by Anna Lowe
Who was dragon lady? Where did she go? Would he ever see her again?
He cleared his throat, because that last part sounded a little too close to a whimper, even in his mind.
“Welcome to Las Vegas, man,” the cab driver chuckled. “I know just the place for a morning-after breakfast. Best coffee in town.”
The coffee was mud, as it turned out, and he wasn’t sure who that said more about — the cab driver’s judgment or the quality of Vegas’ coffee. But the omelet was good, and he’d succeeded in leaving a cold trail the werebears couldn’t follow. He had a separate stash of money to pay for the cab and breakfast, but it sure wasn’t what he’d had in the canvas bag Kaya had flown off with.
He scraped the last bit of sticky yolk off his plate with his toast and considered his next move. Nearly choked on the next slurp of coffee when his wolf chimed in with his two cents.
Find girl. Fuck her. Make her our mate.
He slammed the coffee cup down so hard, three heads turned his way. What had gotten into his beast?
Destiny, the wolf purred, driving an image of the woman into his mind. A very dangerous image of open lips, hungry eyes, and flaring nostrils. Like she couldn’t get enough of his scent. Like the same magnetic force that had moved him had acted on her, too.
Mate, the wolf concluded. Mine.
He shook his head the way he always had at that destined mate nonsense. Just because the occasional shifter fell head over heels in love with another didn’t mean it was destiny at work.
As if on cue, another image of her jumped out of his garbled memories and socked him in the gut. The moment he’d lifted his eyes from another winning hand of cards — royal flush, no less, his second of the night — and saw her, he stopped breathing and sipping the whiskey in his right hand. He quit fingering the five-thousand-dollar chip in his left hand, too, because time had screeched to a fender-crushing halt and flopped over dead in its tracks, right there and then.
Her eyes were wider and brighter than the whole Nevada sky. The whole Arizona sky, too. She stared back in wonder and excitement, as if time had stood still for her, too. Something had rattled in his chest, and his mind had fast-forwarded through a jumpy reel of footage of all the wonders the future might hold if only the two of them grabbed hold of this moment and hung on with all their might. If they jumped at the chance of their lives that was fluttering by like a winning lottery ticket on a hurricane-force wind. Every cell, every atom in his body screamed at him to reach out and grab before his big chance got away.
He’d gotten so lost in those eyes, he nearly missed his chance to lay down his cards before the dealer called the round. By some miracle, he’d tossed his hand down just in time, along with the five-thousand-dollar chip, and didn’t even soak in the cheer of amazement that went up all around. All he saw was her.
Kaya. Goddess. Dragon lady. Destined mate?
Or Kaya, playgirl and thief?
He let out a long, wavering breath because the memories slowly filtering back into his consciousness all pranced around the same five-figure sum. Ninety thousand dollars. He’d won ninety thousand! That part hadn’t been a dream, just like meeting Kaya hadn’t been a dream.
A phone rang, and he shot slitty looks around the nearby tables because it sure wasn’t his. He sipped his coffee, annoyed.
You gonna get that, buddy? the guy in the next booth asked with a sharp look.
He glared back until he realized the sound was coming from his backpack. Then he grabbed it from under the table and rooted around inside. On his escape from the hotel room, he’d just managed to snatch the bag and an armful of clothes. His jeans and shirt, he’d pulled on in the stairwell once he was sure he had a decent lead on the thugs, but the rest he’d stuffed into the bag before hurrying on.
The bag he opened now, keeping it low and out of sight of the dull-eyed diner patrons, some of whom stared off into their own memories, others into regrets.
Her scent filtered out before he could reach into that backpack, making his pulse skip. When his fingers closed around something small and hard, he pulled out the phone and stared at it through another two rings. Finally, he hit receive and grunted a neutral greeting.
“Do you have the money?” a sneering voice demanded.
He considered that one for a moment. How the hell to answer, if he should answer at all? Kaya had the money, all right. But maybe that wasn’t the best answer.
“Soon.” A neutral enough reply, he figured.
“Soon? Soon?” The voice rose in anger. “You want to hear soon? You know what I’ll do if you don’t bring me the money?”
A muffled bang came through the phone, and a woman yelped in pain. “Oh my God, Kaya. I’m so sorry!”
The phone jerked back to the heavy-breathing man.
“Message clear? I want my money.”
Jesus, what was going on?
His mind raced. Time to bluff. “I’ll add five to the deal.”
The voice scoffed but Trey waited. He had no idea what he was promising or to whom. Five hundred dollars? Five thousand? Five million? But he had to do something.
“Ten,” the shadowy voice demanded.
And just like that, he had a deal. A deal he had no idea whether he could uphold.
“Soon.” He nodded into the phone.
“Midnight,” the man hissed.
And, bang! Call over.
He stared at the phone. What the hell was going on?
It occurred to him that maybe her belongings held another clue, so he dug in. Carefully, for some reason, as if his great-grandma’s china might be in his backpack along with Kaya’s clothes. The top item was Kaya’s shirt. A sheer, silky thing almost as nice to touch as her hair. Without thinking, he held it up to his nose for a deep sniff, then shoved it back into his lap and glanced around.
Everyone’s eyes were on the keno screen. Whew. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be sniffing her panties in broad daylight next.
Which wasn’t the point. Not that he knew exactly what the point was, but he kept picking through her clothes anyway.
Pants. One shoe. A black, lacy bra that made his cock itch. A pretty polka dot scarf…
His hand hit the bottom of the backpack. No cash. No canvas stash bag he’d stuffed his winnings in before leaving the casino and heading out with Kaya on his arm. She’d taken him on all kinds of wild detours on the way to the hotel room, and his vision had blurred with every step. Everything had blurred but her.
Kaya on his arm. He replayed that moment, again and again. She’d hooked her elbow through his and kissed his ear even before they got to the room.
He rummaged some more until he was sure. His wallet was still in there with the couple of hundred bucks he’d entered Vegas with, but nothing else. No wads of cash.
No dragon lady.
Which made her a thief, right?
Trey took another sip of muddy coffee while his wolf let out a long, mournful howl.
The two thugs sure hadn’t gotten ahold of anything. He’d been too quick for that. He hadn’t left it back in the room. And Kaya had flown off with a bag in her claws.
So, yeah, dragon lady was a thief, all right.
He tried to be furious. Truly, he did. Tried really, really hard to work up some frustration or bitterness or rage. Ninety thousand dollars! Ninety grand! Enough to buy him the kind of property he dreamed of. Something small, up in the mountains, where the air was cleaner, the creek water cooler, the stars closer at night. She’d stolen all that from him, so he had every right to hate those gorgeous eyes, those alluring curves.
All he managed to work up, though, was the beginning of another hard-on, just from the image of her.
With a few taps, he checked the outgoing calls and contact list on her phone. Then he rummaged in her pant pockets, telling himself it was to find some clue to her identity and not to get off on the thought of sliding his hands in there when she still had them on, as he was pretty sure he’d done before stripping her naked
last night. Which would have happened about five seconds after she’d stripped him, if shaky memory served.
Had all that been an act, or had she needed him the way he needed her? The crazy hunger, the sheer, animal urge. Had she felt it, too?
Thoughts like those got him nowhere, other than a full-on boner testing the seams of his jeans.
One of her pant pockets held a couple of scraps that didn’t tell him anything much: the receipt for snacks at a gas station, a couple of scratched keno cards, and the sum total of seven bucks, folded into eighths. The other pocket held a business card — Igor Schiller, Scarlet Palace — with a mobile number penciled onto the back, plus a slip of paper he held up to the light.
Graceland Valet Parking, it read, with a number, time, and date. Three days ago.
He looked at the business card then at the parking slip. Where to start?
He stuck the business card in his own pocket and kept the parking slip out. Kaya had his cash; seemed like it would only be fair to start with her car, right?
“Where to?” the next cab driver he could find asked.
He flashed the stub, and the driver took off, crooning an Elvis song.
* * *
Trey held out the ticket stub, trying not to squint at the white sequined suit flashing at him like a thousand fragments of the pounding desert sun.
The Elvis impersonator whistled. “Three days, mister. Gonna be a hell of a bill.”
A jaunty tune bounced out of the speakers overhead. Another Presley tune, of course.
Trey shrugged. “Can you just get the car, please?”
“Sweet ride.” Elvis grinned, making his sideburns bend. “Gonna hate to see her go.”
Trey forked over the three-figure fee without so much as a whimper, which was nuts. He’d been stretching every one of his hard-earned dollars as far as he could, but somehow, this seemed worth the splurge. Anything associated with Kaya was worth the splurge.
He craned his neck as the guy strode down the rows of cars and disappeared around the back. A BMW with Idaho plates caught his eye on the right; a Lexus with tinted windows on the left. Somewhere farther down the line, the Thule rack atop an SUV stood out, carrying two mud-splattered mountain bikes. No real dingers here; all pretty nice rides.
What would Kaya drive? A convertible Beetle, like the powder-blue one parked on the right there? A sensible Prius, like the one in the second row?
Static scratched from the speakers of Graceland Parking before another lovestruck Elvis tune poured out, featuring shaky knees, stuttering words, and beating hearts. Trey glanced around. The neighboring lot was taken up by a graying stone church — a mini Notre Dame with flying buttresses, ugly stone gargoyles, and sober-faced saints that looked over the sprawl of Vegas, all but shaking their heads.
Elvis sang on, oblivious to his pious audience, itching and shaking and generally in love.
The muffled purr of a well-tuned engine sounded from the back of the lot. Something fast and feral, full of pent-up horsepower just begging to be unleashed. It revved high, bubbled back to neutral, then growled into first gear.
Gravel crunched. A flash of red swung around the corner, and Trey redirected his gaze, which had been too high. He took in the long, sweeping hood, the set-back cab. His gaze swept over the beady eyes of the headlights, the pinched shark’s mouth of a front grill, and the red script of the California license plate. His jaw dropped open as the valet attendant pulled up, slid out, and gave the hood an affectionate pat.
“1962 Jaguar roadster,” Elvis sighed, handing him a receipt. “Sweet ride.”
“Sweet ride,” Trey agreed as he slid behind the wheel and puffed his cheeks out a bit. He ran his hands over the leather-trimmed wheel and admired the chrome-ringed circles of the instrument panel. If he hadn’t woken up with Kaya in his arms last night, this might qualify as the most heavenly experience of his life.
His wolf hummed as he carefully eased into first gear and pulled out onto the road.
Car: check. What the hell should he do now? Still no girl. Still no money. Just a really slick car and a lovesick Elvis, going on and on in his ear.
He pulled into the road, tapping his fingers on the wheel. Maybe he’d make a plan as he went along.
Something darted through the scene reflected in the rearview mirror, and he glanced up. What the hell was that?
A second shadow sliced through the mirror briefly. Something big and toothy, heading straight his way.
An ear-splitting cry sounded, and he ducked a millisecond before the wind whistled over his head. Two giant claws missed the windshield by a hair.
“What the…”
Chapter Five
Another something flashed overhead, and Trey threw himself sideways. The tires squealed as the car swerved. When he shook his head and popped up, he was in a whole new lane. The oncoming lane.
“Holy sh—”
A Mack truck blared its horn, and he jerked the wheel right to bring the car back into the correct lane.
His heart pounded, screaming at him. Are you nuts?
Maybe he was nuts, but he could have sworn… He scanned the sky overhead. Without looking, he reached for the radio knob and twisted it off. The last thing he needed was Elvis distracting him while he was under attack. Attack from—
A hysterical overhead screech, like the sound of nails across a chalkboard, made him duck again. And not a moment too soon, because a jagged claw reached into the open roof of the convertible, grabbing for him as it shot by.
He spun the car ninety degrees across a lane of traffic and down a side road. The smell of burning rubber filled his nose as his shoulder thumped the side panel of the car.
Jesus, that had been close — close to getting clawed by whatever-the-hell was attacking him, and close to hitting the flower power VW bus that had been a length behind him in the other lane.
He floored the gas and the roadster roared off, bringing a crazy grin to his face. At least he had the right wheels for an escape. Low and fast.
The air overhead whooshed, and this time, he was prepared. He hunkered down, jerked the wheel, and let his attacker shoot harmlessly by as he finally got a good look.
Not a dragon, which would have been logical, considering the owner of the car.
Not a harpy, either. As easy as that was to picture, this wasn’t a bare-breasted beast that was half bird, half furious female.
Nope. None of that. It was a—
He lurched left just in time to avoid another aerial attack by the second…what did you call them? For a moment, his mind refused to cough up the word, until the third one came screaming by so close, it dinged its ugly black claws against the windshield. And with the ding, the word popped into his mind.
Gargoyle.
Make that gargoyles. Three of them. Big-nosed, ugly-faced, winged monsters that ought to be hunched on the side of a cathedral and not whistling through the airspace over his Jag.
He’d seen gargoyles before, but never quite like this. Boston and other historic East Coast cities were full of the things. Ugly bastards just like these, but different, too. The only gargoyles he’d ever come across before were quiet, academic types that haunted Harvard Yard and the parks around the Holy Cross cathedral, tutting over chess games.
Apparently, Nevada had a different breed of gargoyle — as in, the wild, screaming shifters after him now.
Trey slalomed the roadster left and right as they banked and came in for a second attack behind him. The car was so low, it felt like his head stuck a mile out the open top, so he crouched down, barely able to see over the leather dash. Even then, the first gargoyle to sweep past nearly carved a part into his hair. The second reached lower and scratched a six-inch claw along the trunk before Trey slammed the brakes and let it scrape over the hood.
“Hey!” he shouted, glancing at the scratch in the paint job. Shit. Kaya was going to be pissed.
Which was ridiculous. Why was he worried about dragon girl being angry at car damage wh
en she was the one who’d flown out on him with ninety thousand dollars? When he was the one bombarded by flying gargoyles?
His chest tightened a little, though, at the image of Kaya frowning at him. As if getting this right was about a hell of a lot more than just escaping Las Vegas alive. Which made zero sense, because what was more important than surviving?
She is, his wolf rumbled.
He drove along, dodging flying creatures two and three, while a corner of his mind tried to work it out. The gargoyles had hooked on to him the minute he’d driven out of the parking lot, not before. Which meant they weren’t after him. They were after Kaya, or at least, her car.
Or were they protecting the car from trespassers like him?
He got his answer half a second later, when two gargoyles swooped in at the same time. The one on the right ripped a jagged gash in the passenger-side headrest, and the one on the left bounced a claw against the rearview mirror, shattering the glass.
So much for the protecting the car theory.
Which meant the gargoyles were after Kaya, and that really, really pissed him off. Three ugly-as-sin gargoyles, after his auburn-haired goddess? His wolf snarled out loud in a declaration of war.
The first one was back already, and this time, Trey launched his counterattack. One hand, he kept firmly on the steering wheel. The other, he raised, letting his wolf claws extend. All three inches of them — times four fingers. He raked backward as the gargoyle zipped by, digging four parallel lines across the leathery belly of the beast.
The gargoyle screamed, tucked its pointed tail, and peeled off to the side.
“Ha!” Trey allowed himself a little fist pump.
Then the long row of traffic lights that had formed a neat line of green dots turned yellow, then red, and a long, black stretch limo rolled across the next intersection.
And rolled, and rolled, and rolled.
“Shit,” he cursed, having no choice but to slow down as an endless expanse of tinted glass flashed by. Jesus, that limo was long. A couple of tank-topped groupie girls stuck their heads out the skylight in the middle, raising champagne glasses and tossing their hair.