hips, staring out at the mountains.
“Ahem?” she prompted. “I think that thing was talking to you.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Okay.” While she waited, she studied his powerful physique. Somebody worked out. A lot. And well. Chest, arms, abs, shoulders… not a single muscle group had been neglected. Her eyes kept drifting across the blonde curls on his chest, back to his shoulders. What would it feel like to be held in those arms, each one as large around as her calve?
Minutes passed. Bree found herself fidgeting. How the hell could a dream be this slow-moving? “So, uh, what’s the hold up?”
“I’m thinking,” he muttered.
