by Mina Khan
The dragon master firmed his stance and let his arms hang loose at his sides, flexing his fingers in a slow rhythm. A good brawl would settle his rage. “I’m exactly where I want to be. You got a problem with that.”
While the other two exchanged nervous glances and inched back, the bimbo in the middle squared his shoulders and puffed his chest out. “What if I do?”
“Fix it then.” He smiled and winked. “I’ll count to three so you can come up with a plan.”
“One.” The older guys scattered like buckshot.
“Two.” Adrenaline coursed through him as his brain followed ingrained patterns. His foot shot out and landed dead center of the kid’s chest.
“Oof!” The younger man doubled over.
The hunger for prey overtook him. The dragon master shoved the heel of his right hand up and into the blond’s nose. A sickening crunch sounded, followed by a howl.
The boy clutched his nose and fell to his knees. Blood seeped between his fingers and ran down his front. Wide, tear-bright eyes stared at him.
The dragon master froze with his right hand fisted and pulled back. A little bit more force, and he’d have killed the kid. What the fuck was he doing? This man was neither business nor personal. Just unlucky and stupid. Shafted by life. Could have been him a few years earlier. Except he’d fought back. Punched life in the gut.
He lowered his arm, stepped back. To calm himself he rubbed the ring on his finger —the only inheritance his mother had left him— and stared at the defeated man. He should save his anger for those who deserved it.
The other two guys watched him from a safe distance. Fear plastered their faces. He turned and walked away, until a soft keening stopped him, made him retrace his steps.
The kid hugged himself and rocked in place on the cracked concrete, watched him with wide blue eyes. When he stopped, the kid ducked his head behind his arms.
The dragon master pulled out his wallet and grabbed a twenty dollar bill. “Get something for your pain.”
A frightened gaze darted between the money and his face. “What? Why?”
“I’ve been in your shoes.”
The kid snatched the bill and tucked it away.
Feeling somewhat better, the dragon master turned away again. His steps quick, almost jaunty, carried him toward the corner.
“You said you’d count to three.”
He shrugged without stopping. “Smart men don’t fight fair.”
He exited the alley onto a wider street lined with old-fashioned buildings— dressed in Victorian curlicues and flourishes. Letters carved into stone identified former aliases, while newly painted signs proclaimed the latest reincarnation. Schmidt’s General Store now housed Elaine’s Antiques. Tomorrow it could be bulldozed and replaced by one of those chain pharmacies. Change, the one constant of life.
His thoughts turned to his problem. Lynn. An image of her standing at the edge of the Jarvis fire seared his mind with white-hot clarity. Her midnight hair whipping around her shoulders as she stood in trembling readiness watching the house burn.
Recognition had slammed him at his first glance at the picture, at the first whiff at Jen’s fire. Lust had seized him at the second fire. He’d seen her, smelled that sweet, light scent, a year and a half ago at the loft fire in Houston’s warehouse district. Good times. Of course, back then she’d been slighter and softer, hysterical with fear and grief.
She’d been, what, a teen in dragon years?
Now, she carried the aroma of sandalwood and sex; a potent mix that had sought him out. Once he’d caught her scent, nothing else mattered. Even the fire didn’t matter. His blood had raged, until he’d found her in the crowd at the Jarvises.
The dragonlet had grown, changed, into a beautiful female dragon and human. A groan escaped him as he remembered her round, high breasts pushing against her tank top. How would those long, lean legs feel wrapped around him? His body jerked as need tore through him. Damn, he was acting like a hormonal teen. Breathing raggedly, he picked up his pace.
Control yourself, his mind whispered. Remember. Retribution. Fire.
Lynn had moved with such grace and speed, like something dangerous and special, like him. He’d lingered at the fire too long just to watch her, listen to her. He’d risked getting caught. Thank God for those ugly, yellow fire suits.
His feet pounded across the Oakes Street bridge and toward the saddle-shaped museum building. The smell of smoke drifted in the evening air. He drew in a deep breath. People must be lighting their BBQ grills. His mind burned with images of Lynn.
It'd be nice, very nice, to sit with her, in their own backyard, grilling, enjoying a cold beer. Kissing her. To take her in his arms and dance. He closed his eyes and braced against a tree, drew in panting breaths, as waves of yearning crashed through him. An ordinary evening in the life of two ordinary people. Ah, but he wasn't ordinary. He had a destiny, a purpose. He couldn't afford such simple pleasures, such distraction.
"Getting involved would be like playing with fire." He chuckled at his own wit as he headed for the Concho River. Finally, he flopped down on the concrete steps leading into the water and stared at the dark silhouette of the Concho Mermaid. "Lynn." He liked saying her name. So short and sweet, so perfect. "I know it's a bad idea," he addressed the statue. "But it's tempting."
Several formations of birds, black squiggles in the sky, flew overhead. Desire for Lynn once again beat its wings within him. His breath stuttered in his chest. "And now I'm talking to a damn statue." He laughed. "I'm losing my mind."
The dragon master stared at the disappearing light reflected on the river. Darkness edged in from all sides. Lynn. Lynn. Lynn. He stood and headed back, his hands clenched into fists. He needed to save his strength to call the dragon.
“I can’t allow her to do this to me,” he whispered. “No one controls the dragon master.”
Chapter 4
Thursday had started off terrific.
Re-energized by ten hours of deep sleep, Lynn felt great. Almost cheerful. She’d borrowed Jen’s station wagon and driven over to meet with the Jarvis family. The interviews had gone well. She had the bones of a good story. Then she’d gone clothes shopping, grabbed lunch, and picked up a bottle of wine to share at dinner. All in all, a productive and positive day.
She should’ve been suspicious.
Instead, she drove toward Jen’s listening to Sheryl Crow singing the old George Harrison song Here Comes the Sun on the radio. The phone erupted into a series of shrill rings. By the time she’d parked on the side of the road, her backpack sat silent. She pulled out her cell and flipped it open. Her mom.
She hated to spoil the day by returning the call, but Obaa-chan taught her never to shirk duty. Besides, she’d left town without telling her parents and they were probably worried sick. Lynn eyed the low-battery icon and hit speed-dial. Maybe the conversation would be short and sweet.
Her mom picked up on the first ring. “Hana-chan? Are you okay?”
The shape-shifting gene had skipped a generation and her mother had never forgiven either Obaa-chan or Lynn for it; in fact, she went out of her way to avoid anything to do with dragon business. Until Obaa-chan’s death had forced her to get involved. Now her mother wanted to replace her grandmother, to the extent of using the same term of endearment. Not happening. “I’m fine.”
“Where are you?” The question dripped with suspicion.
Talk of tingling dragon senses and visions would only make her mother uncomfortable. Keep it simple. Lynn shoved a handful of wayward curls out of her face. “I decided to visit Jen.”
“You could have told us before you left. That’d be the considerate thing to do.” A sigh filtered down the line. “Did you at least pack your pills?”
Lynn bit her tongue. Pill. What an innocuous, deceptive word. In reality it was a prescription tranquilizer designed to combat anxiety disorder and insomnia in one fell swoop. Only problem was even after waking up from eight hours of dead, dreamless s
leep, the pill didn’t let her go. She’d weaned herself off the pills as quickly as she could and flushed them down the toilet. “I forgot.”
“Lynn Hana Alexander, I can’t help you if you won’t let me.” Her mother’s voice rapped across her like a cold, hard ruler biting into skin and bone. “I’m a trained medical professional, people actually pay money for—”
Blessed silence. Lynn shut the dead phone and tossed it into the passenger seat. Well, that didn’t go too bad. She restarted the car and pulled back onto the road. Long stretches passed without a house or another vehicle.
A loud bang cracked the air. The car fishtailed as Lynn clutched the steering wheel. “Holy damn wasabi!”
Did someone just shoot at her? She twisted hard and straightened the station wagon. It clunked forward like a dying rhino. She jammed on the brakes, ducked low and mentally scanned the area for danger. Nothing pinged her internal radar. She took a deep breath and sat up again, peered at the world through the bug-spattered windshield. Nothing but cotton fields, broken by scrubby trees and brush, lined the sides of the road. Definitely, no gun-toting maniac. She took another breath. Exhaled.
“And my luck strikes again,” Lynn muttered as she threw open her door and trudged to the front left wheel. Uh-oh. The gash in the tread stared at her. Shit. She squinted at the sharp rocks littering the dusty rural road.
Her dead cell wouldn’t be any help. And she didn’t fancy changing in broad daylight and flying the rest of the way.
Memories of several Saturdays spent changing perfectly fine tires under her dad’s watchful gaze came to mind. Not her best teenage memories, but now…“Huh, I guess Dad did know best.”
She grabbed the jack and the tire iron from the trunk and got to work as the hot afternoon sun branded her exposed skin. Finally, she groaned and straightened. Her arms and shoulders ached. Sweat ran down her face, trickled between her breasts as she stumbled back to the trunk.
After some rummaging, Lynn found the spare. She grasped it with both hands and froze. Tires shouldn’t be spongy. Oh Jen. That girl lived in her own world. She dropped the flat spare to its former resting place and wiped her hands with an old red bandana she found in the trunk. What now?
Lynn slammed the trunk shut and trotted to the driver’s side. She sunk into the sun-warmed seat and turned the air on full blast.
“Crap! And double crap!” Could things get any worse? She thumped her head against the steering wheel.
Lately lots of things seemed to be going wrong. Heaviness weighed her down. What had she done to earn all this bad karma?
Obaa-chan would have said the universe was trying to send her a message. Well, the universe needed to cut all the mystical hints and go straight to English or Japanese. She closed her eyes and leaned back.
A rumbling growl filled her head. Lynn’s eyes flew open and she saw a cloud of dust approach. Hallelujah! She thumbed her hazard lights on and climbed out.
A beat-up green pickup, almost double the size of her car, slowed and stopped. As the dust settled, the driver —a tall, lean man with broad shoulders and long legs— stepped out. She couldn’t see his face because of a battered straw hat pulled down low. The scent of dragon musk and sweat drifted in the air. The gravel crunched under heavy footsteps. Lynn fought the urge to step back as he got nearer.
He wore snug jeans and a gray cotton work shirt; both were dusty, greasy and torn in places. His hands could do with a good wash too. Worse, they were scratched and bleeding. What had he been up to? The dragon inside stretched and shook. Lynn folded her arms in front of her and firmed her stance.
He tipped his hat at her, pushing it up somewhat at the end of the greeting to reveal more of his face. Jack.
Her skin tingled with awareness of him. She tightened the grip on her arms.
“Well, hello there, darlin’. Need a hand?” His voice resonated, deep and smooth. A late-night radio voice. His gaze traced over her body. Made her insides somersault.
On hearing about her tire dilemma, he nodded. His lips twitched with a hint of amusement. “I’d be happy to give you a ride.”
A startling image of her on top and him underneath flashed through Lynn’s mind, leaving her throat parched. “Um, I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”
She glanced at his pickup, checking for the stereotypical gun rack or tell-tale stickers supporting some crazy cause. No gun rack and only one sticker urging people to drink more wine to conserve water, but Lynn wasn’t entirely reassured. The man made her dragon fidgety. Could he be the fire starter or just plain trouble?
“It’s no trouble and you don’t seem to have too many choices,” he said. “I’m going into town, you can ride along. We can pump up your spare and pick up the parts I need.”
She gave him a slow once-over. “What happened to you? You look worse than the last time I saw you.”
He flashed her that smile again, boyish, charming and rueful.
Lynn sucked in a quick breath. Her present situation called for a clear head and sharp reflexes, not emotional turmoil and confusion. She didn’t need or want pins and needles.
“Excuse my appearance, but I was having some trouble with the stripper.”
Her mouth fell open. Oh. My. God. What had she got herself into now? “What did you do to the poor woman?” She shifted her feet, allowed her hands to fall free at her side, loose and ready.
“What woman?”
“The stripper.”
He looked confused. Then a blush edged across his sharp cheekbones. “The cotton stripper.” He shook his head. “That’s a machine. It strips cotton from the plants. It’s been breaking down on me. That’s what I’m going to get parts for.”
“Oh,” Lynn said, not quite sure if she believed him.
Jack stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He cleared his throat. “So are you riding with me? Or you can stay with your car, and I’ll take your spare and be back.”
Neither option appealed to Lynn. But the uneasy dragon trawling inside her, probing and scratching against her skin, told her Jack Callaghan merited a closer look. “Let me grab some things, and I’ll go with you.”
Lynn ducked into her car and grabbed her purse. She eyed the gift-wrapped wine intended for Jen. While she could probably take him, self-defense 101 advised to use anything and everything at hand. Of course, she could always incinerate him. “Not so fast, Miss Trigger-Happy Dragon,” she whispered. “Better stick to human tactics.”
Lynn grabbed the bottle and felt reassured by the weight. If push came to shove, she’d break it on Mr. Callaghan’s so-very-charming head. Then she’d kick his ass to the nearest jail.
Jack glanced sideways at his passenger. Lynn sat at the edge of the seat, pushed up against the door and stared straight ahead, clutching her things close. He understood grabbing the purse, but why would anyone grab a wine bottle to go pump up a tire? Women.
Her nostrils flared, and then scrunched up like she smelled something bad. He was all sweaty and dusty. Maybe that’s why she sat as far as possible?
The back of his neck burned when she caught him gawking. He cleared his throat. “So, how long were you stranded?”
“Not too long. Thanks for the rescue though.”
“My pleasure, darlin’.” He offered her a smile and a wink.
She studied him back with a cool gaze. “What do you do again?”
Hmm, a challenge. He could deal with that. “I’m a cotton farmer, that’s why I was stripping cotton.”
“Right.” She returned her gaze to the horizon.
He sighed. Life was unfair. The day he got to rescue a woman he wanted to impress, get to know better, he also looked like he’d been wrung through the stripper. Jack stifled a laugh at their confusion over strippers.
Turning his eyes back to the road, Jack smiled. He’d been expecting Jen because he’d recognized the car. When the dust cleared and he spotted Lynn instead, the gorgeous cookie lady from the Jarvis fire, he’d done a double take. He was sure the
heat was playing games with his over-worked mind, or he was seeing things as a late side effect of the recent brawl. He really needed to control his temper better. His smile slipped into a scowl.
All he’d wanted was a nice cold beer, some casual conversation and a relaxing evening after a hard day’s work. Maybe a woman who knew how to flirt and make him forget his troubles. Instead, he’d run into a bunch of drunk cowboys. As soon as he’d walked into the bar, all conversation had stopped. He should’ve walked right out again.
Being a stubborn idiot, he’d ordered his beer and tried to ignore the snide remarks about the character of Callaghan men. It was when the guys started speculating about Callaghan women —specifically his sister— that he’d lost it. No one disrespected Annie.
Jack clenched his jaw. Hell, he wasn’t going to let people’s ugliness drive him from what was his, nor was he going to be a prisoner in his own home. The headache pounding behind his right eye made him wince. Yeah Callaghan, but you let them push your buttons, waste your time and then you screwed up at Jen’s. Some friend.
A rustle drew his attention back to Lynn. Nice. Her chest rose and fell with every breath, round, firm breasts stretched the material in the front of her tank top, the swell of golden skin peeked out deliciously from the neckline. Desire coursed through him. Maybe his luck was changing. It’s not every day he got to pick up a good-looking woman on a dusty farm road.
Jack’s gaze returned to the blue-green dragon inked around Lynn’s tanned and lean bicep. Add to that a sexy angular face with dark, exotic eyes, faded jeans ending in dust-covered combat boots and a curtain of hair so black that it glinted blue in the sun. Would it feel as soft and silky as it looked?
She hinted of danger and wildness, promised secrets that invited slow discovery. Want thrummed in his veins, demanded to be fed. He gazed out the windshield. Definitely not one of the practical farm women of hearty Czech and German stock who lived in the area. Lynn seemed different from any woman he’d encountered before, and he’d encountered quite a few. Something about this woman just buzzed him in the gonads every time he laid eyes on her.