by Leela Ash
“I’ve said the words. Now I want to show you how sorry I am.”
She pressed against him and saw the heat of desire blaze in his green eyes. Her breasts, the curves of her hips, drew his gaze, and his lips parted. Dakota’s heart sang as she realized that yes, despite everything, he wanted her.
Then he pulled away, sending her spirits plummeting. For although his words were rough with longing, they destroyed her dreams. “I don’t think this is a good time. Making love should be an act of joy, not atonement.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks burned.
He left without another word.
As soon as the door clicked shut, the tears came. Spilling down her cheeks, soaking her shirt. Dakota collapsed on the bed and buried her face in the pillow to muffle her sobs.
She’d ruined everything. The most gorgeous, amazing man in the world had Claimed her – and she’d driven him away. Her doubt, her anger over Cally’s death… they’d killed her future. Lost in guilt, she wept.
Yet, though it seemed she could cry forever, eventually the tears slowed. As they did, a strange idea crept into her mind.
Am I giving up?
Well, what other choice did she have? Michael didn’t want her.
Guys don’t light up like that over women they don’t like. Yeah, he turned me down and that stings like hell. But would a Dragon give up after one failure?
She couldn’t see that. Michael would fight to the death before he surrendered.
Then why should a Dragon’s Mate?
That question killed the last of her tears. Dakota lay, staring at the ceiling, considering her own words of wisdom.
If I despair so easily, I’m not worthy of him.
Slowly, the ache in her heart faded. Courage – calm and steady – welled up in its place.
With all her heart, she meant to earn his love and trust.
No matter how long it took.
The dream was strangely mundane. Dakota thought she woke and walked out of her room. A late check-in had left his car idling while he paid for his room. She slipped behind the wheel and drove off, caring not a bit when the man ran out screaming into the parking lot.
She drove south on back roads, heading unerringly in the same direction. When she was almost There (wherever ‘There’ was), the car ran out of gas. Dakota left it on the side of the road and hiked into the woods.
Who needed a road? She knew where she was going.
Her legs ached by the time a familiar curtain of birch trees came into sight, but she didn’t care. None of it seemed real. Not the floodlights and generator that flooded the Wellspring with a harsh, artificial glare. Not the half dozen men in combat armor or Mariset, sitting in a folding chair next to an aristocratic man with salt and pepper hair.
Certainly not the tornado of shadow and feathers that towered over the Wellspring, or the oily black tendrils that ran from it to the four silent Dragons.
That cocoon of dreamy illusion held her for two more steps – until the man bolted to his feet and screeched, “You have got to be kidding me! She walked here?”
His hand lashed out, swatting the Hare in the back of her head. The force of the blow sent her staggering.
As she did, the world sprang into focus. Details – the fear in the mercenaries’ faces as they cast sideways glances at Megaera, the pain in her aching calves – came rushing back.
And Dakota recognized the furious, indignant man. Mr. Alester. Mariset’s master. She’d met him, briefly, when she passed through New York.
Horror flooded her as she realized that this wasn’t a dream. And still, her feet dragged her forward, toward the couple.
Alester continued howling in rage. “I sat out here HALF THE FRIGGING NIGHT waiting for her because you cannot fashion a simple summoning spell!”
Mariset cringed away from her master. “My Lord, the subject takes the quickest and most direct route.”
“Which is walking?” Alester cocked his hand back again, and the Hare trembled.
Dakota ordered her rebellious feet to stop moving, but they carried her up to a small table. Four candles burned at its edges. Runes and sigils covered the top. At their center lay a hair brush.
Her brush – from the house. She snatched it up and stuffed it in her pocket.
“Little late for that,” Alester grumbled. “Mariset, can we finally get this started?”
“Are you certain you wish to remain, Master? This will not be without danger.”
“Yes, I’m certain I want to stay! Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to see the First Flight destroyed? I’m not going to hide under my bed while the last of them is taken down.”
The ‘last’? Did they mean Michael? But he was back at the hotel, sleeping. No one would even notice she was gone until breakfast.
With a chill, she realized that was wrong.
A Dragon knew when his Mate was in danger. One punch, one bullet, and her pain would tear him from his sleep. He would come, burning through the night sky, to save her. Even if the trap was obvious, as this one was, he couldn’t abandon her.
His love for her would doom him.
Mariset licked her thin lips. “There’s one more Dragon left after we take Farrell.”
One? Not two? Then Michael’s fears were right, something bad had happened to Aaron Cole.
This time, Alester’s fist closed. The blow caught the Hare on her cheek, knocking her sprawling to the ground. “Contradict me again and you will regret it,” the man hissed.
With a cry, the Hare curled into a ball. “Forgive me, Lord! Forgive me!” she wailed. Leaves and dirt stained her beautiful fur coat as she groveled.
As she squirmed, the inky tethers linking the Dragons and Megaera twitched. They grew fainter, thinner, as if the Fury pulled away. And the pillar of darkness inched forward, a foot closer to the quarrelling Fangs.
Dakota’s heart beat faster. What had Maya said?
Megaera’s specialty is people who’ve wronged women and their own families.
Even women as monstrous as Mariset?
Well, if that was true, she could give the Fury a much more deserving target!
Dakota bolted for the Wellspring. Directly at the feathered darkness that loomed over it.
Six rifles snapped in her direction.
“NO!” Alester screamed. “Don’t kill her!”
Bullets tore through the air around her as the mercs desperately pulled their shots. Legs pumping, she tore around the pool and skittered to a stop beside the towering shadow.
Nothing happened.
“Get her. Gently,” Alester growled.
A mercenary edged toward her. Dakota scurried around Megaera, keeping the Fury’s dark bulk between them. But another joined him, circling around the far side. Caught between them, she dodged for the woods. The first soldier grabbed her wrist and yanked her off her feet.
A tendril, a whip of purest midnight, shot out from the pillar. It grazed the merc’s cheek, leaving a pale white line under his eye.
With a howl of agony, her attacker froze. Dakota jerked away from him and scrambled to the very edge of Megaera’s cloud. Scream after scream tore from the man’s throat. He snatched a long, wicked knife from his belt. Still shrieking in pain and terror, he raised it in front of his own face and…
Dakota turned away.
Wet, tearing sounds echoed around her. Over and over. Wails died to agonized mewls, then nothing.
In the shocked silence, Alester cleared his throat. “This is why I said ‘gently’, morons.”
Stomach heaving, Dakota spared one glance at the merc’s bloody remains. “Megaera!” Though her voice trembled with fear, she forced the words out past numb lips. “I am a woman in danger. Protect me!”
“Petitioner, I know you.” Sweet as honey, a female voice rang from the cloud of darkness. It was a kind voice, a gentle voice, and it gave her hope.
Until its next words. “I do not protect. I avenge. Die bravely, knowing that they will pay dearly for the violence they offer y
ou.”
That was so not helpful.
“Now grab her again,” Alester hissed with venom-coated patience, “and try not to get your fool selves killed.”
Maybe a grain of sense lurked in Megaera’s mad ‘plan’. Swallowing her nausea, Dakota dashed to the mutilated corpse and snatched up its bloody knife. As the remaining mercs surrounded her, she raised it to her own throat. “Stop right there or I’ll kill myself!”
Alester peered at her in confusion. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”
A bead of blood reddened the knife’s sharp point. “You heard her. She’ll avenge me.”
“Hold.” He turned to his Hare. Mariset clambered back to her feet, one eye beginning to swell shut. “Would a Fury ‘avenge’ suicide?”
“Probably not.”
“Probably not. But possibly.” Inky darkness flooded his eyes, transforming them into black wells. The exact opposite of her Dragon’s brilliant orbs. “You really could not be more useless if you tried.”
Dakota retreated to the ‘safety’ of the Fury’s shadow, where the mercs wouldn’t follow. “Megaera, I beg you, please release the Dragons.”
“No. I feed.”
That was why they weren’t dead! “But they’re innocent! You shouldn’t feed on innocents!” Surely, a creature that avenged women and children couldn’t be all bad?
Perhaps not – but she was implacable. “A charge was laid against them. Thus, I am permitted to strengthen myself.”
A charge? Did Megaera mean her foolish suspicions about Owen Jackson? “Wait! I take back my charge! I forgive them!”
“Mariset,” Alester snapped, “what the hell do we do?” The Hare waved him quiet.
A fact that disturbed Dakota. A second later, she understood why Mariset wasn’t worried. Megaera spoke again. This time, the honey-covered sweetness was gone. Her words sliced through the air, cold and furious as a blizzard.
“A petitioner stands before me with empty hands? Cease, lest I hound you.”
Empty hands? Oh, no. Dakota gritted her teeth to hold back hysterical laughter. Those idiotic Twinkies actually mattered.
One terrible option remained. “What if I kill myself? Will that destroy my charge against them?”
“No. But I shall avenge those who killed you. After your charge is fulfilled.”
So Megaera might attack the Fangs – but only after the First Flight died, their life force drained to strengthen this creature. Her sacrifice wouldn’t save them.
But it would save Michael.
Nothing threatened the dead. If she drove this dagger into her throat, the siren call luring her Mate to his doom would end.
That idea held a sickly, seductive allure. With one stroke, she could save him. She would never have to see the pain she’d caused him. She wouldn’t need to win his trust or live with the wrongs she’d done.
She could join Cally.
Yet even as that poisonous temptation circled her heart, something deep inside her rejected it. A strength like the might of Michael’s Dragon.
I don’t want to die saving my Mate. I want to build a life with him.
The curse tablet glinted at her feet. Someone had moved it to the edge of the Wellspring. Dakota pocketed it. Perhaps, having unleashed its magic, it was now nothing more than a piece of lead. But who knew? Maybe someone could still find a use for it.
“It seems we have something of a standoff here, Miss Vance.”
A situation she wasn’t going to win. Every minute that passed brought Michael closer. One glimpse of Megaera and he, too, would be trapped. Unless…
Unless she wasn’t here.
The woods and their sheltering gloom lay thirty feet away. Did she have any hope of outrunning six… make that, five trained mercenaries?
Well, how fast could a guy run with a rifle and body armor? And how quickly could he drag a kicking, screaming woman up a hill? Escape would be great – but all she really needed was to buy Michael time.
Dakota took a deep breath and sprinted for the forest.
As soon as she passed the floodlights, the world plunged into darkness. Blind, she staggered and nearly fell. Behind her she heard Alester, screaming orders, and heavy footsteps pounding after her. Then, as she blundered forward, a beam of light carved through the air, illuminating the woods ahead of her.
Flashlights. The soldiers didn’t have night vision goggles. They were as blind as her!
Dakota charged ahead, dodging half-glimpsed trees, leaping over dim stumps. The lights and shouts grew dimmer and joy poured strength into her tired legs.
At first. But the woods stretched on, endless in the night. A branch clipped her head, filling her vision with sparks of light. Leaves slid under foot and she went sprawling. A stick stabbed beneath her ribs, sending daggers of pain shooting through her with each breath. And a slow, aching fire smoldered in her legs.
The lights got closer. Heavy panting gained on her, so close it seemed to breathe down her back. Every second she winced, expecting to feel a hand close on her shoulder and end her flight.
“Got her!” a man shouted directly behind her. Dakota dodged…
…and a three-foot Rat barreled out of the darkness, chittering.
Walker?
“Shit!” the guy behind her howled. “Rat! Fucker bit me!”
Muzzle fire lit the night as shots tore through the woods. Dakota winced – but didn’t hear any shrieks (or squeaks) of pain.
Run. Just keep running.
But the seconds Walker bought her weren’t nearly enough. Soon, lights blazed around her again. This time, a gloved hand did slam down on her shoulder. Dakota stumbled, sending herself and her attacker sprawling to the ground.
“Got her!” he yelled.
Fighting and kicking, she was hauled to her feet. Her blows bounced harmlessly off the merc’s armor as his fellows closed in. Dakota spat at her captor and curled into a ball, dropping to the ground again.
“Damn you,” a man snarled, “start walking or I’ll beat the ever-living shit out of…”
“Rat!”
A vision of nightmare, Walker bolted out of the darkness, snarling and snapping. As he charged the man holding her, three tiny red lights appeared on his flank.
Laser targets. “Walker, no! Run!” she screamed.
Then a roar split the night. A howl as loud as a freight train.
Trees shattered as a gigantic form dove out of the dark sky. Rifles jerked away from the Rat. Bullets sprayed skyward, bouncing harmlessly off a great scaled form that blasted through the woods, snapping trees like they were matchsticks.
Michael.
Her Dragon. Her Mate.
As he skimmed along the ground toward them, Dakota only had time to catch a glimpse of blazing eyes and the curls of flame streaming from his fanged maw. Then two claw-tipped paws reached out. One closed around Walker’s petrified form. One wrapped around her.
With a tremendous jerk, Michael banked and shot into the air, pulling his paws close to shield them against his body.
Shouts, screams, and shots faded away below as they sailed, higher and higher, toward the moon.
Chapter 12
Still drunk with the wonder of their flight, Dakota slumped on her bed, draped in a blanket. Walker… Well, the poor Rat wasn’t doing well. He huddled in a corner, teeth chattering from fright. Every time someone moved, he twitched.
Yet, for the moment, he was their expert. “Come Hither spell. Knew it the minute I seen her. She was walkin’ too straight, too stupid.”
“What do you mean?” She certainly felt dumb, but she had no idea how someone walked ‘stupid’.
“Didn’t look left nor right. Didn’t care ‘bout makin’ noise. Stupid. Spell does that to ya.”
Well, that salvaged a shred of her dignity. She still felt like a fool.
Michael was more concerned with defense. “Can they do it again?”
“Yup. If they got more of her hair or blood or spit. ‘Bout a week from now that
stuff will lose its power. ‘Til then…,” he shrugged.
Eyes narrow and glittering with anger, Michael glared at the Rat. “How do I protect her from this?”
To her surprise, Walker didn’t Shift, or even scurry under the bed. Her Mate, it seemed, had won the Rat’s trust. “Stick by her. Come Hither is sneaky, not strong. Messes with yer head. You don’t ask why yer being such a fool. Give ‘em a good shake when they start to leave, ask ‘em why they’re doing this foolishness… snaps ‘em right out. For a bit. ‘Til the Witch tries again.”
“Good.” Given a way to guard her, he grew calmer. “By the way, how do you know so much about this kind of magic?”
“It’s how the Fangs git us Rats, mostly. I lost prolly twenty Kin to it when that Warren of Witch Hares come into town.”
No grief clouded the Rat’s words. Dakota shivered, stunned by the number. Cally’s loss had nearly destroyed her. What would it be like to watch all your Kin enslaved by murderous Shifters?
Walker felt her sad gaze and he ducked his head. “It’s all right, ma’am. They’re okay. Jackson got ‘em back.”
Owen. The man she’d blamed for Cally’s death.
“Thank you,” Michael murmured. A sentiment she shared.
The Shifter just shrugged. “Said I owed him, din’t I? That’s why.”
Michael offered to rent a room for the Rat, but Walker chose to sleep in his truck. No strange beds for him. He was still too rattled by the flight and being seized by a Dragon. Once he left, it was just the two of them.
Alone.
With a question looming over them.
What now?
His heart knew the answer. Tonight’s events had swept away all of his doubts. Yes, the Fangs tricked Dakota. Ignorant, driven by fear, she had betrayed him. She might, in fact, have damned his entire Flight. And yet…
And yet, there was no evil in her. She grieved for her mistakes, burned with shame for deceiving him. The anger he felt was just a dim shadow of the remorse devouring her. This afternoon, he still doubted he could forgive her.
This evening, he knew better. Tonight’s events had driven that home.
The shock that dragged him from his sleep. The soul-wrenching horror he felt, listening to his Dragon roar that she was in danger. The guilt that hounded him as he burned through the air – that her last memory of him would be his rejection. And the sweet, joyous relief he felt, smashing through that forest. Feeling his claws close around her, tucking her tight to his chest as bullets rattled off his scales.