Rogue Spotter Collection

by Kimberly A Rogers

  “Let’s get moving then,” came his steady response.

  I couldn’t agree more.

  The journey down the trail wove through the gateway formed by the tumuli as before, but this time I noticed more stone structures and shadows in the valley. A quiet question to Ilia confirmed my suspicion. The Plateau of Belintash was situated over a necropolis. I couldn’t repress a shiver at that revelation, and I was extremely glad I hadn’t known about the entire necropolis when we came through earlier. I couldn’t have imagined getting any sleep at all if I had been aware of such an appealing haunting ground for some of the nastier paranormal species. Ghouls and the like.

  Even though it was daylight, I didn’t breathe easier until after we left the valley and its necropolis behind us. Ilia was leading us west toward another valley, but first we wove through the forest. Speckled sunlight dropped beams through the needles of the evergreens while the interlaced limbs of the deciduous trees not yet blooming into leaf allowed greater patches of light. As we rode, I kept an eye on our surroundings in hopes of seeing some sign of the Golden Hind.

  We had crested the foothill and started our descent into the next valley when I caught sight of something gleaming just out of the corner of my eye. I pulled Eulalia to a halt as I twisted in the saddle to get a better look. At first, I saw nothing other than trees and underbrush. Then, sunlight flashed off of something again. I held my breath as I waited. A shadow moved and then the distinct color of muted gold caught in the speckled sunlight. The Golden Hind moved out of the brush, her antlers and coat shining as she ventured into a patch of light. She turned her head toward me, leaf-like ears swiveling, and round dark eyes blinked at me. Suddenly, she stiffened as her head snapped to look past me. She then bounded off, disappearing into the forest once more.

  I turned to see Mathias and Ilia had turned back. Biting back the frustrated complaint that they had ruined my chance, I only pointed in the Hind’s wake. “I think we should go this way.”

  Ilia tilted his head slightly as he eyed me. “She will run long, eh, patience needed.”

  “At least we’re going in the right direction,” I replied. He was right, of course. It didn’t matter that she had spooked. It would have happened before I could have reached her anyway. Once the Hind was more accustomed to our presence, I might be able to get closer. Until then, we would need to exercise patience. As I rode past Mathias, I couldn’t help my slight concern over him. I could only pray the Hind wouldn’t take so long to bring to Perperikon that I ended up losing him to the cold as a result.

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  Lauren

  We followed the Golden Hind’s trail for just over a week, winding our way through the Rhodope Mountains. Occasionally, we would catch brief glimpses of the Hind when she stopped for water or was crossing a patch of open area. Except for that, we were following a golden ghost.

  Which was why when we reached the outskirts of the resort town of Chepelare, I was more than ready to agree to Mathias’ suggestion that we spend a day or two resting. I was so tired of riding that I didn’t even care very much that the town residents’ average number was a 6. Okay, I still cared, but not enough to suggest camping for another night. Although I did stick close to Mathias’ shadow as we separated from Ilia in favor of booking a room in one of the nearly deserted ski chalets. Ilia mentioned seeing family and I had a feeling that even with his friendliness, the satyr was as ready as we were for a break.

  Mathias led the way upstairs to a spacious room filled with warm cheery light from the large windows and the light almost golden brown wooden furniture. There was only one bed, but the sofa was wide enough that I could easily sleep on it without issue. Exhaustion tugged at me, dragging my steps as I made my way over to the sofa. But, I stopped myself from sinking down onto it . . . I reeked of horse. I needed a shower.

  A touch to my shoulder made me jump, and I realized that I was slumped against the wall. I looked up to meet Mathias’ blue-green gaze. “All right, Hope?”

  His accent flowed over me and tugged a smile out of the heavy weight of exhaustion. “You really should talk more, Mathias. I never get to enjoy your accent when you go silent, which is a shame because it’s delicious.”

  Mathias’ eyes had widened the more I talked and in that moment I couldn’t care less. I reached out to grab his jacket, using it as leverage as I rose on my toes. My free hand came up to brace the back of his neck, and then I pressed a kiss to his cheek.

  He was still staring at me in utter silence when I eased back onto my heels, dropping my hold on him. Meeting his gaze, I suddenly felt almost . . . bereft at his utter lack of response. I shook my head as I pushed my shawl back, freeing my hair. “You don’t . . . Do you feel anything at all for me, Mathias?” Weariness and frustration pushed me to speak more, pushing past caution and the little voice whispering its shrill reminder that I was talking to a 10. I didn’t care anymore. “Why are you here? You could have left me to find my own way as soon as we lost the hunters who followed us from Olympia. But you stayed. Why? A sense of obligation because you think I’m so much weaker than you that I would be unable to survive on my own despite the fact I was doing just fine staying off the radar before I ran into you? Did you really think so little of me?”

  I paused yet he made no attempt to respond, all he did was move back from me. The slight movement twisted a sharp knife in me, and I yanked the shawl off before tossing it in the direction of the bed. “Get another room to stay in, Mathias. Clearly we need space. I need you to figure out how we even got here. Because right now I don’t know. I don’t know how I got here or why I am trying so hard to save you when you don’t, well, you don’t seem to have a reason for me to be here either.”

  “Lauren, I . . .” Mathias wouldn’t look at me. He shoved his hands into his pockets before he nodded. “I’ll get a second room. Get some rest.”

  I wanted so much more from him . . . Feeling more shaken and weak in the knees as the reality of confronting a 10 struck home hard, I stumbled past him shedding my coat carelessly as I went inside the bathroom. I closed the door behind me and braced my hands against the stone counter as I bowed my head. The prickling burn against my right wrist didn’t completely distract me from the moisture burning my eyes. I clapped a hand over my mouth as I heard the room door close. Raising my gaze to the reflection in the mirror, I couldn’t help staring at the glowing tattoo wrapped around my wrist. How had I ever gotten here?

  It was a question I couldn’t even begin to answer right now. Not when my heart whispered one thing while my head was screaming another. I drew a shaky breath and turned on the shower. A shower and sleep would make things clearer, especially since Mathias was going to be elsewhere for the first time in . . . far too long.

  * * *

  Mathias

  The sights, sounds, and smells of the market did not serve as a distraction from the sensation still burning my cheek where Lauren had kissed me. Nor did it offer any kind of relief to the turmoil now roiling through me, clashing with the cold. Lauren . . .

  I bit back a groan as the memory of her words compounded with the raw emotion in her dark eyes raked across my mind with fiery coals. Lauren’s sudden candor had . . . surprised me and then because I could not think of what to say to her without taking advantage of her clear exhaustion, I had only caused her hurt. I grimaced. Moron was too light a word for my actions lately. What was I thinking?

  The woman had taken everything I knew and turned it utterly upside down. She was right. I should have walked away as soon as I had gotten her safely out of Olympia. Instead, I had stayed . . . and fostered a connection to her that I then tried to deny. Because it was . . . foolish to feel, to love, and above all it was deadly. Perhaps, the reason it took me so long to recognize the truth right in front of me. Moron, indeed. I gave myself a shake as I narrowly avoided walking into a man carrying a stack of pastry trays.

  A mumbled apology on my part still earned me a grumbled curse an
d snap about the inability of foreigners to watch their step. I didn’t care. My mind kept turning back to the vulnerability shining in those ebony eyes when Lauren demanded an answer I didn’t know how to give. Admitting to myself that I loved her was easy. Admitting it aloud and to her . . . that was an entirely different matter.

  After wandering through the town for the better part of two hours and getting no closer to a good solution, I decided there was only one thing to do. I walked into a café and ordered a pot of tea. I needed to think. Taking a seat at one of the tables facing the square and the elaborate fountain adorning the middle, I fixed myself a cup of tea and once more turned my attention to the problem at hand.

  Lauren . . . I sipped my tea as I worked to stay in my seat instead of letting the yearning to be near her drive me right back to the chalet. That was certainly part of the problem. I hadn’t felt this pull toward Amber, my sole doomed flirtation as a young idiot, but that was why the cold had not taken me with her death. To compare the two was foolish . . . It was like attempting to compare the light of a single match to the glory of sunrise or a passing sunny day in the depth of winter to the warmth of spring.

  The warmth Lauren gave off, that our bond gave off, it was almost overwhelming to handle with dignity and strict control. All attempts to flee or at least stand firm against it only led me back to the cold. I needed Lauren if only because of the Myrmidon curse. My tea tasted sour as soon as the thought crossed my mind, and I set the cup down on the saucer with more force than was wise. No. It was not only due to the bonding drawn from my heritage. It was far more. Lauren was different from women in the past . . . she was special. And it would do her a disservice to try and pretend otherwise.

  I struggled to remember my parents’ reactions to each other. They must have loved each other since they had four children together in ten years of marriage before we were pulled into the rogue dragon shifters’ war. But as a boy of seven, I hadn’t been very interested in my parents’ relationship. It had been far more fun to play games with my brothers and wrestle with my father when he came home. A smile appeared unbidden as I recalled the times my brothers and I would lie in wait until Father finally appeared, then we charged. Most often he would end up with two of us tossed over his shoulders or hanging off his neck and the third, myself or Michal, wrapped around his leg. Not that it had slowed him as he went to greet Mother with a kiss to our vocal disgust and a whisper in Myrmidon that never failed to make her blush. No, I didn’t remember many of the details of their interactions, but there had never been any doubt that they loved each other.

  My smile faded as I remembered again the last time I had seen my father. Cutting down the dragon rogues and their fighters with cold precision while icy fire filled his eyes. Remembering the feeling of utter terror at having to face him as my master shoved me into his path, a hastily snatched sword clasped in my hands. It had been five years since we had seen each other and my father had been almost unrecognizable if only in his demeanor, which had been so far removed from the laughing man in my earliest memories. He’d cut down three other soldiers before the path between us was cleared. The cold hadn’t come up to protect me this time, it wasn’t a proper battle, I had still been in the crippling fear that preceded the cold touch of fury against an opponent. I barely remembered to raise my sword in defense as he charged and in less than a second it had been knocked from my hands. Then, for the briefest moment the ice in my father’s gaze had cracked and he dropped his sword long enough to pull me into a rough embrace. Frost coated his words when he demanded to know of my brothers. I had barely been able to get the words out to tell him that they had both died the first year. My father’s eyes had turned icy again as he gave a curt nod. Only the strength of his embrace remained the same before he coolly ordered me to run west. When he pushed me away, I obeyed. I looked back once to see him cutting through soldiers with merciless, cold precision as he went after my master. And, I had wanted to join him . . . until my uncle found me and dragged me into running once more.

  I poured myself a fresh cup of tea as I forced my mind to turn away from the day I had been truly orphaned. I had lived with my uncle for a while afterward, long enough to see him fall hard for a Myrmidon female. I frowned as I recalled something I had not thought about in years. My uncle was not able to marry her despite them both falling hard and fast for each other. Hunters had been sent out after the few remaining Myrmidons, after us for escaping the rogue dragons. We were forced to run in different directions. Lydia hadn’t met us at the agreed on rendezvous point. My uncle had grown cold and silent . . . and deadlier with every day that passed without her appearance. I had been more boy than man still, freshly turned fifteen, and painfully aware of my inability to stop my uncle if he became fully lost to the Biting Ice.

  A wry chuckle broke past my lips as I suddenly realized I had been very much in the same position as Lauren was now. Stuck with a Myrmidon losing himself to the cold and desperate to find any way to save him. We ended up in Scotland, in the old village where our people once hid among the highlands . . . the same one I took Lauren to when we were running. I left my uncle there and finally found Lydia in the Flow Country, she had also changed from quiet warmth to a much cooler attitude . . . until I told her that my uncle still lived. She hadn’t wasted another minute, ordering me to take her to him. My uncle was prepared to attack us both before Lydia got to him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. I had been forced to stand up as the sole witness as they pledged their vows to each other in the absence of a proper officiate and then gruffly ordered to avail myself of a watchtower at the edge of the village. I’d escaped the displays of affection rather gladly.

  But, it had worked. Once my uncle and his mate were reunited and properly bonded, they both thawed. We were eventually able to leave Scotland again in favor of England, specifically the boroughs making up inner London such as Westminster and Camden. For a while we were . . . happy. My uncle and his wife were very happy until the day I came home from school to find them both dead, their infant son with them.

  That home lost to me, I decided the best thing to do was keep moving as often and as carefully as I could without acting like a hunted man. I traveled all over the British Isles, barely stopping more than a few days at a time for the better part of two years before I dared to return to London. Not long after I met Amber and then Royal, my first true friend for all the dragon had meddled with my attempts to distance myself from Lauren. And he had been right, blast him. He would be insufferable the next time we crossed paths. Dragons usually were when they happened to be right about something.

  Of course, in truth, there was no escaping the fact that I had to offer Lauren something . . . I had to make her see that I did want her for more than saving my own skin. But, I couldn’t make a grand gesture. Not yet. I needed to do something that would have meaning even if it wasn’t a diamond ring or some other gift of commitment. I set my cup down and then turned to look at the café’s window display. A calendar inside had mentioned the date as the thirty-first of March, something that I was certain should mean . . . something. But what? I wracked my brain until the answer tumbled out. Of course. And yes, that would do very nicely. At the very least, it would perhaps gain me the privilege of an audience with Lauren.

  * * *

  Lauren

  The knock on the door sounded odd and more like a dull thump than a proper knock. I opened the door to find Mathias standing there with two covered trays stacked on top of each other. I started to close the door again. “Wrong room.”

  “Lauren, wait.” Mathias stuck his foot between the door and the frame. “Please. I know you are angry with me and rightfully so, but I would like to talk to you.”

  Despite the temptation to kick his foot out of the way and slam the door shut, I opened the door wider but continued blocking the entry. “You can’t stay in here tonight.”

  “I know. I’ve already paid for a second room, and I will stay there.” Mathias hesitated a
nd then smiled slightly, the left side of his mouth pulling up as he did so. “May I come in? I promise you can kick me out if you don’t like what I have to say. Again.”

  He made it difficult to remember that I was mad at him right now. “Fine.” I stepped to the side holding the door completely open. “Come in.”

  By the time I closed the door, Mathias had set his burden on the small dining table in front of the fireplace. He set the two trays down and then lifted the covers to reveal . . . “Pastries?”

  Mathias pointed to a round pastry formed in the shape of a rough spiral and somewhat glazed. “Banitsa.” He gestured to the next plate, which held four diamond shaped pastries . . . their flaky layers telling me what they were even before he said, “Baklava.” The next plate was equally obvious as he motioned to the carefully sliced and powdered filled pastry. “Apple strudel.” Finally, he waved at the slice of chocolate cake as he announced, “Garash cake.”

  I looked from the pastries to Mathias. “I don’t suppose you struck your head in the time since you left, did you?”

  A flicker of a smile appeared. “No. I merely . . .” He trailed off and then stuck a hand in his pocket pulling something out. I had been going to invite him to leave, but the words stuck in my throat as he placed three candles and one stub into the slice of chocolate cake. He lit the candles and then held the plate out to me. His blue-green eyes were the same pale blue as his short sleeved shirt and for once they were filled with warmth instead of ice as he offered a crooked half smile. “Happy birthday, Lauren.”