by Kym Dillon
"Okay then, did what’s-his-name tell you where I was going?"
"He did, and said that you would provide the exact coordinates," the man, Marcus, nodded. "Now I have a few stipulations."
"Go on," she said warily.
"This shouldn't be necessary. Ideally, I load you up like a piece of baggage, you step out to stretch your legs at a couple refueling stops, I put you down exactly at said coordinates, we kiss goodbye, and that's that.
"However, Tanzania's a wild, untamed place, especially as we venture from Dar es Salaam and Mwanza. If things go wrong, which I stress, is somewhat unlikely, I’m going to need you to do exactly as I say, no matter how strange or upsetting it may sound. You got that?"
Jessica chewed her lower lip.
"And if I say no?"
"Then we kiss goodbye right here and you find your own lift."
"I don't have much of a choice then, do I? Okay, you win. If things go wrong, I'll listen to whatever you say without question."
Marcus smiled at her, and again she felt tingles. Something about this man's mere glance felt as if he had slid warm fingers seductively down her bare spine.
"Good girl," he said, and before she could protest being called a girl, he was leading her to his plane.
There was something about her, and for the life of him, Marcus couldn't figure out what the hell it was. It would be one thing if he were just attracted to her, but it wasn't just that. There was something about her that was drawing him like iron filings to a magnet, and the fact that he wasn't able to explain it pissed him off.
He left her well enough alone when they were in the air, but when they stopped for their first refueling, and she looked like she was going to stay on the plane, he shook his head.
"Told you, part of the package deal is that you walk around the airfield. Come on."
She went easily enough, and as he got the plane refueled and checked in with his contacts, she stayed close. He supposed it made sense, woman on her own in Tanzania, but more than once, he caught her bright eyes on him, as if she, too, was trying to figure him out.
Marcus ignored her; she was human after all, and she wasn't even armed. He had real problems to contend with on this flight, and one little researcher wasn't one of them. No matter how attractive she was.
Back on the plane, once they had gained some altitude, the girl- Jessica- came to sit next to him in the cockpit. She watched him for so long that he finally looked over at her.
"Been a while since you’ve been with a man?" he asked. "That why you’re looking at me like that?"
She refused to take offense, which was unfortunate. If she had, she would have gone back to the bay, and he wouldn't have that uneasy attraction in the pit of his stomach whenever she got too close.
"No, I was just thinking. You're hiding from someone, aren't you?"
"What makes you say that?"
"You dragged me off the plane when we refueled. At first I thought you were just making sure I didn't steal anything, but then I realized that there was nothing to steal."
"There really isn't," he agreed, but she continued.
"So, you wanted to make sure that everyone who saw you saw us, a man and a woman together, not a man traveling alone. Am I right?"
He glanced at her, amused. She sat with her arms across her chest, trying to act nonchalant, but unwilling to move forward without the truth.
"I’m gonna go with yes. Why do you want to know?"
She shrugged.
"I wanted to make sure we got our story straight," Jessica replied. "Maybe I shouldn't go around telling the world that I'm traveling with Marcus Van der Berg, who is adjacent to the anthropology field without being a part of it."
He laughed at that.
"Not even the least little bit worried, are you?"
She smiled, and for just a moment, he could see a flash of pure steeliness in her eyes that left him slightly breathless. God, she should have been born one of his kind.
"As long as you get me where I need to go, that's all that matters to me right now."
"Bernie said something about medicine. Are you with Doctors Without Borders, something like that?"
"No, I'm with the World Health Organization. We're working with the Tanzanian government to figure out a deadly illness that seems to have several hot spots throughout western Tanzania. This one... looks pretty bad, so I'm on the ground to take samples, bring a few supplies, run what tests I can in situ."
"Ah, then you're saving lives?"
Her gaze darkened slightly.
"I hope so," she admitted. "The prognosis for this one, it’s not good. I'm not the only one taking samples, but until we get more information, there's... not a lot to be done."
"These things have a way of working themselves out, at least they do when people as determined as you are involved."
She smiled but lapsed into a morose silence. Impulsively, Marcus reached over to squeeze her hand gently, but then they both cried out in surprise.
The moment he touched her, the moment they touched each other, a spark of electricity leaped from her hand to his. It was as bright and unmistakable as a lightning bolt shot through a clear evening sky, and Marcus could feel the echo of that powerful sensation resonate through his whole frame, coming to rest low in his groin. He realized with the strength of pure instinct that he wanted this woman, that something in her was calling to him. It was reaching right past the human part of his brain, back to the part where the beast resided, and that could be a very dangerous thing for both of them.
Marcus swore softly in Dutch, and Jessica jerked her hand back as if she had touched a stove.
"Oh my god," she murmured, and if there was any doubt in his mind that she had felt it too, it was quickly dismissed. She looked at him accusingly, her blue eyes wide, but he had no more explanation than she had.
She babbled something about static electricity and weird engine misfires, and stumbled to the back of the plane. She couldn't go far, however, and Marcus knew, to the bottom of his soul, that somehow he would know exactly where she was for a good long while afterward.
I hope you enjoyed this sneak peek of Clawed from the Were-Soldier Warriors series. The full book can be found in the Amazon Kindle Store.
WERE-SOLDIER WARRIORS
Deep in the wilds of Tanzania, three female doctors fight to save villagers from a horrifying epidemic. They get a little more than they bargained for when they find a resourceful panther shifter, a powerful tiger shifter, and a stoic, broad-shouldered lion shifter roaming the savannahs and ruling the savage, untamed jungles of sub-Saharan Africa.
Clawed
Pounced
Mauled
Clawed, Pounced, Mauled Complete Box Set (best deal)
HEART OF THE DRAGON (Sneak Peek)
Dragons of the Realms Book 1
1
A tidy row of cologne bottles slammed together and crashed to the floor as Daya swept an arm across the dresser in search of a weapon. Anything would do. The silver cufflinks. The cellphone charging on the surface. Both, tacit reminders this was not her house. (If it were, there would be something useful like a throwing knife.) She brandished the phone as a shield.
“Marco, please! You’re causing a scene,” she whisper-screamed, darting to the other side of the room. The sideways scuttle was scored by a live orchestra playing sedately below. Daya’s cyanide blue eyes widened as her lover came at her with an empty champagne bottle. Though she supposed he was her de facto ex now that he was trying to kill her.
“Don’t ‘Marco, please,’ me!” he choked out. “I don’t care who hears! Everyone already knows it was you, and the cops are on their way!”
“The cops?! For what?”
“Because you stole my grandmother’s heirloom necklace!”
“You’ve had one too many drinks, darling. Don’t embarrass yourself over a simple misunder—” Daya parried another wild flail of his arm, and her evening gown gave a loud rip. She gasped as they watched the
slit race higher up her thigh. “Look what you made me do!”
He shrugged, dropping the bottle. “You have to admit, it’s an improvement.”
She parked her hands on her hips, voluptuous breasts heaving. Enough was enough. “We can talk like sensible adults, but leave the Vera out of this,” she chided.
The handsome rogue grabbed her by the garment and lifted her off the floor. He gave her a little shake, and her dangling feet kicked air. Well, this is ridiculous, she thought. He was sloshed to the gills. The odds were against talking sense into him.
“Oh, for God’s sake! The dress is a rental!”
“I’m sure you were planning on keeping it anyway,” he sneered. “Now, what am I misunderstanding about rare, priceless jewelry going missing on your watch, gold-digger?”
“Be reasonable. There’s a parlor full of people bidding on items in the estate sale. Any one of them could’ve lifted it. I’m sure the authorities will search. Don’t you have any faith in me?”
Marco grunted in the negative. “I know exactly who you are, bella. I tried to make myself believe your years of crime were behind you. But, there’s a saying: No honor amongst thieves.”
“You would know.” Daya dropped her innocent act. She used his grip to tear out of the dress. Underneath was a bodysuit. Tossing a cascade of dark curls over her pale shoulder, she smoothed a hand over the shaper. “There, that’s better,” she sighed. “And, you should also know the other saying, darling. It goes, ‘Finders, keepers.’”
Marco blinked in disbelief when she held up the million-dollar necklace. She shoved it in her bodice and quickly pulled out gloves. Wriggling her fingers into them, she opened the window with a gleeful smirk.
“You wouldn’t dare!” he said.
She scrambled out to prove she would, indeed, dare. There was already a hook jammed into the sill for just such a daring caper. She braced her designer shoes against the steeply gabled roof to lower herself the three flights to the ground.
Rappelling several feet, she called out, “Give my regards to your boss with the mafia. Or, should I say dear old grandmother?” Her smug grin morphed into a surprised O as she slid farther than expected.
Suddenly, the hook became unmoored, and Daya shrieked. She heard Marco laughing somewhere above her as she clawed at the shingles. A dainty high-heel skittered to the ground. When she looked up, he had disappeared from the window.
“Shit!” she swore. Casting a glance to one side, she squinted at flashing lights entering the gates and repeated the expletive with more force. She thought he had been bluffing about calling the cops. Desperate times, she mused, when a hitman gets the law involved.
Nothing had gone according to plan. Six months wasted dating the gullible gun-for-hire Marco Bernie to get closer to the jaw-dropping Blausäure sapphire! She had a buyer lined up. Unfortunately, when the mafia fell on hard times, they really fell. They were liquidating their assets.
The semi-respectable private auction would have whisked the gemstone God knew where if Daya hadn’t stolen it. Now, she was hanging thirty feet above an exquisite stonework courtyard. Really, the garden was quite beautiful, from what she could see when her head wasn’t swimming with dizziness from looking down.
“This is perfect,” she huffed. She couldn’t wait to have to never do anything like this again. Twenty-seven was a suitable age for retirement from a life of crime, right? If she made it out alive.
A voice from behind startled her. “I can get you out of here, but you must come with me.”
Daya almost lost her grip because a voice from behind was quite literally impossible. Her black hair swished around her face as she tried to look. Her lips parted in shock when she saw the wizened old man in grey robes standing on thin air.
“All you have to do is trust me and let go,” he smiled.
She had no choice. The world faded as she passed out and lost her grip.
When Daya opened her eyes, she was passing through what looked like a market. A busy street lined with merchant stalls. High noon. The sun was ungodly bright. She was surrounded by people, and the din of voices, the pungent smells of spices and body odor—everything—jarred her senses. There was something utterly disorienting about waking mid-step.
“You’ll feel tired and achy. It’s to be expected,” a man murmured. “We’ve been traveling a while, but the Between creates a sort of twilight sleep. It’s hard to guess how long you’re in there.”
“Huh?” Daya grunted in a daze.
She felt like she had been roofied. A panicked look down revealed someone had dressed her in a loose, gauzy dress that draped her svelte figure. She sighed in relief. She wasn’t in one of those ‘naked in public’ dreams but, then again, she wasn’t dreaming, was she?
Daya’s eyebrows hooked in a frown as she gingerly touched her head for injuries. No damage, there. Her hair was piled in a messy bun, and her feet were in sandals that felt made for her, just like the dress. It was wrong on so many levels. She gasped and patted herself for her cellphone. It was missing, naturally.
“What in the entire fuck?” she blurted out.
The bald man who had rescued her looked like a priest. She apologized for cussing, and he flashed a wry grin. “It’s quite alright,” he chuckled. “What passes for swears in your realm—how do you say— doesn’t have ‘shit’ on the colorful expletives here.”
Daya was vividly aware she wasn’t in Kansas anymore. “And, where the bloody hell is here, exactly?” she asked.
“Bloody hell? Creative. For an American. No, you’re not only not in Kansas, you’re not exactly on your version of Earth anymore. I’m Neigen, by the way.”
“Oh, thanks for the tour update, Neigen,” she said with sarcasm. “Nice to…Wait. Did you just read my mind?”
“My apologies. It’s a holdover from my job, you see. I’ve read minds for the high priestess for centuries. It has its perks. Unfortunately, it also has its limitations. I can’t read hers.” A troubled look flitted across his face.
“Uh-huh.” Daya quirked her lips to the side and tried to figure out what was going on. She was too self-aware to be in a dream. This felt like a movie. Only, in movies, the extras didn’t gawk. She hugged herself as passers-by shot wary glances her way. Also, her supporting character was either bonkers or the best method actor ever.
He clutched her elbow and steered her from the flow of foot-traffic down a quiet alley shaded by sandstone buildings. Another bout of panic flared as she stumbled along the empty path. The sun was filtered by crimson banners that flapped overhead. Isolated, dark place? Rape or murder could be imminent. She had a height advantage over her rather ancient captor, but one couldn’t be too careful.
Daya threw up her hands defensively. “Where are you taking me? If you try anything crazy, I will scream like nobody’s business. I have the lungs of a harpy. They’ll hear me way in the parking lot of this…Renaissance festival.” Maybe. Yeah. Had to be.
“Really, Daya? I did a favor for you.” Neigen consulted a gold timepiece. “Walk faster. I saved your life, and now I need you to save mine.”
“Like how?” She dug in her heels.
“I’m not sure,” he flashed a grandfatherly smile. “But, if I don’t get you to the Temple of the Fire, I’m done for. Now, come along. It’s just up ahead. Once there, I’ll explain what I can. Oh, but, I suppose I should warn you first. In their natural form, the dragon eaters are fearsome to look at. Ghastly creatures. However, the Mistress won’t hurt you. Yet. Hopefully.”
“Yet? Hopefully?” Daya pivoted away with a hysterical laugh. “Dragon eaters. Right. I fell. I’m dead! I’m dead, and this is my fucked-up version of the afterlife.”
Neigen heaved a flustered sigh and tugged her in step again. “We simply don’t have time for any breakdowns. Ordinarily, I’d introduce a person to the concept of Realm Travel in increments. An orientation, if you will. It’s just—You don’t want to keep Feis waiting.”
Daya shrieked in surprise when
he shoved her through a door she hadn’t seen until the last minute. The dimly lit alley was at once replaced by smoke-laden darkness. Coughing from the incense, she tripped over the folds of her dress and almost fell, but Neigen steadied her.
“Watch your step. She wants you intact,” he hissed.
“What is this place?”
“Really, no time to explain.”
As she hurried after the anxious priest, her eyes adjusted, and she surveyed her surroundings. In recessed alcoves lining the darkened walls, she saw gold relics that reflected faint candlelight. Hundreds of candles worked to abate the shadows, but the place was cavernous. Archways reached cathedral ceilings. Neat rows of pews and a lengthy aisle led to a raised dais. Definitely a church.
A Gothic monstrosity of a dragon statue snaked around a slender white crystal that rose above an altar, and kneeling before the gleaming beast was a woman. She was in the same flowy, gauzy dress as others Daya had seen in this place. But, this woman had a towering gold crown shaped like dancing flames, advertising her station. She was a Ruler.
“You’re behind schedule.” Her voice was liquid fire—a hushed crackle—as she gracefully stood.
At the sound of it, Daya flinched and almost stopped following Neigen to the altar. The high priestess was half her height and twice as intimidating. Daya wanted to bolt, but Neigen bowed low to the floor at the woman’s feet.
“I am sorry, Mistress. It couldn’t be helped. The human was indisposed when I arrived in her realm.”
“That’s an understatement,” Daya mumbled, but her irreverent snort became a strangled whimper when the “Mistress” turned her way. “Jesus H. Christ.”
“No, Feis of the Fire.” The woman smiled.
She had skin the same burnished gold as her headdress, and it sure as hell didn’t look like paint. Her eyes were like flames. Hair the color of orange-red embers fell to her waist, framing truly lovely facial features. But, her teeth…Her teeth were jagged ivory spires, and her shapely mouth barely concealed them. This was a dragon eater?