Holden's Mate (Daddy Dragon Guardians)

by Meg Ripley

But he could hear the blood pumping through her veins, her heart beating in overdrive, the laborious draw of each breath. She was still alive. For how long, he didn’t know. She’d lost a lot of blood. God damn it, if he’d gotten there just a few minutes sooner…

  There wasn’t time for that now, though. He scooped her up in his arms as gently as he could, cradled her close to his chest and spread his wings.

  He shouldn’t be doing this. It was broad daylight. He hadn’t been able to stop the change when he’d first spied her, but at least the preserve had been devoid of every living being but the animals it contained. What was he intending to do now? Fly right up to the entrance to his hotel? Land in front of a busy hospital?

  No, he knew what he’d do. It was still risky, but it was possible he might go unnoticed. He needed to move quickly though, and so he forced as much of his focus as possible away from the woman who laid unconscious in his arms and onto the flap of his outstretched wings and the smooth glide of his body through the sky. It was too slow, though he knew it wasn’t. While every second felt like the stretch of several minutes, in reality, he knew in flight he was faster than the top speed of his Aston Martin, nearly as fast as the planes that kept him grounded in order to stay hidden most of the time.

  It felt like hours, but really, only minutes had passed when he saw the marina down below. It was his private marina, just outside of Santa Barbara, and while he still kept his flights there limited to the cover of darkness, there were seldom people milling about even during the day. He saw no one around as he came in lower, and he would have prayed to whatever ancient deities existed to keep it that way, but his prayers were occupied already, pleading with any ethereal being out there to keep Claire alive.

  He landed smoothly on the dock, custom made large and sturdy enough to accommodate his enormous size. But he reined in the heat inside his body once he’d touched down, drawing the beast inward to his core and resuming his human form. He kept her drawn tightly against him despite the change, and hurried onto his yacht.

  The blood had ceased to flow from her wounds, or even trickle, and he worried for one panicked moment that she’d perished there against him. But no, her heart was still beating; he could hear it, and he could feel its strong, consistent beat against his own chest. Strange—after such an injury, it should be weak at best. And how had she stopped bleeding?

  He didn’t linger on the questions for long. Once inside, he hurried to his suite and laid her out on the bed. He wasn’t well-equipped with medical supplies, having little need of them himself, but he kept a limited supply on board for the rare times he hosted one event or another on the yacht. Lunging for the first aid box in the compartment by the door, he threw it open as he rushed back to the bed.

  “Noah?”

  Claire’s eyes were wide open, but disoriented. Though her voice quivered when she spoke, it was stronger than he’d expected, given the pallid color of her already pale skin.

  “Claire…” he breathed out a rugged sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath since the moment she’d fallen, and her voice had relieved his lungs of their burden. He turned his attention back to the contents of the box in his hands and withdrew a stack of sterile bandages.

  He intended to use them to clean and bind her wounds, but as he reached out to swab gently at the gash across her chest, she shook her head and withdrew from him, her body pressing deeper into the mattress.

  She was scared of him, and that was a good thing. His response to her last night had scared him, and if she was smart, she’d definitely want to keep her distance. Still, he couldn’t leave her wounds untreated, fear or no fear.

  Ignoring her silent protests, he continued, swabbing carefully, despite the way his hands tremored in anger at what Damon had done to her. The wound was deeper than he’d expected, so much that she was going to need sutures. And without anything stronger than Tylenol and whiskey on the yacht, he was going to have to do this with no pain relief for her beyond the slightly numbing effect of alcohol. He should have taken her to a hospital, not to his boat, but he hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of placing her in anyone else’s care. Now, though, he didn’t have a choice.

  “Claire, I need to get you to a hospital,” he told her, tossing the bandages on the bed and leaning in to gather her into his arms again.

  “That’s not necessary,” she said matter-of-factly, stifling a yawn.

  Afraid just a moment ago, she seemed more tired than frightened now. Panic flooded his veins. She was dying; there was no other explanation for the change in her. He was just about to pick her up and rush her to the hospital despite her protests when he paused, catching sight of the wound on her chest once more.

  It wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought. Had he been in such a panic that his eyes deceived him? He’d been certain she was badly injured; that she’d lost so much blood, she might not come back from it. Upon closer inspection now, though the wound covered a great deal of area, it was shallow enough that with proper care, it might not even leave a scar. He glanced down at her hand and wrist. The blood there had dried, and the gash wasn’t much deeper than the one on her chest.

  Perhaps it had been shock that had sent her careening into oblivion—attempted murder and dragons all in the span of mere minutes were probably enough to make any human faint.

  She moved to sit up, and he resisted the urge to force her back down. “I suppose your wounds aren’t that serious anymore, Claire, but there’s no need to push it, alright?”

  Now that she wasn’t on the brink of death, he did have a few questions. No doubt, she had a few of her own.

  When she’d looked up at him outside the preserve’s building, she’d known who he was. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t in human form; she had seen right past his exterior. How that was possible, he didn’t know, but he’d accepted that his secret had been blown as he gathered her up in his massive arms and flown her to the only place he knew was safe.

  He was trading the secret he’d kept for centuries for her, and he’d done it without a moment’s regret. But now, he couldn’t lie and tell her that he’d found her lying in the preserve’s back office; that he had no idea what had transpired in the moments before. But he did need to know why she’d been there in the first place.

  “Claire, what were you doing at the preserve?” he asked bluntly.

  “I ran into Mr. Cross last night, after…” A blush crept across her cheeks, the color a stark contrast to the pale white skin. “Well, he said he was an avid collector and told me about artifacts he had, and I’d been doing research on some of them…so it seemed like a good idea.”

  She sped through the thin explanation so fast, he wouldn’t have caught it all if he had less than stellar hearing, but he did, and he heard every word. And he didn’t believe for a second it was the whole story. She was hiding something, and she was either a terrible liar or too shaken to come up with a better story.

  “Do you have any idea why Damon…why he would have wanted to hurt you?”

  “No. I mean…no.”

  She was definitely hiding something. She knew exactly why Damon had wanted to hurt her. Hell, Damon hadn’t just wanted to hurt her, he’d wanted her dead. Bile rose in the back of his throat at the thought.

  Maybe she didn’t realize what a dangerous situation she was now in. But he knew Damon Cross, and what he knew most of all about him was he didn’t give up. Whether it was vengeance he sought or…damn…

  “You knew something,” he sighed heavily, wishing fervently it were anything else.

  Damon believed in protecting their secret—at any cost. He would go to any length to keep it safe. He hadn’t been content to remain discreet, independently vigilant like the rest of them. No, Damon took it upon himself to guard their secret, no matter the human lives lost to his cause. As much as Noah hated to admit it, he rather thought Damon enjoyed his role, taking perverse delight in eradicating any threat in his way.

  She stared at him, her brilliant blue ey
es wide in poorly concealed fright. He stared back, searching her gaze in return.

  “You were there,” she whispered. It wasn’t a question, but he knew it wouldn’t be.

  “Yes…I was there.”

  He left it at that. What more could he say?

  “I know.” She said simply, though it was the most profound thing he’d heard in a long time; maybe ever.

  “I know it was you, Noah. You saved me. Thank you.”

  For some reason, he hadn’t been expecting that. He’d always imagined fear…revulsion…rejection if his secret ever came out. Not gratitude.

  “But I really have to go now,” she told him, looking ready to bolt from the bed. “And just so you know…I would never do anything to put you or your secret in jeopardy.”

  That’s why she was nervous. If Damon had been willing to kill to keep his secret, she had no reason to think he’d do less. Of course, the fact that he’d fought him off and flown her away from there should have given her reason to question that logic. But maybe that’s why she hadn’t flown the coop already.

  “What were you doing there?” he questioned more harshly than he’d intended, but his own thoughts were in chaos.

  She didn’t answer right away, and then she did, and he knew she wasn’t lying.

  “I was looking for something. I thought he might have it.”

  “Looking for what?”

  “Answers.”

  Was she deliberately being vague, or was he so distracted by her that it only seemed that way?

  “Answers to what, Claire?”

  “I’m not…normal,” she said eventually, and he almost laughed. Of course she wasn’t normal; she was beautiful, intelligent, utterly mesmerizing…anything but normal. But she seemed quite serious.

  “Not normal in what way?”

  “You aren’t normal either, Noah. Does it matter how I’m different? I’m just different, and like you, I wouldn’t want anyone to know about me.”

  Was she trying to convince him not to reveal her secret to anyone, or was she trying to tell him she wouldn’t reveal his? Regardless of which one, that didn’t answer his question. Strange though, now that he thought about it—it hadn’t crossed his mind once that she would betray him like that.

  Maybe it was time to try a different angle. “I know there’s something different about you, Claire. I’ve known it from the first moment I saw you. It’s clear to me every second because I’ve never wanted any woman the way I want you. It’s taken every ounce of restraint I’ve got to keep from…” He swallowed back the rest of that sentence. After what she’d just been through, it didn’t seem right to tell her that he was dying to rip her clothes off and bury every inch of himself deep inside her; that if he hadn’t stormed out on her the other night, he didn’t know what would have happened. No woman had ever had that effect on him, so yes, she was definitely different.

  He would have felt guilty for the thoughts that ran through his mind then, except as he glanced down to the pulse at her throat, something else caught his attention. The wound on her chest—it was almost gone. Baffled, he reached for her hand.

  She hesitated for a moment, but let him take it. Through the haze of desire and confusion that assailed him, he saw that the gash was little more than a paper cut. But he’d seen it, and no paper cut could have caused her to lose so much blood.

  Was she a shifter like him? No…he’d always been able to sense other shifters and dragons. He glanced back to her chest as the last bit of proof Damon’s sword had marred her milky skin disappeared before his eyes.

  And he fully intended to question her on it, but her head tilted back, exposing the elegant column of her neck.

  “It makes me tired,” she whispered as she attempted to stifle another yawn, the last remnants of trepidation in her tone giving way to exhaustion. “Healing, I mean. It seems to take most of my energy to heal so quickly,” she explained awkwardly, a blush staining her cheeks.

  And she wasn’t kidding; her eyes closed slowly, as if her lids were fighting against a heavy weight, and her breathing deepened seconds later to the natural rhythm of sleep.

  He leaned in to kiss her, demanding his body comply with the restraint he commanded of it. He kissed her cupid bow lips lightly, little more than a feather-light whisper of a kiss, and yet something strange happened to him when he did. He was connected to something other than himself, cognizant of emotions that were not his. Come to think of it, that was exactly how he’d describe the same strange sensation had taken place every time he touched her.

  He leaned in again experimentally, and the second his lips touched hers, the sensation returned and he jolted back before it could grow. He tried it again, this time grazing across her wrist where the wound had mysteriously disappeared.

  It was the same.

  What was it about this strange woman? Or was she a woman at all? She certainly looked like one, exquisitely beautiful with delicate, feminine features and soft curves in all the right places. But the way he was drawn to her—there must be an explanation for it.

  As much as he still struggled to deny it, he’d gone to the preserve that morning because something had compelled him there. Sure, he’d been interested in finding out what Damon was doing back in the city after a lengthy absence, but he could have called him…texted him…dropped by at any other time. And yet, an urgent need to get there had forced him from his suite and had him racing the short distance as fast as his car would go. Was it coincidence that he’d arrived just in time to stop Damon from what he’d intended? The more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed.

  When she’d walked up on stage, he’d been drawn to her, every part of him lured by her. And the other day when he’d gone wandering through the city on foot, had something sent him in her direction? Had it known she was nearby? He had better senses than any human; he could see ten times further, and in the black of night. He could hear a quiet conversation several streets over, and smell trouble coming from half a mile away. But he’d always been well aware of what he was sensing. If he’d smelled her or heard the soft lilt of her voice, he would have known it, not been led by it unconsciously.

  Unable to resist now, he laid his hand flat against her chest, just above the upper swell of her breast, ignoring the way his fingers itched to move lower. And he welcomed the sensation this time, exploring it, searching for its origin. In his mind’s eye he saw chaos, fear; people he couldn’t see were running in every direction as water, cold as ice, covered his feet. It moved higher quickly, saturating his ankles, then his calves. A dark figure appeared in the sky, and though he couldn’t see it in the conventional sense, he knew it was him in the sky above himself—though that made no sense at all.

  A little girl’s scream rent the air. He felt her fear as if it was his own as liquid ice rose above his knees on the ship’s deck. Yes, that’s where he was—on an enormous ship, though not one of modern construction. How he knew that, he didn’t know because he couldn’t see it any better than he could see the alter image of himself in the sky above. But he knew it was there as the murky haze of his dragon form swooped down and the girl was silent. Had he hurt her? Or worse?

  No. He couldn’t see her there in his arms, or feel her heat against his chest, but she was there. She was safe. He’d saved her. And then she was no longer a little girl, but a full-grown woman. An exquisitely beautiful one, though he could see nothing but brilliant white where she was cradled against him.

  Oh god! He jerked his hand back from Claire’s chest. He knew what it was he saw in his mind—only it wasn’t his mind he’d been seeing. It was hers. He’d seen—and felt—inside her dream. She was the little girl, terrified on a sinking ship. And she’d dreamed that he’d swept in and saved her from drowning.

  It clicked then, why she kept her hands covered and drew away from being touched. He wasn’t the one responsible for the images he’d seen; it was Claire. Whatever she was, she had a power he knew little about. But was that power limited to
projecting outward, to filling others with sensations of what she was experiencing? Or did she absorb as much as she emitted? How many of his own thoughts had he shared with her unknowingly?

  He should feel violated, but he didn’t. He wanted to experience more of her like that, in a way that superseded human or even dragon capabilities. And he didn’t care how much of himself he had to share in order to get it.

  He stood there watching her sleep, trying to make sense of what had taken place between them, of what he felt for her despite their short acquaintance. But the curve of her hips beckoned to his hands, and the way her lips had parted invitingly made it increasingly difficult to ignore the desire that was coursing through his body.

  He tried to keep watch, but the more he watched her, the more he found himself reliving the torturous fire that had burned in his veins the night before. And so he turned away, leaving the confines of his bedroom before the fire could gain any more ground. He would hear anyone approaching from inside or out long before they reached her.

  He spent the next several hours pacing back and forth across the long length of the yacht, his mind alternating between the woman sleeping in his bed and the plight in which she now found herself. He’d wanted to kill Damon when he yanked him out of his office, but he hadn’t. It had taken every ounce of restraint he’d been able to muster. But now what? Guard Claire every moment for the rest of her life? More than a few minutes in a room with her, and she would need to be guarded from him.

  The creak of the bed caught his attention. She was awake. Her feet sounded lightly on the floor seconds later, but she stayed there, wandering about the room. He waited to hear the sound of his dresser drawers sliding open, or the click of the closet door opening. He couldn’t blame her for snooping, waking up in an unfamiliar place after the ordeal she’d just suffered. She didn’t snoop, though. She just continued to wander around the room, stopping now and again. What was she doing? And was there anything about the woman that didn’t have him guessing wrong at every turn?

  He waited for her to leave the room, but she didn’t. She just kept pacing. A few more minutes, and his curiosity was at its peak. That, and his body’s inexplicable need for her was nearing its pinnacle, too, making it increasingly difficult to remain out on the deck.