Bad, Very Bad Shifters- The Complete Mega Bundle

by Daniella Wright

  She realized the beast was descending, and she turned her head to see long, opalescent red wings that were comparable in size to an airplane's. It was ridiculously alarming, a thing straight from a movie with a bajillion dollar special effects budget. It was indescribably beautiful. Even in the midst of the adrenaline and fear, Liz could respect the animal beauty of the great beast.

  About a foot from the ground the talons dropped her, and she rolled like a log to a stop. In a perfect world she would have snapped to her feet mid-roll like a ninja. As it was she scraped elbows and knees as she pitched ass over end.

  A shadow approached her, and only then did Liz realize she could see because a house, lights pouring from the grand windows, stood not far away. It looked like a farmhouse, one that had been renovated by the crews of a home makeover reality series. It stood by itself amidst planted, ordered fields. Nothing else was about and the stars shone overhead more clearly than she was used to.

  The shadow became a person as it got closer, a small framed woman. Liz ran to her on feet that barely supported her, hope dawning that maybe the ordeal with the beast had been witnessed and was over.

  "Call the police! Call the police! I've been kidnapped by something that looks like Maleficent!" Liz said, automatically registering how ridiculously unbelievable that sounded.

  “Welcome to my brother’s bride, queen of the dragon clan and therefore all the souls of supernatural,” the young woman said, much too formal for her pastel pink dyed hair and matching pink rubbery nose ring.

  “Are you insane?” Liz yelped, “I've just been kidnapped by a fucking dragon! F-U-C-K-I-N-G dragon!”

  “Oh good, you swear. Mother will hate that,” the girl said.

  She ushered Liz into the farmhouse, told her to wait a second, and came back with a glass of water.

  “I don't want water! I want the cops! I've been kidnapped!” she bellowed.

  “Not kidnapped. Claimed. Claimed by the dragon king, my brother,” the other woman said.

  “Do you have any chocolate?” Liz asked the sister.

  Just as the girl inhaled, about to answer Liz's plea for soothing chocolate, the door banged open. A man stood there, naked, his skin textured and crimson. He was muscled like a stereotypical comic superhero. His face had so many reptilian features that it made Liz's stomach sour. This was some weird welding of man and creature. His deep abdominal muscles, cut from stone, looked like they were made of red armor.

  His eyes glowed a sickly yellow, and the pupils slit vertically. When he opened his mouth pointed teeth the size of fingers crowded his human jaw. Part of her, some small mostly ignored part, wanted to snap a picture of him and text it to Macy with a, "told you it wouldn't be awesome." Instead she settled for not melting into a puddle of shit and fear.

  With every step he took in the palatial farmhouse, the thing became more man than beast. The color of his exterior paled and clouded, the primary color turning into a blushed skin tone. He sprouted lips which opened from his slick predator's maw like petals. Rough cut muscles, once all hard angles, curved into human brawn. Where a flat, ironclad midsection had been a divot formed which quickly became a belly button.

  He reached over to a rather artistic metal coat rack and pulled on a pair of pants that hung there. She watched as he bent over, his back muscles rippling as if a creature swam underneath. By the time he stood up no sign of the reptilian entity remained.

  “Not you,” she lamented, sad that one of the few decent guys she'd found turned out to be supernatural royalty.

  “Let's talk more in the bedroom,” he suggested, extending a hand out to her.

  “I won't fuck you,” she said with heat.

  “No, not unless you want to,” and the look he gave her made her wonder how long she'd hold on to that sentiment. It was delivered in a searing stare from his dark eyes, eyes she'd thought were exquisite just an hour before. When she looked closely from the other side of the room in the farmhouse she saw a faint flicker of gold, a sign of what he hid within.

  The teenager, his sister, stood staring at the two of them. While Liz thought discomfort permeated the room, the sister looked as if all she were missing was a blanket and popcorn. She and Ro were the night's entertainment.

  "Otherwise I can try to explain our situation here, in front of Kylynn, who will report your every nuanced response to my mother, queen mother of the dragon clan specifically and supernaturals in general," Ro warned.

  "Probably not every nuanced response. I mean, my memory isn't photographic," the teen replied, happily shrugging her shoulders.

  Liz walked to Ro, although she drew the line at taking his offered hand. She wasn't holding hands with a monster. She wasn't about to give him the idea that there was anything he could say that would make her stay. She had a life, one she was going to go back to even if he promised her a stay in the Cinderella castle at Disney World.

  "My name is Ro," he said when they were behind a bedroom door, extending his hand, "and I really liked spending time with you today. I liked it so much I want you to consider a proposition of mine."

  "No, whatever it is, no. You can't just haul a girl up into your monster claws because she smiled at you and gave you her number!" Liz wailed, hearing the note of hysteria in her voice. Despite trying to release her inner badass Liz felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. It was t minus ten seconds before she became a blubbering mess.

  He went on as if she hadn't spoken, "I'd like you to move in here, let me date you, and let me teach you about my world for a year. That's it. After a year if we don't click, if this life is too far away from what you've wanted, you can walk away with half of everything I have with my blessing."

  "Oh yeah? And the fine print is that I'd have to be married to a creature straight out of folklore, flounder in a society I know nothing about, and face who knows what kind of repercussions if I walk away from a people that turn into maneaters," she bellowed.

  "You forgot a point," he said, meeting her eyes with that gaze she couldn't look away from, "I'll spend the next year trying to seduce you, trying to make every part of your body long to be mine."

  "Why? To win what game?" she asked through a haze of tears. Home. She just wanted to go home.

  "Because, in all my years, I've never met a woman who was my mate, the one both the beast and the man recognized as his partner. Tonight, while I spoke with you, my body screamed one thing- mate," he said, and she got the feeling he was trying to suppress the heat behind those words. He did a shit job of it. She could feel him, like a magnet, calling her closer.

  "What’s in it for me," she asked, trying to understand, "Money? You think I want your money? I don't. Power? I can only imagine I'd suck at leading people. I write about fashion, Ro, fashion. Who wore it best and five ways to make your ass look firmer in a bikini. I like that. I like who I am."

  "I like who you are, too. That's why I brought you here. I'm not asking you to change. Write for your blog. We can visit your house on the weekends in that town with no cabs. A year. Move your home base here for a year, let me try to win you, and if it all goes up in smoke what have you lost?" he asked.

  "Myself. I've lost myself. What queen writes for a barely profitable fashion site? None. The answer is none," she said.

  "So your public persona will be the mask. No one will even have to know your name if you don't want. You can dye your hair, and everyone will refer to you as Anguis Regifica anyway," he argued.

  "And if I say no? Will you take me home?" she asked.

  "I will, but you didn't strike me as the kind of woman that was afraid to do something new," he said and she heard the cheap challenge in his voice.

  Was she? Was she the type of woman who, if granted a castle in the sky, would turn it away out of spite she hadn't been given it the exact way she wanted? Was she the type of person who was too set in her ways to witness first hand the world changing, evolving? Was she the type of person that dove out of planes in the sky for exhilaration or the type tha
t stayed on the ground and let others try because the ground was safer?

  "There needs to be chocolate, lots of it. I want my own room. I'm not bunking with you just because the world will think we're married. I will get to go home, to be in a space that's all mine. I want to be educated on the customs of supernaturals so I don't stick a big, ugly foot in my mouth. I want you to know that I have a history and, while not riddled with closet skeletons, I'm no Louis Lane either. I won't exist just to help your story along," she counted off these demands on her fingers.

  "Yes to all of those," he said, echoing her earlier words, "with two conditions. One is that wherever you go you have security with you, either my sister, another shifter, or myself. The second is that you stick it out for the full year. You don't run just because we have one bad day or because that week politics feels crappy. I don't know what's going to happen next. I don't know if the supernaturals will become mainstream or if we'll be slaughtered. We could be opening up supernatural speed dating clubs next year or we could be fighting to be considered citizens. It's up in the air. You and I are going to exist as the first public intermixing of the societies. Even on days when we might not like each other we need to exude warmth and respect."

  She took a moment to breathe in deeply, to get grounded in the moment. Was she agreeing to this? Could she live with these strictures? Yes, she was and she could.

  For a year. After that, there'd need to be some reevaluation.

  She extended a hand to him, agreeing to the deal. He grabbed her offering with force, suddenly just an inch or so away from her. His hand was warm, his breath smelled so good, and she could tell by the fire in his eyes that he wanted to kiss her. She had just agreed to be his wife, to try this thing, whatever it was. That didn't mean he was getting a goodnight kiss.

  "Well, goodnight then,"' she said into his face, so close to her own.

  "Are you kicking me out of my own room?" he asked.

  She hadn't meant to, had barely given a thought to which room they were having the conversation in. Something about him made her focus almost totally on him, made her aware of what he was saying and doing and almost nothing else. He didn't need to know that.

  "Yes, I am," she answered with more gusto than she felt.

  He smiled at her and nodded to the right side of the room.

  He said, "The bathroom is through that door. Help yourself to whatever you need. Also, you may want to overnight something to wear for tomorrow. You'll be meeting my mother. My tablet is on the desk. Wallet is in the second drawer. Spend what you need to. It's yours."

  "Where will you be?" she asked, suddenly feeling very alone in this unfamiliar place and unfamiliar life.

  "I'll be in the guestroom next door. Knock on the wall if you need something," he moved toward the door.

  "So where are the handmaids, the butlers, the dossiers that detail who needs to reminded of their place in the pecking order?" she asked, only half joking.

  "The handmaids and butlers don't exist. It's not like that. Supernaturals, aside from being secretive and cynical, respect autonomy. The fewer people in your batcave the fewer people who see you sprout fur, fangs, or conjure phantoms from the night. I cook, Marjorie cleans, and the only staff we use are guards when we're traveling in places where we can't be anything but human. Those guards are like us, like family. Maybe it won't always be that way," he said with a shrug.

  "Marjorie?" Liz asked, afraid Ro was going to turn around and introduce her to some first wife that was dragon only and not at all human. She really should have asked more questions.

  "My sister, the one you met in the family room," he said, smiling like he knew what she was thinking.

  "And the dossiers," he said, his grin wicked, "don't exist. If anyone has trouble with my rule there's an open invitation to challenge me."

  "A challenge? Do you guys whip out sabers and fence to the death?" she teased him.

  "No, we change into our hybrid forms since our animal shapes are too big. Then we dual to the death or surrender," he said.

  "That's a joke, right?" she asked, unsure since he said it so casually.

  "No. After my father passed I took out five challengers. I left four of them breathing, and they have become loyal subjects that I trust. The fifth wouldn't concede," he said this without remorse, without the weight of confessing to a crime. She really was in a different world.

  "Goodnight, Liz," he said, shutting door behind him as he left her alone in his bedroom.

  Liz was wearing a frock. She'd never understood the term until she was zipped into one. It had a square neckline, was rose patterned, and it hit her right beneath the knee. She felt as though the only thing she was missing was a set of tea gloves. Then she would be presentable for waving at the crowds from the motorcade.

  This was ridiculous.

  Ro knocked on her door just as she'd finished zipping herself into it. She yelled for him to come in, he stepped into the room, and she was treated to the sound of his rich laughter.

  "Babe," he said between breaths as he struggled for control, "you look great."

  "Apparently, I don't," she tried for levity and failed.

  "It's just...you look very formal," he said, approaching her. She tried not to look like a bird about to get eaten by some large, pouncing predator.

  "I'm meeting the queen mother," she said, glancing down at her dress.

  "This outfit is great, especially for tomorrow when you sit for the first time to hear pleas. Now though, we live on a farm. Mom lives a field over. You might be a tad overdressed. You might be mistaken for a duchess in a Jane Austen novel," he said.

  She pursed her lips at him. This wasn't a great start.

  "I have nothing else," she shrugged. She didn't hate the dress. She'd picked it out. She could deal with it.

  "Mom isn't expecting us until lunch time. How about we head over to the mall, it's about a half hour away from here, and I'll sit like the patient, doting husband while you grab some things," he offered.

  "We're in the middle of nowhere," Liz said, remembering that she'd not seen another lit building when he'd dropped her on the lawn the night before.

  "Liz, we're in the country, not a foreign country. There's a Target about two miles down and a mall not too far from that. You may be slaying a dragon, but this isn't the middle ages," he said it all so rationally. She wanted to hit him.

  "I wish I could slay the dragon," she mumbled under her breath.

  "What was that?" he asked.

  "Noth..." Before the denial was out of her mouth he'd nearly flown the air, grabbed her, and tackled her to the bed. He held her arms up over her head as he laughed.

  He had her pinned and thought it was hilarious. He'd surprised her. She couldn't fight him off and knew that trying to play wrestle with a dragon would be as ludicrous at it sounded. Instead she surprised him a different way.

  She sat up and slammed her lips into his, a kiss that was a declaration of war more than a surrendering. He rumbled against her, a sound from deep within him. He met her first softly, as though trying to woo her, and then gave it up to match her violence. It was a clash of teeth and tongues, a fight with no words and no losers.

  Liz was on fire. Ro's skin, all the parts that pressed against her through the thin fabric of their clothes, was just a few degrees too warm. It was like he was lit within by some raging, unseen fire. He tasted good, bitter like the strongest coffee, sweet like dark chocolate. She would have to be careful in the coming year. If all of his kisses were like that, she could easily become addicted.

  That first day they shopped, grabbed a bite from the food court, and she'd gotten to meet his mother. The woman was critical, taking in Liz's every characteristic in a head to toe examination. His mother wore sturdy work boots and tailored a jacket that made Liz grateful Ro had insisted she change.

  "She'll do," the queen mother had said, and Liz felt a little as though she'd done nothing to deserve such high praise from the old marshall.

  Ro
's hand on her back as he escorted her out burned like a firebrand. She wondered if every part of him would be that warm.

  They sat down to dinner that night, just the two of them. He told her that normally Marjorie came over and ate with him, since their mother was a terrible cook. However, Marjorie was giving them their space tonight.

  She sat at the kitchen island and watched him cook, watching him move through the space. His movements, even those necessitated by something as domestic as cooking, had a fluid animal grace and power. She could see the muscles of his back and shoulders through his shirt as he reached for spices in the cabinet and stirred the contents of the pot. He was lean but so very strong, honed like the edge of a blade.

  She didn't drool on herself. It was a restraint that took effort.

  "I'd like to make sure we do this each night that we can," he said as he stood next to the stove.

  "Cook?" She asked.

  "No, eat together, sit next to each other and talk about our day. It won't always be possible when one of us is traveling, but when it is I'd like to put effort into having dinner like this," he answered.

  "That's very chivalrous of you," she commented, surprised something so little and so human would matter to him.

  "It's not really. You'll have to cook sometimes," he teased.

  "So you don't mind being poisoned? Aside from putting salad ingredients in a bowl, I'm no chef," she replied honestly.

  "Then I really will be chivalrous and act as though your efforts aren't bad," he shrugged.