Daisy’s father’s voice crackled over their connection. “No Fate can see her. Mira suspects she stitches.”
Yes, this definitely reeked of piling it on. Daisy glanced at Rysa. Her friend stared at the bus and made no sign that she knew of—or cared about—this new information.
Her seers swept into the lot like three unfurling tentacles.
“Dad, I’ll call you back, okay?” She didn’t like the lack of expression on Rysa’s face. “Call me if anything changes.”
“What is wrong?” Dmitri’s voice dropped an octave the way it always did when he wanted everyone’s full attention.
Daisy glanced at the huge bus parked at the far end of the rest area’s lot. Inside, her boyfriend Gavin and her cousin Derek kept the mind of one of the world’s only two dragons from shattering.
If the beast felt the blistering power pulsing from Rysa right now, he would not react well. He might come out, drawn by her distress. And if Brother-Dragon wanted to come out, no one here had the strength to stop him.
The rumble of a new engine rolled into the parking lot. A dark, older model pickup pulled into the rest area.
Daisy latched onto the distraction. “Nothing’s wrong, Dad. We’re at a rest stop and we have company, that’s all. Time to act innocent and charming.”
“Daisy, if—”
“Later, Dad.” Daisy hung up on her father.
In the beast’s current condition, Brother-Dragon could not mimic to invisibility. If he burst from the bus because he felt Rysa vulnerable, the people in the car would see him—and likely take photos.
Rysa suddenly, completely straightened, but her scent stayed the same chaotic, sharp, almost citrusy smell Daisy had come to associate with her friend’s angry, confused, fearful—and righteous—state.
Rysa smelled like a Burner—or how Daisy would imagine a fresh Burner smelled. A not-flesh-eating, living, breathing, human Burner. A person with all of a Burner’s chaos and petulance but none of its acrid chemical death.
Rysa’s scent also carried a slowness not unlike Ladon’s melancholy. Or Daisy’s own fatigue. Or the storm barreling down on Wyoming right now. It hung cold and heavy around her friend like a wet shroud Rysa had no choice but to carry. She couldn’t throw it off. She couldn’t crawl out from under it.
All she could do was hold it high enough it didn’t smother her dragon too.
When the pick-up’s engine stopped, Rysa’s face changed from pained and pale to a sweet and happy expression she obviously meant to disguise her pained and pale.
She watched the pick-up.
Two guys who looked to be Daisy’s age—late twenties—hopped out of the truck, both tall and beefy, both wearing dark stocking hats and chin stubble along with their working men’s jackets. Both men wore jeans and good, strong boots.
Both threw Daisy and Rysa Hey, how ya doin’? grins.
Desire wafted from the first of the two men with such strength that it overpowered the cold freshness of the Wyoming snow. The second guy, the passenger, smelled conscious of his own arousal.
Often, men in happy relationships smelled that way to Daisy’s bloodhound nose. Their body responded to the presence of attractive women with want that, but their brains had the situation under control.
She’d always taken it as a sign of maturity.
Rysa’s present-seer flared outward, a sweet flute-like vibration that curled through the rest area. “They’re going to remember the Praesagio Industries logos and colors,” Rysa whispered. “The driver thinks we are spokesmodels. He’s wondering if we’re on the way back to Portland from the car show that just shut down here in Cheyenne.”
Rysa stretched and stomped her feet. “They’re normals. The wingman is an off-duty cop. My past-seer says Wyoming State Patrol, so we need to be careful with them, even if they aren’t a threat.”
Daisy nodded, though at this point even non-Fates and -Shifters might be a problem, especially cops. She grinned at the new men and did her best to look inviting while looking non-inviting at the same time. Quickly, she texted Stay on the bus, to Gavin.
Amir has them, appeared on her phone.
Amir Sut, the past-seer of the unnamed triad, who also rode the bus.
He and his future-seeing brother, Asar, were functionally identical and, unless they were blasting their seers, nearly impossible to tell apart. Daisy suspected they cultivated their similarities, and combined with the similarity of their names to American ears, this made it difficult for her—and everyone else—to tell if they were dealing with the future- or the past-seer.
This, she also suspected, gave them an advantage few other Fate triads had.
Both men looked and smelled the way she imagined a tightly controlled, military-trained, Secret Service officer might smell. Both Amir and Asar, as well as the present-seer named Cordelia, all carried a “cleaned” scent. Not clean, but cleansed, as if they knew how to scrub their metabolism in such a way as to override their natural emotional odors.
It seemed very “spy” to Daisy. Like a “sneak in and kill them in their sleep” assassin kind of thing. They were, hands down, the first people she’d ever met who smelled that way. Fates, Shifters—even other enthrallers who made calling scents—no one else smelled like a spy.
Just these three. And they’d taken an interest in protecting the only non-Fate or -Shifter in the group, Gavin.
This, she believed. They might smell cleansed, but whenever one of them looked in Gavin’s direction, their cleansed scent took on the slightly deeper, warmer notes she associated with responsibility.
Both Ladon and AnnaBelinda carried the exact same scent of protective caring. So did her father and her cousin, Derek. And Rysa, now, as well. So Daisy was pretty sure the triad’s desire to help make sure Brother-Dragon made it home to the cave was genuine.
But why they aimed their protectiveness at Gavin, she didn’t know.
Daisy’s father trusted them as well, so they rode in the bus, Cordelia sitting with her back pressed against her seat, her eyes closed and her face hard.
“She’s stitching,” Rysa had said. “It’s more difficult for some Fates than it is for others.”
Stitched up the what-was-is-will-be to make their little trip home to the Dracae’s cave in the mountains less obvious.
But knowing Amir “had them” made Daisy uneasy. She flicked out the phone so Rysa could see, and when her friend glanced at the bus, a tiny glint reflected from inside the open window vent near the back of the big vehicle.
No one excelled more at learned, skilled behaviors than past-seers, and sharp-shooting was definitely a learned behavior. Amir’s ability with weapons didn’t lessen Daisy’s sense of Secret Service that rolled off them. Secret Service and Special Ops.
If either of the two locals pulled a weapon, Amir would drop them both where they stood, cop or not. And Daisy had lived with her father’s business dealings long enough to know that if Amir felt he needed violence to protect the group, then her father would clean up the aftermath.
Knowing it didn’t help. In fact, it made this little unwanted interaction with the two mountain boys more stressful.
Rysa pulled out her phone and her fingers worked quickly through a text. Daisy didn’t see what she’d tapped in.
Rysa still smiled, still did her best to look calm, but her scent and her fidgeting gave away her agitation.
Daisy gripped her elbow. “Why don’t you go back to the bus? I can handle these two.”
Rysa only squinted.
The two men walked up to Daisy and Rysa, their heavy boots slopping through the accumulating snow. The cop stayed behind the driver. He glanced around more as well, and was obviously better at taking in their surroundings than the first guy.
They were both handsome in a “real man” kind of way. Both had bright blue eyes and chocolate brown beard stubble, and features similar enough that they could be cousins or brothers. Both looked as if they could handle themselves. Neither looked like a gym ra
t or as if he spent his time primping and preening over chest hair.
Both were large—Shifter male large, though Daisy didn’t sense Shifter- or Fate-ness coming off either. Rysa was correct; they were normals. Just six-three, wide-shouldered normals.
The wingman wore the clothing equivalent of an unmarked police car: Dark blue jacket with shoulders stitched for holding badges, even if none were visible. From a distance, he’d look like he wore a normal, dark-colored winter jacket, but up close, everyone with any sense in their head would know what that jacket meant.
He probably had his service revolver in a holster under his arm. Daisy couldn’t tell—the jacket was too bulky.
She pulled out her phone again. One is a state trooper, she texted.
Behind them, the little glint that had been in the bus’s window vanished. Amir must have pulled back.
Next to her, Rysa tensed visibly as if she’d just dealt with a distraction and could now focus all her unease on the two men.
Rysa’s seers snapped out, then flipped back toward her, first the low notes of her past-seer, then the middle notes of her present-. But the high, clear vibrations of her future-seer locked onto the cop.
And stayed there.
This cannot be good, Daisy thought. The faster she sent these two on their way, the better.
The driver grinned again and scratched at his stubble. Large men who were conscious of their innate dominance behaviors often countered with endearing body language. Small stuff like the perplexed rubbing at the back of their heads and quick, coy smiles. Flirts. If they were genuine, their scents carried strong hints of I won’t hurt you. She’d always thought the scent a real human pheromone, not a manufactured one like a calling scent made by an enthraller, because it didn’t carry a real smell—or a command. Just information. She couldn’t describe it in the context of something familiar, like apples or oranges or a spring day, only as a masculine version of “I’m not a threat.”
Ladon often smelled that way. He also engaged in nonthreatening body language all the time. It did counter the scary badass vibe that hung around him no matter what he thought, but it didn’t counter his tense posture.
The two new guys walking toward Daisy and Rysa smelled like they wanted to be nonthreatening, but the driver’s body language said that the women were about to be treated to a full suite of posturing and alpha male dickishness.
Rysa groaned as if she’d read Daisy’s mind. “I never had this problem when I bounced around all unkempt and ADHD-buzzed.” Rysa’s scent said she meant what she said.
“It’s no big deal,” Daisy said. Most guys were just playing at being dominant and would back off the moment she stood her ground. These two didn’t look or smell any different.
The driver sauntered up and stopped just inside Daisy’s cone of personal space—closer than he should have been, but not close enough that it was obvious. He was still within the error boundaries of the space allotted for normal human interaction.
He grinned again, squared his shoulders to her, and stood with his feet apart and his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jacket.
Hands out in case he needed to use them. Daisy stifled a frown.
“You two beautiful ladies coming from the auto show?” He pointed over his shoulder. “From the Convention Center?”
“It’s bad travel weather,” the cop said. He stopped a foot to the right and far enough behind his buddy that if he needed to respond in a cop-like manner, he had a clear path to both his companion and to the women.
He stared at Rysa. Stared at her in a way that said he was clearly reading her unease.
Daisy smiled. She didn’t know why the driver felt he needed to present himself as intimidating. She didn’t care, either. The men were a distraction and needed to get out of the way.
Daisy opened her mouth, but Rysa put her hand on her elbow.
“It is bad weather, isn’t it?” Rysa held out her other hand to catch a few flakes. “The bus has the best tires in the business.”
The cop glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t want to be in the mountains tonight,” he said, genuine knowledge and concern in his voice. “I-80 is closed west of Laramie.”
He nodded to Daisy, though he kept his eyes on Rysa. “There are a couple of nice hotels in town with conscientious, helpful staff. Your crew should think about holdin’ up for a day or two.”
The driver grinned again. “We could show you around town.”
Rysa snorted. “Sorry,” she said, faking a cough to cover her first response.
The driver frowned.
Behind him, the cop chuckled, which didn’t help.
The driver’s smell shifted to the hot, sharp notes of flaring anger.
Daisy stood her ground. “Sis,” she said, feeling she shouldn’t say Rysa’s name. “Time to check in with the boss.”
Constrained flatness flickered across the cop’s face so fast that if Daisy hadn’t been looking at him, she’d have missed it.
Damn, Daisy thought. The cop was reacting to the combination of an uneasy female and the trigger word “boss.”
Why did she choose that word? Stupid, she thought.
If she were a full enthraller, one whose abilities worked on people and not just animals, she’d have enthralled these two to walk away. Rysa’s enthralling abilities only worked in very close quarters, and she needed direct skin contact for any healing to take effect.
Rysa blinked rapidly and, once again, paled visibly.
The cop stiffened.
The sound of a door hitting a wall echoed between the buildings. Everyone looked up.
Ben sauntered out of the men’s restroom, his attention supposedly completely on the phone held in his gloved hand.
Ben was not his real name. Like most Shifter men with enthralling abilities, he was huge. Ben came from somewhere in the Ural Mountains. He was not precise about his background, like everyone else who worked at The Land. No one pried. But he’d proven himself to her father time and again.
He sniffed the air and looked unhappy when he held out the device as if it wasn’t getting the signal he wanted. He held his other glove in his teeth and when he swiped at the phone with his big finger, he did quite a good job of faking that he cared nothing about Daisy, Rysa, and the two men.
The cop glanced at Ben, but then his gaze dropped immediately back to Rysa.
Ben swore under his breath and shook the phone.
The driver sneered and watched, now distracted from the women.
Ben padded through the snow down the concrete walk toward Daisy and Rysa, his “attention” still focused on his misbehaving phone.
At ten feet from the men, still too far away for them to move to the side or react in any way, a massive dose of an ‘ignore’ calling scent specifically tailored for horny men—one Daisy recognized from its frequent use on patrons at The Land—washed by Daisy and Rysa.
The driver and cop both blinked.
Ben walked around the women, still cursing his phone, and a new blast rolled out on his breath. He stopped directly in front of the driver. “These not droids you desire,” he said in his thick Slavic accent. Then he nodded once, and continued on to his vehicle parked not too far from the bus, grinning like the big bear he was.
Rysa walked away. She pressed between the two men, hitching only briefly as she glanced up at the cop’s face.
She whispered something. Daisy saw her lips move. The cop blinked again, his attention forced off Rysa by Ben’s calling scents, but he was obviously torn about what to do.
It didn’t matter. Ben was a high class-two enthraller. Two unsuspecting normals told to behave in a manner they probably already knew they should be behaving could not fight a calling scent directive.
Except the cop was. His gaze followed Ben but he obviously wanted to look at Rysa as she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and walked away through the snow, toward the bus.
Chapter Three
Abilene, Texas,
fifteen hours ago…
Ladon-Human, who for some unfathomable reason wanted to be called “Nate,” twitched. He’d been twitching on and off since Billy pulled him out of the tunnels not far from that Seraphim-built pit of teenaged angst, the Victor D. Victor Magnet School for the Life Sciences.
Evil wanker Shifters, the Seraphim. They liked to torture Burners. They also thought they were better than everyone else.
They weren’t better. More insane, yes. But better, no.
Billy and “Nate” stood on a hill far enough from the school that the Praesagio Industries henchies milling around would not see them, but close enough the building still stood out in the dusty but soaked, post-rainstorm Texas landscape.
The sun beat down, a break between the wave of thunderheads that had washed over Abilene not long ago and the new, dark and heavy-looking wave rolling in on the horizon.
“Nate” wanted him to drive into that.
The man twitched the way Billy used to twitch, right after the Professor turned him into a Burner.
Back when Billy twitched like that, white fire burned from the back of his eyeballs to their front in an ice-cold, licked-an-electrified-fence way.
Not in his hot acid way. Not like a Burner. These twitches were different.
Seven months ago, he probably would not have been able to tell the difference. And seven months ago, he probably would have eaten “Nate” just for the pure juiciness of the man’s meaty haunches.
But Billy Bare was a different man, now. A good man. A king.
The princess chose him for a reason, and his best guess was that his “reason” was the twitching fellow next to him.
Billy was to be a good king and protect those who needed protecting.
The cast on “Nate’s” forearm smelled as if a Shifter had licked it. Billy found it difficult not to rub his face against its fiberglass tape and plaster surface. Not that “Nate” would tolerate such behavior, anyway.
Billy had taped the metal shard he’d found with “Nate” to the man’s Seraphim-applied arm cast. The shard looked way too similar to his beloved Sword of Slicing and Magic Glory, Poke. Both looked as if their surfaces were somehow both matte and glossy. Both sucked in the light in such a way that they did, in fact, look more “midnight” than they did black. In bright sun, faint purples and subtle greens danced over the blade edges, plus a tad bit of orange here, a shadow of blue there.
Men And Beasts (Fate - Fire - Shifter - Dragon Book 6) Page 2