by Mina Khan
Lynn took a deep breath and allowed her gaze to roam as she grasped Jen’s shoulder to steady herself. Jen turned, a frown creased her brows. “Are you okay?”
Yeah, I’m almost orgasming here. Yay me. Her cheeks flamed. She nodded and pulled herself together. “So, who’s who?”
Jen pointed out Tom and Brenda Jarvis before heading toward them.
Lynn squinted at the burning house and then back. With her hair pulled into a pony-tail and her face devoid of any makeup, Brenda looked young and fragile. Much too young to lose a home like this. A tow-headed boy stood by their legs.
The despair reflected in their faces seemed to shout accusingly at her. Your kind did this. A dragon did this.
Lynn swiped at the corner of her eyes. She had to get this bastard. The beast inside her rumbled its discontent and paced in agitation.
Tom glanced at them and then watched the fire again with clenched jaws. “We had all of Timmy’s birthday presents hidden in the house. Now there’ll be nothing.” A tear rolled down his soot-smudged face.
“You’re alive, Brenda’s alive and little Timmy’s alive,” said Anderson, who stood next to the man. “That’s a lot to be thankful for. Other things be damned.” He chewed his unlit cigar with added ferocity.
Timmy grasped his father’s hand. “It’s okay, Daddy.” At this, Brenda sobbed harder. Lynn stared at the family, her throat dry. Would she ever have a child? A family? She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Misery must really love company because no other reason for her to contemplate passing on her freaky genes and messing up a few other lives.
Jen pulled Brenda into a hug and walked her to the station wagon. She sat the girl in the passenger’s seat and cleaned her sooty face. All the while, Jen talked to her in a low soothing voice, telling her everything would be okay. Lynn smiled, proud of her friend.
The smile disappeared as her dragon stirred and sniffed. Its muscles clenched and unclenched. The skin at her fingertips stung as claws ached to unsheathe.
Shakespeare’s words popped into her head. By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes…
Lynn drew in a deep breath. The dragon shifted into a ready crouch. She turned.
Timmy had followed his mother and now stood behind her. Firefighters worked around and behind him.
She stared at the wide-eyed, sad-faced boy. Was he the rogue?
For a moment, she couldn’t breathe because of the fist in her gut. The tightness hovered at the threshold of pain. She blinked and marshaled her thoughts. A child couldn’t be setting all these fires. And the dragon she’d sensed earlier had felt older, more male.
Little by little, the tightness eased its clutch. Lynn smiled and opened the driver’s side door for him. The boy climbed in and sat stiff and silent as she inspected him for cuts and bruises. Taking Jen’s cue, she wiped Timmy’s face and arms clean with a wet towel and offered him water and cookies. He grabbed both. Poor kid.
“You must be Timmy.”
He nodded. “Timothy Jarvis. But everyone calls me Timmy.”
Lynn introduced herself. “How old are you?”
“Seven, but I’ll be eight next week.”
“Wow, that’s just five days away, you’re a big boy.
Timmy nodded sagely as he twisted and turned the steering wheel.
“Do you have any pets?”
Timmy went still. “Lucky,” he whispered. He tried to push past Lynn. “I have to go.”
She cursed her big mouth. “Tell you what, I’ll go with you.” Lynn grabbed one of his hands. He dragged her toward his father.
“Daddy! Daddy!”
At the ear-splitting call, Tom Jarvis turned and squatted with open arms. Timmy tugged free of Lynn. But instead of running to his father, he took off for the burning house yelling, “Lucky! Lucky!”
Chapter 3
The dragon bellowed and fumed inside Lynn’s head. Its fire swept through her, burning, consuming. She broke into a run, hands fisted at her side to control the urge to change.
As a protector, she wanted to sweep in and pluck Timmy away from the flames. The creature thrashed, trying to break out of her skin. She kept her gaze anchored on the boy’s figure. His spindly limbs pumped and flew. She’d catch him just before he reached the burning house. It had to be this way.
Yet, her mind argued caution. Changing into dragon would only add to the panic. Turning invisible, even if she could pull it off, would be pretty noticeable too at this point. She blew out a breath as tension tap-danced in her stomach. And what would happen afterwards? A shudder ran through her. Mass hysteria and probably a posse. Not to mention the rogue would be alerted.
Tom and the fire marshal darted in front of her as they joined the race. A firefighter grabbed at Timmy as he rushed by, but was rewarded by a swift kick in the shin. Another tried to tackle the boy, and instead stumbled into the other. In the confusion, Timmy got away and darted into the house. Anderson grabbed Tom in a bear hug and restrained him when he tried to follow.
The two firefighters pursued Timmy into the smoky, black opening where the front door had stood. Lynn stopped a few feet from the house, panting. The dragon seethed. Why was she waiting when she could save all three? She closed her eyes and focused, reining in the beast with her will. Wait. Wait. Let firefighters do their job. This was not the time to expose herself.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Lynn muttered. She edged closer to the house, her body trembling with the need to change. If they weren’t out in three minutes, she’d go in, turn dragon and drag all of them from the house. Lives saved would be the only consequence that mattered.
She checked her watch. After two minutes that seemed to stretch into years, the yellow-suited firefighters emerged. One carried Timmy and the other a fat, terrified ginger cat, presumably Lucky. Thank God. Drained, Lynn trudged back to the station wagon. She shouldn’t have said anything about pets. The boy could have died. A breath shuddered out of her. She should’ve been in control. But then lately, her control over things had been fragile at best. Not her actions, not her life, not her dragon.
Desperate times called for cookies. She grabbed an oatmeal-raisin and bit into it. Ate without really tasting anything. Leaves crunched nearby. Lynn whipped around. The approaching firefighter looked like a space alien in his bunker gear, helmet and breathing apparatus. He stopped in front of her.
Lynn steeled herself. OK, she’d earned a lecture. She took a deep breath and tamped down the beast. The guy helped save Timmy, he could berate her to his heart’s content. Her pulse pounded in stereo.
It was a scene out of the movies: the hero standing there, a knight in shining armor— or in this case, a smoking suit. He reached up and took off his helmet.
Her dragon lunged, then fell back. Yikes.
The man from her vision stood in front of her. He was real. And he sported a big-ass shiner. Cool green eyes —the right one surrounded by purplish-black bruising— studied her. Flecks of gold danced in their depths like sunlight.
Her stomach clenched. Both dragon and woman trembled.
The firefighter was a big guy, like those hulking football players. Tall, well over six feet, with wide shoulders and a thick, muscular neck. Danger spiked the air around him.
“Are you going to share that?” The firefighter nodded at the half-eaten cookie clutched in her hand.
What? Shouldn’t he say something more dramatic? Or, at least, lecture her on responsibility? “I think you deserve more.” She handed him two chocolate chip cookies and a bottle of water. He sat on the ground and leaned against the car. The cookies disappeared in two bites and then he guzzled water from the bottle.
Lynn stared at him, taking in his flushed face and the sweat-dampened dark curls sticking to his head and neck. A strange feeling fluttered in her stomach.
He looked away from the fire toward her. “Thanks for the cookies. Can I have another?”
Lynn handed him a third cookie. Their fingers brushed and a light buzz ran up he
r arm. She dropped it to her side, rubbed her fingers against her jeans.
He devoured the last cookie and swallowed some more water. “I didn’t get your name.”
She closed her mouth. “Lynn.”
“I’m Jack.” He held out his hand .
Jack. Jen’s Jack? He didn’t seem big brother material to her. She stared at the knuckles, cuts and scrapes on skin tanned golden by the sun. She forced herself to present her hand.
Warm, strong callused fingers wrapped around her skin. Heat traveled from the touch, bloomed inside, spread lower. She tried to pull her hand free.
His grip tightened and he squinted at her in consternation. Did he feel the strange charge too?
Tension thickened the air as his gaze burned into her. Panic clogged her throat. Her lips parted on a silent gasp. Finally, he blew out a breath, relaxed his hold. She snatched her hand back.
Why had he appeared in her vision? He didn’t look like he need rescuing. “Thank you,” she said. “For saving Timmy.”
He glanced away. “Just doing my job.”
“If I’d just held on tighter or realized what he was going to do.” She turned away, grabbed a water bottle and took a drink. Paced back toward him.
His gaze bore into her as if looking past the skin to the dragon and beyond. “I’m the guy Timmy kicked and got away from, and his father was pretty fooled too,” Jack said. “So unless you have some sort of secret ability the rest of us don’t know about, there’s nothing more you could have done.”
Her hand jerked and she ended up with more water on herself than inside her. Sputtering, she screwed the top on the water bottle and wiped her face and neck with the back of her hand. Could he sense her animal? Takes one to know one. God, she was turning into a cliché queen like her grandmother.
She glanced at Tom, Brenda, Timmy and Lucky locked in a tight family hug. Tears pricked her eyes. She turned and looked hard at Jack. Would the rogue stop to help the family? Who knows? People could be unpredictable. After all, didn’t she flame-broil a Miata in the not-so-distant past?
“What?”
“Nothing.” She stepped closer, inhaled. A hint of rich musky maleness teased her nostrils, made her heart skip. Her chest tightened and tingled. Dragon or just a prime human male? With all the smoke and ash in the air, and being a rather inexperienced dragon, she could miss an older, more controlled shifter.
Something had riled her beast up. Of course, just minutes before the creature had mistook a seven-year-old as a threat. Her abilities were seriously fried, couldn’t be trusted.
“You’re staring at me.”
Lynn wanted to slap the smirk off his face. Instead she folded her arms across her chest. “I’m just amazed how dirty a firefighter can get.”
He laughed and glanced ruefully at himself. “You did catch me in the banana suit.” He gulped some water. His sweaty, soot-smudged face broke into a grin. “Tell you what, next time I’ll make an effort to clean up.” He winked. “Just for you.”
Lynn pulled in a quick breath as fireworks exploded in her stomach. Oh. My. God. The man had potential.
“Hey Jack, got a minute?”
She bestowed Roberts with a grateful glance. He stood a few feet away with Anderson.
“We need you to answer a few questions,” the fire investigator added in a frosty tone. He pushed his hat back and stuck out his chin.
Jack’s expression turned stony and his gaze burned. Just like in the vision.
Lynn’s pulse sped up as she watched the too still tableau.
Roberts shook his head at the two men and stepped forward. “All I want is a friendly chat.”
Jack lumbered to his feet. “I’ll see you around.”
The dragon pushed against her skin, wanting her to step closer, to touch, to breathe in his scent. Her face warmed as he stalked away. What the hell? She needed a man like she needed a dragon in her life.
Lynn slumped in her seat as Jen drove them back home. She remembered Obaa-chan sitting cross-legged in the sunroom, teaching her about life. All material things are impermanent. Seeing the house destroyed —literally devoured by flames— brought that truth home to her. Our attachment to material things causes suffering. The sad, soot-streaked faces of Tom, Brenda and Timmy came to mind and tears threatened again. The family had become homeless within minutes. But how could they not be attached to their home, affected by the loss?
“You okay?” Jen glanced at her.
Lynn nodded, leaning back into her seat. “I hate fires.”
Jen pulled over and stopped the car. “I know.”
“I hate being part dragon. I hate that the dragon loves fires.”
“You didn’t start the fire. We don’t know who did, but it wasn’t you.”
Protector and destroyer were two sides of the same coin. Who knew which one would come out in a toss-up? “I wish there was something I could do.”
“The Paradise Valley community will make sure they get clothes— probably used ones, but at least it’s something,” Jen said and restarted the car. “Plenty of food and whatever cash can be scraped together. But there’s only so much.” She paused. “You could make a donation.”
Lynn nodded. “I will, but I want to do more.” She cocked her head. “How come there wasn’t any media there? I mean this was a pretty major fire and if more people knew about the situation, perhaps more help would come.”
Jen sighed. “The San Angelo Herald is the nearest paper. They send out people whenever they can, but if something’s going on in the city and the small staff is tied up…” She shrugged.
“Maybe I can write up a few paragraphs about the fire and the Jarvis family and mention the assistance effort,” Lynn said. “We can send it in to the Herald.”
Jen tossed her a wry grin. “That’d be a good use for your journalism degree, better than writing ad copy and jingles for a soulless PR firm.”
Lynn bit her lower lip. “They might not even print it.”
“Never know until you try.”
Jen pointed out Jack’s house as they passed it. The ranch house stood surrounded by ancient live oaks. The spreading canopy of branches and leaves hid much of it in cool shadows. Lynn took in glimpses of red brick and dark wood. The house looked mysterious and aloof.
A movement among the trees closest to the house made her draw in a sharp breath. Did somebody step back into the shadows?
“Something wrong?” Jen asked.
“I thought I saw somebody.”
Jen slowed to a stop and they peered at the house. No one. The leaves shivered from time to time and shadow and sunlight played tag.
“I don’t see anybody now.”
“You probably saw a branch move in the wind or something,” Jen said, driving on.
“Maybe.” Lynn glanced back. Uneasiness still prickled her neck. She just couldn’t shake the feeling someone stood in the shadows watching them.
Fire would avenge.
The dragon master hoped the discipline and routine of his daily run would help calm him. If nothing else, he hoped he’d be too tired to think anymore. He ran through downtown San Angelo, trying to lose the frustration burning his blood, smoking his thoughts. Too many things had gone wrong. He’d almost got caught. A breath raced out of him.
He shook his head. Focus. I am the dragon master. His gaze flickered over the closed stores and empty streets. Podunk town. Seven o’clock Wednesday evening and the place stood desolate and bleached by the sun. Dry heat itched across his bare neck, face, arms. Eighty plus degrees in October. Only in West Texas. Absofuckinglutely loco.
Lynn had distracted him. Thrown him off his game. An image of the shimmering blue-green dragon hanging in the early morning sky like a fantastic illusion filled his mind. A real live dragon. The same one he’d seen before.
She’d distracted him even though he’d been expecting her. Ever since he’d visited Jen and seen their picture on a side table in the living room, he’d been thinking and planning. He’d use
d Jen as bait to draw her out and she’d come. Satisfaction, warm and sweet, shot through him. He’d stood hidden among the trees and gaped like an idiot. Until she’d fanned the blaze away from the target. Then anger had brought him back to his senses, but too late. The damn fire brigade had arrived by then, with sirens blaring and lights flashing. Hero-wanna-bes.
He cut into a service alley behind the library. He knew all the back ways in the area and this would get him to the river quicker. The parking lot stood deserted, but further down three scruffy men, scarecrows in tattered clothes, scavenged through the dumpster. Right in his path. He wanted to be alone. No small talk, no hassle. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, ducked his head and picked up speed.
His thoughts returned to fire. Fire was his thing, his to control. Yet, he’d messed up. The Jarvis house hadn’t been scheduled until next week. But after the artist fiasco, he’d lost control. The beast inside had demanded another fire. He’d rushed the job, only to land himself a second damn disaster.
The fire should've devoured the house, ground it into ashes. Instead, it stood like a charred and smoking rebuke to him. His business associates would be pissed.
Damn town. He should have never returned to San Angelo and Paradise Valley. The whole area gave him the heebie-jeebies for some reason. He gritted his teeth. Fuck everyone and everything. His roots were here and he belonged here as much as anyone else. He had every right —and intention— to stake a claim.
The wind carried the smell of rotting food and piss. His gut churned with every breath. He focused on the ground and crunched across the gravel. No eye contact, no whining for change or cigarettes. The others moved like shadows in his peripheral vision. Almost past them.
“You lost or something?”
The gravelly voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned and looked at the three guys. Two of them were bent and broken by age and hard living. The one in the middle was younger, even had some muscle tone as revealed by his open shirt. He had blond dreadlocks, no shoes, and wore his sneer like a medal. Spokesman for the Homeless Losers Association.