Marked By Fire (Dragons Of The Darkblood Secret Society Book 2)

by Meg Ripley

  Charlotte moved on from the table, grateful that the night was nearly over. “Just one more hour and I'm out of here,” she comforted herself. She moved around the room, checking to see if customers needed refills or another order of wings, and then headed back to the kitchen to hand over two more orders for the evening. She could survey the bar from her position just outside the kitchen. It was the part of her job that she loved; watching people come and go, seeing the play of expression on their faces, guessing why they're celebrating or drowning their sorrows in drink. While she was in the crowd, she couldn't see what was going on around her, but from here, it was the ultimate improv—reality TV at its best. It wasn't that she was a nosy person—it wasn't any of her business what was really going on in her customers' conversations—Charlotte was just fascinated with people.

  She'd grown up as an only child, with two professional parents who spent a great deal of their time working. When she was young, it wasn't uncommon for Charlotte to wind up eating dinner with the babysitter, and then once she was old enough to care for herself, eating entirely alone. She used to eat in front of the television; not to keep up with her favorite sitcom or drama, but to watch the news. It made her feel better to know that the people on the television were actually out there somewhere. When her parents passed away in a plane crash just after her seventeenth birthday, Charlotte waited for something to be different. They had gone away for an anniversary vacation and on the day they were expected home, they never arrived. It wasn't until Charlotte was dining that evening in front of the television that she saw coverage of the crash on the news.

  Day after day, she continued with her usual routine. She didn't miss her mother tucking her in at night—her mom never did that. She didn't miss tossing a ball around with her dad—he didn't have time for that. In the days, weeks and months following her parents' deaths, she made her own food, stayed on top of her own homework and tucked herself in at night—just like she always had.

  Charlotte shook her head to dispel the sad reverie, and as her mind cleared, she noticed a new figure sitting in the darkened area of the bar. It wasn't odd to have new customers, and he probably wouldn't have caught her attention if he hadn't been staring back at her with a piercing gaze that she swore he was using to try to see into her soul.

  She was accustomed to her fair share of ogling; at five foot, eight inches with a model's figure, attention from men, and even a few women, was an everyday occurrence. Her flaxen hair shimmered even in the poor lighting of the bar, and her big, stormy blue eyes captured almost as much attention as her long, slender legs and full breasts.

  Even when she met the stranger's gaze, he didn't turn away, and the combination of a thrill and a chill ran down her spine. She knew she should be wary of the stranger; blatant attention like that was often a warning sign that the creep might be waiting outside after work. But for some inexplicable reason, she wasn't scared. And then, seemingly of their own volition, her legs began to propel her forward, moving her slowly toward the table where the stranger sat, still staring. She didn't know why she couldn't help herself—a tiny warning bell should have been going off in her head by now. But, she just kept moving until she stood directly in front of him.

  “Hi there. Is there anything I can get for you this evening?” At least as a waitress, even if the guy turned out to be just another creep, her approach wouldn't strike him as odd or inviting. She was just doing her job.

  “I'm fine for now. Thank you, Charlotte,” he replied politely, still staring at her intently. She wondered how he knew her name, and then figured he read it on her name tag. She wasn't accustomed to the patrons here being sober enough to bother with reading a name tag. But, as she looked down at her chest, following her mind's train of thought, she froze—she must have forgotten to put her name tag on before her shift started.

  “How do you know my name?” she queried, a hint of panic in the tone of her voice.

  “I know a great deal about you, Charlotte. And I'd like to know more,” he responded. The accent in his voice threw her off; she couldn't place it from any country she'd heard of.

  “I bet you would,” she muttered aloud, beginning to think her “common creep” theory had been correct.

  “No. Not in that way, though you are incredibly beautiful,” he said gently. “I mean, I would like the opportunity to learn about who you are,” he clarified, as if that should put her discomfort at ease.

  He sounded 100 percent genuine, which made the situation all the more perplexing. Charlotte didn't know what to make of this stranger. By the way he spoke, how he held himself upright and looked clearly at her, she had a difficult time believing he was drunk.

  “Yes, well, maybe I'll see you around here sometime.” She didn't know what else to say, and so a casual, uncommitted response seemed most appropriate. It was either that or, “You're creeping me out and I'd appreciate it if you'd leave,” she thought.

  “I do not wish to leave. If you'd just join me for a drink, I am sure you'll come to see I am not here to 'creep' you out,” he explained.

  The fact that he seemed to be reading her thoughts was disturbing Charlotte even more, and yet she didn't immediately tell him no. What was wrong with her?

  “I'm in the middle of work, I'm afraid,” she told him honestly.

  “I'm sure no one will mind if you took a break. I've seen you working all evening, and you haven't stopped even once.”

  All of a sudden, “Charlotte!” her boss, Michael, shouted to her from across the room.

  “Great. I'm in trouble already and I didn't even take the damn break,” she though exasperatedly.

  “Go ahead and take five. We've got the floor covered for now,” Michael continued, and Charlotte's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Michael wasn't the type of boss who was...well, nice.

  Uncomfortably she nodded her head and sat down at the stranger's table, though she wasn't entirely sure when she was the one who had commanded her legs to lower her to the seat.

  Her boss, her body with a mind of its own tonight, and the potentially-telepathic stranger sitting across from her; Charlotte was beginning to wonder if she was dreaming—or living in an episode of the X-Files.

  “What's going on?” she queried, certain at the least that something wasn't right here. As she spoke, she looked up at the stranger.

  Even sitting she could tell that he would stand nearly a foot taller than her. She looked closer; something wasn’t quite right about his features. The stranger had ridges on his forehead and markings along his hairline down to his neck. She couldn't make them out, but they seemed to shimmer iridescent. He had incredibly defined, chiseled cheekbones, and a hard jawline. His eyes were gently slanted and he had incredibly long lashes for a man. His dark hair was long, too, falling just below his shoulders, and she could just barely see the tops of his ears peeking out, suggesting they angled away from his head—sort of like Will Smith's ears, she thought wryly.

  He didn't look like any man she'd ever seen before; every one of his features was exaggerated; some men might have a strong jaw or prominent cheekbones, or eyes that really stood out, but never a combination of all these things. But, he was beautiful—a solitary masterpiece unlike any other.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what?” she asked, confused. When he didn't respond, but looked at her knowingly, “You heard that?!? But, how is that possible?”

  “Why would you suppose that such things are not possible?” he queried back to her. But, as intelligent as Charlotte was, she couldn't find a logical argument.

  And then he spoke again, an edge of frustration in his voice. “I wish I had time to do this another way—to woo you tenderly, I would like that very much—but I’ve been gone too long. It has taken me so long, and while I know you cannot possibly understand, I have come here for a reason, Charlotte. And it turns out, that reason is you. And I’m more glad than you can possibly imagine,” he explained cryptically.

  “I don't understand,”
Charlotte replied, completely at a loss. She had no idea what to make of the stranger's ramblings. This had to be the weirdest conversation she'd ever had. Weirder still was the fact that she was still sitting there. She really should have taken a hike when the guy started repeating her thoughts.

  “And I see that all I'm doing is confusing you right now. I will be back,” he assured her before standing, settling up his bill and strolling out of the sports bar. Charlotte was left to stare after him, wondering if perhaps she'd just imagined the exchange between them. She remained still for a moment after he'd left before sweeping up the money on the table to cover the stranger's bill.

  She shook her head, trying to clear it of the confusion from her bizarre conversation with the stranger. It was a difficult task, but her five minutes was up and it was time to get back to work. Fortunately, the rest of the night passed quickly and much less disturbing than she had expected. Strangely, the immature grabbers at the bachelor party table had calmed down immensely since her last trip to their table. She stopped by to refill glasses two more times during the evening and her entire body remained untouched the entire time. “Jeez, I gotta find out what's ended up in their drinks and stash some for the next raucous group of males,” Charlotte thought to herself.

  She swept the floors and washed down the tables after the last customer cleared out of the bar and then headed out quickly, never terribly enthusiastic about the long walk home after dark. She looked around for the stranger that had confused her earlier, but he was nowhere to be found. So, she started out down the sidewalk, moving quickly while her low heels kept a staccato beat to spur her onward.

  ****

  The next day passed in a whirlwind of errands, housework and too many loads of laundry to count. She'd fallen behind, picking up so many extra shifts. But, at twenty-four, she'd been saving for college for nearly five years now, and she almost had enough to cover her tuition and basic living expenses so she could afford to dedicate herself to her studies rather than divide it between school and work. By late afternoon, Charlotte was dressed in her naughty-looking work uniform and strolling to work at a casual pace and enjoying the rare feel of being early for work today.

  She looked around the sports bar when she arrived, half expecting to see the stranger from the previous night lurking at one of the dark tables. But a quick survey revealed the entire darkened area of the bar was empty. Charlotte turned to hang up her coat in the staff area. There was no chill in the early summer evening's air, but since having to resort to walking to work, she'd learned that her silly school girl uniform garnered far more catcalls and whistles than she cared to receive. She tied her waitress apron around her slim waist and headed out onto the floor to work.

  The evening was just as busy as the night before, but at least there were no drunken bachelors grabbing at her today. She didn't have a moment to spare, and it came as no surprise that Michael did not feel inclined to relieve her for a break the entire time. It wasn't until the end of her shift was nearing that she surveyed the room once again, looking intently around the darkened corner of the bar. She didn't find the stranger, but instead, resting on the table he had occupied the evening prior was a single, perfect red rose.

  She walked over to it slowly and she ran her fingers over the silken softness of the petals before picking up the flower. She couldn't resist inhaling its sweet scent. She inhaled deeply but what she smelled was a combination of the rose and a unique, sensual scent that must have belonged to the stranger because it was the same scent she remembered wafting from across the table. “Mmmmm,” Charlotte let out with a sigh. She had no idea why she would find the scent so intoxicating after such a strange encounter with the giver, but it was arousing, nonetheless.

  When the tables were cleaned and the last of the dishes washed and returned to their shelves, she grabbed her coat from its hook and locked the bar's door on her way out. Unfortunately, she had been so busy that evening, she hadn't been on the lookout for the other creeps who often frequent the establishment.

  Charlotte had only walked a block when she heard a sound behind her. She turned quickly, but when her eyes found nothing, she picked up her pace. She had made it too far away from the bar; there was no point in returning to its safety now. A moment later, the sound returned and when she turned this time, she came face to face with a dark, sinister face. He was big and burly with muscles clearly evident beneath his form-fitting shirt. He smelled of cigarette smoke and alcohol, and looking beyond him, she spied two men, equally as minacious-looking staring on. She knew without a doubt that they intended to harm her. A hand came up to clasp over Charlotte's mouth, stifling her scream, while another swiftly wrapped around her waist and pulled her tight against his body. In that moment, Charlotte knew real terror.

  But, in the next moment, she was free. Her captor had been thrust back, thrown to the ground. She didn't move. The two sinister onlookers still stood less than a foot away from her and she was too afraid to turn her back to flee. And then, the dark figure that had so quickly dispatched her captor made short work of the other two. His hands came around their necks and he lifted them off the ground as if they weighed no more than a bag of potatoes. He threw them back on the ground and moved to follow to where they had landed. All three, likely realizing they were the ones now in grave danger, rose quickly and ran. The dark figure watched for a moment, probably to ensure the menaces continued on their course, and then he turned to Charlotte, moving toward her carefully.

  “Are you alright, Charlotte?” the figure asked, and she recognized the voice instantly. It was the stranger from the bar last night. He came into the light just seconds later, confirming it was who she suspected. He looked more vicious now, his prominent features hardened even more by anger, but there was a gentleness in the way he looked at her, and she somehow knew she had nothing to fear from him.

  “You...But how? How did you know? And how could you? You picked up those men like they weighed nothing.” Now that the moment of terror had passed, Charlotte was flooded with emotion and a lone tear rolled down her cheek as she spoke. She could only imagine the horrible things they might have done to her.

  “Please stop thinking those things,” he pleaded with a pained look on his chiseled face.

  “I was watching you. Figuring out how to approach you, talk to you...to show you. And then I heard them, Charlotte, and I had to intervene,” he tried to explain emphatically.

  She should have been frightened to learn that he'd been following her, particularly given the display of strength she'd just witnessed, but she wasn't. The gentleness in his eyes held her captive now and she could not reconcile that gentleness with violence in that moment. “Why,” was the only thought that came to her mind.

  “I think it would be best to get you home for now. You've been rather shaken, and I will explain more later. I promise.”

  He met her eyes, and the determined expression in his told her there was no point in arguing. In truth, her body was still feeling overwhelmed by what she knew would have taken place had the stranger not intervened—had he not saved her. She was also more tired than she could remember being in quite some time, so she nodded and let him escort her the remaining few blocks to her home.

  When they arrived at her house, he continued to follow her to her front door. She found her keys hidden at the bottom of her purse and inserted them into the lock. Charlotte half expected the stranger to follow her inside, but he lingered on her door step. “Um, do you want to come in?” she queried, not certain it was appropriate to invite a stranger off the streets into her home, but given that he'd just saved her from a trio of sinister thugs, she felt rude sending him on his way.

  “Thanks, but you should just get some sleep. Rest assured, we will meet again soon.”

  He reached for her hand slowly, careful not to scare her, and raised it to his lips. He kissed the soft skin of the back of her hand and then released her just as gently. And then he was gone. He turned, strutted down the front walkway
and was out of her sight just seconds later. While she wasn't big on following orders, the stranger's words only seemed to confirm how tired she really was. Charlotte climbed the stairs to her room to collapse on the bed, asleep only seconds later.

  ****

  She awoke early the next morning—a good thing given that she'd forgotten to set her alarm the night prior. She showered robotically, washing her hair and face, and soaping up. But as her slippery hands ran over her body, thoughts of the stranger came to mind. His tall, muscular body and unusually chiseled features; the iridescent markings that adorned his face; his dark hair—when she saw it beneath the street light's glare, it seemed to shimmer iridescently like the markings on his face. And she could have sworn his tanned skin looked somehow paler last night than it had when she'd seen him in the bar and there was a slight azureous hue to his complexion.

  The more she thought about the stranger, the more her body responded to her touch, sending tiny sparks of arousal coursing through her veins. She indulged in the sensations for a moment, enjoying the throbbing that began between her legs as she rubbed her soapy fingers back and forth across her nipples.

  And then her alarm sounded, letting her know it was time to get moving and shaking Charlotte from her erotic play. She dropped her hands, shut off the water and hopped out of the shower. She had twenty minutes to dress, brush her hair, grab a quick bite to eat and then get to work before her boss lectured her on the consequences of tardiness—like he did the only time she had been late for work this year.

  She was working a double shift today; a fill-in for another waitress with a pressing engagement. Though, if it turned out she'd be stuck chiding inebriates at a bachelor party again today, Charlotte swore she'd be walking out and leaving Michael to entertain the group. “Let Michael dress up in my uniform and spend the night being manhandled. See what he thinks of the naughty little things then,” she amused herself and then darted off to finish her morning routine.