Dragon Fire and Phoenix Ash: Paranormal Shapeshifter Weredragon Romance (Dragon's Council)

by J Thompson

Her squawking resumed as he carried her through to the bathroom. Although she had few feathers, if she stayed caked in sponge and frosting, it wouldn’t do her any good.

  He switched on the light and used his free hand to turn the taps of the sink. With his index finger, he tested the heat before putting the plug in and filling the basin. Instead of a battle from her, she seemed keen, watching the water fill.

  “You like that, huh?” he asked as she hopped out of his hand to balance on the edge of the sink, her claws clicking on the basin as she investigated the rising water. Reaching for the bath oils, he held them out for her inspection. “How about these?”

  He watched as once again she surprised him, perusing the oils like she was shopping for something. If he had any doubt she was a female, this nailed it.

  She chirped happily, pecked her beak against the glass of the oil that read Cedarwood, and then looked up at him expectantly.

  “Excellent choice, dot,” he said, pouring a good amount into the sink and swirling it with his hand. “A-a-a, not yet,” he chided when she made to jump in right away. He held his hand out flat for her to step into. “It’s oil. It’ll be slippery.”

  Her claws scraped against his callused hand as she not so gently climbed up. He smiled as she wiggled her bald tail a little before sitting in his palm and waiting.

  AFTER YEARS INSIDE A CAGE, who knew defense of a chocolate cake was her thing. Sula would have grinned with pride despite her frosting-covered face if she had been able to shift. So instead, she settled for feeling smug inside. She hadn’t meant to bite him, but she had licked the cake, and as such, it was hers.

  Only she had to admit the big lug was right. She had started to feel a tad on the queasy side. And she refused to waste the scrumptious food she had been gifted, well not so much gifted as taken without him knowing.

  Yet instead of the expected anger, he had been understanding and kind, even promising more cake later and showing her the biggest cake she had seen in her entire life. In her current form it was twice her size.

  She had wanted to shout “mine” when he had closed the door on the refrigerator, but she had only managed a squawk. To be honest she wanted to shout “mine” whenever she looked at him. It was either the cake or him but she felt all funny inside.

  With her mind wandering, she only noticed they had moved to the bathroom when he had switched the light on, showcasing a simple yet masculine room. It had black tiles and silver accents with the usual amenities including what looked like a hot tub.

  He carefully held her as he turned on the taps and filled the sink, all the while checking the temperature.

  “You like that, huh?” his deep voice pulled her gaze from the rising water to that of his face. Sula nodded and chirped. He had left her perched on the side of the sink and now she was excited to get in. Not only was she happy to be rid of her frosting jacket, but she was ready to be rid of years worth of grime and dirt.

  She may be a phoenix but that didn’t warrant her not being able to have a bath, not that she would have. She hadn’t trusted that sleazeball, and the idea of being naked near him had made her skin crawl. When her rescuer had shown her the oils, Sula had thought she may well still be in that dream she had mentioned earlier.

  Wanting something that would bring to her the distant memories of home, she tapped her beak against the glass of the cedarwood vial. His words of praise only made her want to preen her feathers, if she’d had any left. His large hand swirled the water, releasing the scent that took her back years to the cozy cabin in the woods where she had been born and the hazy memories that echoed in the back of her mind. Memories of a possible happier time if not for her captors. Closing her eyes, Sula stepped forward ready to submerge herself in them and the hot water.

  She felt his hand on her as she made a jump for the water. Instead he held his palm out so she could step into it and he could lower her into the water.

  Smiling widely on the inside, she did as he asked and settled into his palm, shaking her tattered tail, and felt herself being slowly lowered. The feel of the hot water against her skin was pure bliss, even as the water changed color from a clear to a dark brown. She didn’t care.

  The oil helped relax her stiff muscles and the water cleaned her skin, getting rid of years of abuse. By the time she was done, she was back to being pale orange in color. Some of the few feathers that had survived were varying shades of yellow, orange and red, although they were nowhere near as spectacular as her feathers used to be.

  A pang of hurt flowed through her and easily turned to hate and anger at the damage her captors had done to her all because of what she was. She would heal and hopefully her feathers would return, but then she would have to make a choice. Remain a bird and act like a domesticated parrot to hide that she was a shifter, or shift back to her human form and never shift again, hiding her phoenix from the world.

  Her bird would hate that, but she had to make the choice and pray that when she did her rescuer wouldn’t be like the others.

  Hope was all she had, but she didn’t have much left.

  * * *

  SULA HAD NEVER WATCHED a male sleep before, not like she was now. She watched every intake of breath and every flutter of his eyelashes as he dreamed. Damian, that was the male’s name, as he had told her while he had watched her splash around in the sink. Sula had wanted to reply, but she hadn’t been quite ready. She didn’t think she had gained enough strength yet to shift.

  Now, on the other hand, after another two tiny helpings of chocolate cake—which Sula had thought weren’t even enough to cover how hungry she was—she felt almost okay, except for the no feathers thing.

  Perched on the bed next to Damian’s pillow, Sula watched again the rise and fall of his humongous chest and had to stop herself from chirping in reaction. She had no experience with males—most of her adult life being locked in a cage would do that—but this male, her rescuer, felt safe and strangely like hers.

  Tilting her head to the side she smiled on the inside. Yes, he was hers. She had heard the TV shows her owners had watched and didn’t they say something like “I licked it, so it’s mine”? Well that’s what she intended to do.

  Jumping back toward the end of the bed, Sula was careful to not make any sound. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself for the first time in years to pull on her powers. She pulled on the human buried deep within her soul and called her out.

  Her body at first fought the change, cringing as if scared of the pain it would cause. But this was as natural to her as breathing. Feeling the telltale signs, she let the shift engulf her, biting her lip to stop from crying out as her body became encased in pins and needles.

  Sula had been so used to being the size of a parrot, her head spun as she finally, after five years, stood in her human form.

  Her forehead was covered with sweat and every muscle shook, but she had done it. She didn’t need a mirror to know she still didn’t look okay. Her body was covered in scars—from whip marks to cigarette burns. She would always retain those as constant reminders, but she would heal.

  She hoped her hair would grow back to what it was, long red locks that shimmered. She missed her hair. Sula rubbed a palm over her bald scalp and sighed quietly. Yes, she couldn’t wait to get her hair back. Turning, she found the shirt she had slept wrapped in and grabbed it, throwing it over her head without even undoing the buttons and letting the soft cotton bury her.

  She immediately brought the material up to her nose, taking in the scent that was all Damian. It was a pure male scent with a hint of the cedarwood that she had bathed in earlier. Being in her human form, the scent now brought feelings of contentment and also a buzz to her stomach that for once had nothing to do with food.

  Sula perched on the edge of the bed and returned to her new favorite pastime, watching Damian sleep. Her fingers itched to run over the skin of his shoulder, right where it ran down to the definition of his bicep, which even in rest would take more than both her hands to circle it
.

  To Sula, large muscles meant strength. Strength meant protection. And protection meant safety.

  Was she finally safe? Sula wanted to believe she was. She was desperate to believe it. She leaned in close to her resting male. In one smooth motion before she lost her nerve, she bent forward and, with a light sweep of her tongue, licked the top of his shoulder. Lying down gently, Sula made sure the bed didn’t jostle as she curled up facing Damian, her hands tucked under her head while she watched him.

  “I licked him, so he’s mine,” she finally said quietly, her voice hoarse and rusty from lack of use.

  CHAPTER 4

  Damian woke suddenly and completely, the sense of someone watching him uppermost in his mind. For a moment he was still, frozen in place as he used his dragon’s senses to scan his surroundings.

  Nothing. There was no one in the room with him. But there had been. The fading edge of a delicate scent teased at his nostrils, bringing his big body to life as heat and desire stronger than he’d ever known raged through him.

  Heart thudding in his chest, he lifted his head, looking around. He was alone, apart from dot, who blinked at him sleepily from her “nest” on the pillows on the other side of the bed.

  “Uhhh,” he managed, dropping his head back to the pillows and closing his eyes. Lifting his hands, he scrubbed at his face. Fuck. He was going crazy now to boot.

  “I’m imagining things,” he said aloud. “That’s the first sign of madness, isn’t it? Or is that talking to yourself? Either way, I’m fucked.”

  Turning his head again, he found dot watching him with wide eyes. Wide eyes that were way too intelligent for a parrot. But she couldn’t be anything else, could she? She looked away, gaze sliding down his body toward the sheet that was tented in his lap.

  “Not for little birdies,” he all but yelped, grabbing a pillow to stuff over his crotch to hide his raging erection. The way her head drooped she seemed almost disappointed, upset that he had covered himself up. It was either that or he had embarrassed the crap out of a parrot. That was a new low.

  Shaking his head, he levered himself out of bed, keeping the pillow over his dick as he walked across the room to pull some pants on. He didn’t care who saw his ass. Hell, half the blacks had at some point or other… during showers after training or when they’d been out drinking. A quirk of his buddy Nik’s shift magic was the ability to “disappear” someone else’s clothing. Getting caught buck nekkid in the middle of a bar was a common occurrence. So much so, none of them batted an eyelid at it anymore. The only one he didn’t do it to was Adra. That was probably more a residual sense of self-preservation than actual sense. Even the dumbest creatures had a rudimentary survival instinct buried somewhere, including Nik.

  Turning back to face dot, he noticed she had moved from her nest and was now perched on top of his pillows, her wide eyes following his every movement. She tilted her head from side to side, a gesture that made her look cuter than her initial bald appearance would deem. With a chirp she bounced forward and across the covers toward him. Only two steps from him, she tumbled. Feet over head. In a spectacular fashion, she somersaulted until she rested on her back, her tiny clawed feet up in the air.

  He chuckled, stepping forward and rescuing the little bird from her tussle with the sheets. She came up fighting, squawking and nipping at him with her sharp beak.

  “Hey, hey! Enough of that!” he chided, holding her up away from him, but his grip was gentle. He didn’t want to hurt her, even though she was having what looked like a tantrum. Definitely female, he decided. She was in a right mood because he’d seen her fall over.

  “You’re missing like… all your feathers, dot. Your balance will be off,” he pointed out, cuddling her against his chest. Sure she could scratch and claw him, draw blood even, but he would heal. Probably before they’d finished breakfast.

  Ourrrrrssss… His dragon rumbled, the sound almost a purr, and Damian blinked in surprise. It sounded more like a purr than anything he’d heard it make. Her fighting stopped, reacting to the purr, and her amber eyes looked into his. Could parrots smile? He felt like she was smiling at him. He watched as this time instead of biting him she peeked out a tiny tongue and licked his hand. Could parrots look smug? Because he swore she now did.

  “Come on then, dot. Let’s get some breakfast. Shall we?” He kept her tucked against his chest as he walked through to the kitchen. “How do chocolate pancakes sound?”

  DAMIAN HAD LEFT.

  Sula stretched her small neck to look into the hallway from her perched position on Damian’s desk, almost toppling off as she tried to look around the corner to the front door. Her claws scraped against the wood but she managed to regain her balance as she hopped from one foot to the other. He had, as he did now every day, made her breakfast and then said goodbye as he left the apartment, sitting her back on a plump cushion on his desk so she could see out the window and down the hallway.

  She didn’t really understand where he went most of the day. Sometimes he went out dressed in jeans and a nice shirt, but other times he looked more like a soldier in black combat pants and heavy boots. Those times he came back covered in blood and smelling of other shifters. He always looked pleased that she was still there when he returned, though, greeting her with a wide smile, which just made her little clawed feet curl.

  Then he’d tell her about his day, about his friends and about a queen as she curled up in his arms. She didn’t care what he spoke about as long as she could cuddle up against him and listen to the deep rumble of his voice, his scent wrapping around her. It comforted her, made her feel safe, and, usually, it didn’t take her long to drift off.

  She waited for a good five minutes after the door had clicked shut, head tilted to the side as she listened for any movement in the corridor beyond. The lift was an older mechanism, the whirr-cluck as the car reached each stop easily picked out if you knew what you were listening for.

  Satisfied that Damian had actually left, she hopped to the edge of the desk. The instant her claws left the polished wood, she let go of her hold on her form and triggered the shift. Her bones popped and cracked, thickening and stretching. Skin flowed, her beak receding, and her view of the room changed from avian to human as her bare feet touched down on the plush carpet.

  She stood for a moment, wriggling her toes into the softness. It still seemed unbelievable that she was here with Damian and not back in her dank box prison. Sometimes, at night, she woke from a doze in a panic, thinking that it had all been a dream, a cruel trick her mind was playing on her and that she wasn’t here at all. Only seeing him stretched out asleep eased her worries. When that happened, she nestled closer, the touch of his skin the only thing that could ease her back into sleep.

  Shuddering all the way down to her toes, she padded barefoot from the office. Unknown to Damian, she shifted every day. The regular feeding and her little attacks on the never-ending supply of chocolate cake from the refrigerator had quickly restored her strength enough that shifting was no longer an issue. She looked like crap. Still. She checked the mirror every time she went into the bathroom, hoping to see some improvement, only none had happened. Every scar was still there, the evidence of violence written in stark lines on her skin. Despite the fact she looked and hoped, she knew she wouldn’t see any improvement. To heal properly she needed something, a certain something, and only that would bring her back to her former glory. The trouble was, it wasn’t something she did for fun.

  Sula padded on bare feet into Damian’s bedroom, going straight to the drawer where he kept her favorite t-shirts. Pulling the soft material over her head, she closed her eyes for a moment and held it to her nose, taking a deep breath. Despite being washed, it still held his scent. She committed it to memory. Again. Every time he slept, she watched him like some sort of stalker and licked his shoulder as if reinforcing her weak and feeble claim.

  She knew he only saw her as a bald, weak parrot. But a girl could dream, right? And Damian was dr
eam-worthy, each muscle on that huge hard body of his deserved worshipping. But that’s where Sula’s dreams got silly. She had no experience with men, especially men of Damian’s caliber.

  Maybe it was better this way. Better that he thought of her as a bird and not a woman.

  Sula headed back to the office and this time, instead of eating and sleeping, she wanted to get to know the man who was in her thoughts most of the time. His collection of eggs pulled her attention more than anything. There wasn’t a set theme to the collection, only that they were all eggs of some sort. They ranged in size and decoration. Some were small and plain, nothing at all special, whereas others were decorated to the highest standard. Others sparkled in the morning light, the gems encrusted on the surface making her wonder where and how Damian had acquired them.

  Picking up a melon sized egg, she smiled at the tones of red and gold. Sula tilted it in the light. The crystals and gemstones that covered the surface caught the light, casting a collection of rainbow colors that streaked across the room. The play of light captivated Sula, reminding her once again of the colors that would have been seen in her feathers. Colors full of depth and heat. The colors of fire.

  Tilting the egg up, Sula looked underneath, taking in every detail until a word stood out from the base. She blinked before she quickly returned it to its home.

  Fabergé.

  Damian had an actual Fabergé egg.

  “Wow,” Sula breathed and stepped away from the collection, not wanting to be any closer in case she got clumsy and knocked one of them off. Her captors had on some occasions dealt with items of the non-shifter variety, Fabergé being a name that came up frequently. Leaving the sparklies behind, she instead continued her search, opening and closing drawers, peeking into cupboards and looking through mail.

  Other than the eggs, she found nothing.

  The male Damian was a mystery—a mystery who collected priceless eggs and loved chocolate cake.