by Leela Ash
Once he heard Jamie speaking, Donnelly turned those bright eyes on her. “Pardon me for asking, ma’am, but are you human or Shifter Kin?”
“Human. Wow, it’s, uh, strange to have to tell someone that.” She smiled, hoping to lighten the tension.
And at once, the big man’s face lit up. Despite her Mate’s discomfort, Maya found herself liking him. “I’m sure it is. My Mate was one of the Lost. Shifters who don’t know what they are. The first time she Shifted into a Hare she panicked and damn near got herself hit by a car.”
She laughed, relieved to break the first crack in the ice. Quickly, though, Donnelly grew somber again. “Since you’re human, you may not know this, but your Mate is in very bad shape.”
“I saw his Dragon when we broke the spell that bound him. And I know what Falling means.”
“Good.” He turned a tired, heavy gaze on the closed doors. “I’ve never seen a Dragon recover from an injury that bad. Honestly, I’m amazed he can still fly.”
“For a time, in that dream, I was the only thing keeping him and his Dragon together.” Jamie probably wouldn’t thank her for confessing that. Yet, Maya believed, with all her heart, that truth was the best path.
Donnelly didn’t look surprised. And he offered a confession of his own. “That’s why our Alpha sent me. We got some disturbing reports on him and Lorde was afraid he might need to be, well…”
His voice trailed off, but Maya knew what he meant. “Put down.”
He nodded. That silent agreement sent a shiver down her spine. “Are you the Flight’s assassin?”
She worried that she’d offend him, but he simply snorted. “Hell no. I’m a bulldozer. Assassins are a lot more subtle than me. But I am the guy who does what needs doing. That’s kind of my role in this Flight.”
“Well, I don’t think you’ll need to do anything here.” The firmness in her voice felt silly. Who was she, after all, to try to run off a Dragon?
Finn just smiled. “Neither do I, now that he has a Mate. No pressure, but I think you’re his one hope of salvation.”
“I can do this. I will do this,” she assured him. “I love Jamie Wolfe.”
“Good. Even if we don’t get along, he’s still a member of my Flight. That makes him my brother. So, here.”
He grabbed a pen out of another pocket and scribbled a number down on a scrap of paper. “If you need any advice, call that number.”
Frowning, Maya took it. “Maybe I gave you the wrong impression. I’m not going to be the Flight’s spy. I’m not going to call you with updates on ‘how he’s doing.’”
Donnelly blinked – then burst into loud guffaws. “Oh, hell no, I don’t expect you to call me! I mean, what the hell kind of advice could I give you? ‘Slap him around a bit and tell him to man up!’” Still chuckling, he retrieved the slip of paper and added the name ‘Bree’ above the number.
“This is my Mate’s number. She’s smart. She knows how freaky the Shifter world is when you first encounter it. And, most importantly, she’s got experience healing messed up Dragons.”
Okay, that was different. Maya accepted it again, more cheerfully.
“Wolfe might be the most screwed up member of our Flight, but I gave him some competition. Bree can tell you all about it.”
No shame darkened his face. No wounded pride or anger. Just a big, happy grin.
At the sight of it, Maya’s spirits soared. Compassion was born from shared suffering. If other Dragons could slip yet be forgiven, nothing blocked Jamie’s path of redemption.
“Thank you.” This time, she meant it.
“You’re welcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
“Things to do?”
“Yup.” One last pat on the shoulder and then he strode outside, bellowing for the Wolves.
Maya settled down on the coach and waited.
Ten minutes later, Jamie emerged. She scanned his face anxiously, searching for any anger or pain. Confusion, not rebellion, was all she found.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes.” Baffled, he shook his head. “Shockingly okay. I don’t really have anything to announce, but… there are things we need to discuss.”
“Oh yeah…” Maya rolled her eyes, winning a soft snort from him.
“So, let’s start with the basics.” Jamie swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Maya, I… I really do, rather… you know…”
She arched an eyebrow.
“Fine. Make me say it,” he grumbled. “I love you.”
Joy simmered in her heart, set afire by those three little words. Yet, she reined it back. “Do you want to love me? Because if you don’t… if you resent this… we’ll never be happy.”
“I do.”
“Even if love takes time?” Why, oh why, did she keep pushing him away?
Because facts matter. Because this relationship won’t work unless it’s based on truth.
“Yes.” Unable to face her, he turned to gaze out the window. Yet, his voice continued, soft and steady. “I’d forgotten what it felt like to be whole. To know your purpose. To love, and defend what you love. That’s worth time. Hell, that’s worth a life-time of time!”
With that, she finally set her heart free. Joy swept over her, washing away all cares.
He loved her. Nothing else mattered. He loved her, and she’d heal him.
“But here’s the real question.” Uneasy, he met her gaze. “Do you love me?”
“Oh, yes! Of course! I’ve loved you since you saved me.”
“You mean when I caught you as you fell? You loved me since you fainted?” he teased.
Maya poked him in the ribs. “Yes, silly. Though I didn’t know it then. See, it showed me your heart. No matter how bad things got, no matter how dark your heart grew, you never stopped loving. Your first thought was always other people and how you could protect them. That’s when I knew you were a good man, no matter what you were going through.”
“I’m not sure I agree with your assessment of me.”
“Don’t care. It’s my assessment, and I stand by it.”
He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them, sending a thrill of pleasure shivering through her. “Now, the important question. Am I worth your time? You know how screwed up I am. It will be months… maybe even years… before my Dragon regains its full strength.”
“I don’t care about that. You’re my Mate. I Claimed you and I’ll stand beside you. In sickness and in health,” she added.
Hoping he’d take the hint that there was another important question he hadn’t asked.
And… he missed the clue. “You don’t worry about me being around our child?”
“No! Don’t be ridiculous!”
“I’ve made mistakes. Terrible ones…” Haunted eyes searched her face for any signs of condemnation or doubt.
“Who hasn’t? Okay, maybe not ‘terrible’ ones. But it seems to me that your worst mistakes have only hurt you. That’s easy to forgive.”
“Jamie…” She snuggled closer, wrapping her arms around his hard, muscled chest. Beneath her fingers, she could feel his heart beat. “When I said I needed you, as a father and a Mate, I meant it. I love you. I want to build a family, a life, with you.”
“I want that too,” he whispered, his breath warm on her hair. “So, I guess there’s only one critical question left.”
Heart singing, Maya held her breath.
“What do you think about warm weather?”
“What?” she squawked.
Maya jerked out of his embrace, staring at her Mate in outrage. “Seriously? That’s your last question?!?”
“For now.” A devilish gleam lit his eyes. “A little later, once I have a ring and reservations at a good restaurant, I’ll ask another. But I’m not rushing that one.”
“Okay,” she relented, “but that question’s getting asked, right?”
“Promise.” He held up his hand as if taking an oath. Then muttered, “Now that I know the answer.”
“Coward,” she giggled. “So, what’s this about hot weather?”
“Brandon Lorde, my Alpha, thinks there’s another Wellspring down in the Yucatan. He wants us… you, really, to find it.”
“Wellsprings are those gateways to the Spirit Realm, right?”
“We call it the ‘Other Side’, but yes. That’s what the Fangs had you searching for.”
“Sweet! So I get my old job back – minus the murderous boss and hostile work conditions?”
“Minus that. Plus one doting husband.”
“That last part’s gonna require another question. Remember that.”
Jamie laughed and gave her the Boy Scout salute again. “I promise.”
Gazing at the Dragon she adored, her last doubts faded away. Piece by piece, everything was falling in place. “Sounds good to me.”
“There’s one last thing. If we do find that Wellspring,” he paused, straightening, “Lorde wants us to stay and care for it.”
“Okay.” From the way he watched her, this fact must be important. But she didn’t know enough about the Shifter world to understand why. “We get to leave occasionally, right? I mean, I like the Yucatan and all, but…”
“Oh, of course! It’s not a prison.” Seeing her confusion, he smiled. “My love, Wellsprings are sacred to Dragons. There is nothing more precious in the world. To be offered one, to be trusted to guard and protect it…”
Now she understood. Tears burned her eyes as she realized what a sign of trust this was. The sort of assurance that would be a balm to her wounded Dragon’s soul. Silently, she sent thanks to this mysterious Mr. Lorde, and his kindness.
“I will have everything a Dragon could want. A Mate. A family. A Wellspring to guard. I…” Joy choked him, and she thought she spotted the glint of a tear in his eye too. “I can’t imagine anything more I could want.”
“I can.” Curled against him, she rested her head upon his shoulder.
“Oh?”
“My question. My ring.”
Strong arms wrapped around her, promising a life of joy and passion. “You’ll get those. I swear.”
The End
Dragon Defender
Dragon Dreams Book 6
A Wellspring Chronicles Tale
Leela Ash
Copyright ©2018 by Leela Ash. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter 1
Every evening, Mission House’s dining hall filled with patrons. Six chairs per table, and not a one of them stayed empty. A line wound back and forth through the foyer then out the door and around the block. Hundreds of people waited, daring Portland’s cold February rain.
Not because of the great food.
Moving at a trot, Dakota Vance scooped up a pair of paper plates. Mashed potatoes, a wilted salad, and some weird concoction of mayo, tuna fish, and macaroni. Not gourmet fare, she knew as she added an almost-fresh chocolate chip cookie to each plate. But their guests didn’t care.
Mission House’s food only had one thing going for it: it was free. And, for a soup kitchen, it wasn’t bad.
Dodging backpacks and garbage bags full of prized possessions, Dakota wove her way toward an unfed table. Some people would turn up their noses at her ‘customers’. They’d write them off as junkies, lazy bums, and mental cases.
That wasn’t what Dakota saw.
She saw misfortune. A woman with three small children, willing to live under an overpass if it kept her safe from the man who beat them. A scrawny teenager who’d fled some horror at home. An ancient man who had no family to care for him as he slid into dementia, no company except the ghosts of old friends.
Sure, there were junkies and alcoholics. Lots of them. But when she looked at them, she saw…
…Cally…
…mistakes. People too sick, too damaged, to escape the black hole of addiction. They needed a hand up, not disgust.
No, she wouldn’t judge the people who needed Mission House. Hell, working for a shelter didn’t pay much. One accident, one unpaid hospital bill, and she could be sitting here. This plate of nearly-expired food? That could be her next meal.
Oscar, one of their regulars, whistled as Dakota set his plate in front of him. “Salad, tuna crap, taters, and… what’s those things?”
She pretended not to notice when he pocketed his cookie. Later, he’d claim he hadn’t gotten one and plead for a second. Like he did every night. “Those are meatballs. Made with real, honest-to-God hamburger.”
“Hamburger, huh.” The old man prodded one with his plastic fork.
“Hamburger,” she assured him. “Get used to it. We got a new sponsor and there’s going to be a lot more meat on the menu.”
“No kidding?” The smile he gave her was warm, even if it lacked half its teeth. “I will change my dinner plans then, young lady!”
At once, she turned and sped away, before he could start a conversation. Her heart ached. People here longed for more than food. A gentle touch, a few moments of talk. Hell, even a person who could look at them squarely without wrinkling their nose in disgust.
But she didn’t have time. Three more tables needed food. By the time that she’d taken care of them, three more would be empty. You couldn't let people help themselves to the food. Too unsanitary and the risk of theft was too high. So, every plate, every cup, had to be carried out by one of the House's few volunteers, and a couple of underpaid employees like her.
As she flew into the kitchen for her next load, Amy (Mission House's perpetually frazzled director) caught her by the arm. “Dakota? Take a break.”
“But the rush has just started!”
“I know. Trust me, though, this is more important. This could mean everything to this place.”
Then why was she so nervous? “What's up?”
“Our new patron wants to talk to you. Now. There's a car waiting for you in the back alley.”
“Me? Why? I just work here!”
“I have no idea,” Amy sighed. “He was very specific about it, however. I don't want to scare you, but he said that if this discussion went well, he'd be willing to give more to the shelter. Lots more. Like, millions.”
Dakota's stomach lurched. Wow, no pressure or anything...
“I should go home, get cleaned up, and...”
“No, no, no. Someone’s here now. Out back.”
Dismayed, she stared down at her jeans and beat up sneakers. Fortunately, the call came early, before they'd gotten stained by food and filth. And her long, luxurious brown hair was woven into an elaborate French braid. Stylish and professional, that braid stood up to hot, sweaty kitchen work.
At least one part of her would look good for this interview!
Amy hustled her to the rear exit. “Which car am I looking for... uh, oh. Never mind.”
A sleek black stretch limo took up the entire alley. Its chauffeur, wearing a cap and black suit, stood at attention by the passenger door. “Miss Vance?”
Dakota gulped. “Yes?”
“Excellent. Mr. Alester is waiting. Please.”
He eased a door open, gently bumping one of the alley's overflowing garbage cans. She managed to slip into the limo's spacious interior, where one other passenger awaited.
Like a statue carved from ice, the woman was a vision in white. Tall and slender, she wore a tiny white dress and an enormous ermine fur coat. An odd platinum necklace circled her throat: a serpent biting its own tail. Her skin, pale as milk, was flawless. And her hair! Dakota had never seen anything like it. Smooth, glossy, platinum blonde hair poured down into the seat beside her in sleek coils. Heck, it had to be five feet long! How on earth could someone manage hair like that?
Probably with a stable of stylists. Which, judging from her fur coat, she could afford.
The only co
lor in her icy beauty came from her eyes−one blue, one green. Both brilliant, like tiny gems. “Miss Dakota Vance?”
“Yes. Are you... Mrs. Alester?”
A faint sniff. “I am Mr. Alester's secretary. My name is unimportant.”
I'm in the wrong field. I need to work someplace where the 'secretaries' get coats like that!
The stranger pressed a button. “Drive.”
Even her nail polish was white!
With a click, the doors locked. To Dakota, it sounded like a cage door swinging shut. Which was totally silly. Lots of cars locked automatically. Mission House also wasn't in a great neighborhood and a car like this screamed wealth. Something that might tempt a poor person to do something foolish.
No, locking the door made sense. And why should she care? It wasn’t like she needed to jump out of the car, right?
Right.
Sternly, she pushed that ridiculous fear from her mind. If Amy was right, a lot of money was riding on this conversation. Money that could literally save lives. This was no time for vapors and fits.
As the limo rumbled out into traffic, she cleared her throat. “May I ask what this is about? I don’t understand why Mr. Alester would want to talk to me.”
“This is about your sister, Cally Vance.”
Cally.
At the sound of her name, Dakota closed her eyes. Only two years had passed since the day she got that terrible phone call from the LAPD. Two years to accept that she would never see her sister's smile, never hear her breathless laughter on the phone again. That wasn't anywhere near enough time to wash away the grief of that loss.
Or the rage that came with it.
She felt it now, simmering behind the sorrow. A year of meditation, six months of grief counseling... and the fury remained. Lurking like a poisonous asp in her heart.
The secretary's cold, unfeeling eyes studied her. “You know your sister was murdered, yes?”
Shock took her breath away. “I always thought... I mean, they said she was a junkie, that she overdosed...”
“No.”
One word, but it breathed upon the embers of her anger, fanning it to life. Sorrow, sadness, guilt... all the dark emotions that plagued her for two years were drawn into the flames. Those weaker pains burned away until nothing but rage remained.
