One True Mate 2: Dragon's Heat

by Ladew, Lisa

  Her mind took all of this in as her hand continued the descent of the last few inches to reach his. Heat bloomed from his skin, warming her, even though she always seemed to run hot. She gasped, still reeling from the spark, the added pressure of this new sensation threatening to knock her to the ground. Her fingers curled around his involuntarily, as if to keep her grounded, and he moaned loudly. His eyes opened, once, twice, fluttering, and she saw they were multi-colored, with reds and yellows converging like a campfire at twilight. She’d never seen eyes like that before, but when she looked closer, she swore he recognized her. His lips curled into a ghost of a smile and his eyes slipped closed again.

  His lips moved as he murmured something. Heather stood stock-still, refusing to breath, so she could hear what it was.

  “Ta ma hurry, chi annit,” he whispered, or at least that was what it sounded like to her. Like no language she’d ever heard before. It had been thick, throaty, and guttural, and she so wanted to hear it again.

  Heather leaned over him, wanting to speak to him, but she noticed immediately that something was different. His shoulders, tense before, had smoothed out and relaxed, and his breathing had slowed. As she stared at him, he took a great shuddering breath and blew it out, then tucked his chin, that tiny smile still on his face.

  Now he looked more asleep than passed out, and she didn’t have the heart to wake him, no matter how much she wanted to. The connection of their hands called to her and she stared at it, strange feelings flitting through her center. A deep longing balanced exactly with a feeling of sublime satisfaction. Like she was exactly where she should be but things could go so much deeper for her. Like something she’d wanted all her life was at her fingertips, close enough to reach, but still not certain.

  The feeling brought desire. Desire she let run wild inside her own mind for the first time in her life, instead of clamping down on it with everything she had. She wanted to watch something burn. She wanted to feel the heat of fire on her skin and the glow of it in her eyes. She didn’t care what burned, the house, the forest behind, the neighborhood. She just wanted to be there if it went up. When it went up.

  The slamming of the screen door from the other room startled her, and she almost cried out. She looked around wildly, smashing the lid shut on her fire-lust in the way she had a thousand times before. To her left, a form passed the partially-closed doorway. She saw only a glimpse of reddish hair on top of a tall, broad figure. Heather held her breath at the sound of footsteps crossing the room to the back, then sounding quieter and quieter until they stopped. Like the person had gone into an unseen room in the house.

  Heather pulled her hand back, her heart twisting as she lost the connection with the man in the bed, then she walked out of the room as quickly as she could. The thought of being caught in that room made her feel sick to her stomach. She knew no one could read minds, but it was bad enough that she knew what she’d been thinking. She had to get out of there. Had to get away.

  Without looking around, Heather walked quietly to the screen door, opened it without making a sound, and slipped outside, not breaking into a sprint for her car until she was off the porch.

  She fled like a criminal, all thoughts of why she’d been there in the first place driven completely from her mind.

  Chapter 5

  Troy left the house through the small wolf (doggy) door behind the couch, biting his tongue as he pushed through the plastic flap, not quite hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to deflect any bitter thoughts that might try to force their way into his head. He’d never minded his lot in life too much, until now.

  Behind him, Ella trilled laughter and Trevor growled something unintelligible. Case in point. In another half a minute, Trevor would probably throw her over his shoulder and carry her up the stairs, and no one would see them for an hour or two. Then they’d come back down, flushed, happy, eyes only for each other, feed each other strawberries or cake or pita-fucking-pockets for all he knew, drink tea and beer, and do it all over again. Troy did not want to be around for it.

  He was thrilled to see Trevor in love, and having Ella join the family made his heart glad. She softened daily life, smoothed rough edges between him and his brothers, and he was beginning to enjoy being petted behind the ears for the first time in his life.

  So, why did he feel like such a dick?

  Because he was jealous. Not only was he jealous of his brother’s new romance, new mate, and all the time he spent with her, but he was even more jealous because that would never be him. Ever.

  And he had no one to talk to about it. He’d tried to talk to Trent a few times, but Trent had a firm no complaining rule, making Troy break off before he ever really got started.

  Outside, in the crisp autumn air, he shook his head, making his ears fly. The reverberations cleared his thoughts, so he scented to see who was on the protection detail. Harlan. Good. Beckett. Good. Mac. Eh. Mac wasn’t near as much fun now that he’d calmed down a bit on the Trevor-hating. Ever since Trevor had offered himself up to Khain as a trade for Ella’s life, Mac had barely given him any shit. Sure, Mac was still a pompous blowhard whose intellect was rivaled only by the garden tools in the back shed, but he’d been different lately. Troy hadn’t had a reason to chew on him in weeks.

  Two more scents hit his nose. A felen. Nalan, Troy thought his name was. Decent enough guy for a cat, not that Troy minded cats too much anymore. Smokey only paid attention to Trent, but Chelsea was ok. She was soft and smelled interesting and hadn’t tried to steal Troy’s food or his breath once. The other smell was a bearen. Troy hadn’t met him yet, but he recognized him as the same bearen who’d been out more regularly than any other in the last couple of weeks. Bearen were a mystery. Kind of slow, it seemed. Even standoffish. They usually scented like they thought they were superior to wolven, although Troy hadn’t gotten anything like that from this fella yet.

  Troy walked down the dirt driveway to the tree the wolven liked to congregate under, while the felen and the bearen usually smoked and joked on the other side of the driveway, under a green tarp Trevor had brought out for them.

  Harlan and Beckett sat on one side of the picnic table under the tree, while Mac sat on the other, all dressed in response outfits; dark cargo pants and dark long-sleeve shirts, their badges and guns at their hips. Beckett wore his trademark camouflage ball cap, the one Wade couldn’t break him of wearing no matter what he did. Their voices were pitched low enough that Troy couldn’t hear them yet, but he didn’t need to. Their scents and the thoughts he caught told him they were talking about the boxes and tunnel found in Ella’s old house.

  Mac’s voice reached him. “They’re all in code,” Mac kept his voice pitched low and cast a disgruntled glance over at the two males under the tarp across the way. “Six boxes full of nothing but hundreds of pieces of paper, all handwritten, all completely in code. Jaggar is trying to break it now.”

  Beckett snorted, and when he spoke his southern accent was stronger than usual, telling Troy he was upset or irritated. “I tell you what. That fucker, Grey, he was into some shit. We should find him and force him to talk, the way he used to force us to kiss his ass.”

  Harlan noticed Troy approach and sit down next to the table. He nodded to him, then held up a hand, looking at Beckett. “Wait, wait, wait. Grey? You mean the citlali who ran the war camps on the East Coast? What’s he got to do with this? And I know Trev had some run-ins with him, but why do you care about his standards?”

  Beckett leaned forward, his face in a snarl. “He didn’t run just the war camps on the East Coast. He came up with the entire idea. He started the first one based out of New York, and then he started setting them up all over the country, and traveling to them to make sure they were up to his standards. I dealt with him plenty, and if I saw him today, I’d shove his standards right up his ass.”

  Harlan shrugged. “What’s the problem? The war camps were a brilliant idea. With all the females …” He stumbled over his words and
Troy watched him closely, amazed that his grief was so strong after decades. “With all the females gone, the males with pups still had to go to work. It’s not like you all could have just gone to human daycare. You’d be even more useless than you already are.”

  Mac chuckled and leaned back in his seat until Harlan sized him up. “That goes for you, too, Mac. Where the fuck were you gonna learn advanced battle techniques if Daddy dropped you off with the human kiddies shitting in their diapers for twelve hours a day? Huh?”

  Mac flipped him the bird. “I ain’t arguing with you, old-timer. I’m agreeing with you.”

  Harlan snarled at Mac, then turned back to Beckett. “So, what’s Grey got to do with it, anyway?”

  “You haven’t heard? The tunnel in Ella’s old house? It goes to Chicago PD. They put it in fifty years ago when Grey was the deputy out there, and they left it because that was his home base.”

  Harlan whistled. “Eighty miles of tunnel? I didn’t know we even did that.” He looked sideways at Beckett. “Wait. Grey lived in Ella’s house? What does that mean?”

  Mac shifted in his seat and his scent changed. Troy watched him, wondering if he’d been told not to share that they were looking into whether Grey had been shacking up with Ella’s grandma. And maybe her aunt, too, after her grandma died. Ella was embarrassed that she didn’t know who her grandpa was, since her mother never shared anything with her, and if it turned out that Grey had been her grandpa? That just opened up a whole bucket of slimy stuff.

  Mac ducked his head. He smelled like he was dying to share, but he didn’t quite dare. “Who knows.” He threw Troy a glance and lifted his lip. Troy lifted his back. His teeth were much more impressive.

  Harlan looked up at the house and changed the subject. “So, I’ve only got duty out here once next week. I’m surprised Wade’s whittling it down to one KSRT member a shift and bringing patrol out instead. And I’m surprised Trevor’s ok with it. He doesn’t trust too many wolven around his female.”

  Troy whined lightly. Too bad none of them spoke any more than rudimentary ruhi, if that. He wanted to join this conversation.

  They all looked at him. “What, Troy?” Beckett said, pushing his cap up off his forehead and standing up. He paced for a second, then walked over to Troy, looking at him.

  “Sit the fuck down, hayseed, you don’t know what he’s saying,” Mac snarled, not unkindly, picking a splinter off the table top.

  “I can speak ruhi, a little, if it’s strong,” Beckett said, his voice sounding hurt. He bent at the waist and stared Troy in the eyes. “What?”

  Troy chuffed. He hoped that was true. He fixed a picture of a monster lightbulb with legs, wearing a camouflage cap in his head. Anyone ever told you that you have a head like a lightbulb? he sent to Beckett as hard as he could.

  Beckett pushed his cap back farther, scratched his head, then pulled it back down over his forehead. He looked over his shoulder. “I think he wants to say something about Grey.”

  Mac and Harlan looked amused. Troy rolled his eyes. Beckett wasn’t a bad guy. He was a hard-worker, tough, mellow, and he was the only cop in Serenity who could rival Mac when it came to picking up females. They liked his smile or some shit. But he didn’t have a bone of sophistication in him. Partying, working, listening to country music, that was about the extent of what he thought about.

  Troy tried again. This time he pictured Beckett in his normal off-duty outfit of camo, jeans, cowboy boots, and more camo. All that camo makes you look like the redneck from hell, he sent, giggling a little. Lightbulb-head was better, but Beckett had a thing about being called a redneck. If he did catch it, he’d be twitching.

  Beckett just screwed up his face. “Ah, crap, I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck absently, then pulled his cap down lower over his eyes. “Sorry, Troy,” he said, walking back over to the table.

  Troy’s stomach lumped up. It was no fun ribbing someone if they didn’t know it and they were just gonna be nice.

  A voice filled his head. You want me to tell him?

  Troy looked over his shoulder, knowing immediately it was the bearen who was talking to him. Felen didn’t sound like that, all gruff and tough. Felen were more sexual, they purred everything, even the males.

  He turned around and looked at the bearen across the driveway. Nah, it was a lame joke anyway.

  The bearen snorted and bobbed his head. He was lumberjack big, like all bearen, but he looked more intelligent than Troy had found them to be in the past. I’ll be happy to translate if you need me to.

  Thanks, ah…

  Bruin, my name’s Bruin. You’re Troy. Nice to finally meet you.

  Troy nodded, thinking maybe he’d go have an actual conversation, even if it was with a bear, but then Beckett said something to Harlan that caught his attention. Thanks, you too, he sent back, then turned to the males at the picnic table.

  “So what’s it like, anyway?”

  “What?”

  “You know, Trevor, how he’s so caught up in that female he can’t even stand for other males to be around her?”

  Harlan stared at him hard. “Are you asking me what it’s like to be mated? I was mated only for a day.”

  “But you loved her.”

  Harlan growled deep in his throat, a reverberating warning that preceded his threatening scent. “Yes, I did.”

  Beckett didn’t notice or didn’t care. He stared at Harlan openly, innocently. “What was it like?”

  Harlan’s face twisted and a strangled noise came out of him. There was that grief again, flooding Troy’s nostrils. It almost made him glad for a second he would never have the opportunity to have something that precious to him taken away .

  “Never mind,” Beckett said quickly.

  Harlan looked at the sky for a second, then back down to Beckett and Mac, who was also watching him closely. “Loved her? I did more than love her. She was my everything. She fucking owned me. Looking at her, touching her, hearing her voice, was like breathing, like eating. It was everything.”

  He stopped talking and his gaze dropped to the table, then over his shoulder to the house where Ella and Trevor were. His voice lowered till Troy had to strain to hear him. “For the short time I had her, I woke up with a smile on my face every day.”

  Mac looked away while Beckett clapped a hand to Harlan’s shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

  Harlan was about to speak, when the air shimmered beside the table, closer to the tree.

  All four wolven jumped to their feet as the scent of strong disinfectants and ammonia pushed away the scent of despair and a female appeared as if from nowhere, her hand on the tree to brace herself. The air still shimmered behind her and a dim view of a stark hallway shone there, obscuring most of the view of the tree itself.

  Troy ran in her direction, baring his teeth, looking behind her for some sign of danger, some indication of Khain. The female herself did not look dangerous. She looked scared, and sorrowful. Her hair was long and dark and hung stringily around her face. Her skin was a deliciously creamy caramel and her features made him think of coconuts and balmy beaches, but he didn’t have time to analyze that.

  She threw a terrified glance over her shoulder as men in hospital uniforms appeared at the end of the long hallway and approached her slowly, hands up, as if she were dangerous. Only then did Troy notice she wore a plain white gown with tiny flowers or butterflies or something on it, like a hospital gown. Her feet were bare.

  Troy stopped within two feet of her and stared as her eyes marked him, then slid off him. She looked at each male in turn, but her gaze stopped on Harlan. She held up a hand to him.

  “Harlan, they say you’re not real,” she said to him, almost in a whisper. “Is it true?”

  Troy looked at Harlan, noticing in the shifting scents around them that Bruin and the felen had run over to join the strange party.

  One of the men in the hallway that could not possibly exist in the middle of the Illinois
field sprinted quietly up behind the female. Troy barked once, warning her, then tensed, ready to leap on the man. He didn’t know what was going on, but he had taken sides already. Too late, he saw the needle in the man’s hand as it entered the female’s shoulder.

  Three things happened almost simultaneously. She made a tiny sound like a whimper cut short and crumpled into the man’s arms. Troy leaped. The shimmering vision, including the female and the hallway behind her, disappeared like they had never been. Troy sailed through it, his side scraping painfully against the tree. He landed roughly, glad he hadn’t hit the tree muzzle first.

  He turned around and glared at Harlan, as Mac rushed over and looked up and down, even looking behind the tree. Nothing.

  Mac whirled on Harlan. “What was that?”

  Harlan shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “She knew your name. Tell me you know who she is.”

  Harlan sank back down onto the picnic table, staring off into space, his voice far away when he spoke. “I told her my name a long time ago.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? How long ago?” Mac snarled as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and started firing off texts.

  “Forty years,” Harlan said, the clouds reflecting in his eyes.

  “Good night,” Beckett whispered and Mac’s head snapped up.

  Mac walked in front of Harlan and snapped his fingers in front of Harlan’s face. “That girl was twenty, twenty-five at the most. There’s no way she was alive forty years ago.”

  Harlan looked up higher, anywhere but at Mac and the confused group of shiften around him. “I know.”

  Chapter 6