by Ann Denton
As soon as I had the opportunity to drop the glamour, I damn well did, but it didn't stop the itch. I immediately started scratching, raking layers of skin off as I dug and dug to soothe the annoying burn.
"What's wrong, Dollface?" Drake mocked as he removed the expandable pouch from his belt. "Catch some fleas from your animal lovers?"
"Fuck you, you over-sized dragon dildo."
I struggled with my lavender top before throwing it over my head and onto the floor. Drake and Easton's jaws both dropped as they stared at my bare breasts like two teenage boys who'd never seen a rack in real life. I dug my nails into the meat of my flesh, dragging the tips all over my exposed skin.
"What are you staring at?" I snapped. I then fumbled with my black skinny jeans, struggling to drag them down my curvaceous hips. Fuck that rumor about fae being shapeless. "Get the supplies you need and do it fast. We have no idea when Aaron's going to wake up."
I pointed at the unconscious man in question as he lay haphazardly on the concrete floor before getting back to scratching. I hit a spot that made my leg want to twitch like a dog’s. Yes.
Easton's pale blue gaze drug up and down my body with painstaking slowness as he bit his bottom lip. "Fucker better not wake up with you looking like this."
I clawed at my thighs as I chuckled. "Is my mate feeling jealous of my best friend's hubby?"
"You mate is feeling like fucking the itch right out of you on the storeroom floor," Easton muttered, taking a few healthy steps my way before Drake whacked him in the back of the head with the pouch.
"Goldilocks, focus! Let's get the supplies and get the fuck out of here. I don't wanna creep around the lion's den any longer than we have to."
Easton rolled his eyes before he turned around and followed Drake to a shelf full of potion bottles, muttering about mates and sex and bullshit. They made quick work of snatching every single item in sight, moving from shelf to shelf with unnerving efficiency. No vial, tablet, booklet, bottle, pouch, or jar was left behind. All the while, they each stole hasty glances my way.
I didn't quite get how they managed to pocket every item without any glass shattering on the floor due to their distraction. From Easton, the sideways glances didn't really surprise me. He'd made it blatantly obvious how he felt about me recently. But Drake... I was intrigued at the number of times I caught him staring. For someone who supposedly hated me, he didn't seem too upset by the sight of my naked body.
By the time they were finished, I was almost itch-free, so I put my clothes back on.
"Oh, come on," Easton grumbled, clearly miffed that he'd lost his chance to do me on the dirty floor. Not that my scratching would have allowed for much pleasure or touching.
Aaron groaned from his spot on the floor, his legs barely dragging across the floor as he slowly came to. In one swift motion, Drake bent down, reared his arm back, and punched the siren right in the side of the head. He was back out like a light.
Instead of being appalled at the scaly Neanderthal for knocking out one of my friends—again—I was fucking stunned to find I admired his competence and efficiency. I bit my bottom lip as I worked that thought over in my mind. Why in the name of god would I ever admire a damn thing about Drake 'The Shadow' Guerra? He was an asshole and we hated one another. Plus, I was literally mated to his pack brothers, so what the fuck was that?
His fingers as he shook out his punch should have been the last thing on my mind. His lips as they curled into a smug grin shouldn't have enticed me. And his cock, as it jumped in his pants under my steely gaze, definitely shouldn't have gotten me hot and bothered.
Easton cleared his throat, jolting me from my embarrassing thoughts like a night terror. I rushed to the door and fumbled with the lock once more, rattling the stupid thing in my quavering grasp.
"I have a theory," Easton said as he bent down to pick up Aaron once more.
"I don't want to hear it." Drake smiled sarcastically as he re-buckled the magical expansion-spelled pouch at his waist. It jangled and clanked with all the potions now inside it.
Easton sighed. "Well, you're going to anyway. You know how Bodie and I both have a mate bond with Aubry, even though that shouldn't be possible for a bear and a wolf?"
Drake scratched at the dark stubble on his chin and shot Easton a mocking smile. "Why no, Goldilocks, do tell me more." Then his gaze shot over to me. "And for fuck's sake, Dollface, just get the key in the lock. It's not that hard, I can assure you."
Thoughts of Drake putting his ginormous dragon-sized key in my lock filled me with lust and caused my hands to shake even more.
Get it together, Aubry! You're acting like a witless preteen, preening over every ounce of pathetic attention you get. You're a badass independent woman, mated to two sexy-as-sin shifters, and you are not in any way shape or form attracted to the Night Fury over there.
Images of the kid’s movie danced around in my head and I remembered the Light Fury and the cute little dragon babies they'd had. Drake was dark; I was light...
Oh, fuck no. No way in hell was I about to imagine that.
I thrust the key into the hole and twisted, doing my damnedest not to think dirty thoughts as I did so. As soon as we shut and locked the storage room behind us, Easton lowered Aaron onto the floor of the back entrance of the precinct, in the rarely used hall, and I tucked the skeleton key into his pocket. He looked all sorts of conspicuous, but as long as we got out of there before he woke up or someone found him, then I didn't really give a shit.
We slipped from the building and clung to the shadows created by the foliage nearby, sidestepping around the edge of the parking lot once more. When we were in the clear, we speed walked down the cracked sidewalk and all but jumped into the old mustang Drake had procured for our outing. He fired up the engine, threw the stick shift into drive, and peeled out onto the street like it was nothing more than a greased-up slip-n-slide.
Easton, who was sitting shotgun while I peered between their headrests from the back, hadn't forgotten what he'd been saying back at the precinct.
"You know the one race I know of that can have multiple mates?" he asked us.
Drake remained silent, while I wished I'd paid just a bit more attention during shifter biology and sociology.
"Dragons," Easton finished with a smug grin. "It's not uncommon for a valor to share a female amongst themselves."
Drake glanced at him before returning his eyes to the road. "That's cute and all, Goldilocks, but I'm the one who had a valor, not you or Bodie. And I don't have a valor to speak of anymore, anyway. So, your point is... well, pointless."
Easton lightly smacked his friend's bicep to get his attention. "Yeah, but there's where you're wrong. I think you do have a valor. I think Bodie and I are a part of your clan. I think we filled that void in your life, and you became our alpha."
Dead silence reigned until Drake shifted and gunned it. The roar of the engine filled my ears. Streetlights started to flick on as night set in, and they were as blurry outside the window as my thoughts were inside my head.
Holy shit. Is that even possible? Psychologically, it didn't seem too far-fetched, but as the implications of what Easton suggested hit home in my mind, my jaw dropped to the floor.
Drake's eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror. "Shut your face, Doll, before I give you something to fill it. "
"See?" Easton said, as if Drake's raunchy threat was somehow proof of them having a valor. "You have all this sexual tension." Then he turned back to look at me. "You said he was emitting sex hormones or something?"
Drake scoffed. "As if that's actually a thing."
"Right," Easton agreed with a grin. "I think it was your alpha power. Don't think I didn't notice that she didn't bow back at the warehouse. Who can resist that? Only an alpha's ma—"
"Easton!" Drake shouted, gripping the wheel tightly. "Fucking drop it! She didn't bow because she's a stubborn asshole hellbent on defying me. She's not my mate because it's magically fucking impossible. An
d you two are not a part of my valor because I don't have a fucking valor, and even if I did, you two are not dragons."
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god...
No matter what bullshit spewed from Drake's angry lips, I couldn't un-see the logic in Easton's words. Drake had lost his valor as a boy—when Citrine had murdered his entire family. Easton had left his pack. Bodie technically still had his though. But… even he mostly deferred to Drake. And the way all the different shifter kids had come to the guys’ hideout… it seemed like Drake was treated like the alpha no matter the type of shifter.
And it was obvious to any outsider that the three guys had bonded and basically formed their own three-man-pack. But what if it wasn't actually a pack? What if it was a valor? Could I be Bodie's mate... Easton's mate... and... my heart beat fast... Drake's mate?
My head spun at such an unfathomable idea, and yet... it made so much sense. Too much sense to just ignore it.
Maybe I should force him to kiss me? Just once. Just so we know for sure?
"It makes sense," Easton continued. He was hesitant but pushing through his discomfort in order to try and make Drake see. "How else would Bodie and I—"
"You know what?" Drake asked sarcastically as he jabbed the mustang's radio dial. "Let's just listen to some music and shut the hell up. It's been a long few days, we just had an incredibly successful afternoon after an absolutely horrific morning, and your nerves are shot. I think we need to just... chill."
Country music began blaring through the speakers. Whoever used this car before us definitely did not share my taste in genre. Drake's either, apparently, because he jabbed the little button on the right and the channels started scanning. We bypassed some heavy metal, reggae, and pop and eventually landed on some bass-pumping rap.
I'd never really pegged Drake as the rap-listening type, but he was such a gangster that it totally fit.
We rolled up to Pacific City Bank in Skid Row a few minutes later, making sure to drive past and park a few blocks down in a public parking lot. Drake would probably make sure the car was gone at first light, anyway. He was so damned efficient. I found myself staring at his broad shoulders as he walked ahead of us, the muscles of his back rolling beneath his shirt, and Easton's words once more flitted about my head like sparrows on the verge of spring.
Could he seriously be my mate? What the hell was Bodie going to think when he came back and heard the news? Would he be pissed? Surprised? Jealous? Or would he help us prove the theory wrong, making me feel stupid for ever believing it could be real? My stomach curled into knots at all the possibilities.
We entered the bank from the back, because it had closed a few hours before. The shifter manager was a friend of Drake’s, and he let us in. We followed him down a set of granite stairs to the sub-level, "the underground," where there were meeting rooms, a singular teller station for magicals, but most of all where there was a huge vault sprawled out like a beached whale. Inside, shifters of all shapes and sizes were unrolling sleeping bags and fluffing children's pillows. They passed around red solo cups and shared containers of microwavable mac and cheese. It was like a hidden shifter refugee camp. And as sad as it was, it was also uplifting to see them coming together like that.
We stepped inside and wandered through the groups of people, checking on them before we left to deposit our new weapons.
"Drake." An elderly woman with cropped hair hugged Drake around the waist. He stiffened at first, but eventually gave in and patted her back.
She repeated her hug with Easton, and then, to my surprise, with me. "Aubry, thank you. You brought my granddaughter back to us, so she can be laid to rest."
She latched onto my hand and pulled me over to her family, where I recognized the mother of the little girl who’d loved Elsa. I gave a thin, awkward smile, feeling like an intruder. But each and every one of them hugged me, until my right shoulder was soaked with tears.
"Please, sit," the older woman, clearly the matriarch, gestured toward a closed cooler. I sat down on the lid. "I’m Naissa. This is my family."
Two men in the corner squatted over a portable camping stove. The butane burner flickered underneath as one of the men chopped toppings and the other handed out omelets around the circle.
"What do you like in your omelets?" Naissa asked, her leathery face crinkling in a smile.
"Oh, um... " My eyes scanned the room for the guys. But Easton and Drake were busy answering questions from shifters who were sprouting all kinds of fur in their agitation and anger. They were going to be occupied for a while.
"Um, just plain ham and cheese," I responded, opting to keep it simple.
Naissa patted my hand and then settled on top of a moving box next to my cooler. "I’m glad to see that someone besides Larry is finally seeing the way of things."
I didn’t bother to tell her that I’d needed to be kidnapped in order to start changing my mind. Because, ultimately, what really mattered was that she was right.
"What do you do for a living?" I asked, trying to change the subject.
Naissa laughed. "I make custom pinatas for birthday parties for the rich and famous."
My eyebrows shot up. I tried to imagine that job. After being MP, running on adrenaline 24/7, that sounded like a vacation.
"It’s a family business, Nana. Don’t act like you do it alone," one of the men manning the stove piped up. He grinned over at Naissa and wiggled his thick, bushy brows.
"Didn’t say I did, now did I?" Naissa teased back.
The guy turned to me. "I’m Zane, the tyrant lady’s son, and I—"
"Oh, next time we shift, I’m gonna tug your tail, boy!" Naissa exclaimed. "Tyrant. Psshh. If I had a dollar for every time I coddled your furry ass, I’d have—"
"A million bucks!" everyone around the circle chorused and burst into laughter.
They all exchanged light-hearted smiles, and a sense of relaxed camaraderie washed over me. Conversation had never been anything like this in my house. Was this what family was like for shifters?
I glanced around the room. Tears were met with hugs. Jokes were met with laughter. No one stood alone. Not even Drake-the-Dick. It was the exact opposite of every experience I’d had with fae royalty, where I’d felt like a lone swimmer surrounded by sharks.
I ate my omelet in contented silence and listened to the shifters share stories with a wistful smile on my face. When I was finished, I turned and clasped Naissa’s hands. "Thank you."
"No, thank you," she replied.
I gave her a genuine smile. "Of course."
Then I stood and started to make my way toward Drake and Easton, who were still talking with shifters on the far side of the vault. I had nearly reached them, when I paused near a group of about eight squirrel shifters—in squirrel form—sitting in a single lawn chair in front of a tablet propped up against a sneaker to achieve the proper viewing angle.
I glanced down to see what they were watching. On the screen, was a reporter—the same fucking bitch I'd popped in the mouth earlier that day. Guess I hadn’t hit her hard enough if she could cover the mark up with makeup. I glared as I watched her and found myself shuffling closer despite myself.
The newscaster said, in a faux serious voice, "The murder of Indigo Summerset still remains an open investigation for the Mage Police..."
My brain hollowed out and her voice slowed into near silence.
Did she just say... Indigo Summerset... the King of the Los Angeles Fae... my father... was dead? Murdered?
I was numb. Instantly and completely. The only thing I could feel was the racing of my heart, like a hummingbird on crack. Is that what a heart attack felt like? Was I going to fucking keel over at any moment?
The woman continued to speak in her snooty, news anchor voice, but for me, everything slowed down... her voice dropped and deepened, and my vision flickered, her face losing color, like I was watching a slow-motion scene in a black and white film.
"The dragon shifter known as ‘The Shadow’ i
s the main suspect."
My lips parted and my eyes burst open wide, my petrified gaze traveling over to Drake on autopilot. Our eyes locked like a set of handcuffs, my furious glare pinning his remorseful stare down like the criminal it was. The criminal he was.
And suddenly... I knew the truth.
Drake had killed my father.
8
Aubry
I wasn’t a shifter, but it felt like my heart was howling brokenly at the moon.
My father is dead.
The words didn’t feel real. Until, suddenly, they did.
My world stopped. No. It spun. Like a tornado. Like I’d been lifted into the air and pummeled with debris; slammed in the heart by a fucking two-by-four or something.
As I stared up at Drake, I watched his eyes morph from dark blue to pure gold as he looked right back at me. Smoke drifted out of his mouth; black scales erupted on his arms. He took a step backward, away from me, like he was worried I was going to attack.
"I was just trying to get a mage jewel," he admitted, as if that somehow explained it all. As if that simple fact made this whole thing okay.
It felt like I was listening through cotton, because his words didn't penetrate. I had to repeat them inside my head before I understood.
He'd gone to my parents’ house… to take the mage jewel my father guarded for the council… and then he'd killed my father.
"Is that why you said we had to leave the cabin?" Easton asked. There was a hardness to his tone that my cracked heart appreciated.