BOX SET: Shifter 4-Pack Vol 2 (Wolf Shifter, Dragon Shifter, Mafia, Billionaire, BBW, Alpha) (Werewolf Weredragon Paranormal Fantasy Romance Collection)

by Candace Ayers

  “I don’t want you to see him again,” Zed said as way of response, his voice hard and low, little more than an animal’s warning growl. “He is not to be trusted.”

  “Well, he seemed perfectly pleasant to me, Zed.” She was making a point to not make eye contact with him. “He’s been by several times, and is always very cordial. You shouldn’t make judgements about people you’ve barely met.”

  He remembered the dull ache in the back of his head, the one that had lingered for days after the attack. “Just, take my word on this one, Paulette, and don’t be alone with him. Don’t have the baby near him.” The anger was boiling up inside of him, sitting just below the surface, doing nothing to alleviate the dragon’s insistence.

  “Really, Zed, I think you’re making this into something much bigger than it actually is.”

  He growled.

  “Fine. I heard you. I am just saying I think you’ve unfairly categorized him.” She was glaring at him, her hands on her hips, and Zed was thinking he should find her less attractive, determine she was nothing but another hassle in his life he did not need.

  And that wasn’t the only thing he was thinking, which was only serving to make him more frustrated.

  “You may think what you wish, as long as you respect the fact that I do not want you to see him again. And I certainly do not want to hear from someone else that you’ve been seen with him.”

  He wanted to remind her that she was his, the way she had melted against him when he had kissed her, the way she had surrendered to him and the power that had surged between them. Instead, he said, “You will recall our arrangement.”

  “I recall it,” she snapped, sliding the papers she’d been discussing with Copeland back into their place in the files. “You needn’t remind me.”

  She stood abruptly, running her hands down the front of her skirt as though to shake out imaginary dust or wrinkles.

  “Abigail is with the nursemaid, and I would retrieve her now, if that works for you, Sir.”

  “Do not call me Sir,” he rumbled, distaste rising in his throat. “I will go with you.”

  He did not add that afterward he would walk them home. He would see the bolt of the door slide into place. He would walk the perimeter of the building. He would account for any and every sound, and then he would settle into the woods across the street and he would watch.

  He would watch all night, and not blink. He would watch them because they were his.

  Chapter Six

  Paulette flounced through her evening rituals, awash in irritation. Of all the asinine things for Zed to dictate to her, telling her she was not allowed — as though she were a child! — to engage in conversation with another human being, a client, no less, was utterly ridiculous.

  She soothed the infant the best she could, knowing Abigail was feeding into the very heat of frustration Paulette was feeling, was fussing in response to the aggravation that had set her on edge. But there was no curbing it, not even for the peace a sleeping child would bring her.

  Honestly! The way men felt they could boss around the people who were close to them. As though she and Abigail were little more than another one of his many possessions. To be owned and controlled. Disgusting.

  Once she’d managed to set Abigail down for the night, Paulette lit into the laundry necessities that had to happen. The stockings. The underwear. The baby bibs.

  She scrubbed them until they had been beaten into cleanliness and submission, until her hands were raw, and the floor was splattered with sudsy water. And when she had finally worn away the edge of her anger, she collapsed into an exhausted sleep.

  The night had been endless.

  Zed had kept his vigil until daybreak lit the sky, and then retreated to his cave, the fatigue catching up with him. He hadn’t realized how on edge the miner’s arrival had made him, how little he could protect Abigail and Paulette from within the parameters of their current arrangement.

  It wasn’t sufficient, anymore, he determined as he’d made his way up the mountain. This no longer suited their needs. This back and forth. The pretense of it all.

  He needed to be with them. Every night, to guard them, his precious things.

  The thought caught him off guard, surprised him. His precious things had always been in the cave, his monies and gems and jewels, the things he had spent human lifetimes collecting.

  And now, suddenly, his precious things were warm and breathing and vulnerable. Much too vulnerable.

  He was going to need to prove to Paulette that was the way it needed to be — the only way their arrangement could possibly work.

  He was going to win her approval — in the only way he knew how.

  Zed started making more frequent appearances.

  In fact, Paulette realized when she actually stopped to consider it, he was stopping in once, even twice a day. There was no way he was repeatedly commuting back up the mountain. She hadn’t been there, yet, but she had heard that it was steep and winding and that there was no quick way to do it. Zed was visiting far too frequently to be making the trip every time.

  And now, when he made his appearances, he wasn’t coming empty handed.

  He no longer came to join her for supper. He would walk through the door, or wait for her outside of the office. He would hand her coins and jewelry and trinkets and tell her he had brought her something.

  At first she took them, flattered, accepting. She had seemed happy with the gifts. But, the more Zed came, the greater the gifts he brought her, the more disinterested in them — in him — she seemed to become.

  He couldn’t figure it out.

  “You know, I don’t need you to bring me these things,” she said one evening, studying the unusual chalice he’s handed her, pursing her lips. She couldn’t think of a single use for it. Truly. It would not help her prepare the food. It would not help her do the wash. It was just one more thing he seemed to bring in an effort to make her appreciate that he could bring her things. “I do wish you would stop.”

  He noted the perturbed tone in her voice, but couldn’t seem to extract anything beyond that. “Nonsense,” he said, “these are perfect things for you to have. You can start your own collection.”

  He positively beamed at her, and Paulette wondered what sort of things she would be able to accomplish with a whole collection of useless gifts.

  In truth, she missed the other things. The things she could use that showed he’d actually been thinking of her and her needs when he had picked them out for her. The baby blankets. The bonnets. The personal pieces he’d seen that had reminded him of her. The little things.

  Now it was coins and money and shiny things she didn’t want, that she had no use for, which literally meant less than nothing to her, and which Zed couldn’t seem to understand were mostly offensive to her.

  And here, piece by piece, he had been merging his collection of things he owned, and the people he cared about.

  Each passing day left Paulette with a stronger disliking for the gifts. A greater distaste in her mouth.

  She tried not to think of that one kiss, but it was hard not to remember the exact feel, the way it had sent those little shivers all the way down to her toes. How different it had been from how she thought it always was.

  She kept coming back to it. The feel of his lips on hers. The way her heart had skipped. His skin on hers. She could barely be in the room with him without thinking of it, of wondering where that moment had gone.

  And worse, much worse, was that Zed seemed totally unfazed by the experience. He hadn’t even touched her since. Not intentionally. Not accidentally. And she knew because she’d been keeping track.

  He kept his hands politely to himself, his eyes averted. He brought her the endless train of belongings, and it seemed as though he never once considered what it might be like to hold her in his arms again.

  She was that undesirable.

  Paulette thought about the miner who had stopped by the office. Copeland. He seemed nice
enough, despite what Zed had to say about him. He made eye contact, he smiled politely. He seemed to want to be near her just to be near her. The way he’d suggested dinner, or maybe a walk, just some time to get to know one another. Those other times where it seemed like he was just popping in for a quick hello, to check on his lease payments.

  Of course, it had been wrong that Copeland had made those suggestions at all, and especially while Zed was there. Zed had made it plain that she belonged to him, and was not simply hired work. He had made it plain to everyone within earshot.

  She was just another one of those pretty baubles of his.

  Paulette couldn’t help but wonder if the arrangement had been a mistake. True, she’d felt Zed had been cold in the beginning, uncaring. And then, also true, she had thought there was something more to him, something kind underneath all that distance.

  And then there had been that kiss — heated and passionate and all the things she thought had been missing in her life. And afterward, nothing but more coldness, the very edge of unfriendliness.

  There must be more to the life she had left to live than just that. She loved Abigail, completely. And she would never regret the alliance she’d made with Zed to protect her, but was there something else out there she was missing?

  She wasn’t sure she could stomach it if there weren’t.

  Chapter Seven

  The miner stopped by again, and when he did, Paulette realized she’d been waiting for him to come by — waiting for the opportunity to sort through all those things she’d been feeling. It had seemed like a lifetime since anyone had paid her the kind of attention he had. She couldn’t help but brighten at his arrival.

  He stepped through the door, hat in hand, and even if he was less groomed than Zed, he seemed genuine when he asked her how her day was going, when he gave her a gap-toothed grin. Like he really wanted to hear about the conversations she’d had and the work she had completed. It was nice to have someone interested in what she had to say, instead of being only interested in procuring expensive items she had no need or use for.

  “Well, Miss,” he said after they’d exchanged the usual pleasantries. The weather. The town. The conversation had been light and easy, and everything Paulette thought a conversation from someone who was interested in pursuing a woman should have been. She stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. “I was just stopping by because I was having some problems with my site claim, and I was wondering if you could come and take a look at it, maybe bring the paperwork to solve a dispute. See, Marcus has the plot next to mine and he’s just found some gold near the mouth of this stream that runs between our properties. As I recall, the stream is on my side, and thereby, the gold he’s found belongs to be. As he recalls, the stream lies on his side, and that vein belongs to him. I was hoping you could pull the records and come give us your opinion. Maybe after, if it pleases you, we could get that dinner we talked about.”

  It did please her, even only to be asked. “Well, of course, I can do that.” But she didn’t follow up on the dinner invitation. She didn’t deny it. She wasn’t sure what to do with it at all, so she just let it sit there, ripe for revisitation as she stood and began to pull the material she would need to fulfill his request.

  He gave his claim number. Claims frequently switched hands without the Broker’s knowledge, miners trading back and forth, caught in a downward betting spiral, dying and having their claim usurped. It was easier to keep track of the number tied to their claim, and that was what the office used for its record keeping. As far as Paulette was concerned, it didn’t matter if Mr. Copeland was number 712, or if that number belonged to the neighbor. The only thing she was looking for were the cold hard facts of the claim. She pulled both numbers — one for Mr. Copeland and one his neighbor, Marcus.

  Paulette slipped on her outer coat, happy she had left Abigail with the nursemaid for the day instead of bringing her into the office like she’d thought she would. But Abigail had seemed unusually fussy, and Paulette had been certain that, if she’d gone to the office not much would be accomplished.

  She turned toward Mr. Copeland. “Do lead the way. I’ll follow you.”

  He headed out the door, tugging his hat back into place on his head, and she didn’t hesitate, slipping the key in the door and twisting it locked before heading after him.

  For a moment she thought about rushing inside and scribbling Zed a note. Just in case, she told herself. But, just in case what? In case he was right? She bristled just thinking about it. Paulette was still convinced there was nothing about Zed’s assessment of Mr. Copeland that was accurate. She was sure it was just another case of one man jealously attacking another. She pushed everything Zed had said out of her mind, even though it was dangerously close to the forefront. Even though, she knew, she would have thought twice about this journey if Zed hadn’t insisted she stay away from Mr. Copeland and his advances in the first place. Ironic how that emphasis from him only made her want to ignore that little twinge of negativity she had felt growing in her stomach.

  The site was quite a walk, and Paulette was wishing the day was warmer, brighter. It was amazing to think how many of the miners walked to and from their sites day after day. She couldn’t help but think of Zed now, at his own claim, possibly as far away from her as the East Coast felt. She wondered abruptly if she should have begged off the trip, said the renderings weren’t accurate enough for her to tell and she needed to have Zed with her for a final assessment. With every step away from the office, she felt her stomach sink a little further.

  She was really starting to wish she’d gone ahead and left that note for him, after all.

  In truth, by the time they had arrived at the location, Paulette was running through a number of things she could have said, could still say, to enable her to make a hasty retreat. There was something about the way the wind had settled, about the darkness that had started to seep around them, that had her spooked.

  Maybe it was the sudden, hard set of his shoulders, or maybe it was the way the smile had steeled from his face — how his eyes had become cold and hard, and barely interested in what she had to offer, in any way, shape, or form.

  But then they were at the opening of the mouth of the little babbling stream, and he turned toward her and gestured further up the mountain. “If you come this way, you can see exactly where he found the nuggets.”

  Paulette moved up past him, focusing on that space where he had pointed, searching for some sign of exactly where the gold had been found, tendrils of fear and discomfort slipping down her spine.

  She was part way up the hillside, peering down toward the water when it happened. He was so quick about it, she barely had time to register the pain, the sudden weightless feeling of her body, the knowledge that her feet were coming out from underneath her, and his hands were wrapped tightly around her body.

  “That’s right, pretty girl.” He was growling in her ear, his words were hard and angry. “You can tell me all about whether or not you think that money belongs to me. We can pass that along to your little dandy when he comes here searching for you.” He sneered at her, and she was at a loss for the sudden change in his temperament, in his being. His eyes became darker, sparking with something she didn’t want to see. “And he will come for you.”

  The gentle man she’d thought he had been was gone, and in his wake was this one, with the angry slivers for eyes, the sneer marring his face, he jabbed at her with one hand and yanked her arm painfully behind her with the other, pushing her forward up the hill so she had little choice but to place one foot in front of the other and allow herself to be steered further and further from her home.

  And from Zed. With certainty, she knew he had been right. Copeland was obviously not to be trusted, just like Zed had insisted. And now Zed wouldn’t know where to find her, or even how to look for her. There were no guarantees he would come for her if he couldn’t piece together where she had gone. She didn’t want to think about what that might m
ean for her. What would happen if he didn’t realize she’d been forced somewhere against her will? What would happen if he didn’t retrieve Abigail from the nursemaid’s house when he was supposed to? Even if he could figure it all out, there were no guarantees he would be able to find where Copeland had taken her. What was going to happen if she couldn’t get her way out of this?

  He pushed her along none too gently, until she was walking along a narrow little edge, the empty air beside her a constant reminder of the kind of trouble she was in. They continued until she was standing in a small outcropping of rock — an outcropping Mr. Copeland had obviously planned on using.

  He collected the rope and knife that had been sitting there, patiently awaiting her arrival, and bound her wrists and ankles, meticulously tying them to each other so there was no hope of making it back along that narrow little ledge and back to the relative safety of the mountainside.

  “You just wait here for me. I’ll come back for you.” He bared his teeth in what Paulette suspected was supposed to be a smile, but that seemed more like a snarl. “And we’ll see what we can get out of your man.”

  Then he was moving back along the ledge, and Paulette was left behind, pressing her body into the solid wall of rock behind her, the jagged edges gouging through the thin material of her dress.

  Zed had been up and down the street a half a dozen times. Something wasn’t right. He’d known right away, but every passing moment confirmed the fact.

  Paulette wasn’t in the office. The door was locked and she was gone. She wasn’t in the house. The door was locked and she was gone.

  And when he made his way to the nursemaid’s house, Abigail was safe and accounted for.

  So where was Paulette, then?

  He’d imagined she’d had a quick errand to run. Maybe she’d stopped to pick up some produce. Maybe she’d gone out of her way to swing by a neighbor’s.