by ML Guida
Based on her tips, she was still seventy-seven dollars short for rent. She quickly gathered all the glasses on her tray, trying to come up with an excuse to convince her landlord not to evict her.
But she was fresh out of ideas.
She thought about asking the other girls for money, but they were as strapped for cash as she was. She hurried back over to the bar desperate for options, but pride kept her from begging for help.
Despite her throbbing feet and aching arms, she eagerly glanced at the door, hoping more drunken St. Patrick’s patrons would stumble inside and fill up her empty table, but it was a half hour to closing.
Cindy leaned against the bar. “Thank God, Mike just got rid of Brenda’s tormentors and locked the front doors. My feet are about to fall off.”
“Blasted horny toads!” Hera slammed the tray down on the bar.
Mike guarded the glass front doors. No one would be coming into Murphy’s tonight.
Cindy frowned. “What’s wrong? You’ve been wanting to be off your feet all night.”
“That’s before I knew the horny businessmen were going to stiff me.”
Cindy shook her head. “Cheap bastards.”
“My rent’s due tomorrow.”
“And you’re short?” Her gentle voice irritated Hera.
“You’re lucky. You’re married, and you don’t have to worry about getting thrown out on your ass in the middle of the night.” She lashed out, unleashing her frustration and fear.
Cindy gasped.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be a bitch.” Hera avoided looking at her, not wanting to see the pity and hurt in her eyes. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She quickly filled her empty tray with more stouts and ales, then hurried to her yelling customers. But even if they left her a generous amount of money, she knew it wouldn’t be enough.
The bar soon shut down. Hera’s customers had left her some awesome tips, and she quickly pocketed the money, but it wasn’t enough. She bustled the tables, trying not to cry. Because of Saint Patrick’s Day, Bob had decided not to take his normal ten percent, but she still had to give the bartender ten percent of her tips, which left her fifty-two dollars short of the rent.
Cindy put on her jacket as she followed Hera out of the tavern.
“You might try going to St. Louis Catholic Church,” she said. “Father Damico is very generous and might be able to help you.”
Hera wrapped her threadbare jeans jacket tighter around her. “I don’t take charity.”
Cindy shrugged. “Then plan on sleeping on the streets. But if you change your mind, the church is open all night, although the rectory doesn’t open until ten.”
A beat-up red truck pulled into the parking lot.
She grinned. “Johnny’s here. I gotta go.”
Johnny got out of the Jeep, then kissed Cindy deeply.
She broke away. “Let’s go home.”
He opened the passenger door and helped her inside. He hurried around, then the Jeep puffed and rolled out of the parking lot, leaving Hera alone.
She sighed heavily, then frowned. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d kissed a man. Or if she’d ever been kissed. God, not remembering crap sucked.
She shook her head. Fiddlesticks! She couldn’t dwell on this. Survival, once again, had raised its ugly head. Dallying with a guy was the last thing she needed. Despite her stiff pride, she needed to persuade Father Damico to give her enough money to pay off her landlady. Fifty-two dollars didn’t seem like a lot of money, but in this neighborhood, it could just as easily have been a million.
Damn Desmond, the cheapskate! This was all his fault. She walked briskly through the brightly lit parking lot, clenching her fists.
The wind blew plastic cups and discarded newspapers around the pavement. Beer bottles were scattered around a dark blue SUV. Tinted windows prevented Hera from seeing whether the occupants were inside. But she had an uneasy feeling the SUV wasn’t empty. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention, and she quickened her step.
The driver’s door opened, and she groaned.
Desmond staggered out. “Well, if it isn’t my hard-to-get waitress.” He chugged a beer.
Hera stopped and narrowed her eyes. “Thanks for the big tip.” She couldn’t contain her bitterness.
Three of his friends got out of the car.
He threw the bottle onto the ground, and it shattered, making her jump.
“You want a tip? You gotta earn it. How about each of us take turns with you?”
Was he serious?
His friends chuckled, and one of them actually grabbed his cock.
“Mike!” she screamed, gripping her purse strap tight.
Desmond tilted his head. “Your bouncer left five minutes ago.”
Fear squeezed her lungs tight. Not knowing what else to do, she raced back to the now–darkened tavern. Please, please, please let Bob be there. But she didn’t see his truck.
Loud footsteps pursued her, matching her thumpty-thump-thump heartbeat. She ran as fast as she could, blood roaring between her ears. The door seemed to be a million and one miles away, but she drew on every bit of energy she possessed.
But it wasn’t enough.
Stinky, hot breath huffed onto the back of her neck. Fingertips brushed over her blouse, nearly grabbing her.
Sweat trickled down her face. “Bob! Open the door!”
She grabbed the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge.
Desmond crashed into her, knocking the wind out of her. In one quick moment, she was whirled around and her back slammed against the door. A panic-bomb exploded in her heart.
She pushed on his cast iron chest and kicked his shins. “Get off me!”
He covered her mouth with his, cutting off another protest. She nearly choked on his beer-soaked tongue. His hands were everywhere, mauling, scratching her. She bit his tongue hard, blood squishing into her mouth.
He jerked his head back, then touched his lips. The tip of his finger had turned red.
She gasped for breath, her chest heaving.
“I like a woman with fire.” He sneered.
She glowered. “Then prepared to be burned.”
Vehemence dripped from her voice. It was an empty threat. Desmond was twice as tall and strong as she, but she refused to go down without a fight.
His friends slowly fanned out around him. Not one of them had pity in their eyes–only lust.
Desmond laughed as he ran the back of his hand down her face. “I don’t think so. Your would-be hero isn’t here. Who’s going to save you now?”
Her throat closed with despair.
No one would hear.
No one would care.
No one would appear.
She was alone. God, she was in real trouble.
“Please, let me go.”
Her pleading didn’t seem to penetrate his drunken mind. He squeezed her cheeks hard. “Not until my pretty little leprechaun grants me four wishes.”
She glanced at him and his friends–four burly men that only had one wish on their mind. Their cold looks froze her like a Colorado blizzard, temporarily paralyzing her legs, her heart, her lungs. How could she survive this?
Suddenly, a loud rumble frosted her bones. It sounded animal, not human. And it was coming from behind Desmond. Hera couldn’t see behind his broad back.
“Desmond,” one of his friends squeaked.
“What the hell?” Desmond glanced over his shoulder. He immediately released her and pushed himself against the door.
Hera blinked. Great balls of fire! An orange dragon with the most intense golden tiger eyes glared at them. His eyes reminded her of her earlier rescuer. The creature was bigger than Desmond’s SUV. It pulled back its lips into a snarl, revealing sharp teeth, and its tail twitched.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. She trembled uncontrollably and held on tight to her purse–the only weapon she had.
Desmond’s friends edged backward. The blood drain
ed from their stricken faces.
“Holy shit!”
“What is that thing?”
Their voices were barely a whisper.
“It can’t be real. It can’t be real. It can’t be real,” Desmond repeated, as if saying it would make the creature disappear.
The beast took a step closer.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” one of his minions cried. Like frighten cockroaches, they fled in different directions, abandoning Desmond.
The beast snorted, and smoke puffed out its flaring nostrils.
Desmond slid across the building. “Please don’t hurt me.” His plea sounded as pitiful as hers had.
A stream of fire spurted out of the dragon’s mouth, igniting Desmond’s jacket. He ran after his friends, beating the flames and screaming.
Holy Mary of God, she was next. Hera ran, her heart beating faster than a cornered rabbit’s.
But then the beast lunged. In a split second, it transformed–scales disappearing to smooth flesh, eyes and nose changing from beast to man. Great horny toads, it was her handsome hero from the bar.
He blocked her path, then seized her shoulders, pinning her to the wall. “I told you, you’re mine.”
Hera shrieked with terror.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small bottle. He squeezed it, and blue smoke swooshed out. She turned her head but inhaled something sickly sweet. Dizziness swept over her. Her legs turned into wet spaghetti, and she collapsed into strong arms. She couldn’t move or scream. The last thing she remembered was being whisked into the darkness.
2
Damon stared at his designated mate, who lay stretched out on his bed asleep. Even standing several feet away, he could inhale her flowery scent that wasn’t like any flower or plant on Zalara. It was spicier and nuttier. He’d only smelled it once. Padean had been on Earth on an assignment and brought back a plant with red-petals and thorns. It had a distinctive soft, but strong scent. She was like one of those delicate petals. He’d recognize it anywhere.
She wasn’t anything like the queen with her red hair and brown eyes. He would have never chosen her. Instead, he’d have picked a mate who resembled his queen–a slender blonde with big green eyes. Hell, who was he kidding? He didn’t want a human copy. He wanted Queen Cosima.
The door buzzed, and Captain Taog entered. He glanced at Damon’s mate. “She’s still out? She’s so petite. How much ragon gas did you use?”
Damon glared. “It wasn’t like I was measuring it, Captain. She was screaming hysterically. She didn’t give me much choice. It’s not like dragons exist on Earth.”
Taog narrowed his eyes. “I thought I gave you an order to not reveal your dragon form until you and your mate were on board the Orion.”
Damon ran his hand through his hair. “What the Fates did you want me to do? Drunken assholes were attacking her, mauling her, kissing her.”
The same blinding rage crept into his voice.
The captain raised his eyebrow. “So, you needed your dragon strength to take on puny humans?”
Pride strangled Damon’s throat, and he winced. “No. What can I say? I lost control. I’ve never felt such blinding rage over a woman.” His hands were still shaking. “Those bastards are lucky I didn’t fry them into crispy vorkon.”
“You reacted that way because she’s your mate.”
Damon leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. Taog was wrong. His heart would always belong to Cosima.
“Inform me when she wakes.”
“You’ll hear. She’ll scream as loud as a grendor.”
Taog scowled. “Our survival lies with the human females. If we cannot mate with them and reproduce, then we’ll die as a race. If we die, they die.”
Damon ran his trembling hand through his hair. “Don’t you think I know this, Captain?”
“Apparently not, since you sprayed her with enough gas that would knock out a zeekar.” He exited as quickly as he entered.
Damon hung his head. Why did The Fates rest with him first? After all, he was only a guard, while Taog was the captain of the Orion. Taog was a Dominan Dragon and possessed far superior skills than a mere Bravian.
“Ow, my aching head.”
He stared at his mate, who watched him with wary eyes. He expected her to go into hysterics, but she remained unusually calm–something he found intriguing.
She put the back of her hand on her forehead. “Where am I?”
Her soft voice was weary and her face pale.
A lump of guilt formed in his gut. He should have been more careful. Zalarians were supposed to protect their mates. No wonder Taog had looked at him as if he was a failure.
“Where am I?” she repeated, but this time her voice was stronger.
Damon wasn’t looking forward to playing three-hundred-one questions, but he’d little choice in the matter. As her mate, it was his duty.
“You’re on board the S.A. Orion.”
She dropped her hand and frowned. “I’m on what?”
Trying to be patient, he said, “You’re on board the Star Alliance Orion, which is part of the space fleet of the United Planet Confederation.”
“You’re kidding, right? I think you’ve watched too many Star Trek episodes.” She narrowed her blood-shot eyes. Unfortunately, red, blurry eyes were a side effect from ragon gas. “So that stuff you sprayed in my face, was it a mickey?”
“I don’t know what a mickey is.”
“The date rape drug.”
He stiffened. “I don’t rape women–humanoid or non-humanoid. Especially my mate.”
She slowly sat up on her elbows. “Fiddle-dee-dee, Star Trek boy! I’m no one’s mate. You sprayed something up my nose that made me hallucinate.”
He lifted his eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”
As she struggled to sit on the bed, her tousled red hair fell across her shoulders, and her torn shirt parted, nearly spilling out one breast. He couldn’t help but admire the fullness. She was more endowed than the queen.
Hera folded her arms across her chest. “Because I saw a dragon.”
He scratched his forehead. “So, did I spray those assholes, too?”
“What?” She frowned. “I don’t know. I have more important things to do than listen to your space nonsense.” But her voice faded slowly. She looked around his cabin, as if she might fear he was telling the truth.
“You kidnapped me, didn’t you?”
He winced. Such a strong term. “Obviously.”
“Why?”
“Because The Fates have foreseen that you’re my mate.”
“You’re as crazy as a betsy bug.” She tilted her head. “I demand that you release me.”
Pity swelled and swelled and swelled in his guilt-ridden gut. He had a tough time meeting her fierce gaze, instead looked down at his boots. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“What?”
He jerked his head up. Her lower lip trembled. He took a step toward her, intending to comfort her, but she jumped out of bed.
She pressed her back against the wall then grabbed a yellow klepton plant off his dresser. “Stay away from me, or I’ll brain you!” Her eyes were as big as the flowers.
He put his hands in the air and took a step back. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you.” He lowered his voice.
She gasped for breath, and her eyes filled with panic. “Am I a prisoner?”
“No.”
“Then you’re going to release me?”
“We just went over that–no, I’m not. What I meant is you’re not confined to my quarters. You can go anywhere on the ship.”
She leaned her head against the wall. “Great, I’m kidnapped by a man with only one oar in the water.” Her shaky voice hinted that she was about to go into another hysterical fit.
He cleared his voice. “Would you like me to show you the ship?”
“Like I have a choice.” She narrowed her eyes. “Just so you know, you’re going to be l
ocked up forever once I get out of here. Who are you, anyway?”
He put his hand on his chest and slightly bowed. “I am Damon of the Bravian Dragons. And your name is?”
He already knew it but asked out of politeness.
“Hera Athans. And your last name is?”
“That’s right you humans have last names. We do not.”
She put her hand on either side of her temples, as if she had a headache. “I reckon I must be tripping.” She dropped her arms to her side. “Why do you keep acting like you’re not from Earth? It’s annoying.”
“Because I’m not. I came from the planet Zalara, and I’m a Zalarian.”
You’re an alien?”
He smiled. “I could easily refer to you as the alien.”
“Whatever. I’m not the one who is delusional nor am I a kidnapper. Besides, I have never heard of the planet Zalara.”
“No, you wouldn’t have, would you? Zalara’s a thousand light years from Earth, and we have a shield that prevents you from seeing us.”
She swayed slightly. “This mumbo jumbo space jargon is making my head spin.”
“Are you still dizzy? Do you need to lie down?” He gently put his hand on her shoulder to steady her. An electric jolt shot up his arm as radioactive as a solar flare. He grimaced and immediately yanked his hand back.
“Ow.” She jerked away and grabbed her shoulder. “You shocked me.”
“I’m sorry. That’s strange.” He examined his unblemished hand, but surprisingly, it didn’t hurt. Warmth slowly spread through him like a hot shower thawing his chilled skin. “That’s not ever happened before.”
“I doubt that.”
He studied her. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” Her voice softened, losing its edge. She pulled her hair up and twisted it into a knot. “I just feel like the temperature shot up a hundred degrees in here.”
Strange. They both felt the same sensation. It could be a coincidence. Or was it?
She stopped rubbing her shoulder. “What is a Bravian Dragon anyway?”
“We are the guards of the Zalarians. My assignment is to guard the Queen.”
She tilted her head back. “I must be having a weird dream.”
“You’re not. I’ll prove it to you this is real.” He stretched out his arm. “Take my hand.”