His Feverish Embrace: Real Men of Wildridge

by Kyle, Celia

  His Feverish Embrace

  Real Men of Wildridge

  Celia Kyle

  Marina Maddix

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the Authors

  Blurb

  One night of passion. Two secrets revealed. Three lives changed forever.

  Dragons do it better. At least, that’s Thrett Lacerta’s motto—at work and at play. The Wildridge Security specialist has a stellar reputation as a trusted member of a small team that maintains peace within the Los Angeles shifter community, but in his personal life he’s earned a nickname that’s both accurate and disheartening: The King of One-Night Stands.

  Rylan Wilson is just a human. One that’s raising a half-dragon son, the product of a single night of incredible passion. Despite the challenges, she’s not only learned how to raise a shifter child, but to teach them as well. And as the principal of an elite shifter school, it’s her responsibility to keep the kids safe. So when a possible threat emerges, she calls in the best: Wildridge Security.

  When the two meet for the first time in eight years, Thrett struggles to understand his bond with the sexy, curvy human, while Rylan tries to find a way to tell the ultimate bachelor that he’s a daddy. Can they find their way back to each other, or will outside forces destroy the very thing that links them?

  Chapter One

  Dark chocolate coffee and hot cayenne pepper burned down Thrett Lacerta’s throat as he lowered his to-go cup and stared up at his latest assignment. Benningford Preparatory Academy was the most exclusive—and secret—shifter school in Los Angeles. Dressed in a sharp button-down rolled up past his thick forearms and a pair of unassuming slacks, Thrett probably looked like a lot of the teachers at a place like this. At least setting up a security system for a prep school meant nobody would ask if he was a new adjunct instructor.

  The distinctive sound of jogging footsteps reached him, and he glanced over toward the high chain fence surrounding the perimeter of the property to find two of his colleagues from Wildridge Security slowing their pace to a brisk walk. Elektra Mico and her newfound mate Grizz Magna were scoping out the perimeter of the school and looking for anything that could help him make the school premises more secure. Not wanting to draw attention, they were dressed in workout gear and looked like a well-to-do young couple out for a run. Thrett gave them a single nod of acknowledgment and then strode up the paved walkway toward the school’s ornate entrance, smiling broadly at a pretty woman as their paths crossed. The poor thing nearly tripped over her own feet, but Thrett kept moving. He had a job to do.

  Two bunnies darted in front of him, chasing after one another across school grounds. Nearby, a couple of sets of anxious-looking parents dropped off their kids at the curb. And on the rooftop, an austere condor watched over the start of the early Thursday morning with a protective eye—probably a teacher. Thrett didn’t fail to notice that the condor shifter periodically cast a furtive glance up and down the street, too.

  Wildridge Security hadn’t sent him in to update the school’s security systems just because their most high-profile client, Stark Bradford, was overly protective of his son. While true, Stark’s concerns weren’t completely unfounded. In fact, the school had reported a credible threat in the form of a black van that had been spotted prowling around the neighborhood recently. Thrett’s job was to figure out how vulnerable the school was in light of that potential danger and update the school’s systems accordingly.

  And Stark Bradford had movie-star money, which meant no expense would be spared. Thrett could really spread his wings and make this place so secure even a gnat wouldn’t be able to penetrate it unless invited inside.

  Thrett exchanged a solemn nod with the condor when they made eye contact, predator-to-predator, protector-to-protector. Then he spared a moment to take in his immediate surroundings and put himself in the shoes of someone who wanted to break into this place. Holding his coffee close enough to his lips that he could smell the spice and feel a tingle in his nose, his gaze panned the area.

  The short driveway onto the property was protected by an automatic wrought-iron gate. It appeared that during morning drop-off—and presumably afternoon pick-up—the gate remained open. Easy enough for someone on foot to sneak in when no one was looking. He also knew the closing mechanism of that model and a determined interloper would have no problem disabling it from the outside.

  Of course, that was far from the only weakness he could see. The chain fencing would be simple for anyone over ten and under sixty to climb. Its main benefit was keeping kids from running into the street and deterring opportunistic or inexperienced trespassers.

  The condor shifter was perched above the only outdoor security camera he could see. It was tucked into a corner—probably to stay inconspicuous—but it left a dozen blind spots. Thrett didn’t see any external lights either, save for the one above the main entrance. Almost the entire property would be shrouded in darkness every night. No wonder a van was casing the place. Probably just some burglars trying to figure out if this place was too good to be true.

  Most of what he saw would be easily fixed, but he suspected he’d find more lapses in security inside the school itself, which would only extend his time working this assignment. Not ideal, but he’d manage. It wasn’t as if he hated kids. He just…preferred spaces that didn’t include them.

  Totally different.

  “Thrett?”

  He stopped before entering the building and turned to find a face he recognized. A pretty young woman—Jade, if he remembered correctly—stopped so suddenly to stare at him that the line of kids in identical uniforms behind her bumped into each other before realizing their teacher had put on the brakes. Her brown eyes widened and stars fairly sparkled in them. She obviously remembered their single night together. He sighed heavily. They always did.

  Just what he needed.

  “Morning,” he drawled, giving her a simple nod and hoping to leave it at that as he moved to turn back to the entrance doors.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” she asked, hope blazing in her hesitant smile.

  “Just keeping everyone safe,” he said lightly, purposely letting his gaze scan the grounds again, hoping she’d take the hint.

  He didn’t want to be rude and dismiss her outright, but it wouldn’t look good if he was caught chatting up one of the teachers. And god forbid she try to finagle another date with him. He’d been very clear about his ground rules—he always was—but a lot of ladies he’d known over the years had selective memories. Besides, she was a nice woman. She didn’t deserve to be embarrassed in front of her students.

  “Well,” he said, reaching for the main door, “looks like you’ve got your hands full. Nice to see you!”

  Before she could react, he hurried into the building and breathed a sigh of relief when the door clunked shut behind him. Then he rounded a corner and heard another familiar voice.

  “It’s you!”

  He winced before he even saw her and then turned with another distant smile touching his lips, wondering exactly how many of the charter school’s female educators hung out at Los Angeles nightclubs and how many more he knew.

  “Lacey,” he said, taking a half-step back as she invaded his personal space with an excited smile. “Sorry, can’t chat right now. I’m late for a meeting with the principal. Love that cardigan.”<
br />
  Love that cardigan? That was the best he could come up with? Pathetic.

  Regardless, he slid past her and hurried down the hall as best he could, dodging hyperactive kids as they got ready for their first class of the day. That didn’t stop Lacey from calling out after him, though.

  “Hey, wanna grab some pizza later?”

  He picked up his pace and cupped a hand to his ear, as if he couldn’t hear her, and then waved goodbye over the sea of children’s heads without ever looking back. Looking back wasn’t his thing anyway. Not that he didn’t appreciate the ladies’ interest in him, but rules were rules. And Thrett Lacerta’s number one rule since his early twenties was “one-night stands only.”

  It wasn’t a rule he advertised to just anyone because he wasn’t especially proud of it, but he also didn’t think it was fair to allow his potential lady-friends to think anything else could happen between them. So before things ever got hot and heavy, Thrett was always careful to let them know they would only spend one night together. No exceptions.

  Some walked away at that point, and he never tried to stop them. There was no shortage of beautiful women who just wanted a little noncommittal fun, after all. One-time trysts worked out well for everyone, as far as he was concerned. No unrealistic expectations, no commitments, no hurt feelings. And, if he was completely honest with himself, he rather liked the idea that he left his lady-friends wanting more. Whether that was true for all of them—and he always did his best to make sure it was—he would never know and that was fine by him.

  The noise in the hallway grew deafening, and Thrett felt like a salmon swimming upstream through the commotion. They all looked like blurry whirling dervishes to him until he caught sight of Blaise Bradford talking with another boy in front of their lockers. Blaise was the son of Stark Bradford, the client who inspired this assignment in the first place. As much as the idea of trying to relate to a seven-year-old made him want to run screaming, his boss Charlie would chew him out if he didn’t at least play nice with the client’s kid.

  “Hey, big guy,” Thrett said, smiling broadly at Blaise, who was a little small for his age. “Remember me?”

  Blaise looked a little confused but nodded. “Sure. Hi, Mr. Lacerta.”

  Thrett stared down at the two boys peering up at him and shifted from foot to foot. What the hell did you say to kids anyway?

  “So, um…is this day going to be off the hook or what?”

  Both boys stared up at him flatly before they exchanged glances. Thrett’s discomfort spiked through the roof as an awkward silence set in.

  He was desperate to change the subject. “Uh, who’s your friend?”

  Blaise perked up immediately and threw an arm around the other, taller boy’s shoulders. “This is Trystin Wilson. We’re best friends!”

  Blaise sported a shock of reddish-brown hair and his big brown eyes shone brightly out of his freckle-speckled face. His buddy was a little taller, and Thrett would have bet good money the kid was going to be quite the burly specimen once he was fully grown. He also had brown eyes, but they were a shade lighter than Blaise’s, and his hair was a pleasing strawberry blond.

  “Yeah,” Trystin grinned, draping his arm over Blaise’s shoulders. “We’re in the same grade.”

  Thrett had to admit, the simple kindness of kids could be heartwarming sometimes.

  “Oh yeah?” He crouched down so he’d be at their eye level. “Hey, I was wondering if either of you have seen a black van driving around the school lately. Not a parent’s van, but someone who drives around and never comes on to the school grounds.”

  The boys exchanged another glance. Apparently during their silent, instantaneous conversation, they’d agreed Trystin would explain.

  “Yes, sir,” he said quietly yet without hesitation. “Blaise and I were digging up doodlebugs near the fence on the playground when it pulled up.”

  Thrett’s heart jumped. A lead already?

  “What happened then?”

  Trystin’s face clouded with concern. “Nothing, really. As soon as the side window started going down, we ran to tell the teacher, just like Mom told me to.”

  “I called Dad,” Blaise added, which was no doubt one of the reasons Thrett was there in the first place.

  “Good job,” Thrett nodded. “That was the right thing to do. Now, when did—”

  An ear-splitting ringing drowned out his next words and the hallway exploded as kids rushed for their classrooms. Blaise and Trystin looked at him expectantly, clearly not wanting to be late for class but not daring to walk away from an adult. He took pity on them and smiled.

  “Okay, enough with the interrogation. You boys get to class and let me know right away if you see that van again. Deal?”

  He held out his hand and Blaise’s small hand disappeared in it as Thrett pumped it melodramatically. When it was Trystin’s turn, Thrett was pleasantly surprised at the kid’s strong grip.

  “Bye, Mr. Lacerta,” Blaise said as he darted away.

  Trystin followed close behind but still made a point of calling over his shoulder. “Nice to meet you, sir!”

  Thrett chuckled as they scampered off. Maybe kids weren’t so bad after all. Then again, maybe these were just extraordinary examples.

  * * *

  “Mr. Ratzenberger, if I’m not mistaken, you asked for this meeting to discuss Jacob’s scholastic performance, not to ask me out,” Rylan Wilson said with a not-too-friendly smile. She was barely holding onto her composure in the face of an extremely persistent and unwanted suitor.

  It was a problem she’d run into before in her position as principal of the Benningford Preparatory Academy, and it had to be handled carefully. She was never surprised by the interaction. After all, she was a young-ish, attractive, very single woman in a position of authority—a position typically granted to male candidates. People often looked at her like she was some kind of strange anomaly, either demonizing her as some uptight schoolmarm or, conversely, an oversexed academic like the kind one might find in a cheesy adult movie.

  That was actually even more annoying than the stuffy school matron stereotype as far as Rylan was concerned. Sure, it was always a blow to her confidence to be thought of as a shrew, but it had its advantages. At least if someone saw her as a sexless, emotionless headmistress supreme, they were far less likely to try and hit on her. And truth be told, she had way too many responsibilities, way too much to do, and never enough hours in the day. There was simply no time for entertaining suitors like Mr. Ratzenberger, who was in her office at least once a week under the guise of discussing his young son’s academic progress.

  He was a nice enough guy and certainly handsome, as her secretary always pointed out, but Rylan was growing weary of his increasingly half-assed excuses to book an appointment with her. It wasn’t as if she had any choice about meeting with him since discussing the students’ progress with their parents was a big part of her job, and she was good at it. Most of the time, it only took a couple of meetings and some gentle assurances to placate concerned parents.

  However, Mr. Ratzenberger’s motivation wasn’t his son’s education. It was to get under the principal’s professionally tailored and very modest skirt, which she never really understood. She worked with children all day, every day, so it wasn’t as though she wore a lot of makeup and dressed in an eye-catching manner.

  Kids didn’t give a damn if she scraped her long auburn hair into a no-nonsense ponytail instead of styling it into sexy waves or sleek straight locks. Kids didn’t notice a difference whether she put effort into her makeup and her clothing or not. All that mattered for them was that she maintain a calm, problem-solving presence.

  That was her job, anyway—problem-solver.

  Although at the moment, she was facing the especially annoying problem of how to get Mr. Ratzenberger the hell out of her office. Her position was delicate, though. She couldn’t exactly tell him to take a long walk off a short cliff, and not just because he was a dragon shifte
r who could blast her to ashes if he sneezed funny. Her job as principal of a very ritzy prep school required her to use more than a little finesse and diplomacy when declining his advances.

  “Come on, you work too hard,” he wheedled, flashing what he probably thought was a winning smile. “Principals deserve to let loose every once in a while too, Ms. Wilson. May I call you Rylan?”

  She deftly sidestepped his question. “I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Ratzenberger, but not only is my schedule jam-packed, but I’m afraid socializing would be inappropriate. As I’ve mentioned before.”

  Hint hint, buddy!

  “At least give me your number.”

  God, this guy was unreal. Rylan smiled tersely and folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “Sir, you already have my office extension.”

  “I mean your personal number. You have a cell phone. Right?”

  “I do live in the twenty-first century, yes,” she said, tiring of the game. “But I cannot give out my personal cell number to parents. It’s just not—”

  “Appropriate. Got it.”

  Rylan glanced at the clock on the wall and let out a fake gasp. “My goodness, look at the time! I have another appointment scheduled any second now. My apologies, Mr. Ratzenberger, but I’m afraid I have to call an end to our meeting. Thank you for being so dedicated to your son’s education.”

  She stood to get her point across, which forced him to stand. Clearly his mother had taught him some manners. Rylan walked around her desk, careful to give him a wide berth, and held the door open for him with a polite smile. The guy hesitated and then heaved a disappointed sigh as he plodded out.

  The school secretary, a she-wolf named Ginette Garbord, watched the man leave. As soon as the outer door snicked shut, she whirled around to raise an eyebrow at Rylan. As Rylan’s best friend, Ginette felt no compunction in telling her boss exactly what she thought of her personal choices, and Rylan already knew what she was about to say.