by Karin Shah
Recovering from his surprise, Roan glanced down. Damn, he was wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts. He performed in glorified loincloths, but being half naked in the confines of his trailer with an unfamiliar person felt weird. And he was still supposed to be injured.
He whipped a gray T-shirt off the pile he’d been folding on his table and tugged it on, speaking as he moved. “Oh, I always wanted a dog, so I read up on all the breeds, but even a shelter dog seemed too expensive with vetting and whatnot.”
Now, he was prattling. He lapsed into silence, yanking the bottom hem of his shirt where it had creased to straighten it.
Lu herded him into a seat at his banquette and soon he and the women were sitting across from one another.
Roan took the break in conversation to scent the air.
The other woman didn’t smell of anger or adrenaline. All he got from her was excitement and something else, something he couldn’t quite place. Not an emotion. An odor he’d never smelled before, but that made that other instinctual part of him that had been growing ever stronger sit up and take notice, as if a predator had entered the room. Be careful, it whispered. We might have to fight.
We. Roan massaged his temple, but let the thought go unchallenged.
Lu remained standing and gestured with an upward palm at the other woman with a flourish as if showcasing a rare and priceless race car. “Roan, meet Thalia. Or as we know her, That5W1tch2U.”
Roan gaped at the brunette, seizing on the second piece of information. Someone he’d only talked with online had found him. He started to stand. “What do you want? How did you find me?”
Lu stretched over to put a hand on his forearm. “It’s okay. Your family sent her.”
“My family?” A stream of random images flashed into his head at Lu’s words and then retreated.
Thalia smiled. “Yes, you have six other brothers who are eager to meet you.”
~ ~ ~
Six brothers. Several minutes later, Roan’s head swam with all the information Thalia had laid on him. He braced his crossed elbows on the cool table and massaged his forehead, peering at her across the short pile of half-folded clothes from under his brows. “So this group wanted to raise chimeras as weapons, so they killed my father. My mom was forced to hide us all over the country before she died herself, because chimeras live a long time, unless they’re killed or their mates die?”
Thalia nodded, but didn’t add anything.
“And my oldest brother has been looking for us, so he hired you?”
“Yeah, the magical community is supposed to stay secret from petties. That’s what we call non-magical people.”
“And he contacted you because you’re a witches’ champion?”
She bowed her head in agreement. “And a vampire—although that’s kind of a lightning-strike situation. It’s never happened before. Witch blood is poisonous to vampires so we can’t usually be turned.”
“And that’s not a dog. It’s a familiar.” He pointed to the basenji, which had curled up at Thalia’s feet under the table and apparently gone to sleep.
“Right, he’s actually a sorcerer, but that’s a long story.”
Lu shoved Roan further across the curved bench seat and pushed in next to him. “And Roan is related to Kyle Mara of Mythic, Inc.?” She nudged his forearm with her shoulder. “That guy’s a billionaire.”
Roan shook his head at her enthusiasm and focused his attention on Thalia. “Do you know how this—” He pointed to his face. “Happened to me?”
Thalia drummed her fingers on the laminate table. “Recently, while searching for you and your other brother, Caleb, I ran across some documents that implied there were two subjects held about fifteen years ago by the Kincaid group. We know one was your youngest brother, Jake.” She opened a hand toward him. “I think it’s safe to assume the other was you.”
“Well, what happened to Jake? Is he broken like me?”
The dryness of Thalia’s laugh verged on painful. “Oh, he was broken, but not like you. They used emotional and physical torture with Jake to test chimera limits. What they’re capable of, how to force them to shift. From what you’ve described, they were doing something similar to you, but using drugs.”
“So did Jake get stuck?” Lu asked.
Thalia’s ponytail swung as she shook her head. “Jake is the seventh son of a seventh son. That’s a powerful thing in magic. It means he was capable of shifting from a young age. Although, he didn’t know what he was and thought he was crazy.
“Chimeras don’t usually shift until they hit sexual maturity in their late twenties. I doubt they were ever able to get you to fully shift. Which is probably why you were dumped.”
Dumped. “Well, at least we know they won’t be looking for me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Those documents surfaced now for a reason. It’s possible one or more former Kincaid group researchers have realized their error in recent years.”
~ ~ ~
Sofia stretched as she waited outside Roan’s trailer for him to answer her knock. The cool morning air brushed her cheeks with damp fingers. Fog adhered to the adjacent field, almost hiding the tall grass, but it was nearly ten.
Lu had said she thought Roan would be able to start walking today, so she hoped she could drag him to the food tents for breakfast. The performers were never going to warm to him, if he didn’t start mingling and he must be going stir-crazy anyway.
Yeah, it’s for him. Keep telling yourself that.
She rubbed the back of her neck. The urge to seek him was an almost physical tug. Okay, so her desensitization strategy was a bust. She was only human.
She dropped her arms and scuffed the weedy gravel with her converse, angry at the part of herself that tutted in her ears at the pat dismissal of the force that had driven her to his trailer.
He opened the door and leaned out. Despite the strange appearance of his face with the mods, he looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept. He muffled a yawn, but was dressed and his hair wasn’t tangled from sleep.
“Good, I didn’t wake you,” she said.
“That would have been hard. I didn’t sleep.”
“Why’s that?”
He waved off the question as if it were a plane trying to land. “Oh, you know. Not enough exercise.”
A slightly sour scent drifted to her. That’s a lie, a little voice murmured. She dashed away the thought with an inward roll of her eye. Who could smell lies? The mild fever she couldn’t shake the last few days was making her loopy.
She lifted her shoulders. “I thought you might join me for breakfast at the tent?”
Roan eyed her for a moment. She held her breath, fearing he might refuse—way too worried he might refuse—but he nodded and she backed up, allowing him to descend the two steps to the ground.
He moved carefully, but without a hitch.
“How’s your wound?” she asked.
He grimaced, and that tart odor tingled in her nose. “It wasn’t as bad as it looked. I’m almost healed.”
Ignoring the strange new interpretation her mind assigned scents, she laughed. Men. “Okay, tough guy. Will you at least let me help you?” She stuck out her arm with the elbow bent like a gentleman inviting a lady to dance.
He glanced at her arm for a heartbeat, then reached out and hooked his though hers. His skin brushed her bare arm and she hid a shiver, stopping to chafe her arms and give an exaggerated burr. “Darn, Florida in January. Cold in the morning and burning in the afternoon.”
He released her and re-mounted the steps, disappearing into his trailer and re-emerged a few seconds later with a wadded cloth in his hand, which turned out to be a navy-blue, hooded sweatshirt.
He draped it around her shoulders as soon as he reached her.
She slid her arms into the sleeves. It was lined with fleece and felt cloud-like against her chilled biceps and elbows. Even though she was tall, the sleeves fell way past her wrists and the waist dropped to her thighs. She probably looked like a kid wearing her father’s clothes, but she didn’t care.
She cuddled into the depths of the sweatshirt. His natural scent curled around her and her tummy fluttered.
He fitted the metal tabs together and zipped it up to her neck. Her chest warmed at the chivalrous gesture. He fiddled with the hood, arranging it to lie properly.
The move brought his face close to hers. His breath, lightly tinged with minty toothpaste and coffee, feathered her cheeks.
The urge to grasp his shoulders and kiss him almost overtook her, and she tucked her hands into the deep pockets of the sweatshirt to stop herself, turtling her chin into its folds.
He re-took her arm and they shuffled toward the tents with her studying him for the slightest hint of pain. Roan put very little weight on her and hardly gave any sign of his injury, though he did move carefully.
Their slow progress gave her mind time to wander.
Despite the fleecy sweatshirt he’d given her, the place where his arm rested was magnetic. She felt as if every atom in her body focused on her elbow. Her inner arm almost vibrated with sensitivity. It was no more physical contact than she might share with a stranger, but her body hummed in response as if it were a far more intimate caress.
She tried to slow the ragged breathing she couldn’t seem to master.
Her heart zigged and zagged as he brushed against her side over the patchy terrain.
Why did his glance and touch drill right to her most basic instincts?
Yes. His body was beautiful beneath the mods, but any number of handsome jocks had failed to raise her pulse. She’d like to think the attraction was because she’d gotten to know him a little, that his innate kindness had an allure of its own, but she’d felt conscious of him from the moment they’d met.
Was it his size? Not many men made her feel petite, but he certainly did.
She sighed as they neared the crowd at the tents. Her time alone with him was about to end. A stubborn kernel in her chest grew hard and painful. She didn’t want to share him with the others.
Was it too late to make him breakfast in her RV? She took a breath to suggest it, but Slim raised a hand in greeting and she scolded herself inwardly. She wasn’t a two-year-old with a favorite toy.
And he was wounded for God’s sake.
Get a grip, Sofia!
If she looked up stalker in the dictionary, she’d probably find her own face.
Chapter 18
Roan wanted to grin as Sofia brought him a plate piled with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and hash browns. Hell, he wanted to dance, but his smile had been known to scare small children and dancing would be not just out of character, but expose the fact that he’d healed with supernatural speed.
Being Sofia’s main focus the last few days felt like a beautiful dream.
Now that he’d stopped avoiding her, he couldn’t seem to get enough of her attention.
It was even harder not to smile like an idiot as he remembered the thrill of walking beside her with his hand on her arm, her body brushing his, her scent rising around him. His pulse had been so loud in his ears at one point, it had been all he could hear. They’d arrived at the mess area far too soon for him. If it hadn’t been suspicious, he would have suggested they take another loop around.
Someone spoke to Sofia from across the way and in the absence of her focus some of his euphoria ebbed away.
The fact that she’d shown him such care over the last few days was a gift he was almost afraid to accept. He was quite literally of two minds. Of course, his dragon declared, she’s our mate. She wants us. But his human mind was too accustomed to rejection.
Anxiety ruled his human side and, at least for now, it was still more powerful than his dragon. Her attentiveness sprung from guilt at his injury, it insisted. Or obligation.
What woman would be interested in a creature as malformed as he? As hideous as he looked to himself in the mirror, his appearance must appear ten times worse to her.
The urge to smile faded.
They both tucked into their breakfast. Her light-hearted company was a balm to his doubts. The comfortable silence abated some of his worry.
He turned to ruminating over his meeting with Thalia the night before.
Near the end, he’d asked a very simple question. “Can you change me back?”
Her answer had made his stomach drop. “Science broke you, so magic can only do so much.” She went on to explain that she might be able to allow him to be completely human again for a short time, but his best shot at full control of his triple nature was biology.
Put simply, mating should fix him.
Talk about a catch-22.
He glanced at Sofia. She waved at people going in and out of the area as she ate. The sunlight had sharpened as afternoon neared and it ignited coppery sparkles in the depths of her dark brown curls. Damn, she’s gorgeous.
Last night, Thalia had confirmed the conclusion of his feral sides. Sofia was his mate. Her keen vampire—vampires, wasn’t that a trip?—senses confirmed it, but that didn’t change anything. His pheromones, or whatever, might draw her, but that wasn’t enough. He had to make her want him, and he had no idea how to do that.
He barely knew how to relate to people. Hell, Lu was his only friend and she’d barreled her way into his life through sheer force of personality. He had no idea why.
As for romance, sex, except in dreams, just hadn’t been a thing for him. His face warmed at the thought of the intense dreams.
Now, he was supposed to make Sofia want to have sex with him?
A dagger of pain strafed his chest. Some biological need wasn’t enough.
He wanted her to love him.
Why was that? His breath caught as the answer slammed through him.
Because he loved her.
As soon as the thought occurred, he tried to dismiss it. They’d only known each other for weeks. Only spent any length of time together in the last few days. How could he love her?
But in his heart, he knew it to be true. No amount of logical self-talk erased his certainty. He loved Sofia Flores.
And what was there not to love? She was beautiful inside and out. Hardworking, caring, devoted to her family.
He almost chuffed in disgust. Sex was out of his reach. How could she love him? Him. The rejected science experiment, the broken chimera.
He had as much a chance of winning her as winning the lottery. Hell, he had a better shot with the lottery, anyone could buy a ticket. Sure, she’d been friendly and kind from the beginning, but expecting anything more seemed the height of wishful thinking.
Worse, all signs pointed to him being close to going feral. Staying near her might put her in danger. His head ached. He couldn’t risk endangering her or Lu and the other carnies, but leaving would almost definitely turn him feral.
He could choose that option, run away and let the dragon take over. There was a simplicity to his dragon mind. Everything was black and white.
But according to Thalia, going feral wasn’t a choice—it was a death sentence.
If his family didn’t end him, the Ethereal Council would make sure he was killed, so the secrets of the magical world wouldn’t be exposed.
His family.
Thalia had talked for an hour or more about his brothers, Jake the youngest, who’d endured so much at the hands of the same people who’d tortured Roan.
Ethan, a former Navy Seal and treasure hunter who’d become trapped between physical forms and believed himself a ghost.
The twins, Connor and Tyler, former Army Ra
ngers—apparently his brothers’ sizes and chimera agility, strength, and senses made them a natural for the armed services—who’d been blackmailed into a bank robbery.
Kyle, the oldest, who’d been searching for them for so long.
Caleb, second oldest, who remained missing.
And their mates, Anjali, a doctor, Devon, a lawyer, Embry, an FBI Agent, Zara, a journalist, and CJ who’d been a hunter for their enemies and somehow fallen for Kyle.
They’d all found each other through incredible odds. Giving up and running now would be more than just a slap in his brothers’ faces, especially Kyle’s. Besides, he finally had the family he’d longed for, how could he abandon them?
No. He couldn’t let them down by giving up now.
~ ~ ~
Holcomb finished filling his final row of pipettes and stared at the wall, mulling over how the hell he’d gotten here, as he had for the last few months working at this low-paying, dead-end job.
He had a degree in biochemical engineering from UC Berkeley. If only he could go back in time and tell his twenty-two-year-old self to snatch that job with Big Pharma instead of the Kincaid Group. Or even go back fourteen or so years and figure out why he’d been unsuccessful in triggering a total shift in his subject.
He’d never agreed with the decision to cut Subject B loose. Shit, at the very least it should have been sacrificed and dissected.
But since Subject B was likely still viable . . .
He groaned. Viable, but in the wind.
Damn, they should at least have tagged him, as Holcomb had suggested as a last resort.
“No physical evidence.” Kincaid had insisted. As if the specimen’s whole body hadn’t been evidence.
Subject A had shifted, and reliably. Maybe Subject B was just deficient. Deficient.
That term had more than one meaning.
Any number of nutrient or chemical deficiencies could have impeded the full shift. His compounds might not have been the problem. The most promising had resulted in the formula to inhibit shifting, after all.