by Kallysten
When he absolutely needed one, he used a prepaid burner, and kept all the notes he needed in small notebooks like this one full of decoy information along actual data written in code. Her own cell phone was in her travel bag in the trunk, not that she’d have known what to look for in her GPS app.
“A water tower,” Paris muttered. “Right. Why use street names when we can play orientation games.”
Still, he maintained their speed, with occasional glances in the rear view mirror. The sirens seemed further away now, and she couldn’t hear Petro’s screeching anymore. She looked back, but trees spreading out above the road hid the skies.
The front right wheel hit something on the road, maybe a rock, maybe a pothole, and the entire car shuddered and groaned. Paris swore. Hazel held her breath, waiting to see if they’d punctured a tire. Now would be a very bad time for it. The car went on without slowing down. Safe for now.
She looked down at Paul’s face on her lap, gently passing a hand over his still too-hot brow. His own hand rose and took hers, just to hold it, she thought at first, but soon realized his intent. He was tugging at the leather laces of her wrist cover, loosening them enough to take it off. Instinct demanded that she stop him—she so rarely took the cover off, she felt more naked without it than she did without clothes. She restrained herself and let him tug it off. He had a right to see, didn’t he? She’d already told him what was there, but he had the right to see it with his own eyes.
How strange… She barely knew him, but already she felt a connection with him. Was it because they were mates? Or was it a self-fulfilling prophecy in which she allowed him close to her because she believed they were mates? The distinction seemed too thin to worry much over.
He touched his own name with a finger, as though to assure himself it was really there. When he smiled up at her, his eyes were bloodshot but clear.
“I had all these things planned for when I’d finally meet you.” His voice remained quiet, still thready, and she couldn’t tell whether he was choked up by emotions or too weak to speak up. “I never imagined I’d be lying in your lap as weak as a kitten.”
Part of her wanted to say something to him, something deep and meaningful, something a mate might think of years later and smile.
All she managed, however, was a rough, “Hush. Keep your strength.”
“Water tower,” Paris announced, slowing down just enough to take the turn safely. “What’s next?”
They continued this ‘orientation game,’ as Paris called it, for the next half hour. They couldn’t hear the sirens anymore, nor any sound a dragon might make, and Hazel’s stomach twisted in worry at what might be going on with Petro.
“He’ll be fine,” Paul murmured. “He’s always fine.”
All her years of knowing Petro told her the same thing, and yet she couldn’t silence the fear deep within her that demanded she go and find him, help him. During their last mission, when he’d walked away from her to go help a fellow member of the squad, it had taken all her self-restraint not to go after him. If he got hurt today while trying to keep her, Paris and Paul safe, she didn’t know that she’d ever be able to forgive herself.
“There’s a driveway on the left. Did you say it’d be the next one?”
They were there.
Slowly now, Paris drove up the narrow driveway bordered by tall trees until they’d reached a wide courtyard, with a long one-story house on one side and a barn on the other. Even as the car came to a stop, a woman came out of the house, a large dog at her side.
“Ask her if she’s Elsa,” Hazel told Paris.
She was—or at least, that was her codename.
In moments, she’d directed them to park the car in the barn and was welcoming them inside her house. Her only question was to inquire whether she needed to call a nurse friend of hers. Paris, who was helping Paul limp inside the house, assured her he was a doctor, and that was the end of that.
Whether she was a para herself or only a human sympathetic to paras, she didn’t say, but as she showed them to two rooms already prepared for guests, announcing she’d go and fix up some dinner for them, the only sense Hazel got from her was one of quiet resolve and strength. She wasn’t worried or ambivalent about helping these three strangers that had showed up unannounced on her doorstep. She was merely doing what was right. And it made Hazel want to do the same even more fiercely.
“I’ll go help Petro,” she told Paris as he was helping Paul lay down. She’d brought their things in from the trunk of the car and handed him his medical bag. “He can’t be all that far, I’ll—”
“No.”
She was taken aback when Paris and Paul both said the same thing, at the same time, in the same strong voice, and judging by the look they threw each other, they were startled as well.
“He’ll be fine,” Paul said once more, while Paris added, “You don’t know where he is. You might get in trouble yourself or draw them straight here without even finding him.”
“But—”
“I know I don’t have as much training as you do,” Paris persisted, “but one of the first thing they taught us was, trust your leader and follow orders. He told us he’d join us here. I think we should wait until he does.”
As much as she hated to admit it, Paris might have a point. She’d tacitly accepted Petro’s lead when she’d offered her help, and he’d given them directions. She couldn’t risk putting the two of them in danger, along with Elsa, when she didn’t even know for sure that Petro did need help.
Swallowing back weak arguments, she conceded defeat, and instead of running off she watched Paris change Paul’s bandages and clean up his wound once more. He seemed satisfied by what he saw. When he offered Paul more pills, Hazel went to the kitchen to get him some water. She returned with a tray of food, a generously filled cold cuts sandwich resting on one side of a plate with green beans next to it and a fistful of fresh berries in a smaller dish.
“Feeling up to some food?” she asked Paul.
He sat up a little straighter in bed.
“Starving,” he said. “Those bastards didn’t feed me since yesterday.”
She set the tray on his lap and stood by Paris, the two of them watching Paul take a few bites.
“How did they find out you were a para?” Paris asked. “Was it just a lucky guess on their part?”
A hint of color suddenly filled Paul’s cheeks. He set down his sandwich and drank some water before he answered.
“My fault,” he said with a grimace. “I was having lunch in that restaurant, and the waitress was kind of cute.” He threw a guilty look toward Hazel at those words, and looked down at his plate before going on. “I thought I’d show off a bit. I can manipulate fire. Small stuff, you know. Like making flames pass from one of my fingertips to the other. I didn’t realize she was one of those people. I feel so stupid.”
Yet again, it struck Hazel how young Paul was. She didn’t know how much younger than Petro he was, but she guessed he couldn’t be beyond his early twenties.
Chuckling, Paris shook his head.
“Don’t beat yourself over it. Everyone’s done something dumb to make a pretty girl smile.”
With that, he pressed a kiss to Hazel’s cheek and turned away. The way he closed the door behind him when he left the room exasperated Hazel—he’d apparently given up on being subtle—but at the same time, she couldn’t deny that she wouldn’t mind spending a few moments with Paul. It was a mistake; it had to be. Getting to know him could only make everything more difficult in the end. And yet, how could she not get to know him now that she had the chance?
“So,” Paul said quietly, a hint of a tremor in the word.
“So,” she repeated, simply because she didn’t know what else to say.
“Do you want to have a seat?” he offered, patting the bed next to him.
Queen-sized and covered in an old-fashioned quilt, the bed did look inviting enough to lie on, but she took Paul’s cue and sat at his side, fa
cing him, her legs curled under her.
“So,” she said again, feeling a little silly. She still didn’t know what to say.
Paul’s lips twisted into a lopsided grin and he fiddled with the tray in front of him.
“This is weird,” he said. “I’ve dreamed about meeting you so often, and now you’re here and I don’t know what to tell you.”
Hazel smiled a little hesitantly. “Same. And I’ve done this twice before, too.”
The grin ebbed away. “Ah, yes. That’s kind of weird. When I was growing up, my mom always said that it was just a coincidence I had the same name tattooed on my wrist that Petro did, and of course it wouldn’t be the same woman. But Petro… he thought different. I guess he was right, huh?”
“And what did you think?”
He shrugged and started picking up his sandwich once more, only to set it down again without taking another bite.
“I never knew what to think. I just knew that if we had the same mate, Petro wouldn’t share. He was pretty clear about that. And what woman would pick me when the alternative was a dragon shifter, anyway?”
He meant that, Hazel realized. He wasn’t just trying to get a positive answer from her, he truly believed that there was no way she might give him a chance. What would it be like, she wondered, her heart aching, to go an entire life thinking your mate would never want you?
“Maybe a woman who cares more about who you are than about what you can do,” she replied, a little choked up.
The lopsided grin returned.
“Who I am is not particularly interesting either, I’m afraid.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
He didn’t reply right away, and merely looked at her with too much awe and too much hope in his eyes for Hazel to be all that comfortable. She dropped her gaze to his tray, and the second half of the sandwich he hadn’t touched.
“Are you going to eat that?”
They ended up sharing the meal, along with stories about their lives, and a few laughs along the way. They talked late into the night, their voices quieting down even as Hazel found her way closer and closer to Paul.
She couldn’t have said what it was about him that resonated with her, but she couldn’t fool herself. He was her mate, just as much as Petro and Paris were. And while she’d been mourning for two months what she’d left behind when breaking up with Petro, she couldn’t begin to imagine how she’d feel about lost opportunities if she never even gave Paul a chance.
Late into the night—or was it early in the morning already?—her mouth found his.
It was a gentle kiss, full of wonder and questions, like a hidden door opening onto an unexpected future. He held her face in his hand as he kissed her, barely even touching her as though afraid to break her. They broke apart with twin sighs of contentment, only to smile at each other.
She ended up lying down next to him, the quilt drawn up over both their clothed bodies. As she watched him fall asleep and slowly drifted off herself, she realized none of the guilt or shame she’d expected to feel were there. Instead, she felt like her love for Paris had just doubled, for he had helped her to be open to experience this moment, and to come to grips with the fact that choosing between her mates might not be the only option she had. Her affection for Paul, she realized, might soon be turning into something else. And Petro… Petro whom she’d rejected, whom she’d thought she’d lost for good… could it be that she might welcome him back into her life? Would he even want that after she’d broken his heart?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I said, are you hungry, young man?”
Paris blinked and brought himself back to the living room where he sat. He’d been focused on the sounds coming in from the bedroom at the end of the corridor—eavesdropping, really, and he wasn’t proud of it—and it seemed he’d missed their host talking to him. She might have repeated herself more than once already, judging from the edge of impatience in her voice.
“Sorry,” he said reflexively, offering her a small smile. “I was lost in my thoughts there for a minute. And food would be lovely, thank you.”
He’d intended to follow her to the kitchen, but she gestured for him to stay put and soon returned with a tray similar to the one Hazel had brought Paul. He thanked her profusely before starting on his meal. He’d only taken a few bites when she opened a cabinet on the side of the living room, pulling out a wide bottle full of amber liquid and showing it to him, a raised eyebrow completing the offer. He smiled and nodded, grateful for a drink.
She gave him a half-full tumbler before settling down in an armchair with her own, her dog curling up at her feet.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she said after a moment, “but I heard you’re waiting for someone else?”
Paris nodded. She hadn’t asked for any of their names or why they needed her help, but he figured he owed her at least some small explanation.
“Our leader, I guess you could call him. He held back to distract those who were pursuing us and allow us to get here safely.”
She gave a simple nod.
“I’ll leave the lights on outside tonight, then. I’d offer to wait up for him, but these old bones need their sleep.”
Smiling at her self-deprecating words, Paris raised his glass toward her. She returned the toast and they sat in companionable silence for a little while. Quiet voices were still rising from the end of the corridor, too muffled for Paris to make out the words. Curiosity prickled the back of his neck—and if he was honest with himself, so did a tiny bit of worry. What if Hazel decided to choose again, what if this time she chose Paul and—
He drowned that train of thought in the rest of his scotch. He’d tried his best to tell her to follow her heart. There was nothing more he could say now; it was all up to her.
“Do you know how long you’ll be staying?” Elsa asked after a while. She quickly added, “Don’t take the question as meaning I want you gone. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to. I just need to do some planning. And figure out where to put that leader of yours. If he’ll be needing a separate bed, that is.”
The comment puzzled Paris somewhat and he couldn’t help but frown at Elsa, wondering what she might mean by that. With her glass in one hand, she was rubbing the inside of her wrist with the other, and although she wore long sleeves Paris had no doubt she was touching her mate tattoo. He’d seen many people do the same, oftentimes when they needed comfort or when the conversation centered on mates. She was thinking about mates, then. And asking about beds…
It occurred to him then that Hazel’s wrist had been bare when they walked in, the occurrence rare enough to be noticeable. If Elsa had had a peek at the names on her skin, it might explain why she was wondering about their sleeping arrangements. And coming, it seemed, to an incorrect conclusion.
“I don’t think we’ll stay long,” he said, trying to keep a straight face. “We’ll probably leave during the day tomorrow. But if it comes to that I can sleep in this armchair. I learned to fall asleep just about anywhere during my residency.”
Elsa simply nodded, and that was the end of the topic—at least outwardly. As he worked on his meal, Paris couldn’t help but wonder if he’d read the subtext in her question correctly, and if others who learned Hazel had three mates would also question what kind of relationship the three of them shared.
A tiny, shameful part of him felt a little uneasy at the idea that his heterosexuality might be questioned; he stomped on that feeling as best as he could as soon as it came to the surface. He’d never looked at another man that way, but there’d have been nothing for him to be ashamed of if he had. And if anyone chose to believe there was something between him and Petro or between him and Paul, they’d simply be mistaken. It wasn’t as though they’d be insulting him in any way. Like he’d told Hazel, who cared what anybody else thought?
Elsa stayed with him a little longer before turning in for the night. Hoping she wouldn’t mind, Paris helped himself to
another drink, nursed slowly in front of a slowly dying fire, before he decided he might as well catch some sleep too. He brought the tray to the kitchen first, washing his plate and glass, then made his way to the second bedroom Elsa had shown them earlier, right next to the one Paul occupied.
He stopped in front of that closed door, once again listening to the quiet voices coming from inside. They were talking about Paul’s power, and the ways he’d used it since childhood. Paris thought of knocking and poking his head in to say good night, but he remembered how he’d inadvertently interrupted Hazel and Petro the previous night; better to avoid a repeat now.
It had been a long day, even if in the end he hadn’t needed to shift to his lion form as planned to get Paul out of jail. He stripped down to his boxers and crawled between the covers, falling asleep in mere moments. The next time he woke, a faint, early morning light was drifting in through the badly closed curtains, and Hazel was climbing into bed next to him.
He drew her into his arms, relishing her warmth and the familiar scent of her, a mix of the coconut oil she used in her hair, the shea butter that kept her skin silky smooth and something he couldn’t put into words but that was just intrinsically her.
“Morning,” he half said, half purred, his eyelids lowering again at the sheer contentment of having her there.
When she didn’t reply, he opened an eye and peered at her. He could see a strange dullness in her wide-open eyes, something he wasn’t used to seeing in her gaze at all. He didn’t like it, not one bit. Could something have happened with Paul that had troubled her?
“Are you okay?” he asked, trying not to sound alarmed.
“I don’t know,” she replied quietly. “Are you? Are we okay?”
He traced her bottom lip with his thumb before caressing her cheek.
“Of course we’re okay. Why wouldn’t we be?”