by Ophelia Bell
This was Nessa’s home now. This view, this house, and this man. She paused at the bottom of the steps, still drinking in the vista, and turned back to express her love to Gaius again when something oddly familiar and out of place caught her eye.
She turned her head and her heart stopped.
“Oh Gaius . . .” She was only able to get the two words out before her eyes teared up and her throat constricted. Her hand flew to her mouth as she collapsed against his side, unable to hold herself up from shock at the wonderfully unexpected sight before her.
Gaius hooked his arm around her waist, supporting her, and kissed the top of her head. “It would’ve been a shame to see the whole lot go to reclamation after all the times I made love to you in that kitchen.”
She swiped at her eyes, but was unable to stop the flow of tears and the soft sob that welled up. It was too much. Not only had this wonderful man finished his house just the way she had imagined . . . better than she had imagined . . . he had also installed a kitchen that there was no mistaking was for her and her alone.
It wasn’t a new kitchen, by any means. The old enameled equipment with its copper accents had been polished so the copper gleamed. The worn wood-slab island still had the same well-seasoned surface. Even the deep copper sinks had been installed—also polished and shining in the sunrise. Her father’s entire kitchen had been transported to this house. Every last piece. And she had no idea how in the world she would ever thank Gaius for something so grand.
He shifted his stance beside her and rumbled uncertainly. “Ness . . . You do like it, don’t you?”
Shakily, she inhaled and spun around, surging up into his arms and claiming his mouth in a kiss, at a loss for any words to express exactly how she felt.
But Gaius needed no words to grasp what she needed from him. He carried her into the kitchen and set her on the island in the center, then proceeded to make love to her, re-christening every surface as if the room were brand new. While they made love, Nessa reveled in the absolute fullness of her heart, and knew without a doubt that she had earned this love and would never, ever let it go.
Epilogue
One Year Later
Gaius swept his brush in one final coat over the windowsill and stood back to admire his work. A pleasant nutmeg scent wafted from behind, and he unconsciously reached back, pulled Nessa under his arm, and bent to press a kiss to her forehead.
“It’s done,” she said. “You’ve outdone yourself again.”
He grunted, knowing full well that the nursery was only the beginning of the renovations he’d have to make to the house over the next two decades. He set the brush back in the empty bucket at his feet and pressed his palm over Nessa’s round, pregnant belly.
“Don’t get too attached. They’ll have it torn to pieces the second they can crawl.”
Nessa groaned. “Of course it had to be twin boys. Me, stuck in these mountains with the testosterone brothers. After dealing with Ig and Bry and you and Levi, I deserve a daughter, dammit! It’s all I asked.”
“Soon as they’re out of you, I’m happy to work on putting a girl in you, baby,” he said with a cocky grin.
“We’ll work on that when the time comes, I promise. This summer, my mission is to find Ig and Bry a mate.”
“One mate? Singular?” Gaius asked, lifting an eyebrow and looking down at Nessa. She grew pensive, her brows scrunching together and he knew she was thinking about Bryer, who was still in the League hospital recovering from a near-fatal arena injury.
She swallowed and nodded. “I had a long talk with Dr. Taji. She believes finding him a mate is the only way to get him fully healed. But I don’t see those two lasting if one of them gets mated and the other doesn’t, and their godforsaken bet isn’t doing them any favors, so . . .”
Gaius heard the equivocation in her voice and chuckled. “What’d you do, Ness?”
“Oh, I just called Gerri Wilder and told her to be on the lookout. Bonus points if she can find a substitute chef for them while I’m on maternity leave. After the babies are born, I’ll need the help anyway, especially with the feeding regimen Dr. Taji recommends for Bryer after he’s released. It’s going to be a long, hard road for him. I want . . .” She paused and bit her lip, her eyes searching his.
Gaius knew what she was thinking. Ever since their mating, he’d been a new man. It hadn’t even required a special diet, though Nessa’s cooking didn’t hurt. His knees never once twinged, and some of the gray had even left his hair. It was almost as if his bear had been reborn twenty years younger.
He’d even entertained the idea of competing again, but dismissed it the very second he learned of Nessa’s pregnancy. He had more than he needed right here with her and his construction business, so he was more than certain Bryer’s doctor was right. The boy needed a mate.
“You want them to be happy.”
“Yeah. If you and I could find each other, there has to be someone out there for them. Hell, Gerri even managed to find my mom someone. Mom’s on Cloud Nine, now that the elder Jake Hansgen’s professed his love to her. She finally got the clan leader she wanted.” She shook her head, smiling inwardly, no doubt remembering the ordeal Nina Baxter had put them through the prior summer.
“Well, if anyone can find those boys a mate, Gerri Wilder can. But I suggest you not discount the power of bribery. Last time she visited, I caught her snooping through your cookbooks. She seems to be attached to that cake of yours.”
Nessa’s brown eyes twinkled when she looked up at him. “My recipes were the way to your heart, after all. They’re bound to work on a matchmaker’s heart too.”
Hot Wings
Aurora Champions Book Two
1
Gerri Wilder sat in her regular booth at her favorite restaurant for a Friday night meal. She’d only been coming here for a few months. There was something about the desserts that kept her coming back, and the menu was constantly in flux, which kept things interesting.
The chocolate mousse she’d just been served was to die for, a perfect blend of rich chocolate and a touch of cayenne pepper to give it kick. Unfortunately, it seemed like the most delicious things on the menu tended to disappear within a week. It could be disappointing, but it ensured diners would come regularly to make sure they didn’t miss something great. There was nothing worse than coming to the restaurant to hear about the fantastic dish they were serving last week, only to find it was no longer available.
She closed her eyes and savored this dessert as though it were the last time she’d ever taste it. When she swallowed the last bite, a clang from the kitchen shocked her eyes open. From behind the doors, a woman was spewing a barrage of colorful epithets, and not entirely in English. Gerri raised an eyebrow, impressed by the female’s creativity, whoever she was.
A booming male voice replied with not nearly as much imagination—the word “bitch” was the least creative insult to throw at a woman, after all—and then yelled, “Oh, yeah? Well, you’re fired!”
The kitchen door swung halfway open, and every head in the restaurant craned around to watch as a voluptuous woman in chef’s whites pushed through. She yanked her toque off her head, releasing a tangled blond mane. Turning around, she viciously tossed the hat back through the door, yelling, “Oh, no you don’t! Because I fucking quit!”
She spun on her heel and stalked through the restaurant, red-faced and fuming, oblivious to all the heads that turned to follow her exodus with mouths agape.
Once at the hostess’s stand, the woman suddenly made a sharp turn, directly into the ladies room, the door swinging shut behind her.
Gerri sighed and looked longingly at the empty dish that had once contained the best chocolate mousse she’d ever tasted. Time to find a new favorite restaurant, she thought, and stood to make her way into the restroom.
* * *
“That bastard,” Pomona muttered for the hundredth time in five minutes. She’d run out of steam after her confrontation with Charles, the exec
utive chef at Joie. Getting hired as a sous-chef for the exclusive, five-star restaurant had been the opportunity of a lifetime, and another box to tick off on her list of career goals.
At least, it had been until she’d gotten to know her tyrant of a boss.
She swiped angrily at her tears, hating herself for not … not what? Kissing his ass and sticking to his uninspired recipes? The man’s menu was stifling, to say the least. She supposed it might appeal to some people who had no sense of adventure. The dishes he served were technically perfect, but every damn one had to be exactly like his recipe—right down to the number of leaves on the parsley sprigs that garnished each plate.
The bathroom door creaked open behind her, and a petite woman with a perfectly coiffed, platinum-blonde bob stepped in.
Pomona turned on the faucet and hurriedly splashed water on her tear-streaked face, then grabbed a wad of paper towels and wiped, blowing her nose on them before tossing them in the wastebasket.
“Sorry about the scene,” she said, turning an apologetic gaze to the woman who had paused just behind her, and now met her eyes in the mirror.
The woman waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve seen worse, darling. You certainly did liven up the place tonight. You’ve got fire in your belly, I’ll give you that.”
Pomona snorted. “More like heartburn. I guess I’m technically unemployed now.” She sighed. “And good fucking luck finding another gig like this one. Charles will lambaste me all over town after those names I called him. Nobody will hire me. Oh, why, why, why did I have to channel my grandmother in there?” She tilted her face to the ceiling, picturing her Italian grandmother tutting at her lack of self-control, but secretly praising her for standing up for herself.
The woman moved to lean one hip against the counter and grabbed several tissues from the box in the corner, handing them to Pomona. A fresh bout of tears were already leaking from her eyes at the memory of her beloved grandmother. This sweet little woman looked like her Nonna, even. She wondered if the woman had the same spark in her.
“You’ll find another one,” the woman said. “You know what they say: one door closes and another one opens. I have no doubt you are meant for greater things in your life, darling.”
Pomona snuffled into her tissues and regarded the woman.
“Hey, I’ve seen you in here before. You’re a regular, aren’t you?” She smiled, finally recalling all the Fridays Charles had grudgingly requested she make her signature dessert. “I think you’re the only reason my chocolate mousse stayed on the menu for so long. Charles hated that stuff, but we kept serving it because ‘someone important’ kept ordering it. I think he mostly hated it because it was so much more popular than his crème brûlée. I wondered—hoped, really—that you might be a food critic. You aren’t, are you?”
The woman shook her head. “Sorry to disappoint you. My name is Gerri Wilder. I run a dating agency. If you’re single and looking for a match, I can help.”
“Oh?” Pomona raised her eyebrows. “Tempting, but unless the guy wants to hire me as a personal chef, I’m afraid I have more important things to worry about right now. And until I’ve found that dream job to beat all dream jobs, my career has to come first.”
“Of course,” Gerri said with a nod. “Is that something you would enjoy? Being a personal chef, I mean.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Pomona said, smiling and tilting her head back, letting the dream fill her mind. “This job was a compromise, really.” She waved her hand back over her shoulder in the direction of the restaurant. “Just a rung in my career ladder. Sous-chef at a five-star restaurant looks good on the résumé. That’s the only way for a nobody like me to catch the eye of celebrities who want a personal chef. My real dream job is cooking full-time for the rich and famous.”
“I see,” Gerri said. Her blue eyes seemed to glint with yellow light. She tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail on the granite counter top, regarding Pomona thoughtfully. “I do have several connections in the shifter world, if you’re willing to branch out. Shifters are well known for their appetites, and I’m sure they would love your cooking. I’d be willing to ask around, if you would settle for something like that in the interim. Some of the men I work with are very well-off.”
Pomona’s eyes widened. “Seriously? You would do that for me? I am honestly not going to be picky at this stage.”
Gerri reached into her handbag and drew out a card and a pen. “Give me your number, dear. I’ll ask around and give you a call if I find anything.”
“Oh, absolutely!” Pomona said, grabbing the proffered items and hurriedly jotting down her information.
“And if you change your mind about dating, you can always call me,” Gerri said, trading her for a fresh card and stowing Pomona’s number in her purse with her pen.
“Lady, if you can match me with a boss I don’t want to strangle, you’ll have made me the happiest woman in the world. I would gladly let you set me up on a date. I just have this thing about not dating when I’m threatened with homelessness, you know.”
“I completely understand. You’ll hear from me.”
Gerri patted Pomona on the arm and gracefully exited the restroom, leaving her staring dazedly at the door as it closed.
Shaking herself out of the trance of that strange encounter, she finally peeked at the business card the woman had handed her.
Gerri Wilder
Matchmaker
Paranormal Dating Agency
Paranormal dating … a personal chef for shifters …
Holy shit, what was she getting herself into?
2
Ignazio stared at the unconscious shape in the hospital bed. His best friend and arena league partner might be dying, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
He replayed the pivotal moment of their championship match over and over in his head. The moment when both he and Bryer had looked at each other and known with utter certainty that they were the victors.
Their dragons had been amped to that perfect razor’s-edge threshold of shifting, allowing them to manifest whatever anatomical parts would supply them with a tactical advantage, whether it be wings, talons, or armored scales. They were used to competing with this level of synchronicity, from man to dragon and even dragon to dragon, as his and Bryer’s animals linked in that special way only the animals of highly trained arena partners could.
They’d been on the verge of continuing an unbroken winning streak. They were on their way to having another Nova Aurora Arena League championship under their belts. The golden boys of Nova Aurora would continue to own that coveted spot in the limelight and in the public’s hearts.
Then it was gone in the blink of an eye when their opponent, a hyena shifter, manifested his claws and swiped, mere moments after the referees had declared the winners.
Ignazio replayed that moment in his mind in slow motion, his gut a tangled mess trying to work out how the hell it had gone wrong so fast. He and Bryer had both reacted, his partner spinning and deflecting the blow, but he’d been caught off guard—the opponent swung his other set of claws, their sharp, gleaming tips wet with some substance that Ignazio could still smell. That scent would always be an acrid reminder of the worst moment in his entire life.
The opponent had thrown out restraint along with adherence to any and all arena combat rules. He was going for blood. Whatever he’d had on his claws was enough to eat straight through Bryer’s mesh combat suit and into his hip. He hadn’t even had time to manifest his scales.
Bryer’s agonized cry still rang in Ignazio’s ears, even though it had been three days since the incident.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and rubbed at gritty eyes. He hadn’t slept a wink in those three days. The entire time, he’d been parked by Bryer’s bed, hoping—praying—that the doctors would come back with better news than they’d had thus far. Poisoned, they’d said. Apparently, their opponent had used enough of the noxious substance to prevent a dragon shifter fr
om healing. A normal wound, even this grave, wouldn’t have kept any shifter as fit and healthy as the Hot Wings team members down for more than a day or two.
Ignazio was staring out the window at the distant yellow mountains and the twin suns setting behind them when a knock sounded at the door. He turned to see a pair of figures—one wore a sharp suit and stunk of shark, and another who he recognized instantly as the second champion from the pair they’d fought in the finals. The partner of the cheating fuck who’d tried to kill his friend.
“You can just get the fuck out right now,” he growled, jumping out of his seat.
The shark smiled a toothy grin and held up his hands. “Now hang on, Mr. Karsten. You’ll want to hear what Simon has to say. As his attorney, I fully support his decision to come to you now.”
“What the fuck good could he do?” Ignazio snapped. “His cheating partner single-handedly ruined Bryer’s career. The doctors don’t even know if he’s going to wake up, much less compete again. His life is fucking over, and you want to do what? Offer your condolences? Well, fuck you!”
The other man rested a large hand on the shark’s shoulder, physically moving him back out the doorway. “Man, I’ve got this,” he murmured, giving Ignazio an apologetic look.
The attorney left, and Ignazio scowled at the burly hyena. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave, too.”
Simon raised his hands and nodded. “If I’d known what was good for me, I’d never have partnered with Herrick. I should’ve seen the signs … felt them. We worked well together, in spite of our only common goal being the championship, but I never wanted to win this way. I’m just here to tell you that I’ve testified against him to the League Council. He’s going away for a long time and he’ll never compete again. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”