by Diane Saxon
The Chameleons were deep in the red zone on the Pirates’ eight-yard line. The final play of the first half, and if they got through, they were going into halftime in the lead.
Sweat trickled down his neck, and he rolled his head in an attempt to stop the irritating itch. He squinted to his left as they set up the play in the zone and knew the Boston corner was going to make a play for Wolf. Matt rolled his weight onto his toes. Every instinct screamed at him that the Pirates’ corner, diagonal to his line of sight, had positioned himself to take the ball. If he did, the little bastard was faster than a cougar and wilier than a hyena.
Distracted, Matt glanced above the head of the wide receiver once more to where Ginny stood, fingers pressed against her lips. A mellow warmth stole through his chest and cost him his concentration.
The rumble of bodies approaching filled his head, and he automatically kicked back into the game. Adrenaline pumped up, he tucked his body in to rush forward, ready to demolish the corner who, true to form, was running hell for leather straight at Wolf. Stupid kid. Didn’t he know he was just about to be ground under the weight of The Dane?
The dragon roared “Kill,” and Matt flung himself headlong at the other guy, his arms outstretched to crush him. Too late, his vision filled with a full frontal attack from the Pirates’ defensive end. At the same time, their linebacker slid in from his left and took his legs from under him, sending his world into a black void.
He blinked. The flaccid naked belly of the Pirates’ defensive end—way past his sell-by date—pressed heavily through the grid of Matt’s helmet as the guy lay sideways across his head. Matt blinked again. Suffocation wasn’t going to be a problem as his breath had stopped when his body had been pulverized under the combined weight of both the defensive end and the linebacker. Much to his disgust, he’d missed the corner altogether. From the roar of the crowd, the fucker had managed to sack Wolf. Either that, or Matt’s brain was bleeding out through his ears.
The body above him squirmed, letting more light into his vision, only to have it assaulted by the guy’s ugly, stretched belly button surrounded by thick black hair that almost poked him in the eye before the bastard rolled off him. Relieved of the weight of the two men, Matt waited.
I’ll breathe in just a second—there’s no rush.
He stared up at the clear blue sky. It reminded him of Ginny’s beautiful clear blue eyes. A vacuous, floating sensation surrounded him.
Another minute and I’ll breathe.
Dark storm clouds rolled in thick and fast.
“You okay, son?”
The grizzly voice of his coach made it past the hissing sound filling his head, and he tried to nod. Black mists swarmed heavier, engulfing his vision. He closed his eyes and welcomed the dark silence.
•●•
Ginny leaped to her feet once more, heart firmly lodged in her throat, with the other two women screaming like banshees so she could barely think.
“They killed him.” She pressed her fingers to her lips in the hope the acid in her stomach would stay there. He was dead. Surely he was dead, and she was about to be sick.
“No, sweetie.” Lorna yowled while they watched the heap of tangled arms, legs, and bodies in front of them move. “They just stopped him from killing the corner who went on to sack Wolf is all.”
Ginny had no idea what a sack involved, nor did she have any interest. All she knew was the man she’d fallen for had just died in front of her eyes. The constriction in her chest felt like it was about to explode. No one seemed to care as the frenzied screaming and clapping continued, and the two women talked in loud voices over her, oblivious to her pain.
She curled over the sharp clench in her stomach, hugging herself as her breath trapped in her throat. The voices in her head competed with the surrounding noise, intent on deafening her.
“The Pirates’ new corner certainly knows how to fake players out of their boots and motor to the quarterback. He’s fast, and despite being new to the team, he slipped through the Chameleons. Did you see how their defensive end and linebacker took The Dane down in no uncertain terms? He’s almost as big as The Fridge back in the old days.” Ellie’s fever-pitch voice filled Ginny’s head, sounding like a commentary—one Ginny simply didn’t understand. Why would anyone compare her gorgeous Matt to a refrigerator? They were strange women.
“He’s way slimmer than The Fridge. Two-eighty pounds if you ask me. He’s got to be almost six feet eight. The boy’s a bruiser.”
“You are so right, Lorna.”
Confused by the older women’s obvious knowledge of the game, Ginny leaned over the barrier to peer at the mass of bodies in front of her, piled just short of what she was reliably informed was the score line.
“He’s going to hurt.” Ashamed at the pathetic mewl in her voice, she leaned weakly against Lorna.
“Hurt?” Ellie slapped her back and restarted her heart for her. Ginny wasn’t quite sure whether she should be grateful or insulted, as the two women insisted on rough-handling her. “He’s going to be fine. We’re straight into half time, and you’ll see, he’ll be out and running again after a short break.”
Ginny stared at Matt’s inert body, doubt stabbing at her chest as the men surrounding him struggled to heft him onto a stretcher. He definitely appeared to be dead. She glanced left and right and wondered if there was anything she could do, but Daniel had disappeared, and she wasn’t sure how she would find Matt in the enormous stadium, even if she went looking. Even if she found him, what use would she be? She was a qualified first-aider, but she was pretty sure resurrecting the dead was beyond her.
She slumped back into her seat and accepted a bottle of chilled water from Ellie. Perhaps she just needed to leave him to Daniel and all the men hovering over him as they wheeled the stretcher off the field.
“He’ll be okay, hon. You just wait and see.”
Lorna raised the half-empty bottle of champagne to her lips and gave Ginny a reassuring pat on the knee as she took a deep slug of the pale golden liquid.
•●•
Six miniature Ginny’s, dressed in matching diaphanous white baby-dolls, pranced around in a circle. Their sleek white hair flipped about and made him want to reach out and stroke it, but the weight pressing down on his arms restrained him.
The buzz of men’s voices interfered with his moment of ecstasy. Just as six sweet Ginny’s bent over at the waist and treated him to a synchronized ass peep, someone nearly lost their life as they gave his cheek a rough pinch. The first little Ginny looked back over her shoulder at him, her cute tush jiggled, she raised her fingers to her lips, gave a sly wink, and erupted into a small spark of fire that hovered in a twinkle of starlight. The second one followed suit, and then the third, until all six Ginny sparks danced behind his eyelids in a bright ring of fireworks, obligingly burning all thought from his skull.
An icy-cold deluge of water almost drowned him, but did him the favor of filling his lungs with cool, fresh air.
Matt struggled to sit up and was pushed flat by a firm hand. “Easy, boy.”
He blinked rapidly, lashes flicking off droplets of water so it trickled down his cheeks in icy fingers to run through his sweat-drenched hair. He focused on the faded denim eyes with spots of rust dotted liberally throughout peering down at him. His Irish coach, Darby, gave his cheek another firm squeeze with his gnarled old fingers, followed by an affectionate pat.
Matt had known the old guy since he’d joined the team as a rookie—the first time around. They’d both been there in 1920 before it was even called the National Football League, and Darby had coached him through the 1958 NFL Championship Game—the greatest game ever played. Course they’d both been called something else back then. They’d been through several names each, but they’d always come back to the game. It wasn’t so difficult to change their appearances, but if anyone studied their past photos hard enough, there was going to be a remarkable resemblance to some of the greats. Easier for Darby to get away w
ith, but this time around, Matt had come back as his own grandson.
Implicit trust had developed over the years, and a flicker of concern ran through Matt’s mind as the old boy frowned at him. Anxiety reflected in the ancient eyes as he leaned in closer.
Matt opened his mouth to say something reassuring, but all that came out was, “Ginny.”
Darby’s bushy white eyebrows almost covered his eyes as he screwed his forehead tighter. “Who the hell is Ginny?”
Bright white lights stabbed at the back of Matt’s eyelids, making him blink rapidly as he wondered momentarily who the hell Ginny was.
Darby pulled back, and Matt scanned the brightly lit room in an effort to find someone who would understand. “Ginny.”
“He’s concussed.” Daniel’s face filled his vision.
“Yup. Concussed,” the old boy agreed.
“Ginny.” Fireworks erupted in an explosion, and he closed his eyes and gripped the side of the bed in an effort to stay on it. The dragon churned his stomach in desperate confusion, and his head spun.
“Brain hemorrhage?” Daniel suggested.
“Nah.” The old guy poked a grizzled finger into Matt’s eye socket, almost piercing his brain as he lifted his eyelid and gazed at him. The concern in his face increased, and he leaned in. “Put the dragon away, son. There’s outsiders in the room.”
Matt relaxed and concentrated on calming the dragon, knowing what Darby had seen were the elliptical pupils that appeared at the first sign of shape-shifting.
“Ginny.” It was no longer his demand, but the beast inside wanted her near.
“She’s fine.” Daniel’s smooth Southern voice pacified him. “She’s still in the stands.”
“Let her know I’m okay.” Why he thought she would worry, he had no idea. He just knew he didn’t want her to.
“He sure as shite has it bad. Since when has he ever cared about what some chick thinks?”
The dragon gave a faint protest, and Matt opened his eyes just as he coughed out a small fireball. Darby snapped his head back to avoid it.
“Since he found his mate.” Daniel’s wry smile kicked up as he took a precautionary step back.
Darby’s thin lips stretched in a wide smile, making his wrinkles form folds across the lizard’s face. The firm touch of the old boy’s hand on his shoulder had Matt closing his eyes as his coach’s whiskey-hued voice washed over him. “About time, son. We’ll send a message to the lady. You lie back and relax.”
A dark curtain smothered the lights, and a blanket of tranquility stole over him.
•●•
His head pounded. He slumped his listless body into the bench, with barely the energy to stay upright.
His eyes tried to track the movement of the ball, but the pain behind them pounded and made him feel like he was watching a camera in slow motion. The sick churning of his stomach stopped him from moving.
The bright white reflection of Ginny’s hair somehow soothed him, and he relaxed deeper into his seat. She was still there. The laser blue of her stare burned him from the other side of the stadium. His dragon vision zoomed in on her, and his heart pulsed. The acid in his stomach churned, not with nausea, but anticipation. She hadn’t left when he’d shown his weakness and was carried off the field. She’d stayed. She smiled and ducked her head to listen to the middle-aged woman beside her. He blinked in his confusion, sure he recognized the other woman.
Play ground to a halt, and Matt glanced up at the scoreboard. The Boston Pirates were ahead by six points, and the Chameleons—with all the injuries they’d sustained—seemed to be struggling to keep them from advancing up the field.
Matt leaned his elbows on his knees and shuffled forward to get a better look at the field.
Easier now, his heart pacified by the presence of his mate, he cruised his gaze over the field, took in the waiting positions, and effortlessly predicted the next play.
Ellory, their wide receiver, was about to be intercepted by the Pirates’ hairy safety the moment Wolf passed him the ball. Still young and inexperienced, Wolf’s bravado often outweighed his judgment.
Matt came to his feet, adrenaline pumping through his system to shake off the remaining languor. The desire to yell to his quarterback was strong, but Wolf wasn’t about to hear him above the roar of the crowd.
He glanced at Darby and watched the man come to his feet as play started. Matt squinted across the field to follow the arc of the ball as it left Wolf’s hands. He knew the wide receiver would block out all distractions with steadfast focus. The crowds and the defenders would all fade into insignificance as he concentrated on the flight of the ball and positioned himself to take it. The guy had a great feeling for space in the zone, but the Pirates’ safety was coming from behind. Airborne, the wide receiver reached; his speed and agility catapulted him forward, almost outpacing the safety.
As the taller guy took the ball with soft hands, he twisted in midair, getting his toes down to stop himself from stepping out of bounds, but before he could sprint, the dumbass was on him.
The roar of the crowd vibrated through the stadium, wild and hysterical as they came to their feet in single-minded frenzy.
Matt lowered himself to the bench, powerless to help as the coaches and medics rushed onto the field and peeled the guy from Ellory who lay awkward and broken on the ground. Matt had a pretty good idea of how the guy felt.
As he watched the wide receiver gain his feet and then collapse screaming like a girl, Matt glanced at Darby. Injuries had certainly taken their toll this season, and by the look of it, Ellory was out of the game with a knee injury.
Matt rubbed a hand across his mouth as he gave a cursory glance around at the remaining players. Hitchin, with a wrist injury, was going nowhere. They didn’t dare risk Parker yet with his two broken ribs.
He stood to make his way over to the stretcher as the medics brought Ellory off the field. A quick high-five and a soft punch to the shoulder reassured Matt the kid would be fine with a pack of ice, a shot of painkiller, and some anti-inflammatories. He’d recover quickly, but not quick enough for this game. Matt followed the procession with his gaze until they disappeared through the tunnel. A few weeks of physiotherapy and the young guy would be back in shape, but it didn’t help the current situation. Goddammit.
The huddle on the edge of the ten-yard line drew his attention, and he stepped forward with the aim of listening in on Darby’s intended play. No way were the Chameleons about to win the game. He couldn’t resist a quick glance at the scoreboard, knowing full well the figures would not have changed. Frustration groaned in the pit of his stomach. So close.
Matt edged up to the sideline and squinted as Darby raised his hand and beckoned him over, halting him before he could do his bidding. The old guy sent a bolt of confusion through him as he indicated for Matt to put his helmet on. It looked like Darby had some intention of including him in the final minute of play.
Anticipation sent a dart of excitement through his veins as he broke into a trot, dispensing with any remaining fogginess in his brain. Matt made a quick glance up into the stadium and resolved not to take his concentration off the ball this time. The sexy little banshee was worth every second of his devotion—once he’d finished on the field. But right now he needed to turn his attention entirely to the game.
Still, she warmed his heart when she gave him a tentative smile.
The players parted to allow him into their tight circle, and Darby took him by surprise as he yanked him in closer. A wild thrill shot through him as his quarterback relayed the coach’s intentions for their final play of the game. Ambitious, to say the least.
This time the big bastard wasn’t going to get him because there was no way the Pirates would expect the plan Darby and Wolf were about to set in motion.
Matt hunkered down as he took up the wide receiver’s position and centered himself. The sound of his own deep, controlled breathing inside his helmet stirred the dragon. Matt narrowed his eyes, chec
ked the players’ positions, and gave his hands a brief rub on the dirty white material covering his thighs.
He was going to do this.
He relaxed his muscles, flexed his fingers to soften his hands, and blew out a slow breath.
He watched the dummy plays taking the Pirates’ linebacker to the twenty-yard line. Not as far as they wanted, but hopefully far enough for Matt to outpace him. He glanced at the clock—almost out of time. Wolf had better stop messing about or the final whistle was going to blow.
The quarterback made his move, and Matt’s gaze followed the trajectory of the ball as he feinted left, and then right again, straight into its flight path. With every ounce of energy he had, he pushed himself from the ground. Midair, he seized the ball, twisted one-eighty degrees, and landed without pause to take out the oncoming defensive end and cornerback, leaving them smashed on the ground. Legs pumping, breath heaving, he pounded for the goal line, aware with every tense muscle in his body the mighty force of the Pirates’ linebacker was breathing down his neck, making the hairs stand on end.
Ball tucked under his right elbow, he dodged the first safety. He raised the ball even with his jersey numbers and then cradled it against his chest as he ran straight over the second safety, leaving another guy broken where he lay, without so much as a backward glance. He gripped the ball, launched his body into the end zone, and slammed it down with such force the inner bladder burst, exploding in his hands with the same ferocity as the air that shot from his lungs as several mighty bodies leaped on top of him and obscured the light of day.
•●•
From underneath the pile of what appeared to be broken humanity, Matt emerged. He shook his enormous body free of inert limbs of the other men, until they wriggled and managed to get to their feet. By some amazing turn of fate, none of them were dead, nor did it appear even slightly injured.
To the roar of the crowd, Matt spread his arms wide, tilted back his head, and hooted while he turned in a full circle, accepting the admiration and cheers he obviously felt he deserved. When he stopped turning, he faced her. He removed his helmet and gave a small bow, but as he straightened, her heart lurched. She knew right away she was in trouble.