The Dragon Finds Forever (Nocturne Falls Book 7)

by Kristen Painter

  “Good dog,” Van whispered as he patted Grom gently on the head. “He will grow into it.”

  Tim nodded. “Does that mean I should get the paperwork together?”

  “Da,” Van said, then he corrected himself. “Yes.” He smiled. “Grom is a Tsvetkov now.”

  “Great,” Tim said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “You’re sure?” Pandora asked after he’d left. “An animal is a commitment, you know. It’s like marriage. For better or worse, sickness and health and all that.”

  “I know. And I am sure,” Van answered. It was also the only commitment he wanted, because if he was going to hole up and pretend the world didn’t exist, he didn’t really want to do it completely alone. But he also didn’t have the time or the patience for female companionship.

  A woman wouldn’t like how he was right now. Sour. Unhappy. Mopey. Cranky. Purposeless. The list went on.

  Pandora tolerated him, but she also knew him well enough to let him be.

  He imagined someday his mood would change. But that day was not today. And it was not tomorrow either.

  The flight to Georgia had been long, but it had given Monalisa a chance to skim the e-books she’d bought on physical therapy and life coaching. If rehab therapist was going to be her cover story, she had to know enough to fake her way through however long it took to convince Ivan “The Hammer” Tsvetkov to honor the contract he’d signed.

  A dragon shifter. Such was her luck. Which was nonexistent. There was some irony in that, considering her father owned a casino called the Shamrock and was a leprechaun, supposedly one of the luckiest creatures alive.

  So much for any of that getting passed down to her.

  Finding the dragon’s house had been tricky. The Ryde driver had gone past the driveway twice. It was easy to see why. The place sat up in the hills, surrounded by trees, and set back at the end of a long, winding drive. There was no indication from the road that there was even a house at the end of the dirt road.

  Well, it wasn’t truly a dirt road. As soon as it made the bend, the road was paved smooth. Almost like the visible part had deliberately been left to look abandoned.

  Which was how she was feeling right now. Abandoned. She would have much rather rented a car and driven herself, but her father thought that would make it too easy for Ivan to turn her away. That she’d have a better chance of getting into the house if Ivan thought she had nowhere else to go. Maybe, but she couldn’t help but watch longingly as the Ryde driver disappeared into the trees.

  Her easy out gone, she turned her attention to the house. It was nice. Really nice. And bigger than she’d expected. More like the fancy chalets at high-end ski resorts than a cabin in the hills. But then, a dragon shifter would want room.

  She carried her rolling bag up the steps to stand on the front porch. Her heart in her throat, she lifted her hand and rapped on the door.

  Barking erupted on the other side.

  She jerked back. His file hadn’t said anything about a dog. And this one sounded large. She wasn’t super happy about that. She’d never had any kind of pet growing up, and the thought of a big dog scared her. Please don’t let it be trained to attack. But then, what other kind of dog would an MMA fighter have than something big and mean and looking to gnaw on her?

  She glanced toward the road again, but the Ryde driver was long gone. Great. She pulled her jacket closer against the cold.

  “Grom, sidet.” The deep, Russian-accented voice and the sound of the door opening brought her head around. Ivan the Hammer stood before her. He was a heavily muscled, stone-faced man with a shaved head, a few visible tattoos, and a bent nose. He had the same kind of thin-tempered look all the fighters did. Like he could strike at any moment, and you’d never see it coming.

  It was unnerving and one of the many reasons she wanted nothing to do with that part of her father’s business. (Her father didn’t exactly like her being around men, which had something else to do with it.) Also, besides having tempers, most of these guys were rarely going to be the next Jeopardy! contestant.

  She swallowed. If she could survive her father, she could get through this.

  Ivan leaned on a single crutch. A large, black and brown dog sat at his side. Staring at her. Ivan’s right leg was encased thigh to calf in a steel brace. “Can I help you?”

  For a second, her cover story went right out of her head. Then she managed to pull herself together. “I’m Lisa Devers. The organization sent me. I’m your rehabilitation therapist.”

  He gave her a once-over. “I don’t need rehabilitation.”

  His accent wasn’t as thick as she’d expected, but it was definitely present. “The TFL sends a therapist to work with all its injured fighters. It’s part of your contract.”

  He shook his head. “My contract is done. Sorry for your trouble.” He started to shut the door.

  “Wait. Don’t you want your final check?”

  He hesitated. “I got last check.”

  She hated to give her father credit, but this part of the story was all his doing. “If you complete the therapy sessions, they send you a bonus. It’s the same as whatever you earned on your last fight.”

  His brows lifted slightly. “That is a large sum. How many sessions?”

  She thought fast. “I won’t know until I can assess you.”

  He stared at her. “Nyet. I don’t need the money.”

  She thought faster. “Please. They’ll fire me if you send me away. And I really need this job.” More than he knew.

  His eyes narrowed. It wasn’t a secret how capricious the League could be. “What was your name?”

  “Lisa. Lisa Devers.” She stuck her hand out and put on a brave face. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Tsvetkov.”

  He wrapped her hand in his big one. He was incredibly warm, but then, dragons were. All that fire inside. “Call me Van.”

  “Van, then.” She nodded, not sure what else to say. “Does that mean you’re good with the therapy?”

  He looked at her bag, not really giving her an answer. “You are staying here?”

  She took that to mean the job was hers. She glanced down. “Oh, yes. It’s part of the therapy. With the morning sessions and evening sessions, it’s just easier. Plus, there are the daily assessments.” She was just making it up as she went along now, pulling from different parts of the books she’d looked through.

  He frowned.

  She persisted. “You do have a guest room, don’t you?”

  “Da.” He backed up with some difficulty, the dog moving with him. “Follow me.”

  Van had no interest in any kind of therapy, but he didn’t want to be responsible for this woman getting fired. The League was strict and full of rules. That much he knew.

  As Lisa stepped into his house, he took her bag in his free hand.

  “Oh, uh, thanks.” She smiled at him tentatively, like she hadn’t expected him to help.

  “You’re welcome.” He wasn’t a Neanderthal. Chivalry wasn’t dead. But he didn’t smile back. He didn’t want her to think he was happy about the organization intruding like this.

  He’d probably donate the money to the rescue Grom had come from. They could use it, and he didn’t need it. At all. He was a dragon. And dragons had hoards. But again, he didn’t want her to lose her job because of him. Whatever kind of supernatural she was, she obviously wasn’t the kind that was good with money if this job was that important.

  She stepped toward him. “Thank you for not sending me away.”

  He nodded and took a breath.

  She smelled fresh and earthy, in a good way. Like the deepest forest after a rain. On her, it was a powerful, feminine scent. Like Mother Earth had just walked into his house. It was intoxicating.

  But then, this was the closest he’d been to a woman who wasn’t Pandora in a long time.

  He shook his head and leaned back, weight on his crutch. “This way.” He called to Grom. “Ko mne.”

  The dog jumped up to follow.


  Lisa was a little slower.

  Van kept limping forward, putting more space between them. Space was good. Space would keep her from getting any ideas.

  “Wow, you have a lot of books.”

  He glanced back.

  She was looking at the shelves that lined his living room. “Your house is amazing.”

  He thought so too. He stopped at the stairs that led to the second floor. “Take the bedroom upstairs.” It was his, but he’d moved to the guest room on this level since his injury. Steps and crutches were pointless. The second guest room was his office and trophy room. So she either slept up there or took the couch.

  “You can’t do the stairs right now, can you?” She reached for her bag.

  He put the rolling suitcase on the bottom step and hobbled to the side. “Not yet. Soon. Maybe we work on that.” If he had to do this therapy, he should at least get something out of it.

  “What? Oh, yes. Definitely.” She smiled quickly.

  “Good. Get settled, and then we start.”

  “Right now? Today?”

  “Is there reason to wait?” He wanted this over as soon as possible.

  “No, I suppose not.” Her smile thinned a little. “I just thought we could start fresh tomorrow. Bright and early and all that.”

  He realized she might be tired from traveling. Not everyone had the constitution of a mythological being. “Tomorrow morning is fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  His leg was aching anyway. “Tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Thank you.” She hesitated. “I realize you weren’t expecting me, so I’m happy to pay for takeout for dinner.”

  He almost laughed. “No takeout. I’m making steaks. There is enough.”

  “You’re sure? I know I’m here because the League sent me, but it’s not really fair that you have to put me up and feed me too.” Her mouth scrunched to one side. “Although I guess the check you’re going to get will more than cover whatever costs you incur because of me.”

  “Da. I mean, yes. Is no problem.” He sighed and corrected himself. “It is not a problem.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. What time should I be down?”

  “Whenever you like. Dinner is at seven.”

  “Okay. See you then.” She went up the steps.

  He stood there, admiring the view until he realized what he was doing. Then he frowned and turned toward the kitchen to get the steaks out. She was pretty. And she smelled nice. But she was a temporary distraction.

  Nothing about her being here changed the fact that his perfect record had been broken. That for the first time in his entire MMA career, he’d been injured by an opponent so severely it had cost him the fight. No amount of therapy was going to erase that black mark.

  Not from his record. And not from his soul.

  Monalisa dropped her bag on the enormous bed and looked around as she unzipped her jacket. The room was large enough to have a sitting area, which was a massive leather chair and ottoman in front of French doors that led to a small balcony. The grouping had a plush throw and a reading lamp, making it a very cozy little spot. The bedroom also had its own fireplace. On a chilly winter day like today, she couldn’t imagine a better place to be.

  The overwhelming effect was all very masculine, but considering that it was Van’s house, that was understandable. The view through the windows was incredible. The sun was starting to set, streaking the sky with orange and pink over the Georgian hills.

  She draped her jacket over the bed’s footboard, then gazed at the colorful sky for a few moments before going back to unpacking. Her toiletry kit was on top. She took it into the connected bath and flipped on the light.

  The space was a study in granite and wood. A real man’s bathroom with double sinks, an enormous soaking tub, and a walk-in shower that probably could have held several people.

  Or one dragon shifter.

  She frowned as a thought came to her. Acting on impulse, she walked to the medicine cabinet and opened it.

  Shaving supplies, a couple bottles of men’s cologne, and a black leather grooming kit.

  This wasn’t a guest room, this was Van’s room. He’d already admitted the stairs were a no-go.

  He must be using the guest room. Which was probably on the first floor.

  Okay, this was a little weird. She was going to be sleeping in his bed. And showering in his shower.

  It gave her a strange sense of intimacy that she hadn’t counted on. Granted, it wasn’t like he was sharing the space with her, but still. This was his room. His sanctuary. His private space. It made her feel worse about everything she was here to do.

  Which was saying something, since she already felt pretty bad.

  She put her bag on the vanity and stared at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look like a fake. Or did she? She peered closer. What did he see when he looked at her? Did he buy that she was a rehab therapist?

  Or did he see what she really was? A woman kept under her father’s thumb for so long that all she knew was how well her gifts could be used for nefarious purposes. A woman without any real skills. A woman who was so desperate to be free that she’d ruined Van’s life once already. And now she was here to ruin it again.

  She closed her eyes and dropped her head. If Van knew who she really was, he hadn’t let on. There’d been no spark of recognition in his eyes when he’d opened the door, so he either had no idea or he was really good at hiding his reactions.

  And if he did know who she was and hadn’t said anything, was he plotting some kind of retaliation? Had he let her into his house only to give himself time to plan his revenge?

  She opened her eyes and stared at herself again. If so, she’d have no choice but to use her powers against him.

  There’d be no happy ending for either of them. Just for her father, who would once again get what he wanted.

  They were both his pawns. Both deadly, dangerous creatures unable to use their gifts to save themselves.

  She snorted softly. In that way, she and Van were a perfect match. A new image filled her head. One where she and Van stood side by side in front of her father. Like a team. Like friends. Like people who cared what happened to each other.

  Wait. She shook her head. That wasn’t what she’d meant about them being a match. Not in a romantic sort of sense. Not in any kind of friendly way, really.

  She was just here to finish what she’d started. That was it. That was all. Because, if he ever found out who she really was…she shivered. Facing the wrath of a dragon wasn’t something she ever hoped to have to endure.

  But if he refused her gentle suggestions to return to the arena…what then?

  She would be forced to use her powers on him. Because there was no point in trying to outrun her father. She’d tried that when he’d failed to give her a coin again on her twenty-first birthday. She’d made it to Argentina. And then he’d summoned her back. She’d lasted a week before the pain in her head got to be too much.

  That was what happened if she refused him. A headache of unimaginable proportions. It started as a dull throb around day two. By day three, it was a constant ache. By day four, it was splitting. On day five, a medically induced coma seemed like a reasonable idea.

  On day seven, she’d been bent over with pain, unable to speak, unable to think, unable to see. She’d managed enough words to call the head of her father’s security team, Sean, and tell him where she was so he could send someone to pick her up and bring her home.

  It wasn’t something she thought she could bear again. And she’d searched for years to find another way to break his hold on her. But every answer was the same.

  The coin.

  So if Van refused, she’d be left with no choice but to force him to comply or suffer the consequences of refusing her father.

  She went back to her bag and finished unpacking as the sadness of that thought crept over her. She didn’t have much. Some casual clothes, plus some rehab-therapist-appropriate work clothes an
d a dress. All mix and match and enough for a week and a half. Longer than that and she might have to go shopping.

  Her father could pick up the tab for those clothes. That idea cleared some of her blue mood.

  In fact, he could pay for a few more things. Like some dinners in town. She’d tell Van it was part of his therapy and that the League was paying. He wouldn’t turn that down. And then she could be out in public with him. That would be more comfortable than being stuck in the house with him and his dog for ten days.

  Although, she hoped it wouldn’t take that long.

  She stared into her bag. There was something unfamiliar in the bottom. Something dark wrapped in the same tissue that her mother’s favorite boutique used.

  Monalisa pulled the item out and unwrapped it. A sleek little black dress so unlike anything she would have picked out for herself, but not nearly as risqué as what her mother favored. It was somewhere in between. Her mother’s idea of a compromise.

  Undoubtedly a very expensive compromise, knowing her mother’s taste and the boutique’s prices.

  She’d return it to her mother when she got back to Vegas. It was silly, really. Where did her mother think she was going to wear a thing like that here?

  The dress and the rest of her things went into what hanging space there was in the closet, but there were no empty drawers, so she couldn’t really unpack everything. Which was fine with her. Tucking her unmentionables next to Van’s boxers wasn’t a place she wanted to go.

  She was a little unsettled that she’d even opened that drawer. The man liked colorful underwear. She wasn’t sure what to do with that, but it felt like information she shouldn’t have. But she hadn’t been snooping. He’d told her this was the guest room.

  She should have guessed otherwise by the scent of smoke. It was all throughout the house—she’d picked it up as soon as she’d stepped foot inside. Of course, it was February and the smell of wood smoke was everywhere. It was just stronger in this space.

  Because it was his. His space, his scent.

  It wasn’t an unpleasant smell at all. It was sort of homey and comforting, even though it wasn’t a smell she was that familiar with. A lot of the fireplaces in Vegas were gas. At least, they were in her part of town.