Sharing Hazel: Lick of Fire

by Kallysten

  He was pointing at the cell next to the one Paul had just happily escaped, and the man sleeping on the cot, oblivious to everything that was going on.

  “Is he a para?” Hazel asked, ostensibly to Paul.

  Shaking his head was a mistake, as he suddenly felt a little lightheaded.

  “As far as I know, just a guy caught drinking and driving.”

  She nodded, and on they went. The lock on the back door easily opened with the key they’d obtained from the officer. The staircase beyond only counted two flights of stairs, and with liberal use of the hand rails Paul managed to keep pace with Hazel despite the pain radiating from his lower leg. Sweat dripped from his temples and his t-shirt was stuck to his back. Maybe it was what gave him away as the man behind him asked, “What’s wrong? Is it your leg? Didn’t you tell Hazel it was healed?”

  “It was healing,” Paul corrected, breathing hard. “But they took away my IV yesterday and it started getting worse again.”

  “I’ll have a look when I get a chance. I’ve got medical supplies in the car.”

  As Hazel threw open the door and led the way onto the flat roof of the building, Paul couldn’t quite make sense from that last sentence.

  “The car?” he repeated. “What car? We’re on a roof.”

  “Not for long,” Hazel said, flashing the two of them a quick smile.

  She’d walked over to the center of the roof and Paul started following her, but the other man—he really needed to get his name—held him back.

  “Give her a second,” he said.

  And indeed, a second was all Hazel needed to change from a beautiful woman to an awe-inspiring winged beast, standing in the center of the white circle meant as a landing pad for helicopters and just about filling it. At first Paul thought the scales that covered her body were black, but as the other man took his arm and urged him closer he could see that they were a variety of gray shades, from a dark, slate gray to a light pewter, with long streaks of gleaming white here and there.

  She lowered herself close to the ground, allowing the man to climb onto her back. He did so quickly, but fumbled enough before managing to sit properly right behind her neck that Paul guessed he’d never done this before. Now was his turn, and with the pain lancing through his bad leg he was glad the man lent him a hand, even if it made him feel like a child being helped by a grown up.

  As their hands clasped, he finally remembered and exclaimed, “Paris!”

  Paris’ eyebrows arched up even as he pulled Paul up with ease until he was settled in front of him.

  “Yeah?” he said then.

  “That’s your name,” Paul said, trying to adjust his position so he’d be seated securely. “I just remem—”

  His leg bumped against Paris’ and pain shot up through him, stealing his breath and making him feel lightheaded. He could feel himself starting to slide sideways but his efforts to grab something, anything to hold himself up were for nothing when the dragon under him was starting to move, getting close to the edge of the building even as she raised her wings right behind Paris and him.

  “Shit!” Paris gasped, scrambling to hold on to Paul. “Hazel, wait, he’s—”

  But Hazel must not have heard because suddenly they were all weightless as she jumped off the roof. Paris hoisted Paul back in place and leaned forward against his back, forcing him to press his upper body against Hazel’s back and neck.

  “Are you okay?” Paris shouted close to Paul’s ear, speaking over the rush of the wind and the deafening roar Hazel let out. “Can you hold on?”

  Paul wished he could have answered with an affirmative. He really did. There he was, meeting Hazel for the first time, meeting her other mate, and he felt so weak he could barely speak. The spike of adrenaline that had helped him get moving when she’d called him through the fire was gone, leaving his body exhausted beyond what he could say.

  “Not sure,” he managed to say, but didn’t know if Paris could hear him. He tried again. “It hurts.”

  Beneath his cheek, his palms, and even through his clothes, Hazel’s body radiated enough heat that even as she rose higher into the clouds his body remained warm. Or maybe that was the fever. Unable to find anything to grip, he merely rested his hands against her scales, his slow, foggy mind still managing to be in awe at how smooth they felt, almost like the most delicate skin. He closed his eyes, half drifting off toward that place where pain didn’t exist anymore.

  “All right, I’ve got you,” he heard somewhere behind him. “I won’t let you fall. Just hang on until I can get a look at that wound.”

  Paul tried to make a little sound in reply, but what he heard instead was a thunderous roar. He pried his eyes open, blinking a few times against the brightness of the sky until he could see another dragon gliding just a wingspan away from Hazel.

  “That’s my brother,” he mumbled, but his words must have been lost to the wind because there was no reply.

  He closed his eyes again. This time, sleep must have found him because images swirled in his mind, images of his father and big brother shifting to their dragon forms, one late night when their family was on vacation by the ocean, and flying into the inky sky. Paul would have given anything to be able to fly alongside them. Anything to be like Petro. Anything for Petro to like him even half as much as Paul loved his brother. But all Petro ever saw was the name on his arm. Their mother had asked him to take Paul onto his back for even just a moment, but Petro had said—

  “No. I can carry him, give him here.”

  “I’ve got him. We can switch in a little while if you want.”

  “Sure. Fine. This way. It’s not far.”

  The words floated through Paul’s mind, not quite making sense. One voice, he knew well, while the other was still new. It was a third voice that drew him out of this not-quite sleep. A woman’s voice. His mate’s voice.

  “Clothes would have been nice.”

  “Sorry,” Petro said, though he didn’t sound it. “I didn’t want to leave our stuff in the woods.”

  Paul finally opened his eyes again. It took him a moment to understand where he was, as his head was upside down—someone was holding on to him in a fireman carry. Paris, he realized after a moment. They were back on land, walking through a wooded area. And then he noticed Hazel walking on Paris’ right.

  She was nude.

  He blinked several times, wondering if he was dreaming, but the scene didn’t change. Hazel continued to walk, her long braids draped over her shoulder her only covering. Paul could barely take his eyes off her.

  He was being rude. He knew it. And yet, he couldn’t manage to stop staring.

  While he wasn’t a shifter himself, both his father and brother were dragon shifters. They hadn’t been able to shift very often because they’d be spotted too easily, but it had happened often enough that Paul had grown used to the sight of winged beasts straight out of fairy tales turning into much smaller, naked bodies. He’d learned that it was common courtesy to avert his eyes while a shifter dressed or undressed, before or after shifting.

  But common courtesy didn’t take into account the fact that it wasn’t just any woman walking next to him, and now turning her eyes toward him. It was his mate.

  A smile lit up her face when she met his gaze.

  “Hey, you’re awake! How are you feeling?”

  Somehow, the best answer Paul could think of at this moment was, “Upside down.”

  His entire body felt weird, too hot yet shivering, with tendrils of pain shooting up his leg, and to be carried like this didn’t help.

  Her smile turned grim, but it was Paris who answered.

  “We’re almost there. I’ll give your leg a good look once we get to the car and see what I can do for the pain.”

  As he offered a quiet, “Okay,” Paul tried to look away from Hazel. He really did. But he just couldn’t make himself do it. And while she gave him a small eye roll, she didn’t actually protest his staring, so she couldn’t mind all tha
t much, could she?

  It might have been his fever talking, or only an excuse. Either way, he continued to drink the sight of her lovely curves and smooth brown skin until he was none too gently set down right on the edge of the backseat of a car parked on the side of a deserted road. His head was spinning again and he held on to the car as he tried to make sense of the world. Paris was kneeling on the ground with a medical case at his side and tugging the bandage off Paul’s lower leg. He averted his eyes hurriedly before nausea could make him heave.

  Down the side of the road, Hazel and Petro stood a few feet apart, each of them pulling clothes out of travel bags. As a distraction from the pain of Paris cleaning his wound, watching Hazel tug plain black panties up long, long legs to hide a pert little ass, or bind small but lovely breasts in a no-frills matching bra worked quite well. It earned him another eye roll from her when she noticed he was staring again.

  Someone else noticed: Petro cleared his throat loudly and glared at Paul when he looked at him.

  “How about some manners?” Petro said darkly. “You don’t need to ogle her.”

  Part of Paul wanted to apologize and explain he wasn’t thinking straight, but it was something else altogether that came out.

  “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

  Petro gave a single nod before sliding a gray t-shirt over his head. Next to him, Hazel had finished getting dressed as well. She now wore a plain white t-shirt and jeans, much like she had before she shifted to her dragon form. Even as she came closer, she finished lacing up a leather band over her wrist, hiding her mate tattoo. Paul felt a pang of disappointment at that; he’d have liked to see his name on her skin.

  “So, how is he?” she asked Paris.

  “Could be worse, I suppose,” Paris replied. “I wish I had an IV of antibiotics to give him.”

  Feeling a little queasy at the thought of what he might see, Paul looked down at his own leg. The gruesome sight he’d expected wasn’t there; Paris had already applied a clean bandage over the wound.

  “You’re a medic?” Paul asked after licking his dry lips.

  “Doctor,” Paris replied absently while digging into his bag. “Here, take these.”

  Paul took the two small pills he was being offered and was about to ask for water when a water bottle appeared in his field of vision. He accepted it with a nod of thanks toward his brother before swallowing the pills with a long gulp of water.

  “Thank you,” he said again gravely. “All of you.”

  Hazel smiled. Paris offered a quiet, “No problem.” But Petro was already walking away and around the car.

  “Let’s get going,” was all he said, his words cool and a little rough.

  Paul wasn’t quite sure where they were headed, but he had a feeling it was going to be a long ride.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  While Petro and Paris settled in the front like they had on the ride to Freetown, Hazel now shared the back seat with Paul. The two of them needed a few moments to figure out the logistics: with Paul still in pain, he ended up lying with his head in Hazel’s lap, his wounded leg curled up as best as possible at the other end of the seat. As Petro started driving back toward Sanctuary, Hazel experienced a few awkward minutes with Paul gazing up at her in awe through feverish eyes. She was almost relieved when he drifted into sleep—until she caught herself staring at him the same way he’d been staring at her.

  His features, though similar enough to Petro’s that there was no question they shared DNA, were leaner, maybe a little softer. It might have been simply from the age difference between them, but Hazel suspected it was more than that. Although she’d only had short conversations with him until now, and none of those under the best of circumstances, the image she was forming of Paul was of a carefree young man in contrast to his more serious older brother.

  One trait she’d loved about Petro—and still loved even now, there was no point denying it—was his dedication to the cause he’d chosen, the defense of paras from the authorities. Paris, in his own way, showed the same devotion to the care of his patients, and she loved that just as much in him. But part of her had yearned to find a balance in her life between duty and a simpler, quieter existence. Could it be that Paul was meant to show her that path?

  Paris’ words were coming back to her, along with his insistence that maybe she needed all three of her mates in her life. She didn’t know what to think of it all anymore—and it scared her a little that her certainties were gone.

  Of their own accord, her fingers started running through Paul’s short brown hair, occasionally caressing his burning forehead, too. He seemed to relax under her touch, his fever slowly going down as time passed.

  At one point, she caught Petro’s eyes as he looked at her in the rear view mirror. He looked away so fast that she couldn’t read any emotion in his gaze. A little later, Paris turned in his seat to look at her and Paul.

  “Asleep?” he asked quietly, then added when she nodded, “How’s his fever?”

  “Not as bad, I think,” she replied just as softly.

  Paris gave her a slight nod and a small smile before turning forward again.

  “What’s the plan now?” he asked Petro. “Are we stopping at that motel again for the night?”

  “No. The sooner we get back to Sanctuary, the better.”

  “You think we got out of there too easily, don’t you?” Hazel asked.

  When their eyes met in the rear view mirror again, she could see grim resolve in them.

  “People who are ready to execute paras without trial of any sort don’t usually give up so easily when they get attacked. I hope I’m wrong, but…”

  That unfinished sentence hung over them until the end of the afternoon as they made their way through deserted roads. With Paul still asleep, they were discussing stopping at the next gas station for snacks and drinks before getting back on the road when the sound of sirens finally reached them, coming from somewhere far in the distance.

  “It could be nothing,” Paris said, turning to look back through the rear window.

  Hazel looked back as well. She thought she caught a glimmer of blue and red in the distance, but it might have been her imagination. What was all too real was Petro suddenly driving a little faster.

  “Or it could be a few very pissed off officers,” he said darkly. “I thought I heard a helicopter earlier, but I never caught sight of it.”

  “But how would they know to look for this car?” Paris protested.

  “I didn’t get the impression they have a lot of visitors in that town. And that waitress would definitely have remembered us.”

  As though to confirm his words, the sirens suddenly seemed a little louder, a little closer.

  “There’s an ally house not too far from here,” Petro said, talking fast. “We can stay there until things calm down, but we need to get these assholes off our tail before we get there. In here, look for the page labeled PR21.”

  He handed back to Hazel the small notebook he’d been consulting every so often during the drive. She quickly thumbed through the pages and found what he asked for. The page bore only one line in Petro’s neat handwriting: a name, probably fake. There was also a rudimentary map, labeled in a tiny script in Petro’s cipher code. He’d taught it to her over a few months by leaving her sweet notes around the apartment they’d shared.

  “Got it,” she said, her throat a little tight suddenly. “But what—”

  “We’re on West Center Ridge Road,” Petro cut in, glancing back at her then through the back window before he looked up at the road again. “We crossed Ash Lane a few miles back. Do you see where we are?”

  She put her finger on the road in question, following it all the way to the potential safe house.

  “Yes, but—”

  Again, he didn’t let her finish, and she was strongly reminded of their leader in the squad, Millie.

  “Paris, you’re going to slide over here and take the wheel. Hazel, you tell him where t
o go. I’ll take care of those police cars and meet you at the safe house later. Got it?”

  Paris and Hazel erupted at the same moment—“What do you mean, take the wheel?” “Take care of them how?”—but Petro was done talking. He opened the driver side window and it soon became all too clear he intended to climb out of it.

  Swearing under his breath, Paris scrambled to undo his seatbelt and moved into the driver’s seat just as the car started slowing down from Petro taking his foot off the accelerator. He jerked the wheel back toward the center of the road and accelerated again, shouting at Petro just before he disappeared, “You’re insane!”

  If Petro answered, they didn’t hear it. What they did hear, however, was the screeching of metal being ripped, and Hazel understood what was going on when she caught sight of Petro’s talons piercing the roof on the left side of the car. He was using them to hold himself in place before he shifted and took flight.

  Two gun shots resounded, coming from behind them. Hazel flinched, then gasped when the talons suddenly withdrew from the holes they’d formed. She turned and looked through the back window just in time to see a huge shadow engulf the two cars in pursuit. She didn’t actually see Petro, but she heard the unmistakable screech of a dragon, and knew what would follow: fire.

  “He always was a show off.”

  The affection in Paul’s thready, sleepy voice was unmistakable. Hazel looked down at him, catching a small, flitting smile on his lips before Paris commanded her attention.

  “So where the hell am I going, then?”

  She returned her eyes to the map, finding their approximate location again and figuring out what was next.

  “It’ll be a right turn,” she said. “I don’t see a road name, but it’ll be past a water tower.”

  Or at least, she thought the landmark Petro had drawn in was a water tower. Smart phones and GPS would have been a lot easier, but Petro had a grudge against cell phones, and she couldn’t blame him. A member of the squad had once dropped his phone during a mission. The information it contained had led the UIPP right to their fall back place. They’d lost two members of the team that night, and Petro had sworn off cell phones forever.