Playing With Fire: Dragons Of The Darkblood Secret Society

by Meg Ripley

  “Dean!”

  Dean turned at the sound of his name, trying, and failing, to stop the smile from breaking across his face. He always enjoyed the sight of her, but tonight she seemed a little different, somehow more alluring. She bounded towards him and he barely had time to react before she threw herself at him. He reacted automatically, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against his chest in a tight hug.

  For a moment, the world stopped.

  She felt so good against him, soft and warm and so inviting. He held on for longer than was strictly necessary, closing his eyes and inhaling the warm scent of shampoo and Ivory soap, but eventually, he had to pull away, as much as he loathed the idea.

  “Where were you tonight?” Dean asked. “I didn’t see you.”

  “Oh, Mom gave me the night off to work on some things for school. Do you want to hang around here? I thought we could go for a drive.”

  Dean’s first inclination was to say No, I’m sorry, I can’t. They had no reason—no friendly reason—to go for a drive, and how was he going to keep his hands to himself when they were completely alone? Alone. Away from his obnoxious younger brothers and her watchful parents. Away from town and civilization and the few things that actually kept him from kissing her the way she damned well deserved. Alone was a very bad idea. He knew it, but he still couldn’t quite convince himself to believe it.

  “Yeah, I think a drive would do me good. My truck’s parked over there.”

  He turned and she took his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Truth be told, Dean couldn’t remember if they’d ever walked arm-in-arm before. It seemed very unlikely, and yet, walking with her like that felt so familiar. Like they held each other on every stroll they ever took together.

  “I didn’t get a good ride in tonight.”

  “I heard.”

  “You’re not disappointed, are you?”

  “One bad ride doesn’t mean anything. You know that. Especially not after the purse you won the other night.” She nudged his shoulder and smiled. “One more win like that and you’ll have your card.”

  “And I’ll have one more win like that very soon,” Dean said.

  “When?”

  “The 4th of July.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, that sounds right. You’ll show them all how it’s done.”

  “You seem awfully sure of that.”

  “I’d be willing to bet on it.”

  “How much?”

  Marisol looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “A kiss.”

  “So, if I win the purse, I’ll also get a kiss from the prettiest girl in the arena?” Dean asked.

  “Not if. When.”

  He grinned. “Well, now I have a reason to really kick some ass.”

  Marisol sighed. “I hope I’ll be there to see it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, um...school. I hope I don’t have school that weekend.”

  “On the 4th of July weekend?”

  “Yeah, it would be pretty silly to hold class on the 4th. That’s a good point. So, I guess I’ll be around to see you after all.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” They were at his truck, but he hesitated to open her door. “That’s why you weren’t around tonight? School?”

  “Um, yeah. School.”

  “Do you realize you always say um before you tell a lie?”

  Her gaze instantly darted away from his face, to the area above his right shoulder. “I’m not lying.”

  “What’s going on, Marisol? I don’t need to know why you weren’t there, but I would like to know what possible reason you’d have to lie about it.”

  She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “It was… the bear attack.”

  It felt like she’d cinched a rope around his ribcage. “Bear attack?”

  “Yeah. You didn’t hear about him, that poor guy? He was only a few miles from the arena. They said he was...mostly eaten.”

  “What? I hadn’t heard he’d been eaten.”

  “Well, my mom must have heard that part. Or worse. Because she set an eight o’clock curfew.”

  Dean frowned. “Then why are you here?”

  “I didn’t want to stand you up.”

  “You could have sent me a text.”

  Marisol finally met his eyes again and he almost wished she hadn’t. They were twin shards of warm amber and his resolve weakened. “I wanted to see you.”

  “Marisol—”

  “Come on, let’s drive.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Oh.” She licked her lips, and though her features barely changed, he felt her pulling away from him. “I see.”

  “I mean, it’s late, and if your parents catch you out of the house, what will happen then?”

  “My mom will lose her shit,” Marisol admitted.

  “And then she might keep you from going to the Independence Day celebrations and I won’t get my kiss.” He commented with deliberate lightness, like he wasn’t already imagining what it would be like to have a new buckle in hand and Marisol in his arms. He was still more than half tempted to take her for that drive and damn the consequences. He might have given in to that temptation had she pressed, but she simply nodded.

  “You’re right. I wish you weren’t. I’m twenty-two, I should be able to come and go as I please. Like you. It must be nice.”

  “It’s certainly not bad. But sometimes, I wish I had a home to go back to, you know? I mean, no matter what happens, you know you’ll always have somewhere to go.”

  “Yeah, but living in the RV means you can always find somewhere new to go.”

  “Well, now, that’s true, too. I reckon that’s why I rodeo. You can have the best of both worlds.”

  “I guess I’d better get going.”

  “I’ll walk you home. There is a bear running around, after all.” He offered her his arm and she took it with a pleased smile. His body welcomed the warmth of hers, and he fought the urge to pull her even closer.

  The blue and white bungalow was barely a mile from the arena, and it was a mile that passed all too quickly. She slowed as her house came into sight at the end of the block, and he matched her pace without comment. He had no desire to reach their inevitable parting.

  “Do you think it was a shifter?”

  Dean felt the tightening around his chest again. “Maybe. I suppose that makes sense, given that it happened within the town limits.”

  “How worried do you think we ought to be?”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe he ate his fill.”

  “Maybe. Do bears...do you think bears get too hungry? If they aren’t allowed to eat like bears, I mean?”

  “That could be the case. I’ve, uh, heard that shifters must not repress their animal selves. The bear shifters must become a bear and hunt and live like a bear. Perhaps this particular shifter has been trying to live as a human full-time.”

  She tilted her head. “So, bear shifters have to take a break from their regular lives every month to go live in the woods?”

  “It’s not necessary to do so every month. I’ve heard it described as hibernation; the bear can lay dormant for a very long time but when it wakes up, it’s hungry.”

  “Then there’s probably going to be another attack, right? One meal isn’t going to be enough.” She paused for a moment, looking up at the night sky, wringing her hands as she thought about what she intended to confess. Dean, I have something I need to—oh no!”

  “What?”

  “The light in my parent’s room just came on. Come on.” She released his arm and took off down the street, quickly closing in on the house. He ran after her without questioning it, following her around the corner to the back of the house where she was attempting to crawl through her window. He grabbed her ass to give her a final boost over the sill, not quite giving the yielding flesh a squeeze.

  “Get down. Don’t move. Stay in the shadows there,” she whispered before d
isappearing from the window. He hunkered down as instructed not as he heard the door hinges squeak open.

  “Mari, are you asleep?” her mother asked. She waited for several beats before closing the door and returning to her room. As soon as he saw the square of light from their window disappear, he straightened and peered into Marisol’s dark bedroom.

  “That was close,” he whispered.

  “Oh my god, my heart is beating so fast right now.”

  He chuckled. “Well, no harm, no foul.”

  “Thanks for walking me home, cowboy,” she whispered.

  He tipped his hat. “It was my pleasure, ma’am.”

  “Be safe out there.”

  “I’ll stay out of the bear’s way.”

  “Good night.”

  The moon provided just enough light to see her outlined on the bed. For a brief moment, he considered how easy it would be to climb on through the window and join her and—well, they’d probably wake her parents at that point. So, it was best to steal one final glance and whisper, “Pleasant dreams.”

  He followed the tracks they’d left in the dewy grass and returned to the street. He took the mile back to the arena at a much quicker pace, the heels of his boots tapping a quick tattoo on the pavement. Marisol’s questions had been casual and general enough to pass for a simple conversation, but he knew her questions were only the beginning. Sooner or later, the sheriff would come knocking on his door. If he was lucky, they’d only question him, but he wasn’t born under a lucky star.

  There was only one week until the pro rodeo came to town.

  One week until he could win enough money to qualify as a professional rider.

  One week until he could take the next step towards his dream of becoming a world champion.

  But only if he and his brothers weren’t driven out of town before that week was up.

  ****

  Marisol fell asleep in the comforting confines of her bed—the same bed she’d slept in since she was twelve. She replayed her conversation with Dean in her head again and again, feeling both completely amped up and totally disappointed. Walking that close to him, arm-in-arm, had been exciting, but it was only enough to sharpen her hunger. The lack of a goodnight kiss was a complete disappointment, though understandable given how close she was to getting caught. She was wondering what that kiss might have tasted like when she finally drifted into dreamland.

  After a few hours, she woke with a sudden jolt. Heart pounding, her eyes quickly scanned the room, and it was then that she realized her bed was gone—in fact, her entire bedroom had disappeared, and instead of tasting the ghost of Dean’s lips from her dream, there was something hot and coppery and vile on her tongue. She spluttered and coughed, trying to spit the flavor from her mouth, but it coated her cheeks and teeth and lips. Marisol rolled to her side, putting her hand down on damp, sticky grass. Her eyes focused in on the spot where her hand met the ground; where a rusty shade of red met dewy green.

  Blood, a voice inside her helpfully supplied. It’s blood. You’re covered in it. Surrounded.

  Her heart leapt to her throat and panic clawed at the edges of her vision. She took a deep breath and tried to rein in her fear like an errant horse. Now wasn’t the time to freak out; she could freak out later when she was certain the blood didn’t belong to her.

  Slowly, somehow, she found her feet. The ground was slippery and she nearly lost her footing, but she managed to catch herself and straighten up, taking in the full view of what she woke in the middle of.

  But once she saw it, she really wished she hadn’t.

  She wanted to sink back to the ground and close her eyes and never wake up again. She wanted to run screaming for help. She wanted to run the opposite direction and keep running until she was sure nobody would be able to find her.

  The blood did not belong to her. She had no open wounds or injuries that she could see. Other than being scared, confused, and covered in blood and viscera, she was unharmed. But the man—or rather, what remained of the man—she woke up next to could not say the same. He was torn apart, brutally savaged by teeth and claws. His eyes were still open and they stared at her sightlessly, yet somehow full of fear and recrimination. You did this to me, those eyes said. Why did you do this to me?

  “I don’t know,” Marisol whispered. “I don’t know, I don’t know. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. Oh god, this can’t be real.”

  She pinched her arm. She raked her nails down her cheeks. She fisted her hair and pulled on the roots until her scalp tingled. Nothing worked. Nothing roused her from this nightmare. The man’s throat was shredded, his stomach torn open, his arms mangled, his face smashed.

  She didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t a local. Maybe a cowboy who just showed up for the rodeo. One who would never ride again.

  She backed away from the poor man’s remains, trying to put as much space as possible between them. She couldn’t look away from him, though, even as her stomach twisted and writhed and threatened to empty itself. She swallowed down the first taste of bile, doing everything she could to hold it all back, begging God to help her because she didn’t want to see what might come out. It was too easy to imagine the dark ochre fluid flowing from her mouth, and what would she do if she caught sight of a finger? Or his nose?

  Marisol got herself moving without too much thought of her destination. She wanted to shower, but what if she got in trouble for washing away the evidence? Evidence. Shuddering, she tried to dismiss that thought, but she couldn’t. She was covered in evidence. The body would be covered in evidence. There would be evidence of the crime of murder which she clearly committed. Perhaps she should go directly to the police and save everybody time and effort by turning herself in and making a full confession.

  Confession to what? The inner voice asked. Are you going to admit you fell asleep? You don’t know what happened. You don’t even know if you did anything.

  Well, something had happened, and she’d clearly been involved. Perhaps she should wait and get the police involved, she thought.

  Her next thought was of running home. Her father would know what to do. Her mom would get her all cleaned up and then they’d sit around the table and she’d explain how she woke up and then her parents would tell her what should happen next. They wouldn’t let the police take her away. Her dad would help her find a sensible explanation of the apparent mauling and everything would be fine.

  Unless the sensible explanation was that Marisol was a bear shifter.

  How would she face that? How would her mother ever forgive her? She’d probably call the sheriff herself and send Marisol away. She’d probably think that was a better solution than letting her daughter run wild.

  Suddenly, home didn’t seem like the safest, or smartest, answer.

  She had only one friend who might understand: Dean. He was a Longstrider, and even if he hadn’t admitted to being a bear himself, he would definitely know more about what happened than anybody else. But she couldn’t run through town covered in blood and looking like an extra from a horror movie. She couldn’t linger there at the scene any longer, either. It was still early, but soon the whole town would be waking up, and she was only a few blocks from the heart of the small community.

  Just then, the ding from her phone almost made her jump out of her skin. She fumbled it out of her pocket with numb fingers. There was a new crack in the corner of the screen, but otherwise it was fine. The message was from Rachel, asking her if she finally got a ride on her cowboy. Marisol ignored the question and searched for Dean in her contact list. The phone rang five times and she almost hung up, but the sixth ring was answered with a sleepy, “Hello?”

  “Dean. Dean, it’s me. Something’s happened. I...I don’t know what. But something...I need your help!”

  “Where are you?” The sleepy rasp was gone from his voice.

  “Near the park on the east side.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No...no, I don’t think so. But
Dean, I can’t stay here. It’s bad. It’s real, real, real bad.”

  “Okay, sit tight. I’ll be there in just a minute.”

  “God, thank you,” she said quickly before the call cut out. Okay, it’ll be okay, she reassured herself again and again. Somehow, someway, they would figure out a way to make this okay.

  Dean was true to his word. He pulled up to her within minutes, his chest bare, like he hadn’t even taken the time to put on a shirt. His eyes widened when he saw her, and she rushed to say, “The blood isn’t mine. I think...there’s a man...he’s over there. It’s his. I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.”

  “Slow down. Take a deep breath. Just get in the truck. Here, cover yourself with this blanket. We’re going to get you cleaned up and then we’re going to get to the bottom of this. Just tell me everything you know.”

  “I don’t know anything. I woke up and I was here.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to work backwards from there.” He studied her for a moment before asking in a softer tone, “How do you feel?”

  “Feel?”

  “Yes, feel. What does your body feel like right now?”

  “It...it feels full.” She looked at Dean, her eyes brimming with tears. “What does this mean? What have I done?”

  “Maybe nothing. There’s a man who can help us. He’s in Jackson.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “What about your parents?”

  She shook her head; she’d deal with them later. Before she could deal with them, though, she needed to know what was happening to her. She had so many questions that an answer—any answer—would be a huge relief. “Take me wherever we need to go.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  ****

  Rory Longstrider had once been a very big deal. He’d won two world championships with his brother Derek as a team roper, and then once Derek was banished from the professional rodeo association, Rory went on to conquer the world of bull riding. He’d won more money on the circuit than anybody before him and his record stood for ten solid years after his retirement. A man who saw Rory ride could still get a free beer in most towns in Wyoming, as long as he was willing to talk about the legend who could not be thrown from any bull.