Hidden Heart (Dark Wing Series Book 1)

by Ellie Pond

  She swam another lap before getting out. “Better?” She threw the words at Tad.

  He grunted. “Mostly.”

  “What do you want me to do, sandblast myself?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve heard of this thing called soap. Might help.”

  She screamed in frustration and picked up her bag and her wrap as drips of water ran down her leg. She stormed off of the pool deck.

  9

  Get Physical

  “Mr. Larsen, do you have any pre-existing injuries?” The doctor repeated the question the nurse asked a few minutes before.

  “I am a shifter, doc—what do you think?” Duncan sat on the side of an examination bench wearing a paper gown over nothing. Dr. Cottage had marched in minutes before, her red hair wound up in a messy bun on the top of her head. She looked like someone he knew, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Someone from home. She didn’t look like his doctor back in the burg. Five feet eleven, pale, and completely in charge while being adorably awkward. “Do I need to wear this?” The paper gown irritated his skin with every movement. And made the hives on his arms itch. They were hard to see, because of his arm tattoos. Hives on his arms were a common issue, one of the reasons he had his tattoos expanded to cover his whole sleeve. That and he liked them.

  “Is it bothering you?” Her hazel eyes questioned back.

  “Yes.”

  “Put it on your lap.”

  Duncan pulled it off and laid it across his lap. “Thank you.”

  The nurse standing by the door laughed. “It’s all natural to get revved up before a fight, but we don’t need you poking our doctor in the eye.” The puma shifter pulled out a small cloth blanket from the drawer next to the sink. “Here. Use this.”

  “Thanks.” Duncan laid the blanket over his lap, putting the paper one on the bench next to him.

  “Any specific injuries you can go over will be helpful.”

  “Right, I’ve dislocated my shoulder a dozen times or so. Hurts like hell slamming it back in place. I used to let my brother put it back. But I can do it myself now.” He winced, remembering the first time he did it.

  “And how did you do this?” She pointed to the scar on his clavicle.

  “Being the youngest of three brothers and a couple of cousins. That or hockey, I don’t remember.”

  Dr. Cottage nodded and typed on her pad. “Any other illnesses?”

  Duncan didn’t move. He wasn’t going to tell her how much pain he was in on a daily basis. Every day since he was thirteen. How his stomach churned with acid. How he couldn’t sleep. He had told a doctor once, and three years later they told him there seemed to be no cause.

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “Really? You have no symptoms?”

  “Nope.” Duncan grabbed his hat from the pile of clothes next to him and put it on backwards.

  “No ringing of the ears?”

  “Nope.” Only a marching band.

  “Stomach doesn’t give you any trouble?”

  “I can eat a horse, but I wouldn’t—I like them too much.” Every bite he took churned like a witch’s cauldron.

  “You want to tell me about the hives on your wrists?”

  He shrugged. “They come and they go.” Damn. He wanted to fight tonight.

  The doc put her hand out for him to show his arm to her. She examined it. “Interesting. How do they feel?”

  “Itchy at times.”

  Cottage and the nurse walked into the hall. He heard Cottage ask the puma nurse. “What do you think?” But he couldn’t hear a reply

  They both came back into the room.

  “You sleep well?”

  He nodded. Dr. Cottage crossed the room, still typing on her iPad. “That’s odd. From your hormone levels I took earlier, and what I’ve seen in other wolf shifters, I would think that you would have a few things? But you say otherwise.” She raised an eyebrow. “Your heart and muscles and major organs say that you are fit for a match. I’ll approve it. But if you want to change your answers and come have a chat with me. I would be happy to.”

  “Thanks, doc. Don’t know why I would, but thanks.” Endless rounds of tests with no help didn’t appeal to him. Been there, done that.

  “You can put your clothes back on.”

  Duncan stood up off the table, and the blanket fell to the ground.

  “She meant once we leave the room.” Nurse Smithfield shook her head. Her full head of curls quaked as she laughed. “Canines are so stupid.” She left the room.

  “Mr. Larsen, Duncan, if I may.”

  “Please.” He pulled his pants up in a swift motion.

  “I may be human, but I don’t treat many. Maybe someone has looked at you before. Maybe not. I know it can be, well, taboo to seek medical advice for something other than a hole in your body in the shifter world. But if you would like some help, let me know. There is more going on than you’re telling me, but if you want to fight, I don’t see any reason you shouldn’t.”

  “I am fine, doc, but thanks.” He pulled his blue T-shirt on and put his hat back on his head.

  “Your fight is at 10 tonight.” Her strawberry hair spraying from the bun on the top of her head wiggled as she left the room.

  10

  Tempest

  Captain Matthias closed the door to the private cupola. While his Dragon needed wealth and glory, the man in him craved quiet and order. Matthias’s rooms sat above the bridge, a suite that let him work and be at home together.

  All dragons had hoards; he had had several during his lifetime, but this ship gave him the peace that he needed. His amazing Dark Wing had things that ships didn’t normally have. This haven at the top of the ship was one. The designers of the vessel nestled it into the steam pipe. The cupola’s bird nest view let him take in most of the deck, and with tinted windows, it blended in. Without it being pointed out, it was almost invisible. The crest of the pipe receded from the eye. Here he only relaxed. Only a few other crew members could even access the elevator that reached the cupola.

  He needed quiet and attention—the push and pull of his personality, his dragon and human, were frequently at odds. The rarity of dragons for hundreds of years led to hunts. Now they were hunted with cameras and reporters. Matthias, Dark Wing in his dragon form, still hadn’t been photographed close up. He planned on keeping it that way. Other dragons reveled in the fame and glamor of being able to show off their scales. While he didn’t mind the attention and enjoyed being famous, the old way made him want to keep his dragon skin to himself. And being such a public figure made privacy hard at all times. He enjoyed the crowds of guests gathering around him as he walked around the ship. He also craved the quiet of his haven. Here he could avoid the noise below where passengers squealed on the water slide or the bar bell rang when a red dragon cocktail was ordered. He pulled his casual clothes out of a teak cabinet. He changed out of his uniform into a white T-shirt and heather gray sweatpants. Even if he planned on being here for a short time, he always changed. When his whites were precisely hung in the cabinet, he closed its door.

  The middle of the cruise was always his favorite—the crew was settled in, the passengers were happy and knew the routine. He made himself a drink at his bar cart and enjoyed the view.

  He took his seltzer water out to the small balcony for only a moment before he returned inside. He closed the door and cut the rest of the ship off, sinking into the extra-large black recliner near the mammoth window. He opened the leather-bound volume on the table next to the only chair, and lost himself in a book whose words he read every year. Habit was his foundation of process, his reason for continuing.

  * * *

  He glanced up. The sun lay below the top of the stacks; an hour had passed. His break was over.

  The slight shift outside the main door alerted him to a visitor before the door opened and closed. Hopefully, if he didn’t say anything, they would assume he wasn’t in. There were only two individuals on board that would
walk into his room without knocking, and if it was his First Officer, he would have identified himself by now. Anyone else would have knocked. Which meant that it was the witch, and neither he nor his dragon wanted to talk to her about her visions. She had become a damn pest. He could step back out onto the balcony, roll forward, and shift before he hit the ocean. It wasn’t his dragon’s preferred method of shifting, but it would get him away. But there were the hundred guests on the deck with cameras, and the sun still shone. While his haven was hidden but not unknown, he wouldn’t be a coward, but the thought did cross his mind. He sighed.

  The scent of her swirled around the small room. He didn’t stand up, and, with only one chair, she couldn’t sit down. In this position, they were the same height. Her violet eyes matched her name. If she weren’t so infuriating, he would find her stunning.

  “We are having this conversation.” Her loose dress was bunched at the fist that rested on her hip.

  “I am not having this conversation, again, Violet.” He didn’t want to have it the first time, never mind the tenth.

  “I never thought you were a selfish, self-serving bastard, or I wouldn’t have volunteered to help you.”

  “You didn’t volunteer, Violet.”

  “I certainly did.”

  “No, Violet, you got the council to force me to let you move on board and play matchmaker to the world of shifters.”

  “Well it hasn’t hurt your business.” Her lips pursed.

  He could hear her heart rate speed up. His dragon fluttered inside. That was true. Before Violet sailed on the Dark Wing, his cabin fill rate had been good, but now they were almost always full. Business boomed. So much so that building a second ship made sense.

  “You can at least listen to me.” She shifted slightly. The rest of the ship’s crew steered clear of Violet. They reeked of a good dose of fear when she passed by.

  “That’s the problem. I don’t have to, Violet. I don’t want my fortune read, I don’t want to know my destiny, I don’t want you to bring a woman on board because your vision says she’s my mate. I don’t have a mate, Violet. I am 523 years old. If my mate was out there, I would have found her by now.”

  “That's bullshit, and you know it.” She poked him in the chest. He glared at her finger until she pulled it back.

  “No, you’re right, Violet. I don’t know anything about it and that’s a good thing. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to be domesticated. I am happy how I am. I love my ship. I have my crew. And it’s the best it’s been for hundreds of years.” He didn’t need love. Love was for the young.

  “You don’t want it to be better?”

  “I don’t need it to be better.” Comfortable. That’s how he felt, and that was a great place to be. And the seer wouldn’t mess with it.

  “I need to see the vision. It’s killing me.”

  “We don’t need to know everything. You’ll be fine.”

  “No, Matthias, I won’t. This vision is going to kill me if I don’t let it through.”

  He turned and scrutinized her. Her hair stuck around her face like a messy nest today. Her eyes were circled with bags. He stood up with his drink and went to the small teak table she leaned on. “Well, shit. A vision can kill you?”

  “No, a vision can’t kill you, but the magic that makes the vision come through can, if you don’t let it in. I’m throwing up all my powers to stop it coming through, and now I can’t see what I am supposed to see for others, so, hell yes, this one, this one could kill me. And Madame Giselle will order me to view it soon anyway because she doesn’t know about our little deal. And you know her—she’s not going to be thrilled to know that I let you have that kind of power over me. I know the stipulation of me being on board was that I would never find or view anything about you, never find your mate. Why you don’t want to find your mate makes no sense to me.”

  She put her hands on her hips and blinked her eyes—the same color as her name. He shrugged his shoulder at her. More than once he explained it. He wasn’t about to do it again. Love wasn’t for him. He had it, lost it, and wasn’t doing it again. And her visions weren’t always about mates and usually as clear as mud. He didn’t need to waste time worrying about nonsense.

  She started in again. “But we’ve come to a decision time. I have to let this vision finish, and, to be honest, it could be about anything. Only it’s about you and important. So important that the Well is knocking me on my back daily. I took the blood potion that I wouldn’t find your mate, wouldn’t learn anything about you. Only you can reverse it.”

  “Violet. The answer is no. It was no last time you asked, too.” He didn’t want to hurt her, but he didn’t want to know anything. Knowing your fate was never a good idea. The blood potion was a good idea. It was the only way he could be sure that she would keep her word. If a blood oath promise to an alpha was broken, the consequences were death or exile. And once you left a dragon’s pack, you didn’t get to return—at least, not to his pack. He could reverse the oath, but he wasn’t going to.

  “This vision is going to come. The only control you have is whether I stay or break the blood potion by leaving your alpha influence.”

  The captain put his drink down on the table. “I’ll think about it.”

  Wind blew open the door from the deck. A gust fluttered the pages of his book open. Dust and mist landed around the room. Violet’s eyes glowed, her silk robe flowing behind her, and the door to the small entry by the elevator flew up without her touching it and shuttered closed. Captain Matthias walked around to his table and stared at the page the book had opened to. Damn witch—always with such a temper, but equaled with a passion for what she did. He owed her a lot. He couldn’t let her have the vision. No part of him wanted to know if he had a mate. He had loved a long time ago. At least he thought he had. And now he didn’t need it. Didn’t want it. He would leave it up to her. If she could find a way to defeat the vision, then she wouldn’t have to leave. Otherwise she would be banished for breaking the blood oath when she took him on as an alpha. He would find another witch. If the council allowed it. Business could sustain itself for a while. Their reputation of making fated mate matches would stay, even if they weren’t. Some of the rumors that bounced around on the internet had them matching hundreds of passengers a cruise. Matthias didn’t stop the rumors. They were good for business. He glared at the page the book opened to.

  “Awake, dear heart, awake. Thou hast slept well. Awake.”

  Not any time soon, if he had anything to do with it. He put his drink down on the small table. On the wall, he pushed the intercom button.

  “Edvard, I need someone to come clean up the Haven.” He paused. “The wind has disheveled it, again.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain, I saw the wind heading up your way not long ago. I have Daniel Patton standing by when you are ready.”

  The sun set over the starboard rail, and most of the passengers were gone from the deck, heading to a show or a meal. He should be heading out to dinner as well. He had guests waiting for him. A few minutes would be all he needed.

  “Thank you, Edvard, and tell Patton thank you for the last time, too.”

  He pulled his comfortable clothes off and hung them in the closet. Hopefully it wouldn’t take another three days before he had a moment alone again. He closed the leather-bound copy of The Tempest.

  * * *

  Dinner lasted an hour and signing autographs in the lobby another before he found his way to his suite. He repeated the process and hung his whites again, this time in a closet full of other uniforms. His soft heather gray pants itched, and, drink in hand, he pushed the intercom button.

  The sky was now velvet, with a small island that glimmered to the West.

  “I am going for a flight in five. Bearing 9.5.”

  “Copy, Captain.” He felt the ship list starboard. Standard procedure for him to take off without causing any issues. The ship turned away from his flight pattern.

  Matthias pulled his shirt
over his head, and, with an even tug, his sweats came off, too. He gulped the last of his drink and headed back to the deck. He ran down the board, a straight board that jutted off the bow; the shift took him at a steady stride. His dragon burst out of him, and his heavy claw scraped the end of the board as he pushed off. With a stride, he dove off the side of the ship before he collided with the choppy green water. Satin black wings gave strong beats and pushed him high above Dark Wing’s stacks. In the depth of the night it would be hard to see him as he soared upward into the sky towards the Milky Way.

  Normally, a feeling of euphoria hit him, but now dread creeped in. Violet would have the vision that was out of his control. What would he do about it? That would be up to him. It wouldn’t only be Violet’s belief that her leaving would hurt the ship. Those same internet rumors that had hundreds of couples matched up every cruise would stop if Violet and Sam didn’t bring fated mates together. But this wasn’t a democracy. It was his ship, his pack. There wasn’t a council here for him to have to listen to. The crew members were more than employees—they were his responsibility. He surged upward. Shit, Violet was his responsibility too. He flew above the clouds blocking out the moon low on the horizon. Only a few stars poked through the young night sky. The night could be full of promise. But dread wrapped him up. He flew back to the ship, diving into the water and under the ship—his way of letting the sonar pick him up and ready the bridge for his landing. The ship banked to the starboard, and he settled on the bow as gracefully as possible. The Dark Wing listed for a minute before the bridge corrected for his weight. He heard the bilges flush and guzzle in more seawater as his skin replaced his scales and his bones popped into place.

  He took the towel from the deck chair and dried the ocean water off. As much as he hated to admit it, the witches brought in passengers and created the reputation of Dark Wing. He needed them. Shit.