The Dragon's Charm (Elemental Dragons Book 4)

by Emilia Hartley

  Closing his eyes, Kal sniffed the air as Amara walked by. “She does smell am—“ His voice trailed off as his eyes opened wide, and he gaped at Nova. “No. She isn’t.” Catching the flash of fear from his adversary, Kal rubbed his hands together, glee lighting his face. “Well aren’t you just an old hound? She isn’t just some girl, is she? She’s the girl. The one that got away from both of us.” He sniffed again. “Mmm, and Lowery, does she smell delicious or what? Tell me you’re getting some action from her.”

  Nova sat on the stool, as still as he could, willing himself to stay calm as his heart began to race and his blood boiled. The only outward sign that Kal Vann’s words had even gotten to him was his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

  Kal noticed.

  He chuckled. “You’re not. Well, that’s your loss, Lowery. Do you mind if I do?” Kal patted Nova on the shoulder. It took everything he had for Nova not to break his hand at the joint. “Once I get her home, I think I’d like to tear into that sweet skin again. You know. Finish what I started.”

  Nova snapped. Before he could think about it or tell himself no, Nova was off the stool, sending it crashing to the ground behind him. He had Kal thrown against the bar, his forearm pressed against the other man’s throat. One clawed hand sank through shirt and skin like it was nothing as he tore into the fleshy part of Kal’s stomach, feeling the skin begin to knit back together as his body began to shift around Nova’s paw.

  “Don’t you touch her,” Nova growled through gritted teeth, so low he was sure no one else could hear him. Kal merely grinned, though his face was tight with pain. “I’m not fucking kidding, Vann.” His voice held as much power as it did warning. “Stay away from her.”

  “Hey!” From down the bar, Mitch was heading their way.

  Nova retracted his claws before anybody could see. No point scaring anyone into thinking he was the real-life Wolverine.

  Kal scrambled out from under him, a mixture of hate and fear writhing on his face. “This isn’t over, Lowery,” he snarled, backing away toward the door. Nova wasn’t sure which one he’d hurt more: Kal’s abs or his pride. By the door, the big bouncer stood up, ready to stop another incident before it started. Kal shrugged off the man’s hand as he attempted to pull him through the door and out of the bar. “You better watch your back, Nova. I always finish what I start.” Nova followed his gaze to Amara, trepidation dripping down his spine. Kal smirked. “That’s a promise.” Then he disappeared out the door.

  Chapter 6

  Amara stood, frozen behind the bar, as the man walked out. She hadn’t liked him from the moment he walked in, as handsome as he may be, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. There was just something…skeevy about the man; maybe even something familiar. She shivered.

  Nova bent down and picked up the stool. He cast her an apologetic glance. “Sorry about that,” he said quietly, his voice rough and thick. Whatever had just happened, it was clear he wasn’t quite through it yet.

  She handed Nova a glass of water, satisfied when he took a large gulp. “I thought you might need to cool down, handsome. That looked like it got pretty heated.” Nova just nodded.

  From across the room, Amara spotted her boss headed their way. He looked irate.

  “What the hell was that, man?” Mitch exclaimed, storming over to Nova. Amara suppressed a groan. Mitch had a way of blowing everything out of proportion. Sure, the policy was no fighting in the bar, but it hadn’t really been much of a fight. More like Nova was putting the other guy in his place. “You can’t pick a fight like that in my bar!” Mitch’s face was red as an apple. He glared at Nova. “You need to leave.”

  “Mitchell,” Amara protested, crossing her arms over her chest.

  He just shook his head. “Now.”

  Irritated, she rolled her eyes.

  “That’s okay, Amara,” Nova said, completely calm. He set a handful of bills on the bar. Even with just a cursory glance, she could tell he had left her a substantial tip. Points for him.

  Nova stuck out his hand to Mitch in apology. “Sorry, man. There’s bad blood between me and Kal, always has been. He just tends to get under my skin. But you’re right. I never should have let him get to me here. This is your bar. I meant no disrespect.”

  Surprised, Mitch regarded him with caution before taking Nova’s hand. “Fine,” he said grudgingly. “I won’t ban you from the bar entirely. But for tonight…”

  Nova held up his hands in surrender. Looked like he wasn’t even going to argue. “Understood.” He glanced at Amara. A slow, easy grin crept across his face. Almost like a cat that had just spotted its prey. His dark eyes flashed with amusement. “It was nice meeting you, Amara,” he said, and there was so much heat in his stare that she wasn’t surprised to feel herself blush. “It truly was the highlight of my night. I hope to see you again soon.”

  She could feel Mitch’s pointed stare, she knew he was judging her, expecting her to shrug off Nova’s advances. She refused to look at her friend. She didn’t need his disapproval now. What did he know anyway? Instead, she busied her hands by grabbing a towel and wiping off glasses, grateful that the dishwasher had just finished so she would have something to do. The situation was getting more awkward by the second. Amara smiled at Nova, aware that Mitchell was seething. She would deal with him later. There was a good-looking man standing in front of her now. “You, too. You come back and see me now, handsome. Maybe I’ll even let you buy me another drink.” She winked at him.

  Amara let Nova’s rich laughter wash over her as he made his way out the door. Switching to a wet rag, she began to wipe down the bar. Thank goodness it was almost closing. It had been a strange night, and she was exhausted.

  “Seriously, Mara?” Mitch demanded, glaring at her. She hadn’t seen him that angry in quite a while. “That guy?”

  “Why not that guy?” Zoe asked, sidling up alongside Mitch. She slid her hand up and down his arm, letting her fingers play over his skin. Amara suppress a shudder. Zoe wasn’t exactly the type of girl you encouraged your best friend to go out with. Not anymore. “He was hot. Besides, I don’t know what you’re worried about. Amara doesn’t have a chance in hell, anyway.” The smile Zoe gave her was cold and cruel. It was like she enjoyed being mean. Who knows? Maybe it made her feel better about herself.

  Always the same with Zoe, Amara thought, grinding her teeth together. Even her good mood was beginning to sour. She comes in, gets drunk, and hits on whatever guy she has her sights on at the time. It had been that way since the attack, she recalled. Becca had devoted herself to her faith, and was probably the most well-adjusted of the three of them; which was ironic, since she’d been hurt the most. Amara had thrown herself into self-defense, refusing to ever be a victim again, but Zoe had thrown herself at men and alcohol. After a while, the two of them had grown apart. Amara still poured Zoe into bed when she’d had too much to drink, but they never mentioned it, and she did her best to keep it from getting the best of her.

  Until now.

  Looks like this week is Mitch, the poor bastard. She shows the entire town just how easy she is, how she has absolutely no self-respect, then plays it off as if I’m the one who’s undesirable? Ugh. I’ve had enough.

  “You know, Mitchell, you’ve got a lot of nerve, lecturing me about my love interests—or even just the people I’m attracted to—while you have Zoe Hamilton hanging off your arm.” Grabbing her purse, Amara made her way out from behind the bar. “I mean, come on. I know you’re into recycling, but don’t you think this is rather much? There’s only so much use a girl can take before the wear and tear starts to show.” She knew she was being a bitch, but seeing Zoe with Mitch grated on her nerves too much for her to care.

  “I’m done for the night, boss,” she told him, taking her coat from Sam. She thanked him with a light kiss on the cheek. “You two enjoy.” Amara bared her teeth at them in what passed for a smile before pushing through the door and out into the cold, leaving a flabbergasted Mitch and
a furious Zoe in her wake.

  Amara was fuming as she let the heavy door slam behind her. She leaned back against the cold stone wall of the building and closed her eyes. She needed to regain her bearings, and fast. It wasn’t like her to lose it the way she just did. That never happened. But there was something in the air tonight, something… off, that was setting her on edge. If only she knew what it was.

  It was one thing for Zoe to attack her like that; it happened all the time. She was used to her frenemy’s barbed comments about her looks, her brains, or her chances with men. They hardly ever had any merit, but still, Zoe liked to spit them out, just to mess with her. Any other time, Amara would have let them roll right off her back, but tonight…she just couldn’t.

  And what really pissed her off was that Mitchell hadn’t even stuck up for her. No, in fact, he had started the whole damn thing. So what if the new hot guy was flirting with her? She’d been plying him full of alcohol all night. He probably would have flirted with anyone if they’d smiled bright enough. And she’d only flirted back because it came with the job.

  Well, maybe it had been because she wanted to, Amara admitted. A little bit. But so what? She could have a fun conversation with an attractive man, couldn’t she? Not that they’d talked about much. He really seemed to be more of the strong, silent type. But that wasn’t the point. She’d enjoyed talking to him. There was no law against it. It wasn’t like she was seeing anyone. She rarely even went out on a date. And Mitchell had never been upset about her having a love life before. Not that he had a right to judge.

  Zoe Hamilton. The filthy hypocrite.

  Movement caught Amara’s eye from the shadows. Her fingers itched for the knife strapped to her ankle. Before she could stop it, the wolf attack from ten years before flashed through her mind. Once again, Amara imagined herself flat on her back, sprawled out on the pavement, the russet-colored wolf tearing into her skin. She had never felt so helpless in her entire life.

  Never again.

  Leaning down, she slipped the knife from its sheath, loving the feel of the cool steel against her hand. She let the weight of the blade settle in, enjoying the way it felt both lethal and familiar. The way she held it spoke of a lot of years handling a knife. “Who’s there?” Amara called, her steady voice the only sound in the stillness of the night. No one answered, but she knew someone was there. She could feel it.

  Seconds passed. When the silence continued, Amara shrugged, cursing herself under her breath for not bringing her car, and again for worrying about not bringing her car. As Becca would say, her paranoia was showing.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  How many times was she going to let her fear get the best of her? Yes, her grandfather had been right; there were, in fact, wolves in Strathford, and they were definitely not friendly. Well, not all of them, she conceded, thinking about the black and silver one that followed her around like a shadow. Most of them, however, were vicious. But did that mean she had to stay indoors after the sun went down like her mother? Was she supposed to be forced to spend her nights within the confines of her own home, unable to enjoy her life just because some wolf out there might take it?

  She didn’t think so.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Amara scanned the darkness again, searching for any sign of movement, but there was no one there. Still, she found herself gripping the knife tighter as she picked up the pace. Only two more blocks to go.

  Chapter 7

  As she rounded the last corner, Amara could finally see her apartment building. She thought she would feel relief, but instead, her sense of urgency only strengthened. She began to walk faster.

  From somewhere behind her, a low growl echoed off the street. Amara froze. She knew that growl. She would recognize it anywhere. It was the same growl she heard in her nightmares when the wolf was trying to rip her throat out.

  Terror ripped through her, propelling her forward; faster, faster. Amara broke into a run. Her heartbeat pounded like a war drum against her ribs. The rushing sound of her blood roared in her ears. The pounding of her feet as she charged down the street was nearly deafening.

  But she could still hear the wolf gaining on her. Or were there two?

  Twenty more feet. Fifteen. Five. Up the steps to her door. Frantic now, Amara felt the panic attack coming on, and she dug into her purse for her keys, cursing the fact that she basically lived out of her purse and could never find anything.

  There!

  Victorious, Amara’s fingers clamped around her house keys. She tugged them from her purse and tried to find the right key to insert into the lock, but she couldn’t manage to do it. Her hands were shaking so badly that the bundle of keys on the keyring slipped from her hands and fell into the bushes beside the stoop.

  For one split second, Amara squeezed her eyes shut. The Universe could not be that cruel.

  The wolf’s deadly growl was so close, Amara imagined his muzzle right up against her neck. Slowly, she turned, bringing the knife up in front of her. Right before her mind went blank with shock.

  It was the same wolf. And he was huge, at least twice the size of a normal wolf. Behind him stood a second one, tan. Waiting.

  How? her mind screamed. Did wolves even live that long? Was that even possible? He didn’t look that old, she admitted. Maybe it was a different wolf. No. It was the same one, of that she was certain. But that was impossible. The last time they had met had been a decade earlier. Yet, there he was; the same look of hatred and thirst for blood that she remembered in his tawny brown eyes.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she told them, her voice quaking. Oh, how she wished she could be stronger than she felt. Defiant, Amara dropped down into a fighting stance. “You don’t scare me.”

  The first wolf made a choking noise deep in his throat. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he was laughing. Wolves didn’t laugh.

  Amara switched the blade to her other hand and wiped her sweaty palm on the leg of her jeans. Now was not the time to freak out. This is what she had been training for all these years. Revenge.

  The wolf stalked toward her, each footstep slow and deliberate, as if he was toying with her. He was enjoying her fear. What an asshole.

  Keep it together, Amara.

  The wolf ran his long, red tongue over his jowls, exposing sharp, pointed, yellow teeth.

  There was nowhere for her to run. There were two of them; they would get her no matter what she did. And if that russet wolf had it his way, she wouldn’t live through it this time. She could see it in his eyes, he wanted to kill her. She was going to die. And he was going to love every single second of her death.

  If only she could get to her keys.

  The wolves stalked forward, taking calculated, even steps. Then suddenly, a third wolf howled in the distance. There were three of them.

  The two wolves froze. One glanced to his left, down the darkened street, but Amara didn’t wait to see if the third wolf was down there or not. She took her chance. Grabbing hold of the post with her free hand, she swung herself off the porch like she had done in pole vaulting in high school. She landed in the bushes below.

  The russet wolf charged. One massive paw slapped across her back, his claws catching the material of her coat. Amara fell forward, her hands slamming down onto mulch and cement, catching her weight. All the air shot out of her with a whoosh, and she wheezed, trying to breathe again.

  And then her attacker was gone.

  Picking herself up, Amara gasped for breath, drinking it in like water. She stared at the scene in front of her in disbelief. The three wolves were tearing into each other in the middle of the street. The russet-colored wolf was on his back, jaws snapping at the black and silver wolf that was pinning him to the ground. Black and silver? It was like a repeat of the night ten years ago. The tan wolf was trying to get in between the two. Growls, barks, and yelps filled the night as the canines fought over Amara’s life.

  It was a full minute before she came to her senses a
nd began frantically searching for her keys in the bushes. Behind her, she could hear one of them whimper in pain, and she prayed it wasn’t the black and silver wolf who had been hurt.

  After what felt like ages, Amara’s fingers clamped down on metal and she pulled her keys from the dirt. As quickly as she could, she clambered to her feet and raced up the steps to her door. Forcing her hands to stay steady, she unlocked the door, slamming it behind her.

  What she wanted to do was pretend none of this had ever happened. She wanted to feel safe. She wanted to lean back against her door with one hand pressed to her racing heart, and stay there until all she could hear outside was silence.

  But she couldn’t do that. The black and silver wolf—her wolf, as she’d come to call him—had saved her life. Again. There was no way in hell she was leaving him out there alone, outnumbered, while she hid inside like a coward.

  Running into her bedroom, she went to the gun safe in her closet, spun the combination, and took out her father’s double-barrel shotgun. With movements that spoke of years of experience, she reached into the box of shells and loaded the gun, loving the click and clang of metal telling her the shells were in the chamber.

  That was her wolf out there. Her protector. This was the second time that he had saved her life. Now she just hoped she was in time to save his.

  Throwing open her front door, Amara stepped out onto the sidewalk and fired a warning shot in the air. Lights came on in the house across the street, but no one opened the door.

  All three wolves froze. To her horror, the russet’s muzzle was covered in blood, his teeth at the other wolf’s throat. There was murder in his eyes.

  Amara levelled the gun at his head, pleased to see fear for the first time. Beside him, the tan wolf cowered. She would pull that trigger. And they both knew it. “Get away from him,” she snarled, empowered by how cold she sounded. The two wolves only growled. Amara cocked the gun. She enunciated each word, somehow sure he could understand her. “I said, get away from him. Now.”