by A. J. Stone
Zeke couldn’t wrap his head around the mild-mannered lawyer having done any of those things.
“That’s according to witness statements?” Amar asked. “What did you say the victim’s name was?”
Marcie shook her finger at Amar. “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch yourself around. You’re not going to charm me into revealing the victim’s name or whereabouts, mister.”
“The hospital,” Zeke guessed. “You said he was messed up.”
“Don’t you even think of threatening that poor young man.” She switched her finger-shaking to Zeke. “He’s been through enough.”
Zeke held up his hands. “Marcie, I swear I have good intentions.”
She stopped with the finger, and she retreated behind the bulletproof glass window. “I know you—you’re going to offer to pay that man’s medical bills. That’s an admission of guilt, which means you’ll assume civil liability. Your generosity is going to end up costing you big time.”
He held his hand over his heart and slid a flirty smile onto his face. “Marcie, you’re much too sweet for this job. Come work for me. I’ll set you up with a comfortable office and underlings to order around.”
She chuckled. “I have that now.” Then she sobered. “Seriously—Draco International employs half the people in this town, either directly or indirectly. We can’t have you drained into bankruptcy.”
Amar leaned closer to the small hole in the glass. “Rest assured that we are solvent, and we’re insured against lawsuits, civil or otherwise.”
Marcie shook her head, and then she buzzed them into the office proper. It was full of cubicles, though many were empty because they were out on patrol or calls. She led them to a cubicle in the far corner. “Wait here, and I’ll see if I can track down the arresting officer.”
While she was gone, Zeke settled on the business side of the desk and opened up recent incident reports. “Marcel Yardan, taken to Verdance Community Hospital. They haven’t questioned him yet.”
“What’s the plan?” Amar asked.
“You wait here and press for a bail hearing today. I’ll go see Mr. Yardan, see if I can’t get him to drop the charges.” He slapped Amar’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming. You’re a real help.”
A half hour later, Zeke signed into the hospital as a visitor, and he found Mr. Yardan’s room without incident. He’d been admitted to a short-term observation unit, which meant they weren’t sure as to the extent of his injuries. After a brief knock on the open door, he entered the room. Seeing the man propped up against the raised back of the bed sent a shockwave through Zeke’s body.
It wasn’t the large bandages that covered the side of his head and his exposed shoulder or the splint on his arm that caused any kind of reaction. Zeke had been through enough battles to have seen every kind of wound imaginable, as well as a few that were difficult to conceive. No, this was a shock of awareness on the part of his dragon, and he’d never before felt anything like it.
Caught by surprise at this new, surreal feeling, Zeke found himself momentarily dumbstruck. His dragon came to the fore, exercising dominion by sharpening his senses. He noted the damages, sensing the concussion, broken bones, multiple contusions, and the tender ankle. Simultaneously he took in the long, sinewy muscles the shapeless hospital gown and the blanket draped over his legs couldn’t quite camouflage.
He had a powerful urge to taste Marcel Yardan. He wanted to know the exact flavor of his kiss, his dark chocolate skin, and his seed. His dragon purred insistently, demanding a sample, and Zeke had every intention of indulging it.
“You’re not the doctor.”
The voice jerked Zeke from the primal reverie that had overtaken him. He glanced to his left to find a man seated in a chair next to the bed. With his highlighted blond hair and cornflower blue eyes to bring out his handsomeness, and a ripped body to match, this man qualified as a potential impediment to Zeke’s claiming of his mate.
That man had noted his non-medical status.
Zeke drew himself up, puffing out his chest to appear even larger. “You’re not the patient.”
The guy’s gaze wandered Zeke’s body. “You’re not a relative, either.”
Gritting his teeth, Zeke threw the observation back. “Nor are you.”
“Friend,” the blond said. He looked to Marcel. “You know this guy?”
Marcel seemed dazed. He stared at Zeke. After a long time, a response croaked from his throat. “No.”
Zeke reached toward the tray next to the bed. “You need water.” He held the cup to Marcel’s lips while the potential omega sipped.
After a bit, Marcel leaned back. “Thank you. I didn’t catch your name or why you’re here.”
“Ezekiel Lowry, but my friends call me Zeke.”
Marcel offered his hand. “I’m Marcel, and this is my friend, Holden.”
The first contact of skin sent a jolt of electricity and need through Zeke, and it left Marcel with a more confused wrinkle to his lovely chin. “I’m the Head of Security for Draco International.”
“Oh,” Holden gasped. “You’re from the theater?”
A bit of Marcel’s confusion leaped to Zeke. “Theater?”
Holden sat up straighter and clasped his hands in front of his chest. “The Verdance Theater. Draco International is a major sponsor of the arts. They have the biggest banners in the lobby.”
Zeke shrugged. Amar would know more about where DI spent their money. “I’m in security, not philanthropy.”
“Mr. Lowry, why are you here?” Marcel asked.
It bothered Zeke that Marcel didn’t treat him with familiarity. He didn’t want any barriers of propriety standing between them. He considered Holden, and all the ways in which he was an impediment. “Holden, can you step out into the hall and give us a moment?”
Holden, to his credit, looked to Marcel to see what he wanted.
Marcel pressed his luscious lips together, no doubt waging an internal struggle between unexplained urges and his better sense. Zeke recognized this because he was also navigating those turbulent waters.
Finally, he shook his head, a tiny movement that ran counter to what his animal wanted. Zeke assumed Marcel was a shifter because, otherwise, why would his dragon be so insistent? Marcel ran his tongue along his luscious lower lip. “Holden stays.”
Zeke motioned to an unoccupied chair. “Mind if I sit?”
“Knock yourself out.” Marcel watched, half wary and half curious, as Zeke slid a heavy chair closer and sat down.
“I’m here to negotiate a settlement. In return for dropping the charges against Zane Velan, we’re willing to pay all medical costs associated with the accident.”
Marcel’s lower lip stuck out, and Zeke’s dragon surged to the fore, insisting on a nibble. He breathed to control his reaction, and a bit of steam came out of his nose. He hoped nobody noticed.
Rescinding the subconscious invitation, Marcel scowled and scoffed. “It wasn’t an accident. He stole everything I own, and then he threw me in front of a moving vehicle.”
Marcie had indicated as much, but Zeke had faith that Zane had a good explanation. He needed Amar to post bail so that he could hear it.
Without Zane’s account, Zeke was flying blind. “You’re sure it was your backpack?”
Marcel narrowed his eyes.
“Yes,” Holden said. “He’s sure, and so are the po-po. They’re holding it as evidence. They have everything Marcel brought to Verdance with him, including clothes, ID, and money.”
Zeke seized upon that admission. “If you drop the charges, you’ll get back all your stuff.”
“Don’t do it,” Holden said. “You can’t dance on that ankle, which means you’re going to lose your spot, and if you’re not working for the Verdance Theater, they’re going to kick you out of your room.”
So, the omega his dragon wanted was soon to be jobless and homeless due to this attack. It was a horrible position for negotiation for Marcel, but it was wonderful for Z
eke. He chose to use it as incentive. “Marcel, let us pay your medical costs as well as punitive damages. We’ll pay your housing costs for three months, and give you a monthly stipend for food and incidentals. A sprained ankle and broken arm will heal by then.”
It would also give Zeke enough time to win Marcel’s heart and establish his place as Zeke’s omega. Marcel would never want for anything again.
Marcel didn’t seem pleased by the offer. He attempted to cross his arms, but grimaced at the movement. Zeke was on his feet, his hands gentle as he helped reposition Marcel’s wounded arm.
“Be careful, Marcel.” The name rolled from his tongue, a verbal caress that washed through his heart and gathered a hint of reverence. “They haven’t set the bone. I’ll get them on that as soon as possible. You shouldn’t be forced to wait on proper care.”
In his brief ministration, he managed to brush his fingertips across the exposed skin on Marcel’s arm. It calmed his dragon while also making him yearn for more than incidental contact.
Marcel studied the ceiling. “All medical bills, no exceptions, for a year. An apartment with at least three rooms for a year. A thousand dollars a month for a year.”
Zeke would have given him a lot more if he’d asked. A thousand dollars a month wasn’t much when it came to food costs. Dragons had hearty appetites, and Zeke spent significantly more than that on groceries every month. Well, it was obvious Marcel wasn’t a dragon. Given what had happened to two of Zeke’s friends, it stood to reason that Marcel was probably a canine shifter. Koren was going to have more fodder for his research very soon.
Still, this was a negotiation, and he was compelled to offer less. Once Zeke had claimed Marcel, none of this would matter anyway. He would see to his omega’s every need. “All related medical bills, including follow-up care, for a year. An apartment for six months. We can agree to a thousand-dollar stipend each month, but you’ll have to agree to a regular review of your case.”
Yeah, he was negotiating for dates. “Regular” could mean anything from daily to weekly to monthly, provided the interval remained the same.
“Regular? Like weekly?”
Zeke shrugged. “More often at first. Less often as you heal.”
Holden snorted. Zeke had forgotten the man was there. Who was he, exactly? A friend, he could handle. But given how physically pleasing his features were, it was likely that Holden and Marcel were romantically involved. That would need to stop now.
As a way to rein in his jealousy, Zeke concentrated on the screen monitoring Marcel’s vitals. He couldn’t go around issuing dictates to the omega—yet. Marcel had already proven himself intelligent and headstrong. While Zeke prized those qualities, it meant he would need to work harder to winnow his way into Marcel’s heart.
“The apartment needs to be downtown, near the theater,” Holden added.
Zeke studied both men. “You’re actors?”
“Featured dancers,” Holden corrected. “We both have solos in Dance of the Dragons.”
Zeke had never heard of it, but that wasn’t surprising. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone to the theater. Tito liked to go, and Amar went regularly because Edgar enjoyed it. He’d poked fun at Amar for purchasing season tickets for his omega, and now it looked like karma had taken a huge chunk out of Zeke’s hide.
With a sprained ankle, Marcel would likely lose his job as a dancer because he was easily replaceable. Zeke might need to pull strings to help his intended omega land a part in another production.
He got to his feet. “I’ll return with paperwork, and you’ll need to formally withdraw your complaint to halt charges against Mr. Velan.”
On the way out, he phoned DI’s lawyers, and by the time he made it to the office, they had the contract ready. Additionally they’d dispatched a representative to the police station to help secure Zane Velan’s freedom.
As much as Zeke knew he needed to hear Velan’s side of the story, he followed his instinct to return to the hospital with two lawyers, and he was happy to see Holden had left. He hovered in the background while they presented the contract to Marcel.
Maeve Gilly flashed a sympathetic smile at Marcel. “Mr. Yardan, this is a standard settlement by which we admit no wrongdoing, and you are prohibited from disclosing the terms to anyone.”
Marcel’s gaze zeroed on Zeke. “He knows, as does my friend Holden. You’re going to have to take out the gag order.”
Eithann, the second lawyer, swooped in. “It’s a standard part of the contract. It can’t be removed.”
Marcel’s smile exactly mirrored Maeve’s. “Nice try. I come from a family of lawyers. If you don’t want me to bring in my own people and have you pay for their services, then take out the clause.”
When Eithann and Maeve opened their mouths to refuse, Marcel laughed. “Come on. I’m not after money, otherwise I would have gone to law school like my parents wanted. However, I know that if I were to press charges and then sue you for damages, I’d be walking away with millions. Take out the clause.”
At that moment, Zeke understood Marcel wasn’t motivated by money or material goods. He had dreams, and he was intent on achieving them. Zeke clamped a hand on Eithann’s shoulder. “Remove the clause.”
Though the expression on his face indicated a severe reluctance, he didn’t argue with Zeke. He opened up the contract and crossed out the offending section. “The rest lists the benefits. Draco International will assume payment for all medical costs associated with documented injuries from the incident. Additionally, DI will pay rent and utilities for six months on an apartment and issue Mr. Yardan a stipend of two thousand dollars per month for six months.”
Marcel frowned. “We agreed on one thousand, not two.”
Maeve glared. “You’re going to argue with more money?”
“Well, it wasn’t the deal we made.”
“Take it,” Zeke counseled. “Living in Verdance is more expensive than you seem to think.”
Placing the palm of his good hand against his forehead, Marcel groaned. “I hadn’t thought about furnishing it.”
“It’s a corporate apartment,” Zeke said. “It’s furnished.”
“Yes,” Maeve confirmed. “When you vacate the apartment, the furniture stays. It is the property of Draco International.”
“Sure.” Marcel held out his good hand. “I want to read the contract.”
Eithann handed it over. The trio waited in silence while Marcel read. The lawyers seemed to anticipate questions, while Zeke was content to watch over the omega.
He wanted everyone to be gone so he could act on his instinct. His dragon purred now, but it also thundered for possession of the omega. It was becoming more and more difficult to control, and the longer he denied it, the harder it fought for release.
Chapter 3
Marcel
EVENTUALLY THE CONTRACT was signed, and the lawyers left.
Mr. Lowry stood at the foot of Marcel’s bed, openly studying him in a way that made Marcel struggle not to squirm. He felt like prey. The man was impossibly big, with broad shoulders that spanned almost the width of Marcel’s bed. He seemed extra tall. Holden had estimated the security man’s height at close to seven feet, and Marcel was inclined to agree. The man was endowed with massive, thick muscles that the elegant cut of his suit couldn’t quite hide. He was a handsome devil with close-shaved brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. If Mr. Lowry tried out for a play, he’d beat out everyone for the lead. The man had presence and an attitude that assured he always achieved his goals.
His expression seemed neutral, though his eyes betrayed his attraction to Marcel. After several silent moments, his lips parted. “You’re a shifter, but I can’t figure out what kind.”
The question did not shock Marcel. He’d suspected that Mr. Lowry was a shifter, a large one, based on his massive size in human form. Though shifters didn’t go around outing themselves, it was generally considered safe to disclose his identity to another shifter. Marcel grin
ned. “I thought I felt a connection to you. That explains it. I’m a poodle. What are you?”
The smoking hot Mr. Lowry didn’t alter his expression. “Dragon.”
Immediately, Marcel laughed at the deadpan delivery. He loved a man with a sense of humor. Lifting his good hand, he excused Mr. Lowry’s evasion. “Okay, don’t tell me, though I’m not sure why you think you need to keep it a secret.”
Now the shifter had an expression. His eyes widened with shock, and his jaw dropped open. “I am a dragon. Verdance is home base to the Sharp-Winged Tribe. We run Draco International.”
Dragons were mythical creatures, and Marcel was no fool. He spread his palm wide. “Show me.”
That startled expression added an element of disbelief. “No.”
He let his hand drop to his thigh. “You’re allowed to have secrets. After all, we’re not friends, and we’re not likely to become friends.”
Mr. Lowry gripped Marcel’s footboard. “Why not?”
“I think it’s obvious.” This time, Marcel’s laugh betrayed a hint of nerves. He couldn’t figure out why his emotions were so volatile, but then he figured it had to do with shock.
Rather than admit Marcel was right, Mr. Lowry lifted his sculpted brows. No man had a right to look that good without lots of hours of prep. “Enlighten me.”
“You’re protecting the man who hurt me. It’s the sort of conflict of interest that precludes friendship.”
The big man’s hold eased, and when he let go of the metal and plastic footboard, Marcel noted that he’d left fingerprint dents in the molded material. He closed the door and perched on the edge of Marcel’s bed. Taking Marcel’s good hand between his, he said, “I disagree.”
Suddenly Marcel’s chest felt tight, and he had trouble getting the words out. The skin-to-skin contact was frying his brain, and his inner dog whined to get closer. It took everything he had to refrain from sliding onto Mr. Lowry’s lap. His voice shook when he replied. “That’s your right.”