by Amelia Jade
Callan snarled and called upon his dragonbone armor, the thick pieces of defensive protection literally rising from under his skin, the yellowy-bone material making him into a fearsome visage of his dragon.
More clamps burst, but Callan wasn’t going to give it time. He charged in close, intending to decapitate the Outsider before it could win the rest of its limbs free. A wicked-looking shield of black armor sprouted from the Outsider’s upper chest, the blocky shape filled with sharp-looking thorns and blades. If he attacked it with his knives, it would rip his hands to shreds.
So Callan leaned back and slammed his booted foot into what would be the lower stomach on a human, hitting it with a mighty roar. Armor cracked and he grinned, but not for long. The shield collapsed back into the Outsider and its freed limb came around, catching him off guard.
The bones in his left arm snapped as he too was tossed from the interior of the transport, knocking one of the battlesuits to the ground as they collided with one another. From inside he heard the sound of more clamps breaking, and at least one soldier screamed as they didn’t move fast enough.
Callan got to his feet woozily, the battlesuited soldier doing the same thing. It hadn’t even gotten free yet and already it had drawn blood multiple times. Callan decided it was time they struck back.
“Everyone is clear of the transport, right?” he asked, stepping forward, lifting both arms.
A nearby soldier who appeared to be in charge nodded. “Yes sir, first protocol upon emergency engine-kill is to GTFO of the cab.”
“Excellent,” he muttered, wondering what geeteeeffoh meant. It was a word he wasn’t familiar with yet. “’Cause this might hurt. Get everyone back,” he commanded.
Without waiting to ensure his orders were followed, he pushed energy down his arms. Thick black liquid shot from his arms in a stream that merged until it was as big around as his waist. Callan directed it right through the opening, filling the inside with it.
The shriek of pain from the Outsider as it bathed in his acid sent several of the soldiers to their knees, and Callan felt something rupture in his eardrums before blood started to drip from them. Between that and his already broken arm, which was screaming at him as he held it straight to fill the inside of the transport with black acid, he was feeling rather rough.
Metal squealed and the left side of the transport exploded outward as the crazed monster fought its way free, rolling across the road, off the shoulder, and down into the ditch. Callan shouted at Vanek, hoping the other dragon shifter was alive, and then took off after the creature as it lunged for the forest. He lobbed another blast of acid at it, then twisted his good arm around his head and tossed a bola at its feet, hoping to slow it up.
The weapon, formed from two balls of acid joined by a long line in between, sailed forth and wrapped itself around the Outsider’s legs, taking it to the ground. Acid hissed and grass melted and withered as the thing rolled around, trying to clear itself off.
Callan employed the more typical weapon of his kind, casting his acid-net far and wide across the prone form of the Outsider, trapping it under the caustic web. He ran up from the side and delivered a brutal kick to where its ribcage would be, then another before darting out of the way.
The Outsider’s armor sprouted spikes and blades across its entire surface, and as it thrashed the sharp edges cut through his net, freeing it.
“Not today!” Callan said, darting in and hammering a meaty fist from his unbroken arm into the thing’s head. The Outsider, obviously still weakened from its initial incursion to earth, and without having fed on anyone’s life force, was still weakened. The blow cracked the armor and purple goop began to seep forth.
Spinning around, Callan dipped low and used his fist to club one of the legs out from under it, dropping it back to the ground. Then he stepped back, uprooting a small tree by the simple expedient of grabbing the trunk and snapping it off. Before the Outsider could react, he whipped it over and down, slamming it hard into the chitinous armor, cracking it some more.
The Outsider went still, purple goo seeping through cracks in its armor in multiple places now. Battlesuits and soldiers swarmed forward, and in moments had it ensconced in the back of the backup transport.
“I told Colonel Mara this was a bad idea,” he said, helping Vanek to his feet. “Why didn’t she just keep it frozen?”
“Can’t experiment on it that way,” Vanek said woozily, the cut on his head just now starting to close. It had been a bad one.
“Right.”
Callan stumbled back to the unwrecked transport, but before he could haul himself in, he looked down at his shirt.
“Sonofabitch,” he muttered, just now realizing that when the Outsider had first struck him, it had ripped most of the chest of his shirt away, leaving him bare. “That sucks.”
Wearily he dug his phone out of his pocket, surprised that it was still working. He punched in the number for Kathryn, pain filling him as adrenaline wore off and the shock of his broken arm, head impact, and general “ouch” filled him. He had a large welt forming from where he’d hit the battlesuit. It would all heal, but he’d be a mass of soreness for several hours.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Kathryn. It’s Callan.” He spoke plainly and quickly. “Will you do something for me?”
“Uh, I guess? Why, what’s up? I thought you were doing that job thing today.”
“I am. I was. Whatever. Listen, will you come visit me? At my place?”
“At your place?”
Despite his current condition, the pain couldn’t prevent his system from becoming a tangled mass of suspense as he realized what he’d just asked her.
“Yes. I’m in rough shape, and I could really use the company.”
That’s an understatement.
“I…I can do that,” she said with a brief stutter, indicating she was feeling trepid about the idea as well.
“Okay. Thank you.” He gave her the address information and estimated time of when he’d be back, then climbed back into the back of the transport. A pile of purple goo was forming under the inert Outsider.
Vanek joined him a moment later, taking in the mess that was their “prisoner.” Then he looked at Callan.
“We’re still getting paid, right?”
Chapter Fourteen
Kathryn
She was going to see a boy.
Perhaps that sounded a little eleventh grade of her, but when the situation was boiled down to the basics, that’s what it was. Callan had called, asked her to come over, and she’d said yes. Why she’d agreed still wasn’t entirely clear, besides a desire to see him, and the fact that he’d sounded rough. In pain, really, as if he’d been hurt.
He’d also said he’d needed her.
From her perspective, it was a remarkable turnaround, from first trying to ensure he never came around again, to then having him fix a thousand little things wrong with her house, followed up by kissing him. Now she was going to see him. At his house. In the evening. Kathryn wasn’t naïve; she knew what that might result in, though that was a whole new set of issues she had yet to deal with. Her scars were…extensive, and not the sort of thing she really felt sexy about. It was unlikely to happen anyway, she told herself. Callan had so far comported himself like a gentleman, and if she didn’t make it obvious, then it wasn’t likely to happen.
Probably.
The luxury SUV turned off the road and headed down a ramp to underground parking. She looked up, but hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings and wasn’t sure which building they were at. Sinking back into the plush leather, she reminded herself that this was another example of why she was no longer in the eleventh grade.
The boy back then hadn’t sent a luxury vehicle to pick her up. It had been his mom’s beat-down minivan. With his mom driving.
Yeah, this was a little different. She giggled to herself at the idea of Callan sending his mom to get her. The driver glanced in the rearview, but she just waved
him off, the imagery of that making her smile. It just went to show that no matter how old someone got, the prospect of attraction and flirtation, romance, desire, whatever you chose to name it, could still affect someone to their core.
The vehicle came to a halt before her thoughts could go any deeper, darker, or more lustful. After some help from the driver she got settled in her chair—that in itself killing any arousal she might have been feeling—and headed toward the elevator Callan had told her to take. She got in, punched in the code he’d provided, and then jumped slightly in surprise as the elevator doors closed swiftly and whisked her upward. This was no slow-moving cage, it moved, her stomach dropping slightly from the sudden g-forces.
A moment later it stopped, her stomach rebounding like elastic as the doors slid open in near-silence. Kathryn wheeled out of the tube, eyes wide as she took in everything. It wasn’t until a moment later that she realized the elevator opened into his apartment.
A private elevator? She was stunned. The white marble tones accentuated with silver and gold were everywhere, with various pieces of colored art and rugs breaking up the scheme just enough to make it feel homey instead of showroom. It did little to take away from the fact that Callan clearly had more wealth than she’d imagined.
Just like her ex. Unease slid its greasy fingers into her mind. The situation was almost too similar to that of her ex-fiancé. The last thing Kathryn wanted to do was repeat that situation. That mistake. It had hurt deeper than she’d thought it might, and it wasn’t until recently that she’d begun to feel emotionally healed.
Now she was facing the same situation once more.
“Callan?”
A giant form shook as it sat up from the couch off to her left. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
His voice was quiet and raspy, and as she spun the chair to look at him straight on Kathryn saw why.
“Oh my goodness, are you okay?” She wheeled over to him as fast as she could, looking at the mass of bruises on his face. They were mostly healed, but it was still obvious he’d been hurt badly. He had a piece of plastic wrapped around his left arm as well, held tightly in place.
“Did you break your arm?”
“No. Just hurt it bad enough that I wanted to protect it.” He sat up gingerly as she tsked over him, looking over his injuries.
“What happened?”
“It’s a long story, but I got jumped and wasn’t ready for it.”
She stared at him agog. “Someone jumped you? What in the hell for? They must have had a death wish. Did they not see the size of you?”
Callan smiled, his upper lip showing some pink skin where it had healed as well. How had he done all this in the twenty-four hours since she’d last seen him?
“I know you said you were in rough shape, but I just thought you meant you were a little sick, or extra tired or something. Hungover maybe. Not that you got beat up.”
Callan stiffened. “I did not get beat up,” he ground out forcefully through a clenched jaw. “I was in a fight, yes. But I didn’t lose.”
“Are you sure?”
He smiled widely. “You should have seen the other, uh, guy.”
She reached up and caressed the part of his face that didn’t seem bruised. “You don’t have to act all macho for me, you know. It’s okay. Sometimes things happen and we don’t come out of it victorious.” She waved a hand over her broken body as an example.
Callan growled angrily. “Don’t you dare say you aren’t victorious.” His already deep voice took on a different tone, more melodious and fluid, and somehow bigger as well. “You could have been killed. But you fought through it, and now you’re pushing yourself to get back to where you were. I admire that in you, and you should be proud of your efforts. It would have been much easier to just give up.”
Kathryn looked down, feeling ashamed by her attitude, though it didn’t last long. Callan had a way of ensuring she didn’t dwell in the darkness for very long.
“Lie back,” she said, pushing him down gently with one finger.
It would have been easy for his massive form to resist, and he gave a token fight at first, but she glared at him and he sagged back into the huge couch with obvious relief.
“This isn’t about me,” she said, leaning over and kissing his forehead gently. “Now, do you have water?”
“Water?”
She sighed. “Of course water. You need to stay hydrated. Your body is going to use more water than normal as it repairs itself. Have you eaten?”
He shook his head. “Okay, first order of business: water and food.”
Callan started to get up, but she drove a finger into his chest hard, freezing him in place. “You lie there and relax. That’s an order, got it?”
He looked ready to argue, but she just pushed harder, and once more he relented. Kathryn smiled. It felt good to be needed. Doug had never made her feel this way—though Doug had also never been beaten up either. Callan, despite his wealth, definitely struck her as a bit more of a rough and tumble sort of guy, not afraid to fight if it came to it. She doubted he went looking for trouble, and that he actually worked hard to avoid it, but when push came to shove, she could tell he wouldn’t back down.
Happy to finally be of help to someone, she wheeled into his kitchen. Her energy had spiked again, and she decided to make the most of it. The meal wouldn’t be too extensive, though she vowed to show him her skills in the kitchen once she was healthy enough to stand and truly prepare a meal.
But for now, after finding the ingredients she needed, she felt that he wouldn’t object too much. A hearty, beefy tomato sauce over noodles was just what the doctor ordered for Callan. While the meat was cooking—something she could thankfully sit in between checking it and the pasta—she brought him his water, complete with a couple of cubes of ice.
Callan took it without arguing, and to no surprise from her, drained the entire thing.
“Okay, maybe you were right on that,” he acknowledged, looking away as he admitted she was right.
Although she wanted so badly to hear him repeat that, to tease him about it, she decided against it. Callan was stubborn, and seemed possessed of a mindset that he shouldn’t show any weakness or vulnerability in front of her. That was cute and adorable, but she liked being needed as well, and it felt good that he was willing to come to her at this early stage of…of…what the hell were they?
She contemplated that as the pasta boiled away, the meat sauce simmering beautifully. Shockingly he had next to no spices, but she did find some pepper, mixing some of that into the sauce as well, her mind shying away from answering its own question.
What were she and Callan? It had become obvious rather quickly that he was more than just an assistant, and that he viewed her the same. Looking back, she could probably attribute it to being held in his arms at the pool. Of course she would have to be saved from drowning to realize someone was interested in her! And there was no denying that Callan was into her. She’d only meant to kiss him goodbye, but he’d taken that to a whole new level.
It had awoken in her a feeling she’d not known since before the accident. Lust. Carnal desire. Arousal. And all of a sudden eight months of backlog had come out of nowhere, turning a fiery goodbye kiss into a near sexual encounter. Only Callan’s sense of…nobility? Chivalry? Whatever it was, had stopped her from dragging him to her bedroom.
To do what? Have sex? She couldn’t do much more than lie there, her body still sore. Only the fact that he’d left her primed and ready had proven that she was even ready to have sex again. But just because she could physically become aroused again didn’t mean that sex with her would be anything resembling fun. Her body was just still too broken. It was unlikely he would want that.
Sauce spattered out from the pan, landing on her wrist and her shirt, the heat of it yanking her back to the present. Right, food. Getting back to it she finished preparing the meal—having made enough for herself as well—and brought it over to the couch one pla
te at a time. Together they ate at the coffee table, so that Callan didn’t have to get up.
He wolfed the first plate down, and the second. By the time she brought him what little remained, happy she’d decided to make extra from the start, Callan was starting to look and feel more alert. It must have been rubbing off on her, because she plopped herself down on the couch next to him without asking, moving with more grace and strength than she’d felt in a long time.
“Do you want to watch some TV?” she asked, snuggling up into the corner.
Callan was seated on the far end, so Kathryn didn’t feel that her actions were enormously leading or suggestive, but she knew it opened things up to the possibility much more so than her chair did.
“That would be nice,” he said around the last few bites.
“What do you want to watch?”
Callan seemed to hesitate over that, then shrugged. “You can pick, Kathryn. I’m open to anything.”
Picking up a pillow and pulling into her chest to rest on, she smiled, letting him see the happiness in her eyes as he spoke her name. “You can call me Katy,” she offered.
The gentle giant set his dinner plate down and pushed back into the couch, still sitting upright. “Would you like that?”
She didn’t have to think before nodding.
“Well Katy, what would you like to watch?”
Her spine tingled at the way he said the short form of her name, the throat bass making it sound just right. She kind of wished he would say it again.
They turned on the TV, and to her surprise spent just a few minutes deciding what to watch. She and her ex had used to take forever to decide, always bickering about whose show or movie they were going to watch that time.
With Callan everything seemed smooth and effortless. It just…worked, no matter what it was.
The intro credits started to roll as that thought bounced around in her head, and she studied him as discreetly as possible, noting the profile of his head, the slightly blocky look to his chin, and the lean yet powerful lines of his arms and chest. She knew they contained strength, but they could also be soft as well.
