by Zoe Chant
Ben had taken after his mother's slighter build. Although there was still a family resemblance, especially in their sharp, defined facial features, Darius was huge, bigger than Maddox. Every crease in his charcoal-gray suit was crisp. Twin wings of white hair swooped from his temples, but otherwise he showed little sign of age—unsurprising, since he hadn't aged much in the last two hundred years.
He looked at Ben with eyes the color of polished steel.
"Son, what have I told you about beating up the help?"
"Probably similar to what you've told me about arresting the help, which is the other thing I'm gonna be doing in a minute." Ben snapped handcuffs on a now-unresisting Maddox. "You have the right to remain silent—"
Darius ticked his tongue against the back of his teeth. "I'd rather you didn't. It's such a legal hassle getting them out."
"Yeah, well, teach them not to swing punches at cops, then. Anything you do or say can be held against you in a court of law—"
"But that's what I hire them for." A slight smile tugged at the corner of his father's mouth.
Damn it. Having a dragon mobster for a father would've been so much less complicated if he could have just earnestly hated the guy. "You have the right to an attorney," he continued doggedly.
"When you're done playing your charade of enforcing human law," his father said, "I'll be upstairs having a drink. We need to talk about your sister."
Ben's head swiveled to follow Darius as he turned to walk away. "Wait, what?"
***
A few minutes later, Ben was pouring drinks for both of them in the living room of his condo. A recently un-arrested Maddox was downstairs moving the limo to a legal parking space. Ben decided to consider that a small victory, which were few and far between when dealing with his dad.
Right now Darius was strolling around the condo, investigating the art objects displayed on shelves and hanging on the walls. Ben had brought them back from the various parts of the world he'd visited through the years. Most were weapons of some kind, or otherwise related to battle.
"This is not a particularly valuable hoard, son, but it is an intriguing one," Darius remarked, tapping the blade of a Revolutionary War-era Hessian cavalry sword. "I like it."
"It's not a hoard," Ben said, capping the bottle of brandy—his dad's preferred drink. He'd already gotten a beer for himself. "You have a hoard. I have an art collection."
"Call it what you like. I know a hoard when I see one." Darius's eye fell on one of the few truly sentimental touches in the room, a framed photo of Derek and Gaby's wedding. Gaby was visibly pregnant, and Ben's cabin could be glimpsed in the background.
Darius picked it up. "Bringing others to your lair? I taught you better, son."
Ben snatched the photo away. "It's not a lair. It's a cabin. And it's none of your damn business. I'm not a dragon, Dad."
"Which is actually why I'm here, Benedict. For a change, my failure to breed a true heir is an advantage."
Darius's words were nearly drowned out by the low growl of the panther in Ben's chest. Ben soothed his animal with an effort. He'd had a lifetime to get used to the way his father felt about him. The most annoying thing about it was that Darius always framed it as a failure in himself as much as in Ben. The air of disappointment that permeated every conversation with his father was primarily self-directed. Which paradoxically made it feel even more like his fault as if Darius had openly blamed Ben for it.
Well, that's what you get for being such a self-absorbed asshole that you view your children as extensions of yourself, he thought in Darius's direction.
"How is it an advantage?" Ben asked, as his animal calmed inside him, though it remained on edge, as it always was around his father.
"Because you can do things I cannot." Darius tapped his fingertips on the edge of a Maasai shield. Ben couldn't help imagining phantom dragon's claws clattering thoughtfully on the wood. "This is a dragon matter. I am honor-bound not to interfere. You, on the other hand ..."
Ben snorted. He leaned a hip against the arm of his couch and took a sip of his beer. Darius hadn't touched his drink—probably considered bourbon too cheap for his palate. "Yeah, we all know that's how you feel about lesser shifters, even your own kid. We're beneath your notice unless you find a use for us." He sighed and took another drink, rolled the beer around on his tongue, tried to let it go. "You said earlier that this has to do with my sister. With Melody."
With the dragon daughter you've always preferred to your panther-shifter son.
Darius hesitated for a moment before he said. "It's actually to do with a friend of hers. A human friend." Disdain curled around his words. "This friend went and got herself dragon-marked."
There was a brief silence as Ben looked flatly at his father, waiting for an explanation that never came. Finally he said, "And?"
Darius heaved a sigh. "You don't know what that means, do you."
"I was raised by Mom. I know nothing about dragon culture."
"It means she has a dragon assassin after her. They can't be stopped, will stop at nothing, until they kill their target."
"Wait, what? This target—you said she's a human, right?" He forced himself to think about it objectively, engaging his inner cop, not thinking about the human who probably didn't even know about dragons, who would never understand the danger bearing down on her until it was too late ... "Sending a dragon to kill a human is like using a bazooka to kill a fly. It's total overkill. What did she do?"
"I don't know," Darius said.
He's lying, Ben's panther said immediately.
Cats were highly alert to nuance, and Ben's panther could pick up on minute changes in people's breathing, heart rate, even the smell of their skin. It wasn't foolproof, but he figured his panther was about as good as your average lie detector. Better, maybe, around people he knew well.
But admitting it would give away one of the few advantages he had in dealing with dragons, not to mention that he knew full well his dad, when caught in a lie, merely doubled down on it.
"So this dragon is after this woman for no reason at all," he said dryly.
"It's no concern of mine," Darius said. Another lie. "One thing I know for certain: when the dragon assassin catches up with her, she has no chance at all. Whether you want to help her or not is up to you."
"And here you are, not interfering."
Darius lifted a shoulder in the tiniest of shrugs. "Merely bringing a situation to your attention. What you do from here is up to you."
Manipulative jerk. Unfortunately, he wasn't wrong. Ben wasn't going to let a dragon hurt an innocent human woman and Darius knew it. He might not understand it, but he knew it.
"Where is she?" Ben asked, pouring his beer down the sink. No more than a sip for him, since apparently he had to work off the clock now too. And no sleep, either.
Darius waved a hand. "Some frivolous human business establishment. Something to do with animals. Maddox has the address."
Chapter Two
Tessa Davelos had her keys out and was reaching for the door to the animal rescue when a half-whispered voice burst out behind her: "You said you weren't coming in to work today!"
Tessa jumped and fumbled the keys. It was Melody, she knew, and she'd been friends with Melody for years, but, damn. Girl could sneak. Tessa was always alert walking from the bus stop to the shelter, and she hadn't even had a clue that Melody was there.
She picked up the keys, turned around, crossed her arms, and stared at her friend.
Melody Keegan was the sort of person who went around looking like the "before" in one of those silly makeover movies the two young women had always made fun of, where the girl takes off her glasses and learns how to dress up and knocks the hero over with her bombshell moves. Mel had long, silky black hair, that Tessa had always secretly envied the hell out of (her own hair was mouse brown), and a pale, china-doll complexion. If Mel would learn to stand up straight, find frames that flattered her face more than those tortoiseshe
ll librarian glasses she wore, and realize that draping herself in shapeless gray sweaters did nothing except turn her naturally hourglass-ish figure into more of a pear, she'd be an absolute bombshell ... as opposed to going around looking like Velma from Scooby Doo.
Tessa knew these were not nice thoughts to have about her best friend since high school, but it was a kind of instinctive self-defense mechanism. Mel was a beautiful woman who chose not to be. Tessa knew that she herself was not even pretty. So she'd never bothered trying. She cropped her hair short so as not to deal with it, and she wore shapeless T-shirts to cover up a figure that wasn't even a pear but more of an apple.
And somewhere even deeper down she knew that she shouldn't see it as a competition. It wasn't a competition. It wasn't fair to Mel to think of it that way. But—
But if you don't keep your defenses up, they'll get you.
Whoever they were. Girls in school. Foster families. Everyone. The only person she could trust, the only person she had ever been able to trust, was herself. There was nothing special about her, there never had been, except her ability to dig in her (blunt, practical) fingernails and do what needed to be done.
And in this case, enough was enough.
"I can't not come in to work, Mel," she said, sticking the key into the lock. "You can call in sick to the bookstore if you want. I can't. The animals need to be fed."
"I told you." Mel's whisper managed to make it all the way to a regular tone of voice, which for her was halfway to a shout. "That thing on your door—"
"You mean that?" Tessa asked, pointing to the vandalized corner of the doorframe. Someone had taken a pocketknife and carved a squiggly thing about six inches high, a winged snake-squiggle. It looked like that thing from the medical staff symbol on ambulances.
Melody's pale complexion went even paler. "Yes, I told you, it's a—a mob symbol. They're going to come after you."
"Because I am marked for death by the mob. Oh no. How will I cope." She started to close the door behind her, but Mel stuck a foot in.
"Tessa, I'm serious. Dead serious. These aren't people you want to mess with."
"Yeah, except I've done absolutely nothing to get on anyone's bad side," she said, even as doubt wormed through her. This was such a strange thing to happen, coming mere weeks after that lawyer had contacted her about her parents. What if—
But no. That was sheer paranoia. Her parents had been an ordinary couple who died in a car crash twenty years ago. A perfectly ordinary car crash. She'd had a long time to get used to it.
"Mel, it was some stupid kid with a pocketknife. I'll sand it out when I get a chance."
"No ... it's not ... aargh!" Melody flexed her hands, opening and closing her fists, and when Tessa tried to shut the door, she ducked inside.
"Look, I'm locking the door, see?" Tessa said, snapping the lock before heading down the hall towards the kennels. A chorus of loud, plaintive cat sounds rose to greet her.
"That won't stop them," Mel complained, tagging along at her heels like an annoying kid sister.
"Oh right, because the mob can walk through walls now?"
"You have no idea," Melody mumbled.
"At least make yourself useful and help me feed the cats."
She had become friends with Melody in high school because they were both weird kids. They weren't really into clothes and makeup the way most of the other girls were, but they weren't part of the gay kids' clique, or the art geeks or the motorheads or the nerds. They were just weird in their own way. So they hung around together, and somehow it turned into a permanent friendship that ended up with the two of them working right across the street from each other, Tessa at a cat rescue and Melody at a bookstore.
But there was a lot about Melody that Tessa had never been able to figure out. Having grown up in foster care herself, she couldn't help being envious of Melody having her parents in her life. And she knew Melody had two living (if divorced) parents. But Melody never talked about her family if she could help it. Tessa had only found out Mel had a half-brother from a few random comments over the years, and she'd never met him.
In a lot of ways, it was like Melody wanted to pretend her family didn't exist. At the same time, she didn't act like anything terrible had happened with them. She didn't seem to hate them or act like she'd been abused. She just didn't want to talk about them.
Or maybe it's just that we were never as close as I wanted to think.
But those thoughts never got her anywhere, and there were chores to do. She got out the cans of wet cat food and handed a bag of dry food to Melody.
"Don't you have work to get to?" she asked.
"The bookstore isn't open yet. Anyway ..." Melody fidgeted, fumbling the open top of the bag and nearly spilling kibble all over the floor. "I'm meeting someone and I told him I'd be here."
Tessa raised her eyebrows. "You've got a date? You've got a date and you told him to meet you at a cat rescue?"
"Knock it off, it's not like that."
"Well, if you're gonna be here, then you can clean some litterboxes too."
"Some friend you are," Melody said, with another anxious glance toward the door. "I'm just trying to help."
Her nervousness was starting to make Tessa nervous, and that was going to be transmitted to the cats. She had to get Mel's mind on something else.
"Here, you can pet a kitten. It'll calm you down." Tessa picked up one of the friendliest of the half-grown litter of kittens they were trying to socialize and held it out.
Mel grasped the cat like she was taking a piece of wet laundry. It squirmed, trying to get away. For some reason, animals didn't seem to like Mel; they were nervous around her. It had been that way ever since they were teenagers. Although the way she was holding it certainly wasn't helping.
"Not like that, you have to support its body so it trusts you." Tessa picked up one of the other kittens. "Like this, see? Mel, c'mon, pay attention, it's not like I haven't shown you a thousand times—"
A sudden knock at the door made both women jump, nearly dropping their kittens. Tessa scowled at her friend. It was all Melody's fault, making her this tense. Probably just a shelter volunteer who forgot their keys, or someone who hadn't read their posted hours.
"I'll get it," Melody said quickly, shoving the kitten at Tessa before fleeing down the hall.
"Hey!"
The fact that Mel was now running off to answer the door with no trace of fear made Tessa think there was definitely something going on other than a mob hit (seriously, what even). A surprise birthday party? No, her birthday was some months off. She sighed and looked down at the double armload of squirming kittens Mel had left her with. From the hallway, she heard friendly-sounding voices, Mel and a man. Mel's mysterious friend, she guessed.
As the voices came down the hall, Tessa turned, juggling her armful of kittens. "Say, Mel, if your friend's here, you don't have to stick—around—"
She had never seen this guy before in her life. She definitely would have remembered.
It was like being punched right in the primitive hindbrain, in a way that completely bypassed her conscious mind and went straight to I would climb that like a tree.
He wasn't enormously over-muscled, but he was built, broad shoulders filling out his charcoal-colored shirt, worn with no tie, with a dark jacket over the top. His black hair showed the faintest trace of silver at the temples—she guessed he was in his late thirties or so—and his eyes were gray, stormcloud eyes focused on her with startled intensity.
Inside her chest, it almost seemed as if something unfurled its wings, an odd little tingling flutter.
And here she was, giving this gorgeous guy his first sight of her with an armful of unruly kittens and her hair dried into spikes from this morning's shower, wearing an oversized T-shirt that said ASK ME ABOUT MY CAT HABIT.
"Tessa!" Mel said, oblivious to all of it. "This is my brother Ben. He's going to be your bodyguard for awhile. Because of the—the mob thing?"
S
udden, massive irritation overwhelmed all the conflicting emotions she was feeling. "What the hell, Melody? You didn't think you should consult me about this?"
Ben cleared his throat. Now that Melody mentioned it, Tessa could see the family resemblance, at least in their general coloring: dark hair, gray eyes, a fine, clear complexion. There was a slight echo of Melody in his chiseled features, though much more masculine and less delicate.
"Ms. Davelos—" he began.
"Stop right there, mister." Though she couldn't help noticing what a nice voice he had, a soft tenor with a slightly gravelly undertone. "I don't want a bodyguard. I don't need a bodyguard. I definitely can't afford a bodyguard—"
"Tessa, you're not listening—" Melody began.
"Ms. Davelos, I'm a police officer—" Ben started to say.
"Oh great, you called the cops! Just—what is wrong with you, Melody?" Tessa set the kittens gently on the nearest cat tree; they at least hadn't done anything to annoy her.
"Tessa, just listen!" Melody's voice was almost a wail, at least as close as she ever got. "You're in danger, terrible danger!"
"From what? You keep telling me that, but you won't explain." She glared between the two of them, all too aware that now Mel's hot brother was getting to see her flushed with fury. "If I'm really in danger for some reason, just tell me."
"Dragons," Mel's brother said succinctly. Mel's mouth dropped open. So did Tessa's. "You're in danger from dragons."
"Ben!" Mel burst out.
"As Dad's fond of reminding me, I'm not bound by your rules. You might not be able to tell her, but I can." Ben turned to face Tessa. "Ms. Davelos, you're being hunted by a dragon."
Tessa finally managed to scrape enough of her wits together to say, "Get. Out."
"This is why we don't tell people," Mel told Ben between her teeth in a loud, angry whisper.
"Out! Both of you!" Tessa's eyes stung. She'd thought Melody was the one person who would never engage in stupid grade-school pranks with Tessa Davelos as the butt of the joke. (What's the matter, Pieface? Why aren't you laughing?) That's what she got for trusting someone. For trusting anyone. "Are you the one who vandalized my doorframe too? What kind of game are you playing? Get out!"