Aurora Champions Box Set

by Ophelia Bell

  Ignazio clenched his teeth. “The fuck it is. You think I don’t have a stake in this? We’ve been partners for ten fucking years. You go down, we both go down.”

  Hot rage filled his gut, but it wasn’t directed at Bryer. The target was the fucker who’d done this, and the helpless feeling that everything he and Bryer had worked for all these years might be slowly falling apart.

  He swallowed roughly and glanced at his friend. “I lose you, I lose everything. This isn’t just about you.”

  Bryer nodded, his eyes bright with his dragon’s vivid blue showing through. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again without a word. Blinking rapidly, he turned away to stare out the window at the beautiful countryside speeding past.

  “No pressure,” Ignazio said, hoping to defuse the tension.

  Bryer sagged in his seat and let out an exhausted laugh. “No pressure? Fuck you, man.”

  * * *

  For the next few weeks, Ignazio and Bryer settled into a routine in much the same way they did during training. Only this training was focused on his partner’s recovery. While the physical damage was superficial, the poison had sunk deeper, affecting Bryer’s bond with his dragon—and by extension, his synchronicity with Ignazio in the arena.

  The physical therapy was designed to refocus Bryer’s mind as well as heal his body. Their long-time trainer, Mondaro, worked Ignazio just as hard, insisting that as a team they had to be in this together every step of the way. So Ignazio kept the same grueling schedule, did all the same exercises and therapy, and was beside his friend at every turn.

  Except once the sun set each day and he tried to wind down for the night, he just couldn’t quell the incessant itch to keep moving.

  Bryer tended to crash early after a nightly dose of meds he was slowly weening himself from. As a result, Ignazio felt out of sorts—rudderless without his wingman by his side to head out for the evening. Their old pattern at the end of the season was to hit as many bars as they could and pick up as many beautiful shifter females as their impressive stamina could satisfy.

  Ignazio told himself his nightly excursions were all about finding a mate … that this was all just about winning their new bet. Besides, sleep wouldn’t come without the utter exhaustion that ensued after he’d fucked a female or three into a stupor, and he needed to sleep if he was going to be of any use helping Bryer with his therapy during the day.

  The daily sessions finally paid off a few weeks after Bryer moved in. When he finally shifted again for the first time since his injury, Ignazio was right there with him, ready to fly.

  Once he’d completed his shift, Bryer’s huge, blue-winged shape launched off the roof like his tail was on fire, and it took Ignazio a second to catch up. When he did, Bryer looked back and roared out a challenge. Ignazio rejoiced, thrilled to see his friend back in rare form.

  They flew for the rest of the bright, summer afternoon until sunset, racing each other to the mountains and back down to the lake again over and over until they were both exhausted.

  When they returned, Nessa served them yet another delicious feast from her special Bryer-focused menu.

  “What do you say we head out for the evening and work on this bet?” Ignazio said, eager to return to their old, familiar habits. They’d been doing nothing but focusing on training every day for the last four weeks.

  Bryer’s brows drew together and he pushed his empty plate to the side. “Yeah, okay,” he said. His lack of conviction set off alarm bells for Ignazio.

  “It’ll be good for you. Good for us both to get out. You’re never going to find a mate sitting here.”

  Nessa pushed through the door to the kitchen, carrying a tray loaded with a delicious-looking dessert half-resting on top of her pregnant belly.

  Bryer’s eyes lit up. “Oh, light of my life. Can we clone you for our mates, dear Nessa?”

  The pretty brunette tossed her hair and flushed. “I am one of a kind, boys. They broke the mold after me.” She served the dessert dishes and patted Bryer on the arm. “You’ll find the one, I promise. And when you do, she’ll make me look dull by comparison.”

  “Impossible,” Bryer said, leaning over to kiss the petite woman on the cheek.

  “Dude,” Ignazio said. “I love her, too, but if Gaius catches you manhandling his woman, you’ll have a matching set of claw marks on your other side.”

  Nessa laughed. “You know I’d never let him hurt you boys. Someday you’ll make two women very lucky.”

  “Just tell Bryer we need to get out there and start looking now,” Ignazio said, giving his friend a sharp look. “Especially if he plans to walk his talk and win this year’s bet before our party.”

  “All right,” Bryer said, raising his hands. “I’ll go out with you tonight.”

  Nessa rolled her eyes as she headed back into the kitchen. “You boys and your bet. I’m glad to hear you have a new agenda, at least. I can’t wait to start cooking for some baby dragons.” She rubbed her belly affectionately. “By the way, I need you both around tomorrow afternoon to start taste-testing some of the dishes I plan to make for the party. I know we have two more months, but these cubs are due any day, and I want to have as much prep work done as possible when my replacement starts work. She’s on call to come the day after I go into labor.”

  5

  Bryer sat in the dimly lit booth, nursing his drink and watching while Ignazio worked the room. For a man dead-set on the two of them finding mates, his friend sure seemed indiscriminate about which women he talked to.

  Ignazio approached him, grinning and with about half a dozen gorgeous women in tow. This was Ig’s standard strategy: Collect as many eager females as possible to take to bed. It had once been Bryer’s strategy, too.

  None of these particular females were right, though. Not that they weren’t beautiful—but when a shifter found his mate, he just knew. Nothing in Ig’s expression suggested he’d found her among these beauties, and none of them sparked any but the most basic interest in Bryer’s dragon.

  He scooted over, making room for the women to slide in around him. He tolerated the attention, made pleasant conversation, answered their questions about his life and career, and accepted their tender sympathies over his injury.

  The pretty, red-haired fox shifter beside him pressed close and whispered in his ear the naughtiest of propositions while sliding her hand up his thigh. Her breath sent a tingle down his back that wasn’t unpleasant, but when her touch grew bolder and she actually cupped his package, he grabbed her hand and held it.

  “Sorry, sweetness,” he murmured. “I’m just not interested tonight.”

  Her eyes widened. “But don’t you two always make a bet every year? I heard Iggy won last year, so it’s your turn. We’re all happy to help you win, Bry.” Her tone turned sultry and she wrested her hand from his, slipping her fingers along the side of his neck and into his hair. “Aren’t we, girls? We’re all on Team Bry this summer.”

  The other five women made sounds of agreement. Even the one currently tangled in a kiss with Ignazio pulled away and nodded.

  “We made a different bet this year,” Bryer said, irritated by the overly familiar use of his and his friend’s names. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Ignazio’s expression darkened and he leveled a stare at Bryer. “Ladies, do you mind giving us a moment?”

  They pouted, but slipped out of the booth, leaving the two men alone.

  “What gives, man? They’re all here for you. You heard them.” Ignazio tilted his chin in the direction the group had gone.

  Bryer shook his head and gripped his drink. “Don’t you think this is the wrong way to go about finding a mate? You and I both know none of those women are for us. Do you think just fucking random women is suddenly going to make your mate appear out of thin air? I may be living on the other side of the house, but I’m not fucking blind. You bring a new one home every night.”

  “You could’ve been bringing one home every night,
too. You need to get back to normal, dude. I thought this would help.”

  Bryer took a deep breath that failed to cool his irritation—at his friend, at the women, and at his own damaged body. He’d loved the feel of Foxy’s curvy body against his, her hand on his thigh. What he hadn’t loved was how his goddamn cock acted like nothing interesting was happening, not even after the filthy promise she’d whispered in his ear about what she’d do with her mouth, if he were game. Not even a fucking twitch from the treasonous bastard between his thighs.

  The doctor had warned him that this might happen. While the physical damage had been a near miss in that area, the poison’s effects had sunk much deeper, seeping into the nerves in the surrounding area.

  “Well, it isn’t fucking helping,” Bryer snapped. “Do you really think we’re going to find our mates among the same collection of groupies we fuck every summer? We’ve had most of those women before. Some of them we even fucked at the same time.”

  “You need this …” Ignazio said, but Bryer cut him off.

  “The fuck I need it. What I need is to get back into shape and get rid of this.” He brandished the sleek cane that had become an extension of his arm for the past month. “I don’t see how a mate fits into the mix, but for the sake of the bet, I’m still game for some nights out. You just have to promise me one thing.”

  “What is it?”

  “Keep it in your pants until you find her, okay? And the next time we go out, let’s pick a classier venue … one where we might actually meet some worthy females for a change, not these groupies who have nothing better to live for than being notches on our bedposts.”

  Ignazio darted a longing look across the bar at the group of females, who were refilling their drinks and casting curious looks back their way. He frowned and nodded.

  “If it’s what you need, fine, but let’s get the fuck out of here. This is like starting a diet in the middle of a fucking pastry shop.”

  They arrived home to a collection of transports clustered around the driveway, two of them with flashing lights. Alarmed, Bryer hopped out of their transport, cursing his injury yet again as he hobbled behind an equally worried Ignazio to the front door of the house. The doors flew open and several medics emerged, two of them guiding a hovering stretcher. Nessa was grimacing on top of it, clutching at her belly.

  “Nessa! Are you all right? Is the baby all right?” Bryer yelled, lurching toward the medical transport to get to her.

  Nessa grinned almost happily for a second before groaning and holding her belly again between short, sharp breaths.

  “Don’t worry! I just went into labor. Gaius is meeting me at the hospital. I left instructions for the chef you hired to fill in.”

  Ignazio leaned over the other side of her stretcher, nodded once, then shook his head as though he were confused. “Chef?”

  Nessa rolled her eyes, grimaced, breathed quickly, then nodded. “You hired her two weeks ago with the agreement that she be on call to start as soon as this happened!”

  Bryer met Ignazio’s equally confused look over Nessa’s belly.

  “For fuck’s sake, you two! You didn’t think I’d leave you hanging, did you?” She stabbed a finger in Ignazio’s chest. “You approved her résumé.” Then she turned to Bryer. “And you approved her sample menu for your diet. You both liked her references. Gerri Wilder doesn’t give those out lightly. That woman’s the reason these babies even exist, so if she recommends someone, I trust her. Ahh!”

  She arched her back and let out another agonized groan that made Bryer feel like a pussy for all the whining he’d done about his injury.

  The medics hurriedly loaded Nessa into the transport and Bryer stood, dumbstruck, next to his friend as the vehicles sped off into the night, lights flashing.

  “Have you even met this new chef?” Bryer asked.

  “Nope. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow, unless we want to cook our own meals.”

  “Fuck that, dude. We tried it in college—we just burn everything we make.”

  “I guess it’s settled, then.”

  6

  Pomona’s heart raced as the transport sped along the shore of the lake. The vista was one of the most beautiful and otherworldly she’d ever seen. Bordered by a purple forest and the golden mountains beyond, there was no doubt she was on a different planet.

  The move itself wasn’t what had her tied up in knots. Gerri had called her a couple weeks ago to let her know she’d found her a job as personal chef for a pair of world-famous shifter athletes. There were two catches—it would only be a temporary position while their regular chef was on maternity leave, and the “world” where they were famous wasn’t Earth, but the shifter home planet, Nova Aurora.

  The “temporary” part had given her pause more than the thought of leaving home had. But the more she’d thought about it, the more she decided it made sense. She didn’t know if she would even like living on this other planet, and having this job on her résumé would open up even more avenues for her career, once her assignment was complete. She had no idea how many shifters lived on Earth now, but they were everywhere, and having a foot in the door as a chef could mean endless possibilities. Maybe she would even come back after the job ended and open a restaurant that catered to shifter diets.

  She’d mulled that over in Gerri’s apartment while sipping tea and noshing on one of the most delicious cakes she’d ever tasted. When Gerri dropped the number these shifters were offering as a salary, Pomona had nearly choked on her cake.

  “Yes!” she said without another blink. “But you have got to give me the recipe for this cake.”

  Gerri’s golden eyes twinkled. “It’s yours … but only if you give me the recipe for that delicious chocolate mousse of yours.”

  Pomona had reluctantly left Earth without the cake recipe. She wasn’t willing to part with trade secrets, at least not yet. She and Gerri had said farewell with an agreement: If this job Gerri had landed her worked out to Pomona’s liking, they would trade recipes. The fact that the older woman had agreed was the last bit of impetus Pomona needed to leave Earth behind.

  She wasn’t prone to performance anxiety, so why the hell was she so damn nervous? Everything about this decision just felt right. She’d been given the heads-up two weeks earlier and had essentially been “on call” to start the second Nessa, the chef who currently held the job, took a leave of absence. Nessa was a beautiful, vibrant, and very pregnant woman Pomona had done her face-to-face interview with. Could it be called face-to-face if it was via holographic transmitter, though? Either way, Nessa’s demeanor had put her at ease.

  Pomona was ready for everything. Her recipes were in order, and she’d been sent several files to familiarize herself with the differences between the Nova Aurora produce and what grew on Earth. Most shifter diets were similar enough to human diets that it didn’t take long for her to begin crafting new dishes to try out with her new employers.

  That was the source of her anxiety, she realized; she was about to go work for two highly revered shifter athletes—on their home planet, no less—and she hadn’t even met the men themselves, though she’d been assured by both Nessa and Gerri that she was perfect for the job and they would love her.

  Not even the challenge she was presented with gave her pause. She loved the idea of having to come up with something new, despite the restrictions of a very specific menu. It turned out that these two athletes could really burn through the calories, and the quantities she’d be expected to cook would feed an entire basketball team on Earth.

  She could certainly do high-protein and high-volume—that was easy. The fun part was going to be coming up with the dishes that Nessa had referred to as the “dragon treats.” Those were the special dishes designed to awaken their inner animals and keep them perked up while the men were in training.

  Pomona forced herself to focus on that detail in particular when the automated transport pulled to a stop in the driveway of a huge, beautiful lake house surround
ed by the forest’s purple foliage.

  A tall, lanky figure came jogging out the door of the house toward her as she stepped down and reached back in for her bags.

  “You must be Pomona Maurin!” he called excitedly. “I’m Levi, Ig and Bry’s assistant. I’ve got your bags, just follow me!”

  He proceeded to load himself up with all her considerable luggage, his long arms easily balancing several hundred pounds of stuff. Her assignment was only for six months, but Gerri had explained that was equivalent to about five years on Earth, so Pomona had pretty much packed everything that mattered to bring with her. She had agonized over whether she’d over-packed, but seeing Levi easily handle pretty much all her worldly belongings made her worries seem trivial.

  He led her around the side of the house and along a flagstone path lined with beautiful, rainbow-hued flowers the likes of which she’d never seen before.

  “That’s the East wing there,” Levi said, nodding to the high windows. “And this is the kitchen garden …” They passed beneath a vine-covered arbor with vivid blue fruit dangling from above.

  On the other side of the arbor, Pomona stopped and gasped in wonder.

  “This is the kitchen garden?” she asked.

  Her previous anxiety evaporated at the sight before her. The garden beds overflowed with beautiful, unusual plants arranged with a kind of haphazard design that spilled over the winding paths. Some plants she recognized from the pictures Nessa had sent for her to study, but there were so many others whose uses she couldn’t even begin to comprehend—and she knew every single one was more than simply ornamental.

  Levi laughed. “Yeah, Nessa takes her cooking seriously. Everything she cooks with is fresh. She says it’s better for the blood, keeps the man in sync with his animal and whatnot.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Pomona said. “Fresh is always better.”

  She wandered farther along the path, ogling the plants, picking out the logic of the organization that at first glance had appeared chaotic. There were root vegetables together in one bed, leafy greens on the opposite side of the path, and herbs in another, smaller bed. Fruit trees were strategically planted where the plants beneath required less direct sunlight, and an entire trellis-lined bed was filled with what must be this planet’s version of nightshades. At least, they looked like peppers and tomatoes, though they came in a much broader variety of colors than any she was used to.