by Lolita Lopez
“Yes.” Reynard’s gaze snapped to the doorway of the lab. He made a low, growling noise, almost like a dog with its hackles raised. “I have to go.”
Her stomach churned with fear. “Reynard, please be careful.”
He touched her face, his hand steady and firm but gentle. “If I die, you have to destroy the apples. Do you understand? Whatever it takes, you destroy them. Every last one. Kill that tree right down to the roots. Then? You run. You get out of here. Drive as fast as you can in any direction. One of us—a Brother—will find you and protect you.”
Trembling inside, she nodded stiffly. “I won’t let them take the apples.”
“Good girl.” He was on his feet and out the door without another word. A short time later, she heard an impossibly loud roar and then the sound of shattering glass. She could only guess that he had shifted into his dragon form and flown straight out of the house through one of the many French doors.
Alone with Nico, she tried not to panic. Nico would die on the floor if she didn’t figure out some way to help him. Her brain raced through the many possibilities. She considered trying to leach the iron from his blood, but she didn’t think it could be done safely or quickly. Still holding his hand, she noticed the smeared swirls of red and gold. It suddenly hit her.
What if I transfuse him with my blood?
She had healed rapidly when Nico had taken blood samples earlier, but she had also clotted up each butterfly needle that went into her vein before he could get all ten tubes filled. An artery, she thought quickly. Use your artery.
She slid her fingers down to Nico’s neck and found his pulse. His heartbeat was strong but slow beneath her fingertips. Please don’t die.
She jumped to her feet, keeping low as she half crouched and half ran across the lab to the cabinets holding medical supplies. She grabbed plastic-wrapped packages, filling her arms with blood collection tubes, syringes, and IV catheters. She dumped the supplies on a rolling tray and dragged it across the floor to Nico.
She didn’t bother cleaning her arm or Nico’s. They were beyond the point where infection mattered. Thanking her lucky stars for all those years working in a hospital as a phlebotomist, she hastily wrapped a tourniquet around his arm and gained access to a vein, choosing the biggest, fattest one she could find.
She punctured her skin with a ridiculously long needle to access the artery there. The surge of pain she felt must have transferred to Nico through their strange mind-link because he twitched on the floor as she awkwardly dug around to find the right placement.
“Got it!” she exclaimed to an empty room. Ignoring the throbbing, stinging pain, she filled all the tubes she had gathered with the golden ichor now flowing through her body. When she was done, she removed the needle from her wrist and tossed it aside. She didn’t give a second thought to the blood running down her skin and into her palm. She would heal soon enough.
Very quickly, she drew up each vial of her blood into a syringe and then injected it into the catheter in Nico’s arm. She prayed her blood wasn’t clotting or that it wouldn’t cause him to have a massive allergic reaction and die. Her blood type had been Type O negative, the universal donor, before she had eaten the apple. She could only cross her fingers and hope that was still true. Wasting precious minutes on even a crude cross-match test was out of the question. Please let this work.
As she pushed the fourth vial into his arm, she spotted tendrils of chalky smoke rising from the wound in Nico’s chest. Is it melting the iron?
She grabbed the nearest towel and wiped away the dark fluid seeping from the wound. Encouraged, she continued giving him the rest of her blood. The change in his sickly pallor was almost instantaneous, his color returning as his labored breathing decreased. His cool, clammy skin turned warm beneath her fingertips. Dark fluid seeped from the corners of his eyes, his ears, and even his nose. She dabbed at it, cleaning it away and then using another towel to wipe down his skin again.
A gunshot cracked in the distance. A dragon bellowed. There was another gunshot and another and then the worst sound she had ever heard thundered across the sky. It was a mournful, pained howl.
Reynard. Was he dying? Had he been shot with the same poison?
She glanced at the shattered window and saw that it was dark. She felt the strange, burning throb in her gut and chest that Nico had warned would happen. Her mate was out cold on the floor, but she was wide awake and hungry. But not for sex, she realized suddenly. She was hungry for revenge. She was hungry for blood.
Swallowing hard, she made a decision. There was nothing more she could do to help Nico. The blood she had given him would kill the poison and heal his wounded body or it wouldn’t. Reynard was out there right now fighting to protect her and Nico and those apples. Those stupid, dangerous, horrible apples.
You have to destroy them.
Leaning down, she kissed Nico, pressing her lips to his for a hard, lingering moment and willing him to live. In the next heartbeat, she was on her feet and crossing the laboratory with purposeful strides. She grabbed bottles of acetaldehyde and acetone and a Bunsen burner striker before leaving the lab.
Taking the stairs two at a time, she practically flew down them, her balance and speed rivaling that of Nico and Reynard. Outside in the dark night, she followed the stone path to the tree that had forever changed her life. It seemed even more mysterious and magical tonight. She touched the rough bark, dragging her hand along the wide trunk, and felt the thrumming heat of life in her fingertips.
Had this tree recognized something inside her, a gene or a blood cell? Had it called to her that night, enthralling her to take a bite of its life-changing fruit?
Touching it now, running her fingers over the rough bark, she silently communicated with this strange and wondrous tree, asking its permission to do the unthinkable. The bark beneath her fingertips grew cold and brittle, almost as if the tree were dying.
It’s killing itself. The realization struck her like a punch to the stomach. This beautiful, wondrous tree had chosen to die rather than risk its precious gift falling into the wrong hands. The leaves and apples began to shrivel and drop. The golden shine on the apples turned to rust. The apples hit the ground and started to putrefy, breaking down to nothing but rusty liquid that soaked into the dirt.
The last apple clinging to a dying branch dropped and hit her shoulder. She picked it up, holding the mushy, rotting fruit in her hand and watching with fascination and sadness as it liquefied right before her eyes.
Two bright, golden seeds were all that remained. She would destroy this tree tonight, but tomorrow? Tomorrow, she would find a safe place to plant these seeds and nurture and grow a new one. She would be the keeper and guardian of this treasure that belonged to Nico’s people.
To my people.
The crack of another high-powered rifle shot echoed in the night. A dragon howled again. Her body rocked with painful tremors as the dark, mournful yowl faded in the night. Deep down inside, she knew what it meant.
You’re running out of time. It was now or never.
Standing back, she opened the bottles of highly flammable chemicals and splashed them on the tree. She poured a trail of acetone back a few feet, far enough to keep her from being caught in the fireball that was about to erupt. She took the striker from the back pocket of her jeans and crouched down to kick off the sparks.
But the sound of singing metal stopped her. Eris spun around to the shock of her life. A man in all-black tactical gear swung the biggest, shiniest sword she had ever seen high in the air. She didn’t know where he’d come from or how he had gotten behind her so quickly. Were their two Knights on the property? One with a rifle and one with a sword?
The arithmetic didn’t matter. That sword that was coming down hard for her neck sure as hell did.
Eris scrambled out of the way at the last second. The blade zinged through the air, right next to her ear, and sliced clean through her ponytail. She felt the sudden lightening of hair but didn�
��t waste a second grieving the loss. She skittered out of the way, crawling backward like a crab as the Knight swung again. She bent forward, flattening her body until her nose practically touched the wet grass. The blade narrowly missed her head, the swish of air so hard against her skin that she flinched.
She rolled onto her side and kicked out at the Knight’s leg. He was bigger and stronger, but she hit him right behind the knee and knocked him off balance. She grabbed the closest thing she could find, the bottle of acetone, and splashed it right on his face. The Knight spluttered and coughed as she half crawled, half ran away from him.
She spotted the striker that had flown out of her hand only moments earlier and dived for it. She had just wrapped her hands around the tool when she heard the Knight shout angrily. A moment later, his blade connected with her body, striking her legs just below the knee. The incredibly sharp blade tore through her calf muscles, nicking the bones so hard that her jaw rattled. Dropping the striker, she screamed in pain as the stinging gashes in her legs poured blood onto the ground.
Rolling onto her back, she crawled backward using her elbows, jerking and dragging her wounded body away from the furious and blinded Knight advancing on her. He kept wiping roughly at his face and coughing. He couldn’t see very well or maybe not at all, but he was a practiced warrior. Even with the advantage of perfect sight, she didn’t stand a chance against this skilled killer.
Like a plane coming in for a disastrous landing, Reynard hit the ground near them with a thunderous crash. The beautifully laid pavers crunched under the weight and force of his terrible landing. Half man, half dragon, he seemed stuck in some bizarre state between his two sides. Bloodied, battered, and obviously poisoned, he snorted forcefully and tried to drag air into his ruined lungs. His wings snapped furiously against his back a moment before he launched something at the Knight threatening her with the sword.
A man.
A Knight.
Eris recoiled at the brutal sight. Reynard had tossed the broken man like a rag doll, using him as a projectile to batter his cohort. The Knight with the sword was knocked right off his feet by the impact of the other man. Reynard wasted no time in attacking. He staggered forward, his ruined body struggling to stay upright, and tried to finish the Knight who had wounded her so badly.
But the Knight managed to free his sword at the last minute. He swung it in a half arc and thrust forward, stabbing it right into Reynard’s chest.
“No!” Eris screamed in horror as she watched the blade exit Reynard’s back. “No!”
Refusing to go down without a fight, Reynard gripped the blade in both hands and snarled like a vicious beast. Blood poured from his hands, but he didn’t have the strength to pull it free. His tired body had reached the end.
She wasn’t sure if it was the sword or the poison, but Reynard began to change right before her eyes. His body went rigid and stiff. He froze right in place, his hands wrapped around that blade. Like drying cement, his skin and clothing took on a chalky appearance. Stone, she thought with a shudder. He’s turning to stone.
With a triumphant battle cry, the Knight jerked free the sword—but it was the wrong move to make. Reynard’s clenched hands had turned fully to stone, and the blade scraped against them, sending sparks flying in all directions. In a burst of fire, the acetone ignited!
The flames raced away in both sides. The sound—oh, God. That sound. She buried her face in her hands and turned away from it. The flames zipped from the shrieking Knight straight back to the tree that she had doused in flammable chemicals. The burst of heat scorched her skin, causing her to cry out and shield her eyes.
Eris tried to stand, but it was impossible. Her legs weren’t healing as quickly as she had expected. Maybe it was the size of the wounds or maybe it was the sword, but her muscles and tissues were still bleeding profusely. She rolled onto her knees and dragged herself away from the brightest, hottest flames. She clawed at the wet grass, sliding and slipping as she tried to escape the fire threatening to engulf her.
Surrounded by flames, she began to lose hope. She had survived a broken neck and a gunshot today, but she wasn’t sure she could survive the horror of burning alive. Please, let it be quick.
An explosion of glass. The flap of wings. Her panicked brain had barely processed the sounds before two very familiar arms had scooped her right up off the ground. In the next instant, she was flying, sailing over the blistering heat and climbing higher and higher into the cool, dark sky.
She clung to Nico’s powerful body, burying her face against his scaly neck and wrapping her legs around his dragon hide waist. She worried her touch would force him to shift as it did that first night, but he managed to land safely before his scales disappeared and his wings vanished. Lowering her feet to the ground, she leaned into his embrace and sobbed with relief and grief. She was alive—but Reynard was not.
Holding tight, they watched the fire consume that precious, wondrous tree. She needed his strength and support to stay upright. Her legs were still a bloody mess, but she could feel the slow, stinging pain of her muscles and skin patching themselves back together. The shock of such trauma left her trembling and cold.
“I’ve got you,” Nico murmured reassuringly. “You’re safe now.”
“Reynard,” she said on a sob.
“I know.” His voice was quiet and tight. He didn’t have to say anything else. She could feel the depth of his grief and pain. It would be months—years—before he recovered from this loss. There was nothing she could say tonight that would lessen his torment. What he needed was her love, her unconditional and unceasing love.
Too soon. Too fast. Too crazy. There were a million reasons why she couldn’t and shouldn’t love this man. My man. My dragon. None of those reasons mattered. She believed in their connection. She believed in their destiny.
Eris touched his jaw and drew his attention. Their gazes clashed in the moonlight and the bright glow of the fire. “I love you.”
Nico lowered his face until their noses touched. “And I love you.”
Secure in their love, they waited until the fire had died down to cautiously approach the smoldering tree. With a gentle tug of her hand, Nico communicated that he wanted to cross the lawn to his friend. Side by side, they walked across the damp grass. She limped slightly but wouldn’t let him carry her.
When they reached the gargantuan statue now rising up out of the ground, she held back to give him some room. She held her breath as Nico reached out and trailed his fingers along the stony wings that were arched mid-flap. Reynard’s face looked more like a gargoyle’s, his human features twisted and melded with those of a dragon.
“I don’t think he’s dead.”
She blinked at Nico’s unexpected statement. “He was shot, poisoned and stabbed through the chest. He turned to stone and—”
Nico grasped her hand and dragged it to Reynard’s chest. “Feel,” he urged. “Listen.”
Wondering if her mate had lost his mind, she nonetheless did as instructed. She closed her eyes and kept her hand on the hard, cold stone. It was faint, but there—just there—beneath the crackle of flames, the soft whistle of wind and nocturnal sounds of the outdoors was the unmistakable thud of a heartbeat. It was slow, so very, very slow. Maybe one beat every minute.
Turning to Nico in shock, she asked, “How?”
But Nico was already walking away from her. He’d seen something and went to investigate. He crouched down and picked up whatever he had spotted. Walking back to her, he showed her a golden apple with an enormous bite taken out of it.
“Reynard?” she asked uncertainly.
“It must have been. That’s the only way he could have fought off the poison as long as he did. He must have decided that there was a chance it would help him in battle.”
“Is it the reason he turned to stone?” she asked the question softly, the words surreal as they rolled off her tongue.
He nodded in stoic silence.
Tilting her he
ad back, she studied Reynard’s face in the waning moonlight. His expression was one of pure agony, and she prayed that he wasn’t feeling pain, that he was totally and wholly unaware and unconscious beneath that stony exterior. “How do we help him?”
“I don’t know,” Nico admitted. “I don’t know anything anymore. You? The apples? The bullets?” He touched his healed chest. “Your blood? Reynard?” He shook his head. “Everything has changed, and nothing will ever be the same.”
“I’m not afraid of change.”
Nico gazed down at her, his mouth slanted with amusement and his eyes dark with love for her. “That’s because you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever known.” Softly, he said, “I don’t know where to start.”
Very carefully, she retrieved the two seeds from her pocket and placed them on his palm. She curled his fingers around those precious seeds, protecting them in her mate’s strong hand. “We start right here. That’s your future in your hands.”
Seeds.
Life.
“Our hands,” he corrected gently. He bent down to capture her mouth in a tender kiss. His lips trailed along her bruised cheek to her temple, where they lingered for a moment before he placed her hand on top of his, using it to guard the seeds she had protected and saved. “Our future is in our hands now.”
About the Author
While browsing bookstore shelves as a teenager, Lo discovered the erotic writings of Anaïs Nin and A. N. Roquelaure. Certain her mother would not approve, Lo smuggled the books home and squirreled them away in the most likely of places: under her bed. Late at night, she delved into the sensual worlds both writers created.
As a coed studying biochemistry and genetics at Texas A&M University, Lo dabbled in creating naughty tales to entertain her friends. Study for a midterm or pen a deliciously dirty story to delight her small band of fans? Not surprisingly, Lo is now on an extended sabbatical from college.
Luckily, Lo stumbled onto the world of erotic romance publishers. She realized there were other readers and writers who loved and craved breathtaking romance with the spiciest of love scenes. She took a chance and submitted her first novella. The rest is history.