Lord of Life (The Dragon Demigods Book 4)

by Charlene Hartnady

  “You can, but they’ll probably be gone by the time we get there.” I fold my arms. “You need to stay away from all of your non-human friends. She’s using you to get to them. Text Night and tell him to watch out for a tail. She’s in a white Toyota Camry, sporting a bullet hole in the back, but she might switch cars.”

  I watch him send the text.

  “Has he seen it?”

  “Yes, they’re driving out as we speak.” He looks worried.

  “Okay, then. I’m going to get an Uber.” I frown. “I don’t like the thought of leaving you on your own, but I don’t have a choice. Do you think you’ll manage for a couple of hours?”

  Lyre smiles. He’s so cute when he does. His eyes dance. His whole face lights up. “I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

  A big boy.

  I try hard not to think of him in those boxer shorts and fail. Yes, you are! “I know, but I still worry. Lilith is conniving.” I decide to mess with him. “Let’s face it, you have a thing for the harpy. Can you even trust yourself if she were to show up?” There might be some truth to what I’m saying. I am worried for him and his friends.

  His eyes darken. “I do not have a thing for the harpy.”

  “Do I need to proposition you to prove a point all over again?” I chuckle.

  “You can proposition me all you want, but don’t start something you can’t finish, Morgan.” His gaze bores right into me. I feel my breathing hitch and my core tighten.

  I see his nostrils flare, and I pray I put enough perfume on this morning to cover my scent. I want Lyre. I don’t care what species he is. Maybe if we had met under different circumstances, things would be different.

  “I cleared my afternoon when I ran out of the office earlier. Don’t call an Uber, I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

  “No,” I start saying, shaking my head.

  “Let me help you, Morgan. You’re helping me.”

  “I’m doing this for Andy.” I don’t know why I say that because it isn’t completely true anymore. This used to be all about Andy. It’s still mostly about my partner, but I’ve come to like Lyre. I still have to be on my guard, but I’m definitely starting to trust him. I’m mostly doing this for Andy, but it’s about more now. I find I want to help Lyre. I want justice for him, as well. “And for you too,” I push out the words, feeling my cheeks heat. I hate that I sometimes feel like a schoolgirl around this man. “So, a ride would be great.”

  “Great! I can try to help you fix this. I think I know where we can get parts.”

  “I need to go to a scrapyard,” I say.

  He frowns. “Scrapyard?”

  “I’m not spending good money on a new gasket. Some of the vehicles in the scrapyard are practically new, which means their parts are practically new as well. I’ll salvage the parts I need, and then we can head back here. It’s going to be a long afternoon, so feel free to leave anytime…just be careful.”

  “I said that I would help. We’re partners in this, we need to watch each other’s backs. Also, she’s technically not after me, is she? She’s after my friends.” His eyes narrow, and his jaw tenses.

  “But she needs you to get to them. We’ll get her before that happens.”

  “Unless she already knows where one of them lives. I did this. I brought her into our lives.”

  “I was the one who insisted that Andy and I rush headlong into that warehouse. I’m the reason he’s lying in that bed.” I grab his hand and squeeze. “We screwed up, but we can fix this. We will fix this.”

  He nods once, pulling his hand away. “Let’s get your car fixed. Maybe we should just have it towed to—”

  “No….” I panic just a little. I have very little money left. “I’ll fix it. It’s not a big deal.” I play it down. It’s a big job, but I’m up for it. My car is quite literally the only thing I have left in this world. I don’t like the idea of taking a day to fix it but what choice do I have? The good news is that Lilith is desperate. It’s just a matter of time before we get her; before I end her.

  13

  Lyre

  It’s dark when I pull into my garage. Morgan pulls up alongside me like she does every day. The neighbors will talk if she parks out on the street. I can see that she’s exhausted, but she insisted on coming back to my place anyway. She said it’s still early, and there’s a harpy out to get me. I couldn’t argue with that. I need to keep my friends safe, and that means we have to catch her. Night, Shannon and their baby daughter got home safely. We’ve set up a system to check in with one another.

  The garage door closes. The lights are on. They work on a motion sensor.

  I get out of my car and watch as Morgan does the same. She stifles a yawn. “Why don’t you come inside?” I point to the door that leads into my house.

  She shakes her head. She’s so damned hard-assed. “I should get out there and keep watch.” She unzips a bag on the back seat and takes out a small bag of potato chips, a chocolate bar – I think it might be the one I gave her earlier - and a can of soda. She looks down at her hands, which are covered in grease. “I might use your bathroom first to wash up.”

  I frown. “That had better not be your dinner.” I look at the junk food in her hands as I walk around my car to her.

  “What’s wrong with this?” She holds the items up.

  “That’s not food. It has zero nutritional value.” I take a few steps towards her. “Do you have any idea what this is doing to your arteries?” I touch the bag of potato chips, and it crackles.

  “No, and I would prefer not to know.”

  “You can’t eat that.”

  “I can.”

  I make a noise of exasperation. “You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met. We’ve had one hell of a day. Please just come inside. You should absolutely use my bathroom.” I can’t help but smile. Morgan has a smudge of grease across her cheek. It’s adorable. Before I can think about it, I gently rub her face with my thumb and hold it up. “You’re covered in grease. You could do with a good scrub and a change of clothes.”

  “Are you saying I look like shit?” She pretends to give me a dirty look.

  “I would never, besides, I don’t think you could look like shit even if you tried really hard.” She’s too damned sexy. Morgan’s actually more attractive covered in all that grease. Go fucking figure. Watching her fix her car was awe-inspiring and a major fucking turn-on. It was tough trying to help her and not look at her ass.

  Her cheeks turn a touch pink at my remark, which is good…it means that I’m getting through to her. “Come inside. I’ll find you something to wear. I’ll have something fixed for you to eat before you’re done, and then you can do whatever it is you do out there. You can watch me.” I wink at her.

  I can see I’m winning. Morgan breaks out a smile. “Something to wear?” She lifts her brows. “You’re already wearing my shirt.” Her eyes drop to the garment in question, and I think about how good she looked in it.

  “I’ll take it off. You can have it…just come inside.”

  “Leave the shirt on, and you have yourself a deal.” She starts towards the door.

  “Nope,” I say as I follow, “I insist.” I enjoy teasing this woman. I don’t know why, but I do. I unbutton the shirt and shrug out of it. “Here.” I hold it out to her.

  Morgan’s eyes widen and drift to my chest before flashing back to my face. She takes the shirt from me. “You’ve worn this thing all day. It must…” She holds it to her nose and sniffs. Then she narrows her eyes at me. “That’s not fair. This shirt should not smell this good after a whole day.” She scrunches it up and throws it at me. I catch it with one hand. “You’re too much. It must be awesome being you.”

  “What does that even mean?” We go into the house.

  “You have to be intelligent to be a surgeon. So, super brainy and talented with your hands.” She blushes as she says the last and pushes out a breath.

  Talented with my hands. What is she think
ing about right now? What made her blush? I would love to know. She can’t be thinking dirty thoughts. Is she? No! Maybe. Fuck, I like the idea too much.

  “You can cook better than almost anyone I know,” she goes on. “You look like that…” she points at me, making a face like I look bad, but I know she means the opposite, which I love even more, “and you smell good after a day in the sun. It’s just not fair. The guy who has everything.”

  “Not everything.”

  “You do!”

  “I’m thirty-five. I live alone. I work ridiculous hours, so I can’t even have a pet. Despite what you may think based on my behavior, I don’t sleep around. I can’t really date women either…it’s a long story. All I really have is my ability to heal people. That’s what I am, I’m a healer. I used to be able to help people. I mean really help people. I’m talking about those with no hope.” I feel emotion flood me. “Children with major birth defects. Fathers, mothers…people with zero chance. I was a healer.” I look at my hands. “I made a real difference. I lost my first patient the other day.” I feel my eyes sting and my throat clog. I take in a deep breath or two. “Someone’s father. Someone’s husband. I want to be a healer again. I need my powers back, without them, I’m nothing.”

  “Not nothing.” She steps forward; there is something in her eyes I haven’t seen before. She reaches up and cups my cheek. “You might be too good-looking for your own good. Too arrogant. Too pushy…but you’re a good guy, Lyre. You’re more than just your ability to heal your patients. You have so much to offer. To give.”

  She realizes she’s still touching my cheek. Her touch feels good. I want to step into her. I want to touch her back. It might also be the fact that we’re standing so close together that our chests are almost touching, but she lets go of me like her hand just got burned. “I’d better hit that shower. I’ve been inside for too long.”

  “You need a break.”

  “I’m fine.” She heads down the hall to my spare bedroom.

  “I’ll put some clothes on the bed,” I say.

  “Thank you.” She doesn’t look back.

  I roll the sweatpants a couple of times at the waist to try to get them to fit, but they keep falling off. I eventually step out of the legs and pick up my own slacks. They’re black, so the grease marks are hard to make out. I put those back on.

  I’m drowning in the t-shirt, but that’s okay. I put on my holster, followed by my jacket. Both ankle holsters are in place. One holds my second gun and the other my knife. Both have saved me countless times. I pull my Glock from the holster and do a quick check of the magazine. Then I check that the safety is on and re-secure the gun to my body.

  I’m ready!

  I yawn. Crap! Not as ready as I would like, but I’ll manage. I go to the garage and put my clothing in my car. Then I head up the stairs to the kitchen. I’m greeted by the wonderful smell of food cooking. My step falters as I hit the top step. Lyre is wearing a pair of sweatpants. They’re a light gray. His tank-top fits him snugly. It’s white. Unbelievable. He looks better in casual gym wear than he does in his work clothing, which is fairly formal. I’ve only ever seen him in the latter. That and scrubs…oh and his boxers, can’t forget about those boxers. That particular sight is burned into my brain. He looks good in everything. He looks especially good right now. I really don’t need this attraction to interfere with my mind. I really don’t! It’s bound to get in the way.

  “Why are you just standing there?” Lyre glances back over his shoulder.

  “I didn’t want to get in the way,” I lie through my teeth. It’s not like I can tell him that I was checking him out. His ass looks great in the sweats and his biceps in the tank… Holy moly!

  He chuckles. “Don’t be silly. Get in here. You can set the table, I’m almost done.”

  “Do you mind if I get some coffee brewing?”

  “Not at all.”

  I walk further into the room. “Omelets,” I say as I see what’s in the pan. I sound far too excited. “One of my favorites.”

  “Yep,” he smiles at me, “with ham, cheese, and mushrooms. Whoever said omelets were just a breakfast food was wrong.”

  “I know…and yum.” My mouth is watering. I never realized how hungry I was until right now. Chasing harpies and fixing cars will do that to a person.

  “Plates are in there.” He points at a cupboard. “I’ll fire up the coffee-maker. Do you want an espresso, a latte, or a cappuccino?”

  I was thinking of a cup of filtered coffee, or even instant. This is a treat. “Double espresso would be great. Whoever said coffee was for mornings only was wrong as well.” I take out two plates and put them on the counter close to where he is cooking.

  He walks over to the big barista-type machine and pushes a few buttons. Then he heads back to the stove and slides out a perfectly fluffy-looking omelet onto a plate. “I guess with your line of work, there is no nine-to-five,” he says to me.

  “You would be right. The same can be said for you.” I look through a couple of drawers until I find the cutlery.

  “For sure.” He nods. “I do get the odd emergency. Take a seat,” he urges, nodding towards the table. Then he puts a plate in front of me.

  “This looks great.”

  He puts the salt and pepper shakers and some napkins on the table. I watch as he heads to the coffee machine, returning with my coffee, which he places in front of me. It’s in one of those small coffee cups on a little matching saucer. In other words, fancy.

  “You can get started,” he says as he walks back to the kitchen.

  I do as he says and cut a small piece, putting it into my mouth. My eyes widen. How does he make a few simple ingredients taste this good? When I look up, he’s grinning. “What?” I say around my food.

  “I use a dash of cream in the egg and sprinkle in some parmesan with the cheese.”

  “This tastes like it can’t be too great for your heart, doctor.”

  He laughs. “It’s a damn sight better than those chips and the chocolate you were about to eat.”

  “You bought the chocolate for me.”

  “As a treat. Not as a meal substitute.” He pours himself a glass of white wine and holds up the bottle to me. I shake my head. He puts the bottle back in the fridge.

  I take another bite, savoring the taste. “You can cook for me anytime. If you didn’t already have a kickass job, I would tell you to become a chef.”

  He sits across from me. I see him pull in a big noseful of air. “Mmmmm, smells really good.”

  “Tastes good too.” I put a large forkful into my mouth. I definitely get the tangy, salty taste of the parmesan.

  “I’m not talking about the food.” His eyes are on me.

  Shit!

  I’m not wearing my usual perfume. He’s talking about me. I swallow down the food almost unchewed, feeling a little off-kilter.

  “What’s with all the perfume anyway?” he asks. “Not that you smell bad with it on…it’s just, you don’t need it.”

  “I disagree,” I say, shaking my head. “Non-humans shouldn’t be able to know my every emotion. Or whether I’m ovulating or pregnant or happy or sad. You shifters are especially good at picking up on those things.”

  “I’m only half shifter, but I guess you’re right.” He shrugs, looking sheepish. “I never thought of it that way. Still, it’s nice to finally pick up on your scent. We are a scent-orientated species. It almost feels wrong not to know someone’s smell. It’s like not knowing their name or how they look.”

  “Okay…what do I smell like?” I look over at him.

  “It’s spicy and yet feminine. Very much in line with how you look.”

  “I look spicy?” I laugh.

  He smiles, taking a sip of his wine. “No…that’s not what I mean. Spice is normally associated with men. A spicy cologne or scent.”

  “I smell manly…and I look manly.” I widen my eyes. That’s not what I was hoping to hear, although maybe it’s a good thing.
>
  “Not at all. You’re very much a woman.” His eyes seem to dip down to my chest, but then he’s looking at his plate and shoving his fork into his omelet. His green eyes lock back with mine. “You’re hardcore, bad-ass and stubborn…I think I’ve mentioned that before a couple of times. You know your way around a car engine, guns, knives. Bolt may have mentioned that you can drive a car like nobody’s business. I mean, you blew a gasket on your car today…” he grins, then his expression morphs into something else, “and yet you’re all woman, and I mean that in the best possible way.” His voice changes, it seems to get deeper. “Your scent reflects that. Spicy and sweet…not seriously floral…not really fruity either. I know that scent.” His nostrils flare again. I don’t normally like it when non-humans try to scent me, but right now…I almost want to move closer. I want to hear what Lyre has to say. His eyes brighten. “That’s it!” He smiles. “I’m getting orange blossom. We have a whole grove of orange trees on my mother’s land. I grew up there. It’s been a while since I was out there…on that part of the ranch, I mean. I see my mom regularly.”

  “You said you’re an only child?”

  Lyre nods. “My mom had me when she was quite young. There was a bias against half-breeds like us. Some of the other women from our Weyr, who had become pregnant with others like me, ended up in relationships with dragon shifters. Let’s just say that there were issues.”

  “Oh,” I say when he doesn’t elaborate. “What kinds of issues?”

  “There were new husbands who couldn’t fully accept their half-breed stepchildren. There was sibling rivalry when more children were born. Dragon shifter children. My mother decided to concentrate her time and energy on raising me. In some ways, I was one of the lucky ones but in others…”

  I can see where this is going. It’s written in his eyes. “You were lonely?”

  “I guess I was.” He nods. “I never realized it until recently.” He puts food in his mouth and chews, like he’s thinking it through.

  “What happened recently?” I finally ask.