by Amelia Jade
“What’s with the sudden simple-talk?” She decided to switch gears. “Did you suddenly forget how to speak while telling me you’ve been checking out my butt?”
“Only the first time I did it. After that I was able to recover faster.”
“What the…I…Callan!” she admonished. “Aren’t you supposed to be my helper?”
“Yeah, probably. Unless you’d prefer the term nanny,” he teased.
Oh. Shit. He’d heard that conversation, had he? Kathryn stumbled over her words for several moments, but she couldn’t find a way to save herself. Instead she caved. “I wasn’t sure of this whole thing at first, okay? Is that so bad?”
Callan gave her a smile that was likely supposed to be calming and reassuring, but instead made her whole body burst with energy. His indigo eyes sparkled in the wan light of the kitchen as he looked at her sideways from where he was standing in front of a counter, expertly preparing some slices of meat that he’d snagged from a bag.
“I’m helping you with your self-confidence,” he said in a stage whisper. “How’s that?”
“Awkward and uncomfortable, but I suppose I’ll have to take it, won’t I?”
He shrugged, the knife in his hands never seeming to move out of rhythm as he sliced the slab of red meat into small portions.
And he can cook? Oh boy. Some lady some day is going to be very, very happy with him.
Kathryn decided to change the subject. If he was going to make her a delicious meal, she was most certainly going to eat it without protest. “So tell me about yourself then. If you’re going to invite yourself in, buy food, and make dinner, then you’re also going to be forced into talking to me.”
Callan’s shoulders shook for a moment with silent laughter. “What would you like to know?”
Everything.
“Well, who are you? Where did you go to school? What’s your life like? Are you from Barton City? Come on, all the basics.”
The knife paused its slicing motion.
“The answer to the first three,” he told her, his voice quiet and serious, “is complicated. The last is no, I am not from here originally. I came here…to learn, I suppose you might call it.”
“I see.” She didn’t, not at all. “And are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Learning!” she cried out, wheeling herself closer to him so that she could sort of see his front as he squared up to the counter, all his attention on the preparation of dinner. Which was good, because she was so far ignoring what he was doing, more intent on him than anything.
Callan’s response when it came was so quiet she almost missed it. “Yes. I am. A lot.”
“Good. What are you studying? I thought you were paid to be a part of this program. Is it volunteer? A co-op?”
“A co-op? What’s that?”
Kathryn crossed her arms. How could he not know what a co-op was? Everyone knew! There was something really weird about Callan that she couldn’t quite put her finger on to identify, but it was definitely there. He asked the weirdest questions sometimes, yet never seemed to be unable to do what was necessary.
He was tall, in good shape, and seemed to have money, yet he didn’t drive. He hadn’t understood what swim trunks were. Or a co-op. Hell, the more she thought about it, the more she felt he didn’t know what a mall was either, at least not when she’d first met him.
“Callan, are you from this country?” she asked cautiously.
He appeared to mull over her question before answering. Never a good sign. “I…don’t think the answer to that is yes or no.”
She snorted. “Let me guess, it’s complicated?”
“Just a little bit.”
Everything about this was weird. If he was a foreign immigrant, shouldn’t he know that? Same if he were a citizen. How could he not know? Unless…
“Do you have memory troubles? Is that why you don’t know?”
Callan laughed out loud this time, his mighty head swiveling to look at her. “I have an excellent memory.”
“Yet you don’t have answers to my questions.”
“I never said that. I have all the answers.” She saw his eyes harden slightly as he spoke, though it wasn’t directed at her. “I just don’t know that you would believe me if I told you.”
That was not an answer she had expected, and Kathryn remained silent while he got dinner started, the meat beginning to sizzle on the skillet and vegetables simmering in a pan as well. He added some spices to the meal as he went, but as they began to warm and mix with the meat juices the aroma of pepper and herbs filled the air, making her mouth water in anticipation.
“Damn, that smells good.”
Kathryn hauled herself out of her chair, leaning on the counter as close to Callan as she dared.
“Why won’t I believe your answers?” she asked when he didn’t run with the opening to change the subject.
“They would seem too far-fetched for you. Too crazy. Your world isn’t ready for them.”
“My world isn’t ready? You’re one hell of an oddball, Callan, that’s for sure. I just hope your niceness isn’t a fake cover for whatever it is you’re hiding underneath.”
He smiled and pushed his hair back, the khaki-blond strands having fallen down onto his forehead. Sweeping them off to the side exposed his features to her fully, and she couldn’t help but admiring the clean, solid lines of his face. It just screamed strength, the rectangular look and blocky chin. His eyebrows were thin and his nose looked just a little crooked from this angle, but only enough to be quirky, not enough to ruin his face.
“Rest assured, Kathryn Pine,” he said, “my personality is exactly as you see it. There are no lies or falsities there.”
The reverence with which he spoke her name unnerved her slightly, as did the unmasked seriousness in his eyes as he gazed at her. Just who the hell was this guy that the city had assigned as her assistant?
His arm reached out to grab some items from the bag in front of her, and the skin of his forearm slid across her upper arm. Tremors racked her body from the touch. If it were just her legs she would have played it off as a result of her muscles giving out. But it ran up and down her arms and hardened the tips of her breasts as well, all from just a single brush of skin-on-skin contact.
Callan seemed not to notice, having taken the vegetables and gone right to work washing them. It was only when she noted the whites around his knuckles and the repeated flaring of his nostrils that Kathryn understood he had felt it too. Whatever “it” was.
Her legs eventually began to wobble on their own and she was forced back into her chair, her mind still trying to figure out just what was going on. Although they talked, it was muted and subdued, the flirtatious mood and nearly sexual tension gone. In its place were perfunctory sentences and comments.
Eventually they were finished, the dishes cleaned and put away.
“I should get going,” Callan said at last.
“Probably. It’s getting late.”
It was only eight o’clock or so, but considering he could have gone home hours ago after bringing her back from the pool, he had certainly overstayed the patient-client boundary. She didn’t think of him as someone who worked with her anymore, if she were being honest. Callan seemed more like a friend than someone who was only there because it was their job.
The transition in the course of just three days should have had alarm bells ringing in her head. Everything she knew told her that she should still be wary around the man, especially when he refused to tell her anything about himself. So why did she feel so at home and trusting with him around? No answer came as they moved to the front door, him walking in front, her staring at the tight curve of his butt as she wheeled after him.
“Thank you for dinner, and for the food, and for saving my life earlier,” she quipped, standing up on wobbly legs that had already done far too much that day.
“What are you doing?” he asked, slipping his low-cut boots on, the only shoes he seemed t
o wear.
“Giving you a hug,” she said. “In thanks.”
“Oh.” He just stood still, waiting.
Kathryn rolled her eyes and stepped forward, putting both arms around the huge bear of a man. He was so broad that she almost couldn’t link her arms together around his back. Thick weights settled over her shoulders as he draped himself over her, giving a gentle squeeze.
She caught the scent of leather and woodgrain from his shirt, a potent mixture that evoked images of a man who was good with his hands. The very same hands that had held her tight to his chest as she recovered in the pool, her head resting on one massive pec while everyone in the community center stared at her in envy.
It felt good to be captured in those lithe pillars of steel as he held her tight to him once more, helping keep her on her feet with the support necessary. For just a moment she let herself imagine what it might be like to get swept up into them after coming home from a long day of work, or after having been gone for a few days. To be lifted from her feet by the immense strength he possessed.
A soft, nearly quiet sound of contentment escaped her as she breathed out. She tried to pretend that it hadn’t happened, not wanting to break the spell that had come over them as they stayed closer than she’d ever expected. Callan didn’t try to pull away, making it clear he was in favor of the closeness as well.
The door flew open behind him. “Katy, I’m home!” her mother called as the two of them flew apart. She backed up to her chair and sat down, willing herself not to make contact with her mother.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Callan mumbled and fled through the open door, pursued by a look from her mother.
Kathryn turned and wheeled herself away as any energy she may have had left fled from her like a spring thaw flowing swiftly down the mountainside, eager to escape.
“Kathryn Lillian Pine.”
The stern voice stopped her in her tracks, the wheelchair slowing to a halt before bumping up against the lip that marked the end of the carpet and the start of the tile in the kitchen. It was never good when her mother used her middle name.
“You’re home early, Mother,” she said formally.
“I’m not feeling well. I didn’t want to get anyone else sick. So I left.”
“I understand. We should both go to bed early. Goodnight.”
She ignored the clearing of her mother’s throat. She was thirty-five, darn it. She could make her own decisions by now.
And your own mistakes, too.
Yeah, Doug had been a mistake, but that didn’t mean Callan was. She frowned as the door to her childhood room closed behind her. There was also the little difficulty where she didn’t know what Callan was. Could she even file him in the same category as Doug? He was just her assistant.
Just.
Weariness and a dull ache settled in, and Kathryn decided that perhaps she wasn’t joking when she’d said she was going to bed early. Thinking back over the day she realized it had been rather full and eventful. She’d done a lot. Much more than normal.
How did I manage to do all that? I’ve never had that much strength before today. My recovery has not been going that fast, that’s for sure. So where did the energy come from?
The answer was clear. It wasn’t. She didn’t have the extra energy. She had Callan. He was the one that was getting her through this. His strength was the only thing allowing her to do what she was doing. As soon as he wasn’t around, she returned to her normal self. It was one hell of a placebo effect, that was for sure, and she didn’t know how to reverse it.
Her old friend depression reared its ugly head just then as another thought came to her. If she couldn’t break herself of the addiction now, then she might come to rely on him completely.
Just like she had with Doug.
Losing her independence was not an option for her. Not again. She was working hard to regain her physical independence now, but her emotional freedom was as vulnerable as ever. If she didn’t fight for it then and there, it would get swept up in the amazingness that was Callan. It would be so easy too, and that’s what scared her the most as she curled up under the covers, the last of the daylight still shining through her blinds.
It would be so easy.
Chapter Ten
Callan
Callan,
Please join us upstairs for some breakfast and introductions. We promise we don’t bite. Hard.
- The Dragon Tower Residents
He turned the stiff placard over, but all that was written was “Penthouse” and a number, likely the elevator code to get there. He’d noticed it on the ground in front of the elevator shaft that opened directly onto his suite, meaning that someone had come into his apartment during the night. It irked him he hadn’t awoken to it, but thankfully they’d meant well.
The rumbling of his stomach told him it wanted to eat, which meant breakfast was a good idea as well. He’d so far avoided meeting any of the others, but it would appear he was going to end up doing so after all.
The Dragon Tower. So that’s what it’s coming to be called now?
It had started off as a normal apartment building, but after the government had started to awaken more dragons, they’d realized they needed more space to house them. So in typical over-the-top fashion they’d simply bought the entire building and started renovations on all thirty-odd stories of it, turning each floor into one or two suites per story, giving the dragons plenty of room to stretch their wings.
He was lucky enough to be near the top, but it appeared today he was going to visit the penthouse and meet the residents. Callan was aware of most of their names from the briefings he’d had upon being awoken and informed of his reentry into a very changed world.
Corde and Vanek occupied the penthouse suite itself, but there was also another Onyx dragon like him, Thorne, who was supposedly a floor above him. He’d not seen or heard of him since awakening, but that didn’t mean much. Black dragons were notoriously private, unlike many of their siblings who enjoyed being sociable.
Getting into the elevator, he punched the code for the penthouse he’d been provided, and it whisked him upward, opening seconds later as he was ushered through a broad hallway that ended in a T-junction at the edge of the building. Windows stretched away to his left and right, and stairs just to the left brought him the sounds—and delicious smells—of people eating.
“Hello the house,” he called in a traditional greeting.
“Hello,” a powerful voice returned, footsteps heading his way. “Who is that?”
“It’s Callan. I received an invitation for food and chat.”
“Excellent.” A monstrosity of a man with black hair down just past his shoulders appeared at the top and came down, big bushy eyebrows of an equal darkness highlighting the slight olive tinge to his skin. He beamed and shook Callan’s hand in his gargantuan meaty grip. “Welcome! Come on. Let’s get you fed. There’s plenty to go around if we get back before Corde takes seconds.”
“I heard that!”
Muted laughter followed the banter, and Callan immediately found himself relaxing. In old times, the meeting of dragons could be something one wished to avoid at all costs. But it seemed that these ones at least were more relaxed and inviting, willing to socialize. He wondered how long that would last.
Introductions were made all around. He met the other giant of a red dragon, Corde, a man with jet-black hair and eyes of perfect graphite gray. Then there were their mates, Harlow and Kylie, two women who he could instantly see complemented the dragons, magnifying their strengths and covering for their weaknesses. The power of their partnership, of their mated bond, was evident to the naked eye for all to see.
Callan envied them that bond, and found himself once more mourning Beatrice. If only he’d been given more time, he could have made her see, could have saved her.
“Help yourself,” Kylie told him, her violet eyes twinkling happily as she dodged a questing hand from Corde on the way back to the kitchen herself.<
br />
“I was told there was another dragon shifter here as well,” he remarked, piling his plate high with scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, sausage links, and even a couple of pancakes. “Another onyx dragon?”
“Oh, Thorne?” Vanek asked. “He’s back over at Fort Banner with the dragon riders. I’ll be going back there shortly myself. I’m just on leave right now, visiting Harlow.”
“The…what?”
“Dragon riders. Dragons paired with battlesuited humans to form a fighting tandem.” The mane of black hair bounced excitedly as he started to talk about it.
“Hush,” Harlow said, jumping in. “Our guest doesn’t want to hear about that.”
Vanek look saddened, but he didn’t fight it. “So, Callan, what brings you to Barton City? Looking for your mate?”
He hesitated, a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth. Not sure how to answer the question he started chewing on the bacon, glad for the reprieve. The others continued to eat as well, waiting for him to answer when he finished.
“No,” he said at last, going for the simple answer. “I’m here to get a better feel for the modern world, to understand what is going on, and why everyone is so adamant that I must fight for them.”
Vanek and Corde exchanged knowing looks. “You want to know why we decided to fight, don’t you?” Corde asked at last.
Callan winced at the judgment he felt coming his way, but forced himself to nod anyway. “Yes. I do.”
“It’s simple really,” Corde said. “I want to create the best world possible for my mate. That means ensuring there is a world for her.”
Beside him Kylie leaned in close, resting her head on his shoulder as she happily finished a sausage link. Callan watched the interaction, his understanding of Corde’s reasons growing.
“It was similar for me,” Vanek said. “I saw what was coming, what will be here in a few years’ time. If I don’t fight, everyone dies, including me. If I do fight, then maybe some don’t die. It’s unlikely that I survive, but what if my mate does? What if our children, if we’re lucky enough to have them by then, survive? I see that as worth fighting for.”
