by Zoe Chant
“Whoa!”
There was a second, just a single second, where she felt Morgan's grasp on her tighten, and rather than being alarmed, her first impulse was to think No, don't let me go. Then Morgan allowed her to pull back, and she found herself looking him fully in the face. There was nothing evasive about him now, nothing awkward or strained. He looked like a man who had had an epiphany, and she had no idea what that meant in light of the way her heart was beating too fast or the way it felt as if the blood was practically singing in her veins.
Why, his eyes are beautiful, she found herself thinking.
They were. With his coloring, she might have expected him to have dark eyes, black or brown, or, given his model-like good looks, maybe something like a brilliant blue. Instead, his eyes shone a bright copper, shimmering like the finest silk, and she had to swallow hard before she could trust herself to speak clearly.
“Ha, well. Um. That was a thing.”
“That was indeed a thing,” Morgan said, and somehow she knew that he was holding back and doing his best not to frighten her.
She coughed, taking another step back, and his copper eyes followed her every move. There was something almost fearful about the way he watched her, as if somehow afraid that she might suddenly disappear into thin air. It gave her a strangely calm feeling. Something had clicked in her head, and now all was well in the world.
“All right, about your suit...”
“Come with me.”
That made her burst out laughing, and she shook her head.
“Want me to pony up and ride off into the sunset with you, cowboy?” she asked, and he grinned at her. God, when he smiled, it took away those pained lines she could now see at the corners of his eyes, took away that grimness that made him look so very foreboding. He was still a bit awkward, especially if he was making offers like that, but something about him was hitting all the right notes.
“Would you come? I could get you a pony.”
She shook her head, smiling because the alternative was to take him seriously, and right that moment, she did not want to tempt fate. If she actually did end today with a pony, it would be her own fault, and she only had a small apartment to keep it in.
“Never offer a girl who had a horse phase a pony,” she said. “But seriously. Your suit.”
“Yes, my suit. I need it altered, and I want you to do it.”
“Right. That was why you brought it in.” Harper felt it bore repeating. She was beginning to lose track herself, and for a moment, she wondered if it had simply been too long since she had gotten laid. Apparently a dry spell could turn any random customer into Prince Charming, but it wasn't as if Morgan needed the help, really.
“Yes. I need my suit altered for a family event I'll be going to this weekend. It's in Upstate New York. I would like you to come with me.”
She stared at him, because whatever this was, it wasn't something that she could encourage, though there was a terribly subversive little voice in the back of her head asking her why not?
“Okay. Start over, explain it to me in small words. Why do you want me to come with you?”
He hesitated, and but it didn't look as if he were deciding on a lie. Instead, it looked more as if he was trying to sort out a particularly thorny truth, and accordingly, she waited. She had some familiarity with thorny truths, and sometimes, they just needed time and space.
“Because of what I feel for you.”
It was the truth, the painfully honest truth, and it might not be all of it, but it was true enough to make her pause.
“Um. Look. That was –“ She coughed. “A thing. I mean, obviously I'm attracted to you -”
“Really?”
It came out both touched and hopeful, and Harper huffed a soft disbelieving laugh.
“Geez, do you not own a mirror? But ...but I don't care how much you pay me, I'm not that kind of seamstress.”
“That kind of – Oh! Oh God, no. No. Absolutely not. No.”
She hadn't really thought he was trying to buy her, but she was further reassured by the look of astonishment on his face.
“Okay. So that's clear. Good. So explain to me what you meant by wanting me along because of what you feel for me.”
A cloud came across his face, doubt and something painful. Harper was startled by how much she wanted to sweep it away. She wanted to see if she could soothe it with a gentle touch, or maybe a kiss, or...
“You didn't feel anything?”
Harper bit her lip.
“Chemistry?”
She said it hoping to at least get a smile out of him, but all it won was a slight twist of his lips. He regarded her carefully for a moment, as if searching for something that he badly needed, but finally he nodded. When he spoke, there was something careful about it. He had pulled some vital part of himself back. She tried not to think about how much she disliked the idea of that.
“Perhaps you could come and help me with my other clothes as well,” he offered. “I have...that is, they have the same fit issues as the suit.”
For a moment she was tempted, but she shook her head.
“I'm going to have my hands full with your suit as it is,” she said gently. “And as to the rest, it might be best to pick up something this week to wear, especially if your other clothes are more casual. You know, the clothes should fit you. You don't need to fit them.”
Something about what she said made him wince, but Morgan covered it up with a slight nod.
“You're right, likely. But the suit. I should come back in on Wednesday to see you again?”
“To make sure the fit is working, yes.”. She knew that both of them knew it for a lie. He wasn't coming for the suit; he looked like he had almost forgotten about it entirely. Morgan was coming to see her, and some part of her was glad. It was more than glad – it was relieved and happy and unhappy that he was leaving at all.
God, get a grip, she told herself firmly. He is a customer, that's all.
It was a lie, but she could figure that out tonight, alone on the couch and probably picking it all apart too intently.
“All right,” Morgan said. “I'll return on Wednesday.”
He said it like a pronouncement, words written in fire in the sky. Harper found herself smiling at that even as she wondered what in the world he did that he talked like that.
“Right. I'll know about the fee at that point, so I'll get a deposit from you then. Does that sound good?”
He nodded, and after that, there was nothing for it but to lead him back to the front of her little shop. It was dimmer now that the sun had set completely, darkness falling with the absolute speed of nights in spring.
Morgan hesitated as he looked out into the dark.
“Are you parked close?”
“It's not too bad. I'm over by the drainage ditch. Why?”
“Will you let me walk you?”
She gave him an amused look, sliding her jacket on. He looked so very serious.
“Worried much?”
“No, but…I would like to see you safely to your car.”
“My knight in shining armor,” Harper said. God, was she flirting? Was this what flirting was like?
Either way, her words won another smile from Morgan, and that was worth it.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes. All right.”
He waited patiently as she shut off the lights and pulled the shutter down over her shopfront, and then, true to his word, he walked her to the car. He was smart enough not to crowd her, but Harper found herself thinking that she wouldn't mind it if he crowded her just a little.
“Well, this is me,” she said when they reached her ancient station wagon. “See you Wednesday?”
He nodded, and the smile he gave her was nearly shy. Morgan opened his mouth to respond, and then a hard wind kicked up, followed by a noise that she could only categorize as the roar of an oncoming locomotive.
Get off the track, get off the track, her mind chanted, but of cour
se there was no train and no track.
Instead there was a dragon swooping down on them from the night sky, its wings seeming to stretch from one end of the parking lot to the other, its fanged mouth open, and a heat like high summer closing in with no escape possible ...
Chapter Four
∞∞∞
Morgan was so enthralled by the idea that Harper was his true mate, so utterly enchanted with her, that he didn't hear the challenger until it was almost too late. As it was, he barely caught wind of the other dragon before Harper did, and it was just enough time to put himself between his mate and the danger.
The dragon hovered over them, long serpentine neck arching back to flame, and Morgan grabbed Harper, whirling her around and away from the aggressive dragon. The flame broke like a spray of water over his back, and he noted in the part of his mind that was still rational that it was barely enough to burn away his jacket. His T-shirt was a little crispy but nothing more. It was clear that the other dragon wasn't after a killing, but his own dragon wasn't having it.
My mate! his dragon raged. My mate, do not hurt her, do not touch her, do not even look at her!
“Are you all right?”
Harper stared up at him, her eyes wide as saucers.
“What the hell is that thing?”
“It's dead is what it is,” he growled, and he sprinted towards the center of the parking lot, changing as he went.
The pain caught him halfway through his transformation, starting as a bright spark high between his shoulder and his right arm and radiating out from there. He had come up with a dozen or so rather tortured metaphors for how it felt, but in the moment, the only thing that he knew was that it burned. It was terrible, and none of it mattered at all because that bastard had almost hurt Harper.
He was barely done transforming before he leaped into the air, meeting the other dragon head-on with a furious hiss. His steam, far hotter than his challenger's flame, made the other draw back, winging higher into the sky with Morgan right on his heels.
In his dragon form, Morgan was black from his crest to the very tip of his tail, and he noted grimly that the other dragon, though dark, was lighter, with a tinge of red to his scales.
Which clan do they belong to? Morgan wondered grimly. Are they a Foster or a Wright? Which one figured me out and decided that I was going to be the next notch on their belt?
It could have been any of them. It didn't matter. What did matter was the way the other dragon wheeled around him, lunging for his throat, groaning when Morgan sent another narrow spray of steam towards him. It was less showy than flame while being far easier to direct, and, in many situations, it was much deadlier.
His steam caught the dragon across the very edge of their wing, and abruptly the challenger decided they had had enough. With a deep growl that seemed to shake Morgan's very bones, the red dragon wheeled and winged off into the night sky. Morgan almost went after him, but two things hit him at once.
The first was Harper. He couldn't leave her to go off on a bloodthirsty rampage.
The second was pain.
During the exhilaration of battle, he had been able to ignore it, but now that his challenger had left the scene, he couldn't keep it up. His right wing faltered, and it was only through sheer force of will that he kept aloft. He spiraled down to the ground with desperate speed even as hot lava poured through his frame, all coming from his right shoulder. How the hell had he gotten so very high? The wind whipped past his face.
Harper. Get to Harper. That's all that matters. Get to Harper.
If he had any sense or wit left to him, he would have wondered how in the world a human woman who knew nothing of dragons could help him. On a deeper level, however, he knew that she was the only one who could.
He was already shifting as he dropped to the ground, braking as much as he could with his wings before he hit the pavement as a man. Dragon or not, the impact hurt, and the gravel dug into the bare skin of his arms as he groaned out loud.
Somehow, Morgan managed to get turned on to his back, and then he found himself looking up into Harper's lovely face, her features stark and frightened in the single parking lot light.
“Morgan! Morgan, look at me ...”
He wanted to tell her not to be afraid. He wanted to tell her that he would protect her, even with what was left of him. He would die for her. Then it occurred to him that as fucking damaged as he was, as useless as he had become, that maybe that was all he could do, and the old despair opened up inside him.
Morgan was almost grateful when the dark rose up to claim him, and he passed out at his true mate's feet.
Chapter Five
∞∞∞
Okay.
Dragons.
That was all Harper could think as she stared at Morgan, dropped at her feet after a flight and a fight that had left her breathless. If she thought about it too long, the arc of black scales, the gleam of fire, and the heat of steam, she was probably going to start hyperventilating.
And I can't do that. If I do that, what's going to happen to Morgan?
She couldn't stand to leave Morgan on the ground, one hand curled on his chest and one spread out on the asphalt, palm up as if he were asking for help. Harper knew that she needed to get him safe and to do something in case the other dragon came back, but for a moment, she couldn't resist the urge to reach down and stroke his dark hair back from his eyes.
“It's all right,” Harper found herself saying. “It's all right, I promise.”
The first indication she got that it would not be all right was when she tried to lift him. Remembering something that she had seen once in a movie, she levered him up, wrapping her arms around his chest and under his arms from behind. She managed to get him halfway up, but then her lower back spasmed, and her wrist gave a warning twinge of pain.
Harper groaned. She knew that twinge well. It meant that while she could force her arm into doing what she needed it to do, there would be a price later on. That price might just be a few hours with a heating pad and an ice pack trading off…or it might mean that her entire arm would lock up. Harper shook her head and gently put Morgan back down on the ground.
She was just wondering what in the world to do when help arrived in the form of a group of teenagers crossing the parking lot, skateboards underneath their arms. They looked justifiably nervous about the lady who was all but jumping up and down to get their attention, but they perked up when they saw Morgan collapsed on the ground.
“Did you kill a guy?”
“Did he attack you, and you knocked him out?”
“No, he's drunk, he's so drunk.”
In spite of herself, Harper laughed.
“That last one,” she said with a grin. “He had a few too many, and I want to get him home before the cops come. Can you help me, please? I'll give you some pizza money if you do.”
That cinched it. Three of the kids seized Morgan up, the fourth supervising, and while Harper bit her lip nervously, they managed to wrestle him to the car, where she opened the door for them and lowered the passenger seat. They deposited him in the seat with a thump, and though no one could say that they were gentle about it, Morgan looked no worse for the wear.
Harper handed over a twenty, and the oldest one gave her a wise and solemn look.
“Don't let him do this all the time,” she said. “He needs to respect himself and you.”
“I…will keep that in mind,” Harper said. It was good advice, and she managed to keep her giggles to herself until she was in the car.
“Oh my god…he's a dragon.”
It was beginning to set in. She was surprised that she was taking it so well. He was a dragon. It was a thing. Now she had to deal with it, and she had to deal with it fast because Morgan needed help.
“All right, sweetheart,” she said, throwing the car into gear and backing out. “We are going to get you to a hospital and hope you don't bleed green or something. Or a large animal vet? Hell, maybe a zoo.”
She jumped, and it was a good thing that she wasn't in traffic because his sharp cry made her tap the brakes. Harper turned in her seat to see that Morgan was sitting half up, his copper eyes wide and an intent look on his face.
As she watched, his arm hit the glass with a hard thump, and he started to shift, as if he wanted to twist around in the seat. For a brief and terrible moment, she had a vision of him transforming into a dragon again and taking the roof off of her car, and she must have made some startled cry because he turned to her, quick as a snake.
She gasped when his hand shot out to grasp her wrist. There was no pain in his grip, but there was an entreaty there that took her breath away.
“Morgan?”
“No. No hospitals,” he said desperately. “I'm just…please. Take me home. Harper. Please.”
Harper's breath caught in her throat. Something had seized her by the heart and refused to let it go. She could no more deny him than she could ask the sun to stay in bed at dawn.
“You're not hurt? Please tell me you're not hurt.”
To her surprise, a slight smile drifted across his handsome face. When he smiled, it shaved years off of him, left him looking almost heartrendingly boyish.
“Just take me home with you,” he whispered, and then he was out again.
Harper took a moment to catch her breath, and instinctively she reached out to squeeze Morgan's limp hand.
“All right,” she said, “but if I get stopped by the cops, I am prodding you awake and making you explain it all to them.”
She drove carefully all the way home, and the fifteen-minute drive only felt like it was taking forever. For once, it was actually in her favor that it wasn't a great neighborhood. No one seemed to think it was weird that a woman was taking her drunk boyfriend home at the end of the night, and things went fairly smoothly until she pulled into the covered garage at her complex.
This time, there were no handy teens to help her move a body, and she bit her lip.
“Okay, this is just going to look ridiculous.”