by Zoe Chant
I doubt she’s a cannibal, Bastian said chidingly.
We would love her even if she was, his dragon assured him.
Saina rose, and accepted the elbow that Bastian offered her with her good hand.
“You’re okay to walk?” he verified. “I could… carry you.”
She laughed, and her laugh was like music. “I assure you that won’t be necessary.”
She had to walk carefully on the gravel path; it was getting dark, and once she stumbled and hissed in pain, her hand tightening on Bastian’s elbow.
When they arrived at the restaurant, he put her at the best table. Scarlet didn’t encourage the staff to sit in the restaurant, preferring that they take their food and eat it privately, but at that moment, Bastian would have faced down her wrath. This was his mate, and he had every intention of feeding her in style.
There were only a few guests at other tables, and the white bandages, stark against Saina’s golden skin, drew just a few curious stares.
Bastian’s baleful glare put those to a swift end.
“Stay here. I will fetch you whatever you like,” he said, settling her in the chair and not liking how strained her face looked.
“Oh,” she said. “Some fruit would be lovely. Maybe some fish? I’m not picky, and it all smells amazing.”
Bastian was reluctant to leave her, and he piled her plate as swiftly as he could with a slab of baked fish, every kind of fruit the buffet had to offer, and a serving of fragrant saffron rice. He arranged it as pleasingly as he could, stealing a bit of garnish from the buffet display for the finishing touch. He was trying to work out whether he should put her dessert on a separate plate when his dragon growled in warning.
Dessert forgotten, Bastian returned to his mate’s table at a trot, to find the head waiter, Breck, dancing attendance on his Saina.
The leopard shifter was gazing at her in clear adoration, and Saina - his Saina! - was smiling back encouragingly.
His intended presentation forgotten, Bastian dropped the plate before his mate hard enough to make the food jump and muscled his way between Breck and the table, bristling with challenge. One of the chairs in his way toppled over backwards.
“Your work here is done,” he growled.
Breck reacted with unexpected defiance.
“I’m here to take the lady’s drink order,” he said, not backing down.
“The lady is here with me,” Bastian snarled.
“Maybe she shouldn’t be…” Breck retorted, fists balled at his side.
He was dimly aware of the other guests in the room, some of them standing in alarm, some of them growling. He was going to tear Breck limb from limb, destroy the interloper, protect his treasure…
And then Breck was chuckling and putting up hands of mock truce, and everything was surprisingly fine. The waiter wasn’t a threat, there was no threat, there was only peace, like the comforting rhythm of the ocean. His mate was standing, he realized, and she was singing.
Guests returned to their meals as if nothing had happened. Breck cheerfully picked up the knocked over chair, and said, “I’ll have your drink right out.”
Bastian watched him go, baffled, then turned to catch Saina, now silent, as she swayed and nearly fell.
“I’m confused,” he confessed to her, lowering her carefully back into her chair and pulling up his own chair.
She was breathing hard. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she said, despair in her sea green eyes. “It was just a habit…”
“What did you do?”
“It was an accident,” Saina said wearily, and Bastian couldn’t bring himself to press her to explain. Instead, he lifted a fork and speared a triangle of pineapple. He could still feed his beloved.
Chapter 7
Saina hadn’t intended to ensnare the waiter, it had just been a matter of a little musical note to strengthen her request.
It was the kind of thing her sisters did without thought, and though she didn’t tend to do the same herself, she had been so baffled by her lack of influence on the otter shifter that she’d been curious to give her gift a test on someone else.
She had been gratified to see that her power was still intact, but the waiter had reacted more strongly than she’d expected. Bastian’s reaction was even more over the top, a crazy-protective rush to defend her that Saina hadn’t expected at all; her song hadn’t been focused on him whatsoever. Saina couldn’t decide if her magic was unpredictable in this place, or if she simply wasn’t controlling it as well as she ought to because of her injury.
She could stop the chaos, of course, but it meant getting to her feet and singing a counterpart to the strife, a sweet, lilting lullaby that soothed everyone in earshot.
The conflict dissolved away to not even memory, and the waiter left to fetch her drink while Bastian sat and tried to feed her from her plate.
After just a few bites, she took the fork from him and insisted on feeding herself. Bastian watched her intently.
“Your chef is as good as you claimed,” she said, several bites into the flaky fish. Some of her exhaustion faded with the food.
Bastian looked as pleased with her praise as if he’d cooked it himself. “We’re lucky to have him.”
Saina could see the questions in his eyes, behind the infatuated obsession she still convinced she had put there, and she moved to intercept them.
“This whole place is simply lovely,” she said honestly. “Tell me more about it! Jenny said we were in Costa Rica.”
Bastian nodded. “The whole island is privately owned. Scarlet is the owner of the resort, she just leases the property. Most of it is wild jungle, but there’s a private compound at the other end, and an airstrip on the north side. We get charters in a few days a week.”
“You’re the lifeguard?” It was a question with an obvious answer; Bastian was still wearing his uniform and had a first aid kit at his waist.
He nodded. “I watch the beach and pool.”
“You’ll have to give me a tour tomorrow,” Saina said.
“I’d love to,” Bastian said, a smile on his handsome lips.
She didn’t want to stay longer than she had to, but it would be a day or two before her shoulder was completely healed. And the idea of a tour was strangely appealing, especially with Bastian as her guide.
She considered again the idea that she’d fallen under her own spell. Having him feed her had been unexpectedly erotic, and she found herself watching the way his hands moved, and the muscles in his jaw as he spoke. His hair begged for a hand to smooth it back, and Saina had to keep herself from doing it herself several times.
This was not how her magic was supposed to work. It was baffling enough that Bastian was still enchanted. She should be coolly indifferent, like a proper siren.
“I understand this resort is for shifters only?”
Bastian nodded, that unruly curl at his forehead bobbing with his earnestness. “There’s been some talk about allowing humans to accompany shifter guests, but yes.”
Saina glanced at the other scattered guests, all dining peacefully at other tables. She wondered what their forms were, what their ulterior motives were, and how they had gotten the kind of money it would take to vacation at a place this nice.
“It’s good luck you found me,” Saina said cautiously. “I’m very grateful.”
Bastian’s eyes glowed. “I don’t think it was luck,” he said, voice low and full of emotion. “I think it was destiny.”
He would, Saina thought achingly.
She attempted to deflect the intensity. “Any other resort would have been quite baffled by how quickly I healed,” she said with a light smile.
“Will you tell me what happened?”
He asked so respectfully that Saina found it difficult not to answer. She was actually surprised that no one had been more pointed about quizzing her over it. Did people show up at this resort half-drowned and with bullet wounds often?
She took a bite of a luscious scar
let strawberry to buy her a few moments. “It was a disagreement over ownership,” she said evasively.
Bastian’s eyes grew flinty. “Of you,” he guessed.
Close enough, Saina thought. She looked at her nearly empty plate, flooded with guilt and shame, and couldn’t answer. How could she explain to this earnest man that it was supposed to be in her nature to sow strife and chaos in her wake? And why did it feel so wrong?
Bastian’s hand covered her own, and she tried not to flinch at the electricity that coursed through her at his touch.
It felt like home, having his skin against hers, and she wanted to crawl into his lap and cry out all her troubles. He wanted to protect her; would it be so awful to let him?
She bit the inside of her cheek. This whole feeling of connection was false. When her magic finally faded, she wouldn’t be more than a puzzling gap of memory to him.
“If I could help…” Bastian breathed.
Saina drew herself up. There was no way he was as good and as selfless as he seemed. “You can’t,” she said with a practiced smile. “But you could get me a plate of dessert!”
Bastian was out of his chair and back to the buffet before she could even add a little pout at the end.
She had cleared the rest of her plate by the time he returned bearing a dazzling array of sweets on three different plates. “I couldn’t possibly eat all that!” She laughed at him.
He seemed to find that reaction pleasing, and when she insisted he enjoy one of the plates himself, agreed willingly. Even the way he ate was sexy, and when he licked sugar off his lips, Saina had to pinch herself to stay focused.
Each dessert was more decadent than the last, and when she put her fork down at last, she had to groan. “I should have skipped the last cream puff, but it was sooo good.”
Bastian preened. “I shall let Chef know that you liked it.”
“Please do,” Saina said sincerely.
She washed the last rich bite down with a sip of the juice she hadn’t even noticed the waiter bringing her earlier.
With the sip, and the reminder of her true nature, the exhaustion that had been barely at arm’s length came rushing back. Saina’s shoulder ached again.
It didn’t go unnoticed.
“You should rest,” Bastian told her. “Let me take you back…” his hesitation was obvious. Saina waited for him to insist they go back to his own room, but he finished: “...to your cottage.”
Could he really be that much of a gentleman? Saina had expected to have to sing him to sleep to keep her hard-won chastity. She was almost tearfully grateful for that grace, even while she was slightly disappointed.
“I’d like that,” she said, not having to feign her weakness.
Every step back to her cottage jarred her shoulder painfully, and Saina was glad to have Bastian on her good side to lean against. When he picked her up to lay her into her bed, she let herself put her head against his broad shoulder for just a moment too long, and letting go again was more difficult than she imagined it could be.
He changed her bandage with swift, gentle fingers. “It’s healing well,” he said, sounding relieved.
“I’m mostly… tired,” Saina said truthfully.
“That’s to be expected. Sleep as long as you need,” Bastian told her, tucking the light blanket carefully around her. “I’ll know when you wake up.”
Saina was too tired to ask how he would know, and let her eyes drift closed as she felt his lips chastely kiss her forehead.
This resort was like a guilty dream; people who didn’t pry into her past or act like she was beholden to them, despite the fact that she owed them her life. No one obviously trying to hurt or use her.
Saina fell asleep wondering when the other shoe would drop.
Chapter 8
Bastian returned to the staff house feeling like his feet had wings of their own.
His mate. His beautiful, graceful, glorious mate was here, and his life felt complete.
She had accepted his food, and suggested he give her a tour of his domain, sure signs of acceptance. She was healing swiftly, and Bastian expected nothing but a full recovery as his courtship started in earnest.
“The Menagerie? Or Animal House?” Breck greeted him as soon as he stepped into the door of the big house most of the male staff shared.
“Non sequitur, much?” Bastian responded, puzzled but amused. Their earlier altercation was still confusing, but forgiven.
“We’re trying to name the house before Scarlet labels it something bland like Palm House or Cliff Columns,” Travis explained. “I’m surprised you’re back here for the night.”
“I’m going to veto Menagerie,” Jenny said from the far couch. “Too suggestive.”
“But Animal House is way too National Lampoon,” Travis added.
“The Furever House?” Breck suggested.
Jenny made a gagging noise and Graham, the lion shifter gardener, grunted negatively.
“It sounds like a pet rescue,” Travis scoffed.
Breck blew him a raspberry. “You come up with something,” he said. “Who wants a beer?”
Bastian settled into his usual chair with a bottle of beer, enjoying the camaraderie of the staff and the warm glow that still lingered from being in the presence of his mate.
“The Zoo?” suggested Jenny.
The others considered until Travis reluctantly said, “Too many memories of Beehag’s zoo,” and they all murmured in agreement.
Alistair Beehag, the previous owner of the island, had captured shifters, forced them into their animal forms, and kept them in a cruel zoo. The resort staff had helped free them, almost a year ago, but memories of the angry, sometimes damaged, victims were still fresh. A gazelle shifter named Gizelle for lack of a previous name had been imprisoned since she as a child, and had no memories besides iron bars and torture. The odd, ageless woman was still skittish and sometimes outright incoherent.
“The Predators?” Bastian suggested.
“Jenny lives here now, and an otter isn’t really a predator,” Breck said thoughtfully.
Jenny bared her white teeth at him. “Says someone who isn’t a fish.”
“Sounds like a team mascot, not a house,” Travis said dismissively. “Anyway, with luck, we’ll be moving to our own place soon enough. I’m going to ask Scarlet if we can renovate one of the houses up the hill.”
Jenny cuddled into his side and purred, “What a beautiful idea!”
“Don’t ask Scarlet this week,” Breck warned them. “She’s in a terrible mood. She was already on edge after the World Mr. Shifter event, and the storm did nothing to improve matters.”
“Tooth Towers,” Graham suggested unexpectedly.
“Hmm,” Breck said.
“I like it,” Travis said.
“Meh,” said Jenny, less enthused.
“If we don’t decide on something, it’ll end up being Grouch Gables or something,” Breck reminded them.
“Why aren’t you with your mate tonight?” Jenny asked Bastian frankly. “She hasn’t rejected you, has she?” Beside her, Travis took her hand and squeezed it.
Bastian didn’t take offense to the idea, shaking his head. “Our courtship is just beginning,” he said patiently.
“Guh,” said Breck. “Dragons.” Then he leaned forward curiously. “Have you found out what she is?”
Bastian shook his head. “It’s not important,” he said dismissively.
“Your family won’t be happy if she’s not a dragon,” Graham said sagely.
A spark of anger lit in Bastian at the reminder of his family. “It’s not their business,” he said sharply. “And what do you know about dragons or my family anyway?”
Graham, unfazed, only shrugged in reply.
“Stick to plants,” Bastian growled at him.
He didn’t stay long in the common room after that, but slunk away to his room, stewing over the unwelcome memory of his family.
Chapter 9
Day
dawned early in the tropics, and Saina woke to sunlight sending fingers of light through the curtains over the big French doors to the porch.
When she gave her shoulder an experimental roll, it barely hurt at all, and she was relieved to find that she felt refreshed after the good night’s sleep.
She remembered Bastian’s last words about knowing when she would wake, so she was unsurprised when there was a knock on the door.
She was, however, surprised to find that it wasn’t Bastian, but a tall woman with shockingly red hair pulled back in an unruly bun. She buzzed with power to Saina’s senses, the air around her crackling faintly.
“You are Saina,” the stranger greeted her without preamble or particular warmth. “I am Scarlet, the owner here.” They exchanged a perfunctory handshake with Saina’s good hand, and Scarlet gave Saina a swath of fabric that proved to be a new dress and a pair of underthings still in packaging.
“I understand you’ll be staying with us for a while,” Scarlet said, not hiding her displeasure and giving Saina an appraising look. “Are you interested in working?”
Saina swallowed her protest that she wouldn’t be staying, standing up straight under the woman’s scrutiny. “I can, ah, sing. Perform, I mean.”
The woman’s gaze grew flinty. “This isn’t a Vegas resort,” she said dismissively.
Stung, Saina wondered if the woman assumed she was a Vegas-style escort. It would be a valid guess, based on the clothing she had arrived in, she realized with chagrin. “Of course not,” she agreed firmly. “But I can earn my keep.”
“Can you wash dishes?” Scarlet asked skeptically, looking at Saina’s hands doubtfully. “Make beds?”
“I’m not above hard work,” Saina replied defensively. “I can do any of that, or help trim hedges or pull weeds.”
“We have a landscaper,” Scarlet said flatly. “We’ll try you in the kitchen. On a trial basis.” She looked at Saina’s bandage and her voice softened. “When you are feeling up to it, of course. I don’t mean to rush your recovery.”