The Dragon’s Surrogate: A Paranormal Romance (Shifter Surrogate Agency Book 5)

by Layla Silver

  “Can’t get a job anywhere that they don’t own somehow,” Ash complained.

  “You work for yourself, dummy,” Azalea retorted. “Or, well, for Dad, anyway. No dragon owns him.”

  I could almost picture my little sister rolling her eyes just as I had wanted to. Her smile would be fond, though. She and Ash were only ten months apart, and they were practically a matching set. Short, dark-haired, and sporting matching jade-green eyes, they were often mistaken for twins.

  “The world would be a better place if they just got exterminated,” Dune groused, bitterly. “Someone should hunt them the way they hunt everyone else.”

  Turning to pace back in the other direction, I ducked under the leafy profusion of greenery one of my mother’s overzealous tomato plants projected into the aisle. Glancing to my left as I straightened, I could see the rest of my nieces and nephews in the broad yard that stretched away from the house. There were seven of them, all shifted into their coyote forms, chasing one another and tumbling over in squeaking balls of dusty fur when they collided. My heart squeezed to watch them … and then guilt trickled in.

  They were growing up more like siblings than cousins, and they were free to shift as they pleased, here. A fact that was only possible because of where my parents had made their home—a tiny town on the edge of the desert. Not even a town, technically. A village. The same village my generation had grown up in. The same one we’d all stayed in even when we moved out of my parents’ house.

  Some of us less willingly than others. As I got older, I found the village stifling. Too much small-town drama, not enough of the amenities that were always at my fingertips while I was at work in the nearby city. But this safety and security my nieces and nephews enjoyed, I was part of that. Being here, being part of their network, it mattered. How could I wish my life was different, knowing that?

  “Patience, Dune,” my father counseled, his words cutting into my thoughts. His voice was low and taciturn. It still carried some of the Southern drawl of his childhood home in it. “We’re making progress; you know that. Stay the course a while longer, and we’ll have those bastards. We’ll have justice for Lorna and Joe. I promised your mother on my life we would.”

  My mother said something in response, her words soft and lilting, but I tuned it out. Moss had emptied her bottle and released it, waving her chubby hands as I set it aside under a cucumber plant at the end of one of the greenhouse benches. I hoisted my niece to my shoulder and rubbed her back as I walked. Her little onesie was bright pink and soft under my fingers, but even her softness and sweet baby smell couldn’t stop the irritation that bubbled up inside me.

  Complaining about dragon shifters had been a family pastime since before I was born, but every year it seemed to grate on me more. I had figured out years ago what the rest of my family either could not or would not see—it wasn’t the dragons that were the problem. Aunt Lorna and Uncle Joe, goddess rest their unhappy souls, had been involved in shady things. What, exactly, I didn’t know, since no one would talk about it—goddess help anyone who so much as hinted at it in my mother’s hearing. But there were rumors, and I’d done internet searches as a teenager when we’d had to do a genealogy project in high school. While there wasn’t enough to piece together exactly what they’d been into—money laundering, drugs, maybe even something worse—it wasn’t hard to read between the lines. My aunt and uncle were dead because they kept bad company, not because dragons were out to get us.

  Whatever harassment my family had suffered from dragons, it had been because of Lorna and Joe and nothing else. But my mother had worshipped her older sister. She refused to even consider that Lorna’s violent death had been her own fault. It was far easier and more palatable to believe that it was the fault of nasty, ruthless dragons. Living in this tiny village and venturing outside its confines only when necessary meant she never met any dragons who might challenge that opinion, either.

  I had, and I knew better.

  I knew that the only thing that would ever convince a normal dragon to get its claws dirty with something as messy as hunting a coyote would be protecting its family. Dragons just weren’t innately violent. They found the world too beautiful and fascinating to mar it if they didn’t have to. Thinking of dragons made me think of Will, and that made me long for Monday. On Monday, I could drive out of this little town and into my job in the city. I could spend my days working in a nice office building around non-shifters who didn’t know or care about inter-species squabbles. Maybe I could even meet Will or one of our other friends for lunch at that cute little bistro we’d discovered last month.

  Moss burped loudly and then spat upon my blanket-covered shoulder. Then she grinned at me and laughed. I laughed, too, mopping up her face with a corner of the blanket. When she was all clean, I picked up the bottle and headed back into the kitchen.

  Jenny, Dune’s sweet wisp of a wife, rose when I came back through the screen door. “You didn’t have to feed her,” she said, holding out her arms.

  I relinquished the baby and tried to smother the pang in my chest as I let go of her warm weight. “I don’t mind.”

  “Of course, you don’t,” Ford spoke up teasingly. His eyes fixed on me with interest, and I knew I was in for it. “Gotta get your baby fix somehow if you won’t have your own.”

  I purposely turned away, heading for the sink to hide the murderous expression I was sure flashed across my face before I could temper it. Damn him. Here we go.

  “Ford,” my mother chided. “Be kind.”

  I unscrewed the cap from the bottle and turned on the water.

  “He does have a point, though, honey,” my mother continued. “You’re so good with the pups! I know you’re proud of your job, but is being a secretary really all you want in life? Don’t you want a family of your own?”

  Picking up the bottle brush, I started scrubbing the inside of Moss’s bottle vigorously. Resentment welled up, and I bit my tongue against the sharp retorts that threatened to spew out. My mother was a dyed-in-the-wool hippie. She wore tie-dyed broomstick skirts, didn’t own a single bra, and had never wanted anything in her life except to raise a big brood of kids and live off the land. My decision to go to college and become a paralegal was incomprehensible to her. Even six years into my career, she still couldn’t or wouldn’t grasp that I was a well-respected professional. She still thought of me as doing the same secretarial sort of paper-pushing my grandmother had done during World War II before she’d started her own family.

  “Mamma,” Azalea protested. “She’s waiting for her mate! You know Maia’s the romantic type like that. She won’t be happy unless she knows for sure she’s found the right one.”

  Unlike the boys went unsaid. Of our five brothers, only Stone had kept his pants on long enough to find his true mate. Birch was still unattached and sleeping with whomever caught his fancy—though he only brought home his female partners to meet our parents. Ford and Dune were gamely living with the first women they’d knocked up. Ash had been married briefly, but he and the mother of his children had gone their separate ways, and now he was back to vigorously playing the field.

  “You’re gonna be 30 this year,” Ash reminded me as I rinsed the bottle and set it in the dish rack. “Runnin’ outta time, sis.”

  “Well, I guess I’d better start advertising then, huh?” I said sweetly, drying my hands and pasting on a fake smile. “I’ll take out an ad. ‘Single shifter female seeks hot man for creation of a pack of pups.’”

  “Must be sinfully hot,” Jenny piped up, adding on to my imagined personal ad.

  “Wealthy is a bonus,” Azaela chimed in.

  I let them go on joking about it until the subject changed because protesting would only drag out the misery. Inwardly, though, I thought of Will again. Of the rainy night in our junior year in college when we’d sprawled on his bed watching the storm and eating chips in the dark, deep into the night.

  “How about this?” he’d said mischievously, his violet
eyes illuminated by a flash of lightning. “You’re … let’s see.” He did quick math in his head, a talent I’d always envied. “Okay, so when I turn 100, you’ll be turning 30.” He’d sucked the salt off a long, elegant finger before continuing. “And we should have families by then, of course, but if we don’t …” he’d grinned, “we’ll have a kid together. We’ll make it a pact.”

  The memory still gave me a pang, all these years later. Leaning my hip against the counter, I watched Jenny cuddle Moss, and the pang turned to an ache. Much as I loathed my family’s teasing, I was turning 30 this year, and I did want a child. So much more than I’d ever dare voice. Had Will forgotten that promise between us? Or had he, too, relegated it to the lost wishes and dream of youth?

  I found my chance to escape after dinner as everyone else set themselves up in my parents’ basement movie room with Disney’s latest. At first, I played along. I helped pop mountains of popcorn, helped the kids wriggle into their pajamas, and fluffed pillows. Then, as soon as everyone was good and distracted, I snuck out.

  Not that there was far to sneak. My modest little cottage was literally right next door, separated from my parents’ house by a strip of bare ground covered in scrub grass. The house had been my grandmother’s before she’d passed, and I’d never had any illusions as to why it was willed to me instead of any of my other siblings. I was the only one likely to leave town if not tied down.

  Sighing, I pushed the back door open and let myself in. I didn’t bother turning on the lights. I didn’t need to. I knew every inch of the little house by heart. My phone buzzed, and I fished it out of my pocket as I headed upstairs. It was Will, and just seeing his name felt like a tall, cool glass of sweet tea after a day in the scorching desert sun.

  You up for going out tonight? I’m making a party.

  Yes. I typed the text without even thinking about my answer. Any time spent with Will was a good time.

  Great. Pick you up in an hour?

  I’ll be ready.

  Jogging up the narrow stairs, I tossed my phone on my unmade bed and peeled off my tank top, shorts, and underclothes. Tossing them toward the hamper, I made a beeline for the shower. The ancient plumbing creaked and moaned as I dialed up the hot water, but I ignored it. Will was an engineer, and he’d gone over the whole place when I inherited it. It might be noisy and cramped, but everything was sound.

  Climbing under the water and reaching for my body wash, I speculated about who else Will would invite out for the evening. It didn’t matter, really. He wouldn’t include anyone I hated. Dragons were very socially aware, and Will, in particular, had a gift for putting together combinations of people that would get along. There would be a couple of beautiful girls, I knew. Even if he didn’t invite them, Will attracted hangers-on the way honey drew flies. He couldn’t help it. Dragons liked beautiful things, and, as it happened, most beautiful things liked him in return … even if they didn’t entirely know why.

  Rinsing off, I shut off the water and reached for the fluffy, oversized towel hanging on a hook on the wall.

  I knew exactly why I loved Will. Over the years, I had articulated the reasons to myself in minute detail across the tear-stained pages of several diaries. But those pages were as far as that love ever went. Unlike the beautiful creatures that fluttered around Will whenever we went out, I kept my feet firmly planted on the ground. I knew that Will and I would never be anything more than friends. We couldn’t be.

  I was neither beautiful nor elegant enough to be a dragon’s mate. I was just a coyote shifter from a desert pack. My family was long on mischief and paranoia and short on the kind of taste and ambition dragons respected.

  It was all right, though. We were friends. He trusted me and kept me close, and goddess knew I’d rather be perpetually at arm’s length than lose him from my life completely.

  Padding back to my room, I rifled through my closet, then through the clothes draped over various surfaces. I was neater than most of my family by a long shot, but there was still too much coyote in me to be truly orderly outside of professional settings. My fingers closed over the sequined dress I’d been looking for, and I smiled. The dress was short, sparkly, and vibrantly teal. Will adored it. Tossing it across my bed, I shimmied into some barely-there panties and hunted down my heels. As I did, I let myself anticipate the way Will’s smoky violet eyes would slide over me when he arrived. The approval they’d hold.

  I would never be able to claim Will as my mate, but I’d take what I could get.

  Chapter 3 – Maia

  Double-checking the little purse I used for going out, I verified that I had my phone, ID, some cash, and my lipstick. I didn’t know why I always included cash aside from force of habit; Will never let me pay for anything when we were out together. Chivalry, he’d say with a shrug whenever I brought it up.

  Smiling at the thought, I slung the thin gold chain that served for the purse’s strap over my shoulder. I grabbed my heels and headed downstairs. It was probably technically possible to go down the stairs with my heels already on, but the narrow stairwell was so uneven and out of square that I never tried.

  I didn’t bother to lock the backdoor or to close the windows I had open to let in the cool night breeze when I passed them. It wasn’t supposed to rain, and no one out here locked their doors. Ever. In fact, getting caught locking your doors was the surest way to start neighbors’ tongues wagging about what you were up to.

  What were they going to steal anyway? My laptop? The little stash of emergency cash I kept in my closet? A robber would be lucky if they could find either under the stuff I had piled atop them. Aside from that, everything in my house was a hand-me-down from my grandparents or my parents or had been thrifted. It’s a coyote thing, I’d explained to Will when he asked why I almost never bought anything new even though I could afford it. We’re born to scavenge, to build a home from what we can find and gather. He’d nodded sagely. The next month, we’d started going to the quarterly flea market two towns over as a weekend date whenever it was running.

  Someday, I thought, Will is going to make some lucky woman the best mate in the universe. Selfishly, I hoped I’d be dead of old age before he found her. I wasn’t sure I’d survive seeing him with someone else.

  At the front door, I slipped on my heels just in time to see Will’s silver r8 pull onto my street. I headed out, barely remembering to shut the front door behind me. I made it to the driveway just as he pulled in. He slid to a smooth stop, the Audi’s engine purring as he leaned over to pop the door open for me. I slid in, and we were already reversing back out onto the road by the time I got the door closed and my seatbelt on.

  “In a hurry?” I teased, arching an eyebrow.

  “I don’t want your father to catch me,” Will feigned a serious expression. “He’d want to set a curfew or remind me how many guns he has or ask my intentions or something.” He shook his head. “And we both know if I tell him my real intentions, we’ll be in all kinds of trouble.”

  I laughed and wiggled back into the obscenely comfortable leather seat, tugging at the hem of my dress as it rode up my thighs. “Hmm, yes. Over ninety years old and going out to party with the young and innocent. Scandalous.”

  “I’ll have you know,” Will said, sounding affronted, “that I haven’t invited a single innocent person out with us tonight. I’m not a complete cad.”

  “Hhmm,” I agreed, gamely. Bantering with him made all the lingering tension from earlier seep out of me.

  Will’s eyes slid over me again before flicking back to the road. “You look great, by the way. I love that dress.”

  The compliment washed through me, leaving sweet warmth in its wake. Will was generous with his compliments, but they never failed to make some of my insides melt. Just a small bit of my insides, though. I knew better than to let myself turn into a soppy puddle of feelings over him entirely.

  “It sparkles,” I pointed out, smirking. Will appreciated a woman with a sense of humor, and I’d learn
ed years ago that deflecting his compliments protected us both from the awkwardness of my buried feelings. “How could you not love it?”

  “That,” he said, looking down his aristocratic nose at me and narrowing his eyes, “is profiling and discrimination against dragon-kind.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said unrepentantly. “Speaking of sparkly, how’s the glitter paint in the bathroom remodel going?”

  “Horrible.” Will’s nose scrunched, and he launched into a rant about house projects, paint, glitter, and the hell of complicated renovations.

  Relaxing in the passenger’s seat, I just listened. I threw out a comment here and there but mostly just let myself enjoy the luxury of the car, the sound of Will’s voice, and the drop-dead gorgeous picture he made in his perfectly tailored fawn-colored slacks and dark shirt. Now and then, his striking violet eyes—they’d tried to pass them off as blue on his license, but you’d have to be blind to fall for that lie—would catch mine, and the easy contentedness in them would make me sigh, inwardly.

  At the club, we pulled directly into the valet parking line. Will was out of the car and around to my side in a smooth, practiced move. He handed the keys to the valet with one hand and extended the other graciously to help me out of the low-slung car. On my feet, I tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow, the fine linen of his shirt alluring beneath my fingertips. Will kept me close to his side as we passed through the spotlights and security into the club.

  Pounding, pulsing music instantly started throbbing through my bones as we crossed the threshold. Will took half a glance around and then steered us to the right. Trustingly, I let him lead me as my eyes adjusted to the dimness, the shapes resolving themselves into familiar velvet-covered booths and plush wrought-iron harp-back chairs pulled up close to little marble-topped bistro tables. It irked me to no end that I somehow hadn’t inherited the night-vision that should have been the birthright of every coyote-shifter.