Dragon Fever: Limited Edition Holiday Romance Boxset

by Serena Meadows

  “Furious. I wanted to kill him. I ran across the street, and he jumped into his car. He tossed the rifle in the back seat.”

  “Let me get this straight.” Clem Carlisle stared hard at Drake. “You charged a man armed with a rifle without a weapon?”

  “I just said that.”

  Carlisle rolled his eyes. “Either you are incredibly brave or pathetically stupid.”

  Drake brows lowered and a light Emily didn’t like gleamed in his eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

  “Just angry. And then what happened?”

  Drake shrugged. “I broke the windshield and tried to grab him by the throat. He was scared and drove away. I fell off of the car, and then he escaped.”

  “And did that to your arm in the process.” Carlisle gestured toward his injuries. “You must have some superhuman strength to punch through that shit.”

  “I was angry.”

  Carlisle whistled and shook his head. “So, you said. I hope you never get angry at me. Now, did you get a look at this guy?”

  “Yes.”

  Emily’s eyes widened. “What does he look like?”

  “Not much hair on his head,” Drake answered. “Not very big, or strong. Pale blue eyes. He knew he was in danger from me, knew that if he didn’t escape, I would kill him. But I saw no fear in his face or his eyes.”

  Emily sucked in her breath. “He’s a total psychopath.”

  Carlisle nodded. “We already suspected that, Emily,” he said. “Drake, would you know him if you saw him again?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll send a composite artist out to sketch him,” Carlisle went on. “That’s the first anyone has gotten a look at him. Now maybe we can catch this bastard.”

  “Might he be in your mugshots?” Emily asked.

  Carlisle nodded. “He might be, so I’ll have you come take a look through them on our computer system. And what you both said jives with what the witnesses told the officers. Their description of the guy varies, as it usually does in these circumstances, but all agree that he fired a rifle, and another guy, Drake here, jumped on the hood and smashed the windshield.”

  “If we can get his name, you can arrest him,” Emily said, relief and joy filling her. “I can get my life back.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Carlisle scribbled in his notebook. “I’ll also have repair shops and glass outfits keep an eye out for a busted windshield with blood inside. What was the car?”

  “A blue Honda sedan,” Emily replied. “One of his usual that I see.”

  “Excellent. If I think of anything else, I’ll call. Same with you.” He stared at Drake. “You really should have a doctor take care of your arm.”

  “No.”

  “Not a good attitude.” Carlisle stood up. “Emily, keep this guy close. If anyone can protect you, I think he can. Provided he doesn’t get killed doing it.”

  Chapter Six

  After Carlisle left the house, Emily ushered Drake into the bathroom again, the plastic bag in her hand. “I never even thought that you might have gotten a good look at the guy,” she said, ripping the cover off a roll of gauze.

  Drake sat on the toilet again, feeling pleased that Emily felt excited, happy, yet something puzzled him.

  “Why would this stalker not feel fear when I nearly killed him?”

  Emily hesitated, then leaned her hip against the counter. “True psychopaths don’t feel emotions the way normal people do,” she answered slowly. “They can’t feel love, joy, anger, fear, anxiety. That’s why they can do terrible things to others, and it doesn’t bother them in the least.”

  “Even if his life is in danger, he still feels no fear?”

  “Exactly. Intellectually, he saw you were planning to kill him, so his flight response kicked in. But to really be afraid of you, no. He’s not.”

  “How strange.”

  Drake held his arm out for Emily to rewrap it. “Does that mean all psychopaths kill people?”

  “No. Most don’t. I’ve done research on all this shit since he started stalking me. Most lead normal lives and pretend to feel emotions. And people who still feel emotions can become killers and abuse their loved ones. People are the pits.”

  “So, if he is obsessed with you, and does not feel fear, anger, or remorse, then my presence here will not stop him.”

  “No. It won’t.”

  She met Drake’s eyes, worried. “If you want to stop being my bodyguard, Drake, I’ll understand.”

  “I have not repaid my debt.”

  “That shit again.”

  Her lips thinned, Emily bandaged his arm from his fingers to his elbow and refused to meet his gaze. Knowing that she was angry with him for not abandoning her, Drake ignored the confusion that brought. I will never understand these humans. Why should I try? “Will you start work again?”

  Emily sighed. “Yeah, I’d better. What will you do?”

  “Guard you.”

  “Do you want to watch TV? Read books? If you sit and watch me work, that’ll drive me completely bat-shit crazy.”

  Drake could read English, but not very well. “Maybe I will watch TV.”

  “Okay. Whether you agree or not, the rest will do your arm good.”

  Emily finished his arm and tidied the bathroom. “I’ve got cable, so you can channel surf to your heart’s desire.”

  Following her to the front room, Drake checked the street through the window, then said, “I’m going to take a look around outside.”

  “Be careful.”

  Unlocking the door, he went outside into the bright daylight, hearing Emily lock it again behind him. Children played in a yard, yelling at one another, not paying him any attention at all. Inspecting the shrubs, he found no one lurking within them. The sides of the house and the backyard also revealed no stalking intruders. Gazing up, he saw no one on the roof.

  Obviously watching for him, Emily opened the door to let him in, and shut, then locked it behind him. She tapped on an electrical screen on the wall and nodded.

  “The alarm’s set,” she said, then gestured toward the television. “Lay down on the couch so you can rest your arm.”

  Drake glanced from her to the television and back, feeling embarrassed. “I don’t know how to work it.”

  “You don’t have TVs where you’re from?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why does that not surprise me.”

  Picking up a rectangular object from the table, she clicked a button. The television immediately came on; people talking and music in the background filled the screen. Emily handed him the object. “Now, just use this button here to scroll through the channels until you find something you like.”

  “I don’t know what I like.”

  Emily took it back, then clicked a few times. “How about a channel that shows old westerns?”

  “Fine.” He sat on the couch, then looked up at her. “You need to eat.”

  Emily rubbed her stomach with a grimace. “Yeah, I know. My ulcer is killing me. Are you hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  “Neither am I, but I better feed the beast.”

  She headed for the kitchen while Drake lay on the couch, his left arm behind his head, his right resting on his stomach. Half his attention was on the strange things he saw on the television, the rest listening to Emily in the kitchen. Without the need to protect her, or tell the cop what happened, his arm started to throb in earnest.

  He had been able to ignore the pain earlier, but now, it screamed at him in a loud, strident voice. Trying to ignore it again, Drake attempted to focus, and understand, what he saw on the screen.

  “You’re hurting.”

  Glancing up, he found Emily near the couch and realized he permitted her to step close without his noticing. He nodded.

  “I have something for the pain,” she said. “But are you allergic to Vicodin or Percocet?”

  “I’m not allergic.”

  “Okay.”

  Vanishing down the hall
, Emily must have gone into the bathroom, for he heard cabinets opening and closing. A few moments later, she came back with a pill and a glass of water. “Now this might make you woozy,” she told him, handing him the pill, then the glass.

  Drake washed it down with the water and handed the glass back. “Thanks.”

  For a moment, she watched him with concern. “I’m just down the hall if you need anything. Just yell.”

  He nodded, and Emily left him alone. Returning his attention to the television, he tried to understand what was going on. He suspected it was not real events happening as he vaguely recalled a lesson on human fiction, in books and what they called movies. In this one, males rode four-legged beasts called horses, and he seemed to recall learning something about them, too.

  Not long after he had taken the pill, his head felt light, as though suddenly filled with puffy clouds. He couldn’t focus on the movie any longer and closed his eyes. His pain, still present, didn’t bother him nearly as much. As though it truly belonged to someone else. He drifted into a light doze, then into a deeper slumber.

  Dreaming, he flew high over the mountains with his friends, circling, diving, soaring on spread wings mere feet from the rocky outcroppings. They all knew it was forbidden to fly like that, in the open and in broad daylight where humans might see them. But the need to fly, to feel the wind under their wings, was far stronger than any edict.

  Waking with a start, he heard Emily in the kitchen. Outside, the sun had gone down and night lurked through the curtains. He had slept all afternoon. The puffy cloud feeling had not left him, but his arm pained him not at all. Drake carefully sat up, his head spinning wickedly, and set his injured arm in his lap.

  “You’re awake.”

  Peering up at Emily, he observed her soft smile, her wide hazel eyes filled with some emotion he was too woozy to comprehend. The television was now off, and he breathed in the scents of something cooking behind her.

  “How’s your pain?”

  “What pain?”

  She came toward him. “That’s the Vicodin,” she said. Sitting beside him, she carefully plucked his injured arm from his lap and examined his fingers. “They aren’t swollen,” she commented. “If your arm was swelling, then I’d think they would, too. Hungry?”

  “No.”

  “That’s the Vicodin, too.” She set his arm back down. “But you should try to eat, then lay back down.”

  Preferring to lay back down right then and there, and hopefully sleep, Drake nodded. “All right.”

  “I’m drinking wine, but you can’t have any. Not while you’re on that shit.”

  “Okay.”

  “Come on. It’s ready.”

  Not quite able to walk a straight line, Drake made it to the kitchen without falling or hitting a wall. His legs trembling, he made it to the kitchen and sat down gratefully. Emily served him a plate of food, and he did his best to eat it. It was awkward to use utensils with his left hand, his useless right again in his lap.

  Drake ate about half of it, then pushed his plate away. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You did better than I thought you would. Now, just go back to the couch and rest.”

  Obeying her, he tottered into the living room, and sat down, staring into space and feeling sick. Emily followed him, her face no longer concerned but actively worried. “You won’t change your mind about the hospital?”

  Drake shook his head slowly, not wanting to add dizziness to his repertoire of problems. “I need sleep.”

  She went down the hall, leaving him to lie back down on the couch. The dizziness arrived anyway, and behind his closed eyelids, he felt the room spinning. He didn’t hear Emily return, but felt her lay a blanket over him. He tried to grin.

  “Let’s hope your stalker doesn’t show up,” he mumbled. “I’m useless as a bodyguard.”

  Her cool hand rested lightly on his forehead. “No fever. Just go to sleep.”

  “If I get up in the night, don’t shoot me.”

  “I won’t.”

  Within minutes, he slept again.

  When he woke, the house was dark, silent. His pain was back, but not nearly as bad as before, but the need to empty his bladder was far worse. Moving silently to not wake Emily, Drake went to the bathroom and pissed gratefully into the toilet. Done, he flushed, then peeked into her room.

  She slept, a mound under the blankets with only her hair spilling over the pillows. Patrolling the house, he found everything secure and peered through the window at the darkened street. He stood to the side so his body would not show up to anyone out there and lifted only the edge of the curtain.

  A vehicle sat parked there, positioned so the driver had a clear view of the house. His hairs on the back of his neck standing up, Drake looked closer, wishing for his other night vision. Yet, he still saw the man behind the wheel, just sitting there.

  What do you want? Emily? You won’t get her, you fuck. Mess with her, and let’s see how well you burn.

  Drake would not sleep knowing he was out there, sitting, watching. He relaxed on the couch, wide awake, alert and ready. He listened to every creak the house made as the time marched toward dawn and occasionally stepped lightly to the window to peek out. The enemy continued to sit, through that time, not doing anything except watch.

  He knows I’m here. He saw how close I came to seizing his throat. For now, I’ll wait and not do anything unless he tries to enter.

  When dawn crept in, slowly turning the darkness to gray, Drake found him gone. His vehicle was no longer there. Relaxing his alert stance, Drake lay back on the couch, covered himself with the blanket, and pondered going back to sleep.

  He managed a light doze and woke with Emily standing over him in her bathrobe, yawning.

  “Morning,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  Drake sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the couch. “He was here last night.”

  Her jaws snapped closed at the beginning of another yawn. “I’m guessing he didn’t do anything.”

  “Just sat out there and watched.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t confront him,” she said. “How’s your arm?”

  “Better.”

  Emily eyed him skeptically, clearly not believing him. “Go get your shower while I start breakfast.”

  Before he did, however, he toured the house again, checking through windows and inspecting the garage for any sign of an intruder. He saw nothing and headed for the front door to make a quick round of the house’s exterior.

  “You’ll have to teach me the alarm,” he commented as Emily disengaged it.

  Unlocking it, he opened the door and froze.

  Emily cried out and stumbled away, gagging and choking.

  A freshly killed animal, blood still seeping from its throat, lay on the front porch.

  Chapter Seven

  “It’s the neighbor’s dog.”

  Shocked, horrified, Emily sat shivering at the table in the kitchen, her coffee untouched. “He did this. First just pictures, now the real thing. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Drake’s strong hand lay on her shoulder, then roamed under her hair to the back of her neck. “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Nothing.” Emily imagined telling the neighbor’s kids that the man stalking her had killed their beloved pet. “We need to get Clem out here, get photos, then return the body to the family.”

  “Who did it belong to?”

  “The little kids who play outside all the time.” Emily tried to remember the mutt’s name but couldn’t. “I know he was a beagle mix,” she added. “Sweet little dog. Those kids adored him.”

  Emily stood, looking around for her cell. “I better get Clem out here before the kids start looking for the dog.”

  The house phone rang, shrill in the quiet of the morning. Emily knew who it was, knew he was out there where he couldn’t be seen, watching her reaction upon finding the dead mutt on her porch. Before Drake could stop her, she
snatched up the receiver with a snarl.

  “You bastard.”

  “The dog is a warning, Emily,” the familiar voice said. “Get rid of the boy-toy before things get worse.”

  “You shit,” she screamed, ignoring Drake’s attempts to take the phone from her. “You stinking, filthy coward. Come face me, asshole, face me, coward. I swear to God I’ll put a fucking bullet in your eye.”

  “Calm down and think. More kids’ pets on your doorstep? Or send the ape packing.”

  The line went dead.

  Emily, in her fury, continued to rant into the dead line, cursing him, issuing threats to someone who couldn’t hear them. At last, sobbing, her throat sore, Emily sank back into her chair and wept with her face in her folded arms. Drake hung the phone up with a solid thunk and stood beside her chair.

  His hands, both of them, turned her to face him. He pulled her into him, her cheek resting against his rock-hard belly. Emily cried, her arms around his hips, his left hand cupping her wet cheek, his right caressing her hair. He said nothing, but simply let Emily cry herself out.

  At last, she lifted her streaming eyes to his, his hand under her chin. “Sorry.”

  “No need to be.”

  “I’m not usually a crier.”

  “You’re also under terrible stress. Where’s your phone? I’ll call Carlisle.”

  “On the counter there.”

  Drake caressed her cheek with the palm of his hand, gazing down at her with warmth and kindness in his brilliant blue eyes. Then he left her to fumble for a napkin and wipe her face, then blow her nose. She heard him behind her speaking in clipped tones.

  “You need to get over here,” Drake said, terse. “He killed a neighbor’s dog.”

  Emily heard Clem swearing. “That fucker. I’ll be there right away.”

  When Drake returned to her, he lowered himself to his knee and gazed up at her. “Why don’t you take a hot shower? It might help.”

  Emily nodded. “Okay.”

  Yet the warm spray could not wash away the sensation that the dog’s blood was all over her. The neighbor kids’ grief seemed like the taste of acid in her mouth, and no amount of brushing her teeth could get rid of it. No doubt, the children were up and wondering where their dog had gone to.