Dragon's Curvy Doctor (Dragon's Curvy Mate Series Book 4)

by Annabelle Winters

  Or assholes, I remind myself as I think about the dude I burned on the street just because he didn’t take the time to investigate the cry for help I know he heard. Maybe a little extreme, but knowing I have a Fated Mate is bringing out the extreme in me.

  The thought of Dorrie makes me almost lose my shit, and suddenly I realize that there’s no fucking way I’m leaving town! I can’t let my Fated Mate out of my sight! My Dragon and I are bound to protect her, and until I figure out a way to make her understand that she’s gonna be my mate and that’s the way shit goes, I’m gonna watch over her like a hawk watches over a rabbit.

  I think hawks eat rabbits, Genius, whispers my wise-ass Dragon. And though I like to eat anything with feet and a heartbeat, it might be kinda hard to tell the other Dragons in the Netherworld that we ate our mate.

  “You know what I mean,” I mutter, tossing a hundred onto the couple’s table and placing another under my plate. “Come on. Time to blow this joint.”

  “What’cha gonna do with your millions, Diesel?” says the woman as I make for the door.

  I stop in my tracks and frown. How does she know my name? And how the hell does she know I’m a millionaire?! Nobody knows I’m a millionaire! All my loot is stashed in vaults all over the world. Everything from prepaid storage lockers to ancient caves in far-flung mountain ranges. No bank accounts. No investments. A Dragon needs to see his wealth, feel it on his skin, count it again and again like an obsessed lunatic.

  “How do you know my name?” I growl, turning my head halfway as my body stiffens and my Dragon goes tense.

  “Told ya, we saw you on the news,” says the man. “There! You’re on again!”

  I turn towards the old TV behind the diner bar, and sure enough, there’s my big face in the box above the newscaster. The volume is off, and I tighten my jaw and narrow my eyes so I can read the caption on the screen.

  I read it.

  I read it again.

  And then I laugh as both surprise and relief roll through me like a bulldozer.

  LOCAL MECHANIC WINS MILLION-DOLLAR LOTTERY! says the headline, and I clap my hands and laugh again. A part of me knows that any kind of publicity isn’t a good thing, that the reason I’ve survived for two centuries is because I keep a low profile. But I can’t help but feel like a kid at Christmas. I don’t need the money, but I compulsively buy lottery tickets because it taps into my Dragon’s need to claim and possess. And now that I finally won big, the money-grubbing instincts of my Dragon won’t let me walk away from this.

  Besides, I think as I shoot one last glance at the screen and then walk out of the door, my picture’s already on the news. If I don’t show up to claim the winnings, the story will only get bigger. If Arthur the Alpha Dragon is still hunting my ass, my best option is to claim my cash so the story disappears quick.

  “No way Arthur’s still so pissed off about me stealing the Red Diamond that he’s tracking local news from some small American town,” I say to myself as I find that lottery ticket and head back to the shop where I left my truck.

  But as I get behind the wheel and hear the V8 engine roar to life, I have to fight back that sickening feeling that a lot of coincidences are piling up, like dark clouds gathering on the horizon. I know this is how fate works. I also know that fate isn’t a straight shot. Fate is a winding, twisty road.

  In other words, fate likes to fuck with you.

  3

  DORRIE

  My eyes are fucking with me. Or maybe it’s my brain.

  I squint at the flat-screen TV in the hospital cafeteria. It’s the news—which I’m only watching in case my bare boobs made it on. Nope. The guy who got burned stole the headlines. Nobody noticed me up in the clouds.

  Which means there’s no one who can back up my story that an invisible bird the size of a jumbo-jet saved my ass from being plastered onto the sidewalk.

  I barely slept last night. Just lay awake in the dark and stared at the ceiling. I know I saw a shadow of a creature that doesn’t exist in the natural world. But when I looked up it wasn’t there.

  Except it was there!

  And it saved me.

  Someone turns up the volume on the TV, and I’m brought back from my daydream. One of the nurses is eating a granola bar and smiling at the screen.

  “Finally someone who needs the money actually wins,” she says.

  “You know that guy?” I say, glancing at the screen and doing a double-take at the close-up. The man is broad-jawed like a lumberjack, but with high cheekbones that remind me of royalty. His eyes are so green they’re like traffic lamps on camera. He’s got heavy stubble that’s a mix of black and silver. I can see lines on his forehead, but for some reason I can’t guess his age. I get the sense that he’s older than he looks. I also get the sense that he’s ageless, like he could be thirty or three-hundred and I’d believe either.

  “Don’t know him, but I’d like to get to know him,” says the nurse with a wink. “Look at that chest. See how thick his neck is—like a goddamn bull. Biceps are bigger than my thighs—and I got darned big thighs! Plus he just won a million-dollar lottery!” The nurse giggles and looks back at the man on TV, and I steal another look myself.

  “Lottery winners are usually broke within a year,” I say as I take in the sight of this brutally handsome man who I guess is a mechanic or something, judging by the caption. “Wait, is his name Diesel? No way that’s a real name. It’s probably Derek or something.”

  The nurse laughs. Then she checks her watch and sighs before heading for the restroom. I’m about to check my own watch, but just as I unfocus from the TV the camera pans back and I’m jolted upright in my chair.

  Because the new camera angle shows Diesel from a distance so I can clearly see the outline of his frame. And it triggers something. A memory.

  A memory of a shadowy figure standing in the shadows of the hospital garage.

  A man bigger than most of the cars around him.

  Broad like a bulldozer.

  With shoulders like steel beams.

  Cheekbones that picked up the dim light.

  The dim green light . . .

  Green light from his eyes.

  And now I stand up and stumble over to the TV, not sure if I’m seeing things right, not sure if I’m remembering things right. I know that memories—especially of traumatic events—are unreliable. Besides, you can’t identify someone just from a shadowy silhouette.

  I take another look at Diesel, and when I look into those green eyes I feel something shift inside me, like something just snapped into place.

  The rest of my shift passes like a gentle breeze even though I’m in the ER. There’s chaos all around me, but inside I feel so calm I wonder if I’m numb, emotionally burned out after that unexplainable event yesterday that apparently no one else saw. Was it a miracle? A guardian angel watching over me? There are stories of that kinda stuff happening, right?

  “Always without witnesses, of course,” I say to myself as I scrub down and change at the end of my shift. Within minutes I’m in the parking lot again, and I glance at the shadowy edges of the lot almost like I’m hoping I’ll see something.

  See my guardian angel.

  The thought makes me laugh out loud, and I’m still smiling when I get to my gold BMW and pop the trunk so I can stash my stuff. I slam the trunk lid down, making myself jump a little. I look around again, not sure if I’m scared or excited, not sure what I expect to see—not sure what I want to see.

  I sit behind the wheel for a long moment as I get that eerie feeling again, that sense of something snapping into place, like something’s happening even if I don’t understand it.

  And as I pull out of the garage, something else I don’t understand happens: I tap the navigation system and change my route to take the long way home. The road less travelled.

  A road that just happens to go past a mechanic’s workshop on the rough side of town.

  “So am I the stalker now?” I mutter as I straighten
my back so I can check my look in the mirror. “What am I even doing?”

  But I keep to my course like I couldn’t veer off if I tried, and my nervousness rises as I see Diesel’s workshop coming up on the right. It looks closed, and I’m almost relieved. Not that I was gonna in there. Why would I go in there? What would I even say? Why the hell am I even here?! Stop this shit, Dorrie!

  I gun the engine and change lanes so I can take a U-turn and get back on the highway, and I almost jump out of my jeans when I hear a series of loud honks from just behind me—from the lane I just cut into! I whip my head towards the rearview mirror in panic, and then I scream when a massive pick-up truck with flames painted along the side roars past me so close it takes my sideview mirror clean off!

  I curse loudly as I slam on the brakes so hard I twist my ankle. Then I curse again and grip the wheel so tight my knuckles go white. It takes me a moment to gather myself, and finally I look up and shake my head when I realize how close I came to dying. Or maybe killing someone else.

  “You all right?” comes a man’s deep voice from so near it feels like it’s coming from inside my car! I whip my head around to my back seat in panic, but of course there’s no one here. Then I look up ahead, frowning when I see the black pickup truck pulled over on the side of the road, hazards blinking. It’s way down the road, though. No way that guy got here so quick. Not unless he can fly.

  Suddenly a shadow falls across me, and when I turn I see him.

  It’s Diesel, and he’s standing next to my car even though I swear he wasn’t there a second ago!

  Or if he was, he was invisible.

  I stare up at the mountain of a man standing outside my door. He’s even bigger up close, and his broad frame blocks out most of the light even though the sun is still up. He’s got his hands on his hips, and I swallow hard when I see the bulge in his torn, grease-stained jeans. His crotch is right at my eye level, and it’s only when I realize I’m staring like an idiot that I blink and turn away.

  Now I’m all frazzled from the adrenaline. I’m also feeling strangely guilty, even embarrassed. What if he figures out I was driving by his place like some weirdo high-school chick—or some weirdo adult stalker! OMG, was I doing that?!

  “I’m so sorry!” I say, hitting the window button and looking up at him, my eyes taking in every inch of his muscular frame like I can’t help myself. But when I look into his eyes I see him flinch, and immediately I turn red when I realize he was totally checking out my cleavage from above!

  And now I sense movement at the front of his jeans, and immediately he turns his body and pretends to be inspecting my broken sideview mirror.

  “I can take care of this if you wanna pull into my shop,” he drawls over his shoulder. Then he turns his head halfway, his sharp cheekbones and heavy jawline highlighted by the sun’s rays so that it looks like he’s glowing with a supernatural flame. “I’ll give you a ten percent discount.”

  I stare at his handsome face, wondering if he’s joking. He is clearly not joking, and suddenly I’m pissed off.

  “Um, excuse me?” I say, pushing open the door and almost hitting his muscular ass. I clamber out in a very unladylike way, and when I regain my poise I straighten to full height (which doesn’t even get me up to his shoulders . . .) and meet his gaze. “You were the one who busted my mirror! You’ll pay for all of it.”

  He raises an eyebrow as the color rushes to his face. His green eyes light up with that surreal flame, and I take a step back when I realize he’s really angry, like even the ten-percent discount was more than he wanted to give!

  “You just won a million dollars and you’re getting all grumpy about fixing a little mirror for free? A mirror that you broke, by the way,” I say, immediately closing my eyes and cursing myself when I realize I just revealed that I totally saw him on TV. Great. Just great. So now I’m angry and humiliated—which only makes me more angry.

  Diesel pauses and narrows his eyes. Then he cocks his head and breaks into a grin. My heart jumps a little when I see how his eyes light up. There’s a moment of awkward silence—a knowing sorta silence: Like we both know something about ourselves and each other that would be too weird to just come out and talk about.

  Diesel clears his throat, and we both break the eye contact that had my toes curling up in my booties (I mean grown-up shoes . . .).

  “Well, there’s damage to my truck too,” he says gruffly, gesturing to that atrociously obnoxious black pickup with red flames painted along the sides and way too many exhaust pipes sticking out the rear. “I should make you pay for that.”

  “Tell you what,” I say, folding my arms under my boobs and smiling up at him. “I’ll pay for it if you paint over those ugly flames so people don’t have to suffer through seeing that thing roll through the streets.”

  He sighs and looks over at his truck in the distance. “All right. I guess I’ll tell my sweet, innocent kid that you hate her artwork.”

  My heart almost stops, and I hurriedly glance down at his left hand. No ring or even a tan-line, and I’m relieved and also pissed at myself that I even care. Anyway, just because he’s not married doesn’t mean there isn’t another woman. I mean, there’s gotta be another woman. You can’t have a kid without a woman. End of the line, Dorrie. Not that there was even a beginning of the line . . .

  I’m distracted by a rumble, and when I look up I see that Diesel’s massive body is rocking back and forth like he’s teetering drunk. It takes me a moment to realize he’s stifling laughter, and when I see his green eyes sparkle I gasp in disbelief.

  “OMG, did you seriously just make that up to make me feel like an ass?” I say. “That is so wrong!”

  “I made it up to see how you’d react,” Diesel says. He looks straight down into my eyes, and I know that he totally made me show my hand, totally tricked me into glancing at his ring finger, panic all over my face.

  I blush, but my heart makes that little leap again, sending a spark through me as I blink and look away. I’m a little embarrassed, but I’m also giddy, a feeling of innocent puppy love flowing through me in the most glorious way.

  Because now I know that he cares what I think of him. And although that kind of shit shouldn’t affect a grown woman who’s at the top of her field, has a penthouse condo, and drives a gold BMW, it totally affects me.

  “And how did I react?” I say softly, taking a step to my left and letting the door shut. A car honks at us to get out of the damned street, and both Diesel and I glare at the driver at the same time.

  We share a laugh, and then Diesel glances at my gold BMW like he’s impressed. So impressed that his eyes light up and his breath catches.

  “I like gold,” he whispers, almost to himself. The tone surprises me, and I watch in wonder as Diesel places his palm flat on the hood and slowly strokes the gold paint. Then he looks up at me, those green eyes looking like they’ve changed color to a green-gold hue. “You like gold, Dorrie?” he asks.

  I cock my head at the strange question. But what’s even stranger is that Diesel knows my name! I’m about to indignantly ask him how the hell he knows my name, but I don’t say a word. I don’t need to ask. I already know.

  I already know Diesel was the man in the garage that night.

  I already know Diesel was out on my fire escape yesterday.

  I already know Diesel was that invisible creature that rescued me.

  And the moment that last thought hits me, I see something move in Diesel’s eyes. I blink and do a double-take, wondering if the setting sun is messing with my vision. But I see it again, and it’s definitely something.

  Something alive.

  I swallow hard and take a step back as I wait for the fear to hit me. But the fear doesn’t come. I’m not scared. I can’t be scared in his presence. There’s a protective force that burns in this man, and it’s drawing me to him like a moth to a flame. I tell myself that if Diesel really is the guy from the garage and the fire escape, it means he’s probably killed
two men in the past two days. Burned them alive but in a way that the cops couldn’t understand. No gasoline. No accelerant. And yet the flame burned so hot it even melted the coins in their pockets!

  “How did you do it?” I blurt out, the question shocking me, like somehow it bypassed my brain, came straight from my heart, from that place where I trust this man even though I know nothing about him and what I do know would make a normal woman run for the exit.

  Diesel frowns as he steps back from my car and straightens to full height. The setting sun casts a long shadow of his body across my car, and for a moment I swear the shadow looks like that shadow cast on the sidewalk yesterday! I do a double-take, exhaling when I see that it’s just the angle of the sun that’s making Diesel’s thick arms and massive hands look like wings and talons.

  “How did I do what?” Diesel says.

  Now I hesitate, and I feel a subtle breeze blow through my hair like a whisper without words. I know I have a choice now—I can make up something about what my question meant and save myself from going down a road that could be dark and dangerous. Or I can double down and plunge ahead. What’cha gonna do, Dorrie? What’cha gonna choose?

  And I just look up at Diesel and smile as a beautiful calm washes over me. I’m calm because I know I’ve already made the choice.

  Made the choice like there was never a choice.

  Like this is fate.

  Like this is forever.

  “How do you do any of it?” I say to Diesel as the words start tumbling out and I feel my world falling apart, brick by brick, revealing a sense of magic and mystery that was hidden behind everyday life. “How do you burn people without leaving any clue how they were burned? How do you always seem to be there, lurking in the shadows, hiding on my fire escape, driving down the road behind me? And most of all, how am I not scared of you?”