by Jodi Redford
Aiden watched Dana fling her arms in a tight hug around the purple-haired elderly lady. After a quick peck on the woman’s cheek, Dana rushed toward the distant exit. He met Jace’s baffled expression and grimaced. “If they’ve kept her in the dark all these years, we’ve got one hell of an awkward explanation ahead of us.”
“No shit.” Jace scrubbed a hand across the back of his head. “So do we chase her down and lay it all out for her now?”
“You heard her. She’s got a cross-dressing cook to deal with. Not the best time to drop the bomb on her.” Aiden’s attention journeyed to the painting in the rear of the booth, and the primitive surge of lust that’d earlier gripped him returned full blast. Maybe Dana didn’t consciously realize why they were there, but her creative muse was fully in tune. The realization taunted the primal beast slumbering inside him. His dragon strained at its leash, desperate to pursue and conquer. “Wouldn’t hurt following her to the restaurant.” His inner beast roared in approval.
Jace grinned. “Now that you mention it, I am kind of hungry.”
They both turned and headed toward the front of the booth just as the purple-haired woman strolled inside. She swept them with an assessing glance, a crafty gleam sparkling in her eyes. “Interesting. The cards didn’t mention there’d be two of you.”
Aiden didn’t know what to make of her cryptic statement, but he also didn’t have time to ask her to elaborate. As it was, he and Jace needed to hustle ass and catch up to Dana before she left the parking lot, otherwise they’d never be able to track her down.
“The restaurant is off Baldwin, near the mega mall you passed coming here. Look for the big blue sign that says La Luna.”
Jace’s eyebrows shot upward. “Whoa. How did you—?”
“I’m a psychic, hon, and I can read you two easier than the Metro Daily.” She tapped a fingernail against her double chins. “Although…there’s something unusual about both your auras.”
“Yeah, we get that a lot,” Aiden said, his tone dry. He clamped a hand on Jace’s shoulder and steered him from the booth. They sprinted toward the exit, ignoring the curious glances and a few ribald shouts flung their way. By the time they reached the Navigator, they were breathing heavy and drenched with a fresh coat of sweat.
Aiden quirked his lips upward. “Times like this, I really appreciate the ability to fly.”
“No shit. Could you imagine the look on people’s faces if we’d shifted?” Chuckling, Jace leaned across the console and unzipped the duffles. He yanked tee shirts from both, tossing Aiden the black one while he kept the white crewneck for himself. “Hopefully La Luna isn’t a jacket and tie joint.”
Aiden tugged his damp shirt over his head and mopped the sweat from his skin before pulling on the new tee. All things considered, the possibility of getting kicked out of the restaurant for their apparel was the least of their problems. Gunning the Navigator’s engine, he sped from the fairground and backtracked to the freeway. Judging from the GPS, the turnoff for Baldwin was less than a quarter mile.
Sure enough, he spied the enormous Great Lakes shopping complex and an exit ramp. Less than five minutes later, he pulled into La Luna’s crammed lot. He searched for a mouthwatering, green-eyed blonde in a medieval dress but didn’t see Dana anywhere. Hopefully the purple-haired woman hadn’t been blowing smoke up their asses and they were indeed at the right restaurant.
Only one way to find out.
Slamming the Navigator’s door shut, he strode to La Luna’s entrance, Jace trailing close behind. Inside the building, they were greeted by the clatter of silverware and raucous cheering coming from the bar patrons watching football on the large flat screen.
“Hi. Welcome to La Luna’s.” A perky young brunette wearing tan Capri pants and a navy polo top bounced up to the hostess stand, her smile so wide it damn near looked painful. A badge clipped to her shirt boasted the name Tiffany. “Are there just two of you?”
Aiden nodded. Seeing a way to casually fish for information, he peered over the girl’s head. “Would you happen to know if Dana Cooper is working tonight?”
“You know, I thought I saw her sneak in through the kitchen a few minutes ago.” She wound one springy curl around her index finger and batted her heavily mascaraed lashes. “Do you want me to go find her?”
Yeah, that’d go over great. For sure Dana would think they were a couple of stalker nutcases. “Actually, we were planning to surprise her.” He almost grunted at the irony in that statement. His attention returned to the thick cluster of people engrossed in the football game. “Are we able to eat in the bar?”
“Sure.”
Good. That’d solve the potential problem of having Dana wait on them if they sat in the dining room and causing a scene about him and Jace tailing her. It’d also allow them to keep an eye on her. Hopefully appeasing his empty belly would reenergize him enough he could figure out how the hell to explain everything to Dana in a way that wouldn’t make her run screaming from the room.
Right. Like that wasn’t going to happen. It’d be a damn miracle if she didn’t book the first flight she could find to Timbuktu.
He strode into the bar and chose a darkened corner booth that provided an unobstructed view of the main dining area. Jace slid onto the bench seat across from him and reached for the appetizer menu. A frazzled-looking waitress approached and scribbled their order for the sampler platter and two beers before racing off again.
Aiden started to lean against the upholstered back of the bench. The maddening pheromones he’d picked up on earlier tickled his nostrils and he went still, every cell in his body on high alert. Without even spotting Dana, he knew the exact second she entered the dining room. At least her tantalizing scent kept him well apprised of her whereabouts. A strange added bonus he hadn’t counted on. Transfixed, he watched as she rushed toward a crowded table, her hands frantically smoothing the front of her navy polo. She’d pulled her glorious locks into a high ponytail and it bobbed in tandem with her harried jog.
A pint of beer plunked onto the cardboard coaster in front of Aiden, the brew’s foamy head overflowing the glass. He ignored it. The only thing making him salivate at the moment was the delicate arch of Dana’s neck as she slammed to a halt and graced her customers with a welcoming smile. Okay, the soft, bouncing swells of her breasts were also doing a fine job making saliva pool in his mouth.
“Bro, you still in there?”
Aiden tore his gaze from Dana and glanced at Jace. “What?”
“Food’s here. Dig in before I eat it all.” Jace swiped a potato skin loaded with sour cream and bacon bits. He bit into it with an appreciative groan. “Shit, that’s good.”
Distracted, Aiden heeded Jace’s advice and grabbed a chicken strip. Barely registering its taste, he tracked Dana’s progress around the table. Unlike the young girl who’d greeted them, Dana’s broad grin was the genuine article as she stooped to listen to something one of her customers had to say. Her laugh rang free, pouring like warm honey over him, and he shivered in sensory overload.
“What the hell is going on with you?”
His attention returned to Jace and he found his brother staring at him. “Nothing,” he lied. “Why?”
Jace narrowed his eyes before scooting to the edge of the booth and craning his neck to peer around the divider. He swiveled back around, a huge grin stretching his mouth. Aiden gave serious thought to knocking it off Jace’s face. Instead, he growled beneath his breath and reached for his beer.
“For someone who wasn’t too keen on fulfilling the contract, you’re sure looking mighty enraptured of our little Dana.”
“Go fuck yourself.” Lifting his pint, Aiden shot his brother a steely glare of death over the rim. For all the good it did him. Jace only sputtered a laugh in response. Unfortunately, when Jace laughed, the entire world tended to listen. Yeah, he was that damn loud.
Concerned about the curious glances they were beginning to collect from the neighboring diners, Aiden leaned fo
rward, intent on muzzling his brother if necessary. Jace’s scrutiny lowered to the glass clenched in Aiden’s hand and his booming guffaws died a quick, merciless death.
“Holy shit on a stick.” Wearing an expression like someone just brained him with a two-by-four, Jace attempted to yank the glass from Aiden.
“What the hell are you doing?” Aiden jerked his beer out of reach, trying not to slosh it all over the table in the process. He pointed at Jace’s unattended glass. “You’ve got your own. Keep your grubby paws off mine.”
“I don’t want your damn beer, idiot. Look what’s on the front of your glass.”
Knowing what usually got his horndog brother excited, Aiden half expected to see a topless woman emblazoned on the mug. So when he twisted his wrist and an image of two crossed swords piercing a dragon’s wing popped into view, he almost dropped his glass. “What the—” His gaze shot upward and locked with Jace’s.
“Yeah, my thought exactly.”
There had to be a logical explanation. Because there was no goddamn way the official emblem of the Drakoni hunters—scourge of the earth and royal pain in the asses—was etched on the mug in his hand.
Only it was. Wishing otherwise wouldn’t make the ugly thing vanish.
Dread sitting like an elephant on his chest, Aiden moved his attention to the bar, where a burly guy who looked like he could bench press an oil tanker was pouring shots of Jim Beam. The ambient glow from the overhead track lighting tinged the tattoo riding the bartender’s beefy arm a sickly yellow. It didn’t disguise the overall craftsmanship of the inked design—an exact duplicate of the one gracing the beer mugs. Aiden’s attention fell on the man straddling one of the stools, chatting up the bartender. The leather jacket draped on the back of the stool bore the same despised insignia.
Blood pumping against his eardrums, Aiden shifted his focus to the man’s female companion. Sure enough, the letters D and H were stitched in blood red on the center panel of her leather jacket. A quick survey tallied a grand total of nine people sporting some form of the Drakoni hunter’s hallmark.
Aiden resisted the urge to kick his own ass. He’d been so mesmerized by Dana, he hadn’t paid attention to the relevant details—like the fact his sacrifice just led him into the enemy’s lair.
Chapter Four
Dana stuffed her memo pad in the rear pocket of her pants and headed to the bar to fill drink orders for the Landrey crew. Leo, the bartender, spotted her and walked to the pass with his patented badass swagger, his shaved head gleaming.
With a deft flick, he tossed his bar rag over his shoulder. “Thought you were working the Ren fair this weekend.”
“Pauline called in sick.” Dana squeezed behind the counter and grabbed two soda glasses.
“Shit, that girl’s a walking germ factory.”
“It’s because of Tyler. Poor little guy is always picking up some nasty crud from daycare.”
Leo grimaced. “One more reason I’m never having kids.”
“Famous last words.” Chuckling, she snatched the nozzle for the cola dispenser and topped off the glasses. “Besides, you’d look adorable lugging a baby around in one of those sling carrier thingamabobs.”
His expression panicked, Leo shot a look over his shoulder, nearly wrenching his neck if the grimace on his face was any indication. “Keep your voice down. I don’t need Jane getting any ideas.”
Dana peeked toward the end of the bar, where Leo’s girlfriend was slurping away at a beer, studiously ignoring the college bowl game while she leafed through Detroit Bride Monthly. “Sorry to break it to you, but Jane is way past the idea stage.”
“I hate that damn magazine. They have a five-page spread featuring celebrity dog weddings. That’s beyond fucking wrong.”
“Come on, Yeager would look too precious for words escorting Jane down the aisle in a snazzy doggie tux.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing at the image of Leo’s macho Rottweiler prancing along a rose-petal-strewn runner in a bowtie and top hat.
Leo’s eyes narrowed. “You are an evil, evil woman.”
“Yep, that’s exactly what Raul said after I suggested he should shave his legs before putting on fishnets.”
“Damn fruitcake.” Leo yanked a beverage tray from the storage rack and plunked it in front of Dana. “Don’t know why your aunt doesn’t fire his crazy ass.”
“You know what a sucker she is when it comes to misfits and lost souls. Me being a prime example.”
Leo’s scowl disappeared, his mouth softening. “Don’t put yourself in the same league as his Royal Queerness Raul.”
“You’re right. Raul can make a mean shepherd’s pie, whereas I’m lucky if I manage not to burn toast.”
“Damn it, that isn’t what I meant and you know it.”
Yeah, she did. But trying to assure Leo and everyone else that she was no less a charity case than any one of Emmaline’s motley stable of rejects was about as easy as convincing Raul not to wear white pumps after Labor Day. Instead of wasting her breath, she resorted to her only other option—changing the subject. “Speaking of burnt toast, is Jane still making her infamous bread pudding for the employee potluck?”
“Yep. Be sure and stock up on antacids before next weekend.”
“Will do.” Dana settled the two colas onto the tray and reached for another set of glasses. Her gaze momentarily journeyed across the room and landed on two men huddled behind their opened menus. Frowning, she scanned their upper torsos, the only parts she could readily see of them. What she did manage to make out looked suspiciously familiar.
No. It can’t be. Squinting, she stared hard at the guy in the black T-shirt. Wait…black. Nope, Aiden had been wearing a gray shirt. Shaking her head at her own paranoia, she quickly filled the remaining glasses and returned to the Landreys. She passed around the drinks, her mind wandering, circling around once again to Aiden and Jace. Without question, her encounter with them had been hugely weird. Which was saying a lot, considering her interesting track record where men were concerned. Still, most men didn’t make her feel all warm and shivery with a single heated glance.
Jen Landrey tapped Dana’s forearm, making Dana jump. Thank God she’d already set the woman’s iced tea down. Jen leaned closer, her sky-blue eyes sparkling with conspiratorial delight. “I hear you’ve got a booth at the Renaissance fair. Lucky girl. I’d be in heaven surrounded by all those beefcake men in kilts and armor.”
“Trust me, some of them shouldn’t be wearing kilts.” Remembering the flash of pimply butt cheek she’d been awarded from Lars, the ironsmith, Dana grimaced.
Mischief danced across Jen’s angelic features. “I wonder if it’s true what they say. You know, about a true Scotsman not wearing anything underneath his kilt?”
“In some cases, unfortunately yes.”
Jen giggled. “Well, I’m making a trip out there next weekend. I absolutely loved the cute flower fairy painting you made for my mom. Do you think you could do something similar for me?”
At the mention of Faye Landrey, Dana cleared her throat. “Of course. Umm…would you happen to know if your mom has deposited my rent payment for the gallery yet? I checked my bank balance yesterday and noticed the funds haven’t been withdrawn.”
The one thing Jen didn’t possess was a poker face. She tried to cover her flustered response by patting her frizzy black hair with one hand and inspecting her manicure on her other. Yeah, that was never a dead giveaway someone was about to utter a big fat lie. “Errm…uh…not sure. You know how absentminded my mom can be.”
Dana recognized a pile of horseshit when she smelled it. This was the third time in the past eight months Faye had conveniently forgotten to deposit the gallery rent. Sure, it was a sweet gesture, but if everyone continued treating her like a bum forced to collect loose change, her ego would shrivel to the size of a pea.
Little Frank Jr. tugged on Jen’s sleeve, gaining her attention. Dana used the opportunity to slink away. She headed toward the kitchen but stalle
d when she heard Emmaline and Raul’s raised voices. The idea of dealing with those two right now held about as much appeal as skinny dipping in a tank of electric eels. What she really longed for was some fresh air. Perhaps that’d slap her out of her funk.
Tiptoeing down the back hallway, she swung open the delivery entrance door, wincing when it squealed a rusty whine. “Note to self—pick up WD-40.” She ducked outside and slumped against the wall, a blissful sigh escaping her lips. It felt amazingly good having only the soft breeze for company. Short-lived as it would be.
She loved Emmaline. Would do anything for her aunt, including giving up every other weekend to help out at the restaurant, but days like this she’d give anything to fall mindlessly into her true escape—a blank canvas, a palette of paint and the giddy magic of her muse.
“Dana?” The dreaded voice that continuously popped up like a cockroach that refused to die shattered her idyllic moment.
Turning her head against the rough brick, she glared at Calvin. “Oh. My. God. What’s it going to take for you to get a freakin’ clue?” She shoved away from the building, her patience stretched beyond the snapping point. “I’ve had enough. Do you hear me? Enough. I’m giving you five seconds to leave before I go inside and fetch Leo.”
She’d expected the threat to slap some sense into Calvin, so she was justifiably startled when his fingers dug into her upper arms and pushed her forcibly against the wall. “Stop it,” she gasped. “You’re hurting me.”
“I would never hurt you.” Calvin’s pleading gaze bore into her, his face close enough she could smell the overly sweet mintiness of his breath. “You have to believe me.”
“Let go of me now, or I swear to God I’ll scream.” She tried valiantly to hide the tremor in her voice but failed. Despite her vast experience dealing with whack-job exes, nothing had prepared her for this. Before Calvin, no one had physically threatened her.
“Sweetheart…”