How to Love Your Dragon

by Lexxie Couper

  Which is why you can’t stop aching for him, yes? Why you feel so wretched?

  The faint sound of a toilet flushing in the house before her tweaked Kenna’s strung nerves and she watched the curtains move again—a minute shift—before silent stillness claimed the residence again. There was no other activity in the neighborhood. Not too surprising, given that it was now well past midnight.

  She flicked a quick look at the clothes hanging on the line. A pair of men’s camouflage pants, a child’s Elmo t-shirt, some underthings—none of them a bra—a fluorescent-pink pair of shorts also belonging to a child and a black thing that may or may not be a shirt made for the Hulk. She caught her bottom lip with her teeth, studying each item. There wasn’t much to choose from, but it was better than nothing. Which was what she currently wore.

  Let’s hope to God G.I Joe and the Hulk don’t mind me borrowing.

  The thought danced through her head, flippant and cheeky. A Rick Hayes response to the situation if ever there was one.

  Kenna closed her eyes for a second, biting back a curse. Or a sigh. Damn it, the bastard had gone and imprinted himself on her psyche.

  Her belly flip-flopped again, her chest tightened and her sex tingled.

  Face it, Kenna. You fell in love with your Fire Mate and now you have to live with that.

  She opened her eyes and stared at the clothes. True. But she didn’t have to live with him. When she got home, she was buying a one-way ticket to New Zealand. She’d heard the New Zealand police force was screaming for new officers. Transferring from Sydney should be a breeze. If it wasn’t, she’d become a dog walker.

  And that’s your answer? To run away? Again?

  She ground her teeth, ignoring the biting thought.

  Inside her, aching for release again, her dragon roared.

  With one last look at the silent house, she counted to three then sprinted across the backyard for the clothesline, the bloody gash in her shoulder throbbing the whole way.

  Pegs went flying as she yanked the camouflage pants and black shirt from the line. One hit the side of the house with a thwack, but Kenna didn’t wait to see if anyone came to investigate. She ran back to the protective cover of the hedge, ducking behind it just long enough to slip her legs into the trousers and tug the shirt over her head. Both swam on her. With furious haste, she knotted the waistline of the shirt at her belly but there was nothing she could do about the pants. They hung so low on her hips her pubic hair was almost visible.

  For a dizzying second the memory of Rick pressing his face to the junction of her thighs assaulted her, and then she was running again. Past the side of the house, over the front fence and onto the quiet street.

  She had to get home.

  Fly. Fly and swoop and soar and—

  She bit back a groan, refusing to listen to the suggestive call. She was done with being seduced by her dragon’s existence and everything that came with it.

  Thirty minutes later, she was done with running. Her bare feet were sore and her unrestrained breasts ached. She wasn’t unfit, but she wasn’t built to run for so long without a bra or shoes. And the still-weeping wound didn’t help. The more she ran, the faster her blood flowed, dripping down her arm. She was surprised her head wasn’t spinning. It would be quicker if she called her station and asked for someone to collect her, drive her home, but the questions she’d have to field if she did…

  How did she explain her state of dress? The bloody cut on her shoulder? The absence of her handbag?

  Her feet stumbled. Her bag…hell, her keys and car were all back at Rick’s. Damn it.

  Get them later. Stake out his home, break in and get them when he goes to work.

  Break in? She’d taken out half the side of his house when she’d shifted inside his living room. She didn’t think any more “breaking” would be required.

  A sharp pang of guilt sliced through her at the memory. Another at the last sight of Rick, falling to his knees amongst the rubble of his home, his face lifted to the sky as she flew away, his expression as wretched as she felt…

  Kenna stumbled to a halt. She had to. As hard as it was to run barefooted and braless, it was hard to even walk while crying. And she was crying.

  Damn, was she crying.

  Chapter 9

  The sun was kissing the eastern horizon by the time she rounded the corner to her street. Her feet no longer hurt. Three suburbs back, she’d resorted to stealing a pair of flip-flops she’d spied sitting at the front door of a house. Running in flip-flops was impossible, however, and she’d continued walking the rest of the way home.

  She’d refused to think about Rick during that time. After her pathetic crying attack, she’d turned her mind to her future. As she walked through the suburbs, she’d planned her letter of resignation from the police force. She’d planned her reason for moving—family commitments (ha! How ironic was that?)—and she’d even planned her new identity. The beauty of being a cop was, she knew exactly which criminal element to harass to get what was needed to start all over.

  New birthday, new name, new passport, new everything.

  Except starting over again isn’t going to give you a new heart, is it? Or make you forget the man…

  The thought trailed off. Her feet stopped moving. Her heart—her old, torn heart—leaped into her throat.

  Rick leaned against her front fence, ankles crossed at the end of his long, lean legs, muscled arms folded over his broad chest, his face turned to her where she stood frozen, three houses away.

  Oh God.

  Her stomach dropped. Her mouth turned dry. The desire to run to him, to throw herself into his arms and beg him to tell her it was all a mistake, that he’d never slaughtered a dragon, slammed into her.

  The desire to run to him and smash her fist into his jaw, to kick him as he fell, was just as powerful.

  So she did neither. Just stood still, staring at him.

  A very small smile pulled at the side of Rick’s mouth. He unfolded one arm, something small and silver dangling from his fingers. “You left these at my house.”

  Kenna took a quick look, her own lips curling a little. Her keys.

  After she’d destroyed his home, he’d brought her keys to her.

  Go to him. Talk to him. You owe him at least that.

  She began walking. With each step closer, with each fall of her stolen-thong-shod feet on the sidewalk, her heart thumped harder in her throat and her mouth grew drier. And her dragon flexed and stirred and preened. Eager. Impatient.

  Five steps away from him, she stopped. She couldn’t go any farther. It was silly, she knew. She was a cop, for Pete’s sake. She was supposed to be intimidated by nothing and no one. She had an arrest record the likes of which even the State Commissioner would be envious. She took down criminals without batting an eyelid.

  But this was different. Rick wasn’t just a man. He was her Fire Mate.

  And a dragon killer.

  You know Rick didn’t butcher the dragon, right? Not the man standing right there, looking at you. Waiting for you to make a move. He didn’t do anything but make you feel alive and safe and loved.

  “I like your getup.”

  His low voice, tinged with the slightest hint of humor, made her chest squeeze. Or maybe it was the way he looked? Wretched and haunted and sexy and roguish.

  How is that possible, Kenna? For starters, shouldn’t wretched cancel out roguish?

  It was possible because, despite the torment in his face, the playful grin she’d come to expect teased the corners of his mouth even now, and his eyes seemed to light up with an undeniable happiness as his gaze roamed her face. As if she was his whole world, and he was completely, utterly and one-hundred-percent okay with that.

  She licked her lips, unsure what to say.

  His grin pulled a little bit more at his lips, his dimples almost showing. “I especially like the Hello Kitty thongs. They’re so you.”

  Kenna was surprised at the soft chuckle that bubb
led up her throat. It had been close to six hours since she’d flown from his destroyed living room. Six hours since he’d been inside her, since they’d consummated the mating fire, but damn it, standing here now, this close to him, it was as if he’d only just brought her to release. Her heart was beating fast, her breath was growing shallow and her pussy was throbbing.

  And still, she couldn’t draw any closer. Not knowing what he’d done in his Druid life. “How did you find me?”

  “I used the mystical connection between us.”

  She narrowed her eyes. She had a mystical connection with a murderous Druid?

  Great.

  His grin turned lopsided and he let out a barely audible sigh, tossing her keys to her. “Kidding. I looked at your driver’s license to find out where you lived.”

  She didn’t respond. Her voice, it seemed, had deserted her.

  He turned and gave a quick look to her home, a small two-bedroom cottage on a quiet street ten kilometers from the heart of Sydney. “I parked your car in the garage. Your clothes are on the passenger seat.” He returned his attention to her face. “I couldn’t find your shoes. They may be under the ceiling.”

  Kenna fiddled with her keys. Inside, her dragon flexed. Ignoring his not-so-subtle comment about the state in which she’d left his living room, she gave a small nod. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” His gaze slid to her shoulder, his nostrils flaring as he no doubt saw the blood soaking through her stolen shirt. “You’re hurt? Do you want me to—”

  She shook her head, wrapping a hand over her burning injury as she took as step backward. “No. It’s fine.”

  He stood still, his expression unreadable. No doubt waiting for her to do something.

  A long second passed. And another.

  Kenna’s chest constricted. Each breath she drew was tight and shallow. Why was this so hard?

  What? Being a coward?

  The thought slid through her mind like a cold trickle. She swallowed at the lump suddenly at home in her throat. She was being a coward. She had to tell him to leave. To go and never try to see her again. She had to tell him that, though they may be Fire Mates, though their souls and hearts and bodies were irrevocably entwined and joined, they could never be together. She had to tell him that even though he’d given her such passion, such rapture, such joy in the little time they’d known each other, he could never touch her again.

  She needed to tell him she could never trust him. Damn it, she had to tell him.

  Then do so. Before you forget the reason you fled his home and ask him to hold you, kiss you, make love to you again.

  “Rick—” she croaked.

  He didn’t let her finish. “I would never hurt you, Kenna,” he said with a shake of his head. “You know me. That sounds ridiculous, given we only met yesterday—Jesus, only yesterday?—but you know me. You’ve seen me at my worst trying to flirt my way out of a speeding ticket, and you’ve seen me at my best.”

  Kenna stared at him, her blood pounding in her ears. She had. Fighting the rules of nature and science to save a dog’s life. At the time, she’d been too shocked by the mating fire to truly comprehend the phenomenal skill and deep calm during his interaction with the dog, but she remembered it now. It told her Rick’s “best” was caring and wonderful and compassionate and humane.

  “I’m a lot of things, Kenna,” he continued, taking a step closer, “most of them superficial, and until I met you, the only thing I took serious in my life was my calling—being a vet. And it is a calling. I can no more turn my back on an animal needing care, needing help, than I can hack off my own arm.” A wry smile filled his face. “And I like my arm, Kenna. It kinda comes in handy.”

  She stopped her own smile at his ridiculous pun before it could curl her lips.

  He let out a sigh, his eyebrows dipping into a frown. “But here’s the thing. I’m not a liar. A flirt? Yes. A joker? Sure. An idiotic git at times? You betcha. But never a liar. If I were a liar, I would have fed you some bullshit story back in my living room, just after I’d discovered what my past self had done. Just after I’d discovered how much I loved you…”

  Kenna’s breath caught in her throat.

  Love? Oh God, Kenna. He loves you. As you love him.

  He didn’t give her time to consider what that meant. Taking another step forward, he held her motionless with his stare. “I would have said I had a cramp, that an old sports injury was playing up, or that I’d had a feed of bad clams for dinner. But I didn’t. I told you the truth—in my previous life as a Druid, I killed a dragon who was my Fire Mate, giving my soul a shot of spiritual steroids.”

  Cold tension washed through Kenna’s stomach at his vile statement. She opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but he shook his head.

  “It worked. What I can do with animals, the way I can calm them, commune with them without language, treat them and heal them when modern medicine shouldn’t be able to, isn’t normal. And yet it’s more than that. I never get sick, I look much younger than I am and I honestly can’t say anything scares me. But you know what? That wasn’t the sole reason I performed the ritual.”

  Kenna stared at him. Her blood roared in her ears. Her pulse pounded in her neck. Was any reason justification for what he’d done?

  At her continued silence, he let out a low chuckle. “Right after you…remodeled my living room, the rest of my Druid memories hit me. And I mean hit me. There I was, being my normal charming self to the cop who’d just arrived at the deconstruction site—by the way, if you know an Officer Lidcombe, I don’t think he likes me very much—when all of a sudden I was in a grove of trees, covered in blood…healing her. My dragon.”

  Kenna blinked. What?

  Rick held her gaze, as if terrified she was going to run. “Oistin Raghnall and the dragon were Fire Mates, and he—me, I mean I—was saving her. I saw it all, Kenna. I lived it all again, right there amongst the rubble of my living room with Officer bloody Lidcombe’s torch beam shining in my eyes. I cut out her heart, I drank of her blood and before her heart could stop beating, I offered my soul to the Deities to save hers. To join us together for an eternity.”

  “W-why…” She stopped. Her mouth was too dry to speak.

  “Because I loved her. Because she had been attacked by a…a…” He frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t remember the word, an Extra Vena…vena-something, and I had to save her.”

  Kenna’s throat squeezed shut. Deep within, her dragon shrieked. “Venator? An Extraho Venator?”

  Recognition flooded Rick’s face. He nodded. “That’s it. An Extraho Venator. I don’t know what that is, but I remember feeling more hate than I’d ever believed possible when my thoughts turned to the Extraho Venator. And then even more hatred when I looked at the man lying dead on the ground near my Fire Mate.”

  “You…you killed a dragon hunter?”

  A soft snort slipped from Rick. “From what I can remember, I didn’t just kill him. I beat the shit out of him barehanded, tore his throat open and shoved multiple crossbow bolts up his arse.” He ducked his head, giving Kenna what she could only call a shy grimace. “Apparently I really, really didn’t like him.”

  If Kenna thought she’d previously been struck speechless since meeting Rick Hayes, she’d been wrong. After what he’d just revealed, not only couldn’t she find words, she couldn’t find thought.

  “I killed a man,” he continued, his voice raw, “and I saved my dragon. I know I did. And I also know we lived a long life together before both our souls passed into the next life. Do you know how I know this, Officer Kenna Mackay?”

  She shook her head. It was her only option.

  “Because you are that dragon. All the magic and pain of the ritual didn’t just come back to me in those memories, Kenna. Our passion and desire and love did as well. I gave my soul to the Deities. Oistin Raghnall gave his soul to the Deities for the dragon he loved, and the Deities gave him the ability to heal her. Which he did—I did. And it t
ook a long time, hundreds of years, but we found each other again. Your Fire Mate is a walking, talking instrument of the ancient Druid gods, baby. And I charge three hundred bucks an hour.”

  The claim was so unexpected, and yet so Rick, Kenna couldn’t stop her laughing snort. Nor could she fight the hot tears stinging her eyes. And she didn’t even try to stop him taking another step—the last step—toward her. He stood but a foot away, his gaze eating up her face.

  “I know you don’t have to believe me, Kenna. I know what your sister went through means trusting anyone is damn near impossible, but does it help at all if I tell you I’m the only vet in North Sydney to specialize in reptiles? And that I’ve been the consulting vet more than once at the zoo where my cousin is the Komodo dragon keeper?”

  He stilled, studying Kenna with an expression that bordered on boyish hope. She stared back at him. She should be insulted. He’d just compared her to a lizard, after all. An un-evolved reptile, no matter how good his intentions, and yet she wasn’t insulted. She was…damn, was it even possible? Happy?

  Her skin prickled with rising heat and warmth curled low in her belly.

  Yes, she was happy. But still…

  A sudden thought occurred to her, a ghost of a conversation she’d had only a few hours earlier with Tyson Conley whispering through her mind. And if your Druid is who I think he is, we’ll see you for dinner tomorrow night.

  She narrowed her eyes, giving Rick a sideward stare. “Do you know Tyson Conley?”

  Rick blinked, his head cocking to the side. “The guy who just married my cousin? Tall, dark and stupidly wealthy? Lives on Potts Point and rides a Honda Fireblade?”

  His answer was the only one Kenna needed. The final answer she needed. She closed that last foot between them, slid her arms around his neck, raised herself onto her tiptoes and kissed him.

  And he kissed her back. A heartbeat before he pulled his lips from her, grinned and said, “I’m pretty bloody certain I’ve fallen in love with you, Officer Mackay, and if you don’t mind having a partner who tends to speed from time to time, I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you.”