by Sadie Sears
I certainly wouldn’t be playing kismet kissy-face with a guy who didn’t know that go meant leave.
I didn’t realize I’d raised my voice until Zoe pushed around him and stepped into my room. She rubbed her eyes and came to sit on my bed beside me, scooted close so I could wrap an arm around her and kiss the top of her head.
“What is going on here?” She snuggled into my side, but the last thing she needed was to see me sick and upset. “What’s all the noise?”
Gretta nodded at me. “Hey, Zoe, your mom is having a flare-up. She probably needs to rest today, so why don’t you go get dressed and let Sam and me treat you to breakfast at the Brew House?”
Zoe looked up at me. “Will you be okay, Mom?”
Oh, God. I didn’t want Zoe to have to grow up worrying about me the way Gretta had. “Yeah, of course. I’m going to lie in this bed all day and read, maybe meditate a little.” Plus, I didn’t have it in me to cook today. Which made me feel worse, like every other relapse I’d ever had, because what kind of mother couldn’t cook for her daughter? “You go ahead and get ready to go with Aunt Gretta and Sam.”
She gave me a quick hug. “I’ll bring you back a Southwest omelet, no cheese.” And she winked.
I smiled and kissed the top of her head again. I was never going to get enough of holding my girl. “Best kid ever.”
As Zoe bounced out of the room with Gretta, Leath, still holding the tourmaline, glanced down then leveled a soft gaze at me. Had he not broken the very thing that cleansed my house of negativity, I might not have been so angry, but I needed my tourmaline.
“I’m so sorry, Lila.” His sincerity dripped off every syllable.
I turned to face the wall. He could apologize to the back of my head for as long as he wanted to stand there. I didn’t need to see his face.
“Lila.” His voice softened, broke a little.
Anger surged through my stomach. He should’ve never been here. And it sounded ungrateful since he’d taken care of me, stayed by my side the entire night, but he also wanted to change me, to take away something that had been a part of me for a decade of my life so it didn’t inconvenience him or Gretta. Then they acted like my concerns for my mental health in the aftermath were completely unwarranted.
I didn’t ask for much out of life, not because I believed I wouldn’t get it, but because I used my big wishes for Zoe and Gretta. Asking too much almost guaranteed nothing good would come of it. And I wasn’t prepared to take such a chance with whoever decided whether or not wishes were granted. I accepted everyone as they were. I would never dream of asking anyone to take an enormous risk like that for me. A tear slid down my cheek. Then another.
But I admitted to myself that, if I knew a way to help someone, I would suggest it, maybe even lobby for it. Like Leath had done. Just before he broke my tourmaline crystal. I didn’t even want to think about how hypocritical that thought was.
Instead, I sighed, closed my eyes, and let the pain medicine Gretta gave me do its thing.
Hours later, when I woke, Zoe stood at the window. The sun caught in her hair, turning it more golden than chestnut where her ponytail hung over her shoulder, and she almost looked like Gretta from the back. I stared for a minute, thinking how lucky I was to have her, how lucky she’d turned out smart and well-behaved and healthy.
“What are you doing, Zoe?”
She wasn’t so much of a bird watcher or nature enthusiast that it made sense for her to be gazing out the window like she’d never seen the sun before. She didn’t turn to me before she answered. “I’m watching Leath.” She stuck her finger against the glass and traced a path, presumably using it to follow his flight pattern. “Did you know he can change into a small dragon and a large one?”
“Really?” No, I didn’t know that. I probably should’ve sounded more interested for her sake, but I didn’t have it in me.
“Yeah. Gretta told me a little about them.” She turned back to the window. “He looks so cool. You wanna see?” She moved to the side, so I had a better view. “Doesn’t he?”
He did. His scales were a deep, dark green. The same colors as the forest, as the earth. Cool wasn’t the right word. Elegant. Powerful. Fierce. Those were good words for Leath in flight. He swooped low then bounded back toward the sky, and I lost him in the trees for a moment before he reappeared, wings spread as he glided, slicing through the air.
My heart thumped hard. There was something striking about seeing him in flight, and I wondered what it would be like to be so free. Before it could take root, I nipped the thought closed. But my heart kept pounding and my palms went slick, like my body anticipated something that I was never going to allow. It wasn’t happening.
Outside the window, as if he knew Zoe and I were watching, Leath did the equivalent to a barrel roll and made a hard left. Zoe laughed, and I shook my head. He was a character, fun and funny, witty and charming. If not out loud, I could at least admit that in my head. He was also annoyingly persistent.
Zoe continued watching for a minute then glanced at me over her shoulder. “I feel a lot better knowing he’s the one protecting us from that psycho.”
Oh, God. “What psycho?”
Finally, she moved away from the window and crawled onto my bed beside me. Her dark eyes flashed and the almost teenager part of her took control of her tone, hardened it to a dull edge. “Mom, I’m not a baby. I know things, and I listen.”
My daughter, my child, who deserved a fun-loving, carefree childhood, knew that her mother was being stalked and was trying to hide it. What kind of parent was I? Not only had I not been upfront and honest with her from the beginning, I’d tried to actively protect her from it. I hadn’t wanted her to be afraid of something I didn’t think was a big deal at the start, and then ended up hiding something that could’ve endangered her if she hadn’t already known.
“Oh, Zo.”
“I’m just saying, if someone is after us, I’m glad Leath’s the guy guarding the door.” She shifted to watch him again, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “And he’s a really good cook. Much better than Aunt Gretta. He made me a BLT for lunch that was so good. He put some kind of spice on your weed cheese and melted it right on top of the bacon, so it was gooey and—yum! You have to have him make you one. You’ll want him to stick around, too.” She closed her eyes and groaned, the inappropriate but accurate response to delicious food.
He’d made her a sandwich. I could’ve cried. Maybe from gratitude, but probably more from the shame of how I treated him. And he’d stayed, even though I treated him like he took my crystal, slammed it on the ground, and danced in the shards. He’d stayed and cooked for my kid when I couldn’t even manage to roll onto my side without a grimace and a whine. I swallowed hard, feeling about two inches tall.
“Hey, Zo.” I hugged her a bit tighter. “Maybe tonight we could let Leath sleep on the sofa?” It had to beat the porch and the chair beside my bed.
Before she could answer, her phone lit up. No way was a conversation with me even in the same arena as one with Shae. Zoe sprang up and out of the room while I continued to watch Leath. His grace in flight. The intensity of every swoop and swivel, every turn and dip. He was something to behold, a beauty like no man or dragon I’d ever seen, and I pulled a fistful of blanket to my chest. My pulse throbbed, and I could’ve watched him all day, would’ve enjoyed every second of it without fail.
Then he landed at the edge of the yard where the grass ended, and the forest started. His body, that of his dragon anyway, shifted, slimmed, and became man. Holy fire truck. Pure, unadulterated, naked man stood in my backyard, beautifully sculpted, deliciously defined. Did I mention his muscle tone? Men who couldn’t change into dragons and fly weren’t built like Leath. Hell, the men who could change into dragons and fly weren’t all built like him. Not that Sam wasn’t his own brand of eye candy, but Leath was the watermelon flavor of the group, for sure.
I might have drooled, just a little. Thank goodness Zoe w
asn’t looking anymore. Whoa.
He walked across the yard to a pile of clothes sitting on a stump. Every move made my body, my panties wet. He shook out his shirt and turned it so it was right-side out then slipped it over his head. I said a quiet and mournful goodbye to his ab muscles and the expanse of his broad chest. He picked up his jeans and everything south of my equator grew a little warm when he turned around and slipped them on. The man had glutes that were devastating and beautiful, shapely and… Oh, God.
I shouldn’t have been staring. I shouldn’t have seen any of it, but I did. And no way was I going to be able to forget all I’d seen even if I tried. And not be creepy, but no, I wasn’t going to put much, if any, effort into forgetting. On the contrary, Leath’s ass was going to the front end of my fantasy file.
9
Leath
If we were destined to take this relationship in baby steps, I could do it. And I would’ve chided myself for calling it a relationship, but two days after her relapse, I was in her house, at her table, with the food she’d let me cook for us on a plate in front of me. I would take a day trip to Paris or Italy to learn how to cook even better things for her if it meant I could keep sitting right here, across from her, every morning, every night, forever.
She smiled at me, then closed her eyes as if she was savoring the bite. “This is so good, Leath.”
“Thanks.”
I didn’t necessarily need my back patted, but her praise spread fingers of warmth through my entire body. She’d been equally appreciative at breakfast and lunch, making little moans that sent tingles to my dick because they sounded much the same as I imagined her ecstasy would sound. She still wasn’t walking without her cane, still needed help up and down the stairs, but when I helped her, she let me wrap my arm around her waist and she leaned into me.
I would’ve carried her if she’d have let me, but I didn’t want to push and end up back on the porch. Because even though I thought we might be past the days she would send me away, I didn’t want to risk it by insisting she take help she obviously didn’t want or think she needed.
“Can I show you something?” She blinked like she was afraid I might decline anything she ever asked me.
“Yes,” I said immediately. I would let her show me anything she wanted to. Pushing back from the table, I then walked around to help her up. “Here you go.” I handed her the cane.
She led me out of the dining room and through the foyer to the living room. “Sit.”
I picked the sofa just in case she wanted to sit next to me. While I settled in, she pulled a book with a grayish-blue linen cover from the shelf then turned, and exactly like I planned it, sat in the space to my left between the arm and me. She handed me the book.
“What’s this?” I ran my hand over the front, figuring she would tell me when to open it.
She smiled and turned her knees toward me, pressed them into mine then laid her fingers on my forearm. My dragon woke and purred like a satisfied kitten. The sound reverberated through my chest involuntarily. I tried to cover it up with a cough, but she laughed, and tightened her fingers just a bit.
“Sam told Gretta about what happened with you and the ashram. I’ve had this book for years because it discusses various yoga techniques, but I didn’t think about the history inside until she mentioned what happened.” She stared at me, but I couldn’t move.
It wasn’t Sam’s story to tell, and I breathed a slow sigh, deep and long because I didn’t appreciate him telling her any more than I appreciated the situation had happened in the first place.
She nodded to the book, and I opened the cover then waited while she flipped the pages to one marked with a Post-it. It was a picture of the ashram, at the ornate corbels on the peaks of the overhang, the Spanish tile roof, the statue at the temple, and the creek that ran alongside the building. I’d spent a long time knowing this place, and a longer time hating it.
“This is the story of a dragon.” She cocked an eyebrow, but I neither confirmed nor denied I was said dragon. She glanced down at the intricate writing on the pages before she continued. “And some wizards who corrupted the yogis. The book says that the yogis were overtaken by the wizards who wanted to get rid of the dragon.”
She’d managed to hit the broad, summary version of the story. But there was a lot I could’ve told her she would never find in a history book, handwritten or not.
“They didn’t need my protection. They had their faith to keep them safe.” Now wasn’t the time to break out all the old hard feelings. But I wanted to let her know a little, so if I stumbled over something later, she might be inclined to understand. “Before, when I got there, I was happy to be able to protect them. Dragons protect, and this was perfect. I liked the peace there. The purity of a place so untouched by progress and the West.”
There was a romance I’d always correlated to that time of my life. Not due to a woman, but because of a feeling that fell over me when I thought of the place, the time I’d lived there. The beginning, anyway.
“But after, when they turned on me, it was hard. I didn’t take it well. I felt unappreciated, and in turn, I judged everybody. If they needed protection, the human part of me resented going. If they resisted my protection, my dragon roared, and it made me less than the easygoing, laidback bundle of raw masculinity you see before you.”
She smiled. “There’s more to the story.”
“Do I come out as the hero?” Would’ve been nice if someone rewrote the history I’d lived to make the story resemble more of what happened.
“It says that after the dragon left, the yogis discovered the wizard’s intent. He put the spell on them so he could tap into the magical ley line. Seems the dragon they worked so hard to run off taught them a couple things. He showed them how to sense a bad wizard and how to rid themselves of the problem. Turned out to be useful information. They had to get a new dragon, but they did it, and they were saved because of what you taught them.”
Her voice was strong but gentle, firm but soft. “They didn’t know how to find you, and the other dragon sent to help them didn’t, or wouldn’t, tell. So, they wrote their story to be handed down so that maybe, someday, you’d hear it or read it.” She gave the spot where her hand still rested on my arm a squeeze. “You saved them. And they would’ve been grateful if they could’ve found you.”
The fact they’d run me off seemed such a small part of the story looking back now. I’d spent a lot of years with them, learning their ways and teaching them what I could in return. But more important than all that, Lila had looked into the story for me.
For me.
“Thank you, Lila.” All my annoyance for her lack of gratitude when I was trying to protect her earlier faded.
“I had the book all this time. I just didn’t know I would need it for a reason other than I thought.” Her cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. She wasn’t as good at taking praise as I apparently was at needing it. “Tell me about the ashram. What was it like?”
Finally. Something we could talk about that made her face light up. “It was cool at night. Kind of cold, actually, but I’m usually a few degrees warmer than normal people.” Oh, great. I’d made it about me. “There was a building—big and open, where they practiced all the things they learned, all the techniques, and they applied all the knowledge. It was a community. Everyone had a function and tasks.” I told her everything I could remember, watched her eyes light up and her smile widen. There wasn’t a minute of the day this woman didn’t light up my life.
“It sounds beautiful.”
I nodded, my heart about to burst. “It was almost the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” I covered her hand on my arm, but kept my gaze locked onto hers. “Almost.”
More pink in her cheeks. But then her eyes flipped open wide and she frowned. “Leath. Did you hear something?”
I hadn’t. And I had ears like an eagle. I shook my head. “No.”
“Would you check outside? I feel like something
isn’t right.”
Something wasn’t right? What the hell did that mean? But thinking about it didn’t stop me from standing up and going to the door and walking out. I stood on the porch. She was right. Something was off. My dragon waited at the edge of my consciousness, ready to burst free if danger called.
I listened for any wayward rustle, watched for a branch that moved in the stillness of this evening. The bush at the corner of the house shifted, and an arm poked up from the greenery before a muttered curse escaped. They were some of the same bushes I’d inspected the other night, thinking they were entirely too close to the house. I walked over, calm, quiet, but dangerous, ready to tear apart whatever was waiting. Battle pose meant something different out here.
When the idiot tried to squeeze past the house, scuttle away like the little rodent he was, I snatched him by the collar and twisted my hand so the fabric bunched around his throat. If this guy weighed a buck-fifty I would’ve been shocked because I pulled him off his feet using nothing more than the human strength of one arm and the elastic in his collar.
“Who the fuck are you?” I was trying to sound harsh, angry, and deadly. If his trembling was the ruler by which I measured my success, I’d exceeded all expectations. “And what the fuck are you doing hiding in her yard?”
“No one. I’m no one.” His voice was weak, panicked. Probably pitched a couple octaves higher than normal.
My dragon growled and wanted a piece of this guy. The human part of me did, too. I recognized him as the one from the park that had peeked in the empty storefront—Lila’s future storefront, I knew now—and his scent matched what I remembered from around her gate. “Why the hell are you in Lila’s yard?”
He struggled and tried twisting away, and the slimy little dirtbag whacked me in the shin with his cane. “I’m not stalking her!” Yet, he’d picked the exact word to describe hiding in someone’s landscaping and watching them.