by Lauren Smith
“It’s all right. I’m going to take care of you.” He brushed his hand along her bare shoulder.
“Hey, I’m not the one who got shot.” There was a fire in her eyes, but it was dimmed by fear. Her hands were still shaking like hell.
“I’ve been shot before. You haven’t. You are in shock. Go. Get into the shower.” He nudged her toward the shower stall, and she got in. He turned on the water, careful to aim the nozzle away until the water heated up.
Charlotte covered her black-clad breasts by crossing her arms over her chest. Her modesty would’ve been charming under different circumstances.
“The water’s hot.” He flicked his fingers into the spray before he angled the nozzle toward her. “Remove your underwear.” His words were a command, but he kept his tone gentle. She needed him to be firm, but he didn’t want to scare her.
“No—”
“Charlotte, I’m not asking.” He stared down at her, careful not to influence her too much with his gaze, just providing a nudge in the right direction. He didn’t want to make her do anything she didn’t want to do, but he had no time to argue with her either.
She stared at the tile floor as she slipped off her panties, then unhooked her bra and tossed it onto the rug outside the shower door. She stepped fully into the spray, rubbing her body vigorously with her hands as her teeth started to chatter, despite the hot water. Her body’s temperature had dropped too fast.
He took a deep, controlled breath before he stepped into the shower behind her and covered the back of her body with his.
“You need body heat, sweetheart.” He didn’t do anything except hold her as the hot water warmed her from the front and he from behind. After a few minutes, her teeth stopped chattering, and she leaned back against him.
“I’ve never… That was so scary,” she whispered. The steam curled up around them, and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
“I am sorry you were there.” Whoever had fired the shots had meant to kill him. It wasn’t the first time he’d faced this type of threat. The Russian Mafia had tried more than once to take control of the city, having put hits out on both him and Grigori, but they had never known to use iron bullets, something their hitmen had not lived to regret. No, this had been no human assassin at work. This was someone who knew all too well what he really was.
“Was someone trying to kill you?” she asked.
“I told you, Moscow isn’t a safe place. Not even for me.” He nuzzled her neck, and the sweet scent of her mixed with fear made his pulse quicken. Sometimes he hated the predator in him for responding to fear like that. He didn’t want her to be afraid.
He wanted to destroy those who had almost killed her tonight. He wanted to release his dragon so it could sniff out those men and tear them apart. But his instinctive need to protect her was stronger than his desire for revenge. Whoever had taken a shot at him tonight would have gotten a good look at Charlotte. They knew what hotel she was staying at, which meant she was still in danger, especially if they believed he had feelings for her. To come after him was understandable, but to target an innocent not once but twice in order to hurt him? Unforgivable.
All because he’d been foolish enough to dance with her, to kiss her…to convince himself for one minute that he could have a normal life with a normal girl. He would leave her now if there was a chance it would help, but the damage had already been done. Leaving wouldn’t shift the target he’d inadvertently placed on her back.
“You should wash the blood off your hands.” He took her palms and pulled them into the spray, rubbing his fingers along the pads of hers, trying to erase the evidence of tonight’s horror.
“What about you?” She turned in his arms, and her full breasts pressed against his chest. He was wearing only his boxers, but it felt like he was damn near naked against her.
“I don’t—” he began.
Charlotte shook her head. “You do. Turn around.” She was giving him orders. A sweet, innocent virgin ordering around a dragon. His brothers would laugh their asses off if they ever found out. He turned his back to her, and her soft hands ran water over his wounds.
“Your tattoo—it’s beautiful,” she whispered.
He’d forgotten that she would see it, the large black dragon tattoo on his right shoulder blade. It was a fierce dragon, wings spread wide as it roared and spewed fire when it was in its resting pose. When his emotions were strong, however, it would move, and right now he was battling to stay calm. If she saw a moving tattoo…
Charlotte traced one of the wings, and his dragon buried deep inside him huffed in pleasure. “It’s so detailed.” It could actually feel her touch on its wings. In his human form, this was the dragon’s only outward manifestation. But it could feel everything he felt.
“Your wounds are already healing,” she said with a gasp. “How is that possible?”
Rurik turned, curling his arms around her waist and her back, hoping to distract her. He was healing far too fast, and soon she would start asking questions he couldn’t answer. He hadn’t wanted to use his full powers on her before, but this was about keeping his family safe. Keeping his world safe.
He cupped her chin with one hand and made sure she was paying attention. “Charlotte, I think you’re a little confused about tonight…” He let his gaze draw her in and mesmerize her. It was one of the more useful dragon abilities, one that he could use in his human form.
“What?” she asked, her eyes going wide.
“We had a wonderful night together, but you’ve suffered a bit of a shock. My wounds aren’t as bad as you remember. Barely a scratch, see? The ballistic nylon stopped them. All you treated were some minor cuts and bruises. You are unharmed and safe now.” He waited until her eyes had a softer look, and he knew that he had buried the fear of the shooting deep in her head.
“We had an amazing time.” She grinned bashfully, her eyes returning to normal.
“I am going to spend the night,” he added.
“Rurik—I meant what I said. I don’t do this.” She waved a hand between their bare bodies.
“I know, and that’s why I’m going to be good. I promise.” He flashed her a wolfish grin, making her laugh. The sound filled his chest with a cottony warmth he’d never felt before.
“I thought you said you were a bad guy?” she asked, raising a brow.
“I am, but tonight I’m your bad guy, which means I’ll be good to you.” He leaned down and kissed her. Not a kiss to seduce or control, simply one to tell her that he would stay with her and protect her through the night.
I’ll keep you safe. I won’t fail like I did Nikita. He carved the vow in his heart. He would stay with Charlotte until he was sure she was safe, and then he would send her back to America where no one would come after her. The thought of never seeing her again made his chest tighten, but it had to be done.
Charlotte kissed him back, her sweet lips soft as the petals of a rose. Whoever taught her to kiss had been a master. She was a wet dream brought to life, with full curves and a shy side that made him want to tie her down and explore every part of her until she held no more secrets left. Then he wanted to curl his body around hers and ask her to tell him everything about herself.
Fuck. What was wrong with him? He would’ve said it was nearly getting killed, but he’d felt this way long before the shooting. From the moment he’d watched her dance for him in the cage at the club, he’d been sucked in by her. She was a breath of life, a kiss of fire, and completely irresistible.
They kissed until the water started to cool down. He broke the kiss with reluctance and shut the water off. They both reached for the towels at the same time, laughing as their hands met.
“Here.” He handed her the first towel and wrapped it around her body, covering those sexy curves. He took the other towel and wound it over his hips before he stepped out of the shower. He glanced at the three bloody bullets still lying in the sink. He would deal with that mess in a few hours, after he got some rest. For now, he hid them
before Charlotte could see them and remember what had really happened outside.
“I think I have a T-shirt and some pajama pants that might fit you. They’re big enough, I think. I mean, they’re not, but they’ll stretch.” Charlotte was bent over her suitcase that sat on the foldable rack, her towel-clad ass giving him a dozen wicked ideas of what he could do to her.
Behave, he told himself.
She handed him a black T-shirt with an old rock band logo on it.
“Kansas?”
“So what?” she challenged. “My brothers raised me on classic rock.”
“Brothers are funny things, aren’t they? Mine are both older, but I spent my childhood tussling with them to become stronger and faster.” He grinned at her. Then he dropped his towel, stripped out of his soaked boxers, slid the borrowed T-shirt over his head, and pulled the fresh boxers on. They were tight, but he would survive the night.
“My brothers never tussled with me. It was so annoying. My parents died when I was little, and I was treated like a porcelain doll.” Charlotte ran her fingers through her wet hair as she talked, and he sat back on the bed, watching her. He’d slept with more than one queen, even an empress, but none of them compared to Charlotte. When he gazed at her, she almost seemed to glow, and her voice with that slightly husky feminine tone was like a choir of angels singing to him. Every time she smiled at him he got a goofy grin on his face. Fuck, she was sexy as hell.
She turned her back to him and slipped on her pajamas, a flannel set of pink-and-black polka-dotted pajama pants and a matching button-up nightshirt. When she faced him again, he caught a hint of her breasts in the low neck of the shirt, and his body responded.
He was supposed to be a good man tonight, not a fierce, possessive, and dominating dragon. Her brothers were right—she was a delicate creature who needed to be handled with care. She reminded him of the hothouse flowers Catherine the Great used to grow in her secret greenhouse. He’d visited her there more than once to steal a kiss and had seen the rare and beautiful blooms thriving in a protected environment. Those flowers would not survive the harsh climate of Russia. But there was a fierceness to Charlotte that rivaled even that of Catherine, which made him wonder if she might not be as delicate as she seemed.
“What?” Charlotte eased down onto the bed and pulled back the sheets to climb in.
“I was just thinking of someone,” he admitted. “You remind me of her.”
She covered her mouth to yawn, then smiled again. “I hope that’s a good thing.” That sheepish smile made his heart feel strange and fluttery. It confused his dragon too, which had gone very still inside him. Like it was watching a creature it didn’t understand yet was curious about and was afraid that one sudden movement might spook it.
“It is. She was an amazing woman. She was powerful in a time and place where women weren’t respected in Russia.”
“Was?” Charlotte pulled back the covers on the other side of the king-size bed, and he took the invitation to join her. His wounds had healed enough that they weren’t likely to bleed into the sheets.
“She died many years ago.” He watched her puff up her pillow and settle into the bed, lying on her side to face him.
“Rurik, you’ll really be okay, won’t you?” she asked, her beautiful blue eyes cutting through him with genuine concern.
“I’ll be fine. It was just a few scratches, remember?” He shifted down to lie beside her, curling an arm around her hips and tucking her against his chest so he could place a soft kiss to her forehead.
Her responding sigh made his dragon shift inside him, restless with curiosity. Normally when he bedded a woman his dragon seemed disinterested. Only Nikita had ever caught the dragon’s eye before. His dragon wanted to keep him awake all night to watch her while she slept.
At times like this, sharing his body with another creature was a nuisance. Most of the time he and his dragon were in sync, but sometimes the beast rose to the surface. Right now, still healing in his human form, Rurik was too tired to watch her, and the dragon growled with displeasure.
Soon. Soon I will possess her for us both. Then maybe he could clear his system of this wild, foolish desire for the quiet yet passionate American who’d stumbled into his life.
A battle dragon could not afford to mate. He could not put his family at risk. He had known this the moment he’d learned what he was, when his father had discovered that his strength and skills surpassed those of his brothers.
“A battle dragon is a sacred position, Rurik. You will be the last thing between our family and extinction.”
It was a great weight to place on the shoulders of a fifteen-year-old boy, but fate had chosen him over Grigori and Mikhail. And that meant he would always be alone. No mate, no falling in love, no spending the next thousand years with a woman like Charlotte.
He kissed her lips, even though she was asleep before he reached over and turned off the light. He wrapped himself around her, guarding her jealously the way a dragon guarded his most precious jewels.
5
Men have to have heroes, but no man can ever be as big as the need, and so a legend grows around a grain of truth, like a pearl. ―Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn
Damien MacQueen holstered his gun as he reached the old abandoned ruins of the Detroit train station. Many years ago the station had fallen into disrepair, and he had moved the Brotherhood’s international headquarters from Boston to Detroit. It was a city that many people had given up on, but for his needs, that made it perfect. A crumbling city with high crime rates tended to draw in supernatural creatures, the sort who would make plays for local power.
Not on my watch…
As he got closer, he touched the barbed-wire fence that surrounded the building. A normal human couldn’t see what was really there. Hundreds of cleverly crafted spells projected the illusion of a ruined and abandoned station. Damien placed his hand on the main padlock. The spells around the station recognized him, and the facade of the old crumbling building faded.
Now he could see what the spells had so carefully hidden. The station had been beautifully restored and looked just as it had in its prime—with a few additional features inside, of course. It now housed some of the toughest supernatural hunters and the most magically gifted humans in North America. The best the world had to offer and the last line of defense against the night.
Damien had a laid-back yet vigilant approach to the supernatural. If they kept to themselves and didn’t cause trouble, he didn’t cause them trouble. But if they crossed that line, his people did what needed to be done. He was proud that his kill rate was low. His predecessors had been tougher, more ruthless, but times had changed, mankind had changed, and Damien knew that sometimes a situation was painted in shades of gray. But some in the Brotherhood still only saw things in terms of black and white.
Serena, the only woman he’d ever loved, had been one such hunter. Beautiful, brilliant, and utterly unforgiving. She’d been killed after murdering a nest of vampires who had been classified as a nonthreat. No such thing in her book. But that action had cost her dearly. They might not have been a threat, but they had friends in high places.
The vampire nobles didn’t care how many rogue corruptions the Brotherhood took down. They believed in law and order as much as anyone. But Serena’s rogue action had been seen as a threat, and they had responded accordingly, sending their best assassin to send a message.
Damien still remembered the sight of Serena’s body laid bare and bloodless for him to find. It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to seek his own vengeance. But Serena had been in the wrong, acted against orders, and Damien wasn’t going to continue the chain of bloodshed and take more innocent lives. No matter how heartbroken Serena’s death had left him, his job was to make the world a better and safer place.
The gates parted as he pushed them open, heading toward the station’s main entrance. He was going to need a shower and a beer after tonight’s fun. Damien had spent the
last three hours in peace talks between the Snowfall Shifters and the Black Forest Wolf pack.
The names these guys give themselves…
He’d had his gun loaded with silver, ready for things to go pear-shaped, but fortunately nothing had happened. Still, he felt safe enough to holster his gun only now that he was back at headquarters. Werewolves and other corruptions had tempers and serious aggression issues.
One would think the word corruption was a derogatory term the Brotherhood had come up with, but in fact it came from the shifters themselves. For some reason no one was really sure of anymore, shifters like werewolves and vampires were referred to as corruptions, but not others like dragons or the thunderbirds of old. The Brotherhood’s official stance was that it had to do with the means of their creation. Magic was at the heart of every shifter, but corruptions could pass on their condition through a bite, like an infection, and this seemed to be something that the dragons and other preternatural creatures felt was not normal.
But corruptions were also the ones the Brotherhood had more personal contact with. He was even considering allowing a few of the more levelheaded ones out there into their ranks to help act as liaisons as well as enforcers. Dragons, though, refused to have anything to do with the Brotherhood. And that was a problem, especially now.
As he walked into the lobby, he saw his brother, Jason, leaning against the front desk, flirting with the receptionist. Once he saw Damien, however, he straightened and dropped the receptionist cold, much to her chagrin. “Everything go all right tonight?”
“Fine. Kept me on my toes, though. Archer Falls is one scary bastard.” Damien chuckled.
“The panther shifter from New York?”
“That’s the one. How about here? Quiet night?” He and his brother walked shoulder to shoulder through the halls.
“Yeah, nothing major. The weres and vamps are all nice and quiet. Nothing at the usual hot spots, bars and run-down motels. I thought for sure we’d have a vamp nest or two to bust into, you know?”