King Outta Water

Dragon Guard Series #40

Dragon Protection Agency ~ 3

by

Julia Mills

There Are No Coincidences.

The Universe Does Not Make Mistakes.

Fate Will Not Be Denied.

Copyright © 2019 Julia Mills

All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

NOTICE:  This is an adult erotic paranormal romance with love scenes and mature situations. It is only intended for adult readers over the age of 18.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Cover by Rebecca Pau with the Final Wrap

Proofread by Tammy Payne with Book Nook Nuts

Christian Petrovich photographed by Golden Czermack with FuriousFotog

DEDICATION

Dare to Dream! Find the Strength to Act! Never Look Back!

Thank you, God.

To my girls, Liz and Em, I Love You. Every day, every way, always.

Index of Ancient Languages

Dragon Kin

King Outta Water

Gaelic

Mo Chroí……….My Heart

Mo Gráh……….My Love

Mo Shíorghrá……….My Eternal Love

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

EPILOGUE

ABOUT JULIA

ALSO BY JULIA MILLS

The Dragon Guard

We soar the skies

Free to a certain extent,

As long as we stay hidden

From prying human eyes.

Our scales differ in color

Our defensive weapons,

Tails, horns, talons and all,

Are never the same.

We are one with nature

We blend in with nature

The wind helps us soar high in the heavens

While the earth grants us healing strength in our hour of need.

We are one with the world

We are the guardians of our kin

When evil conspires to maim and hurt

We are protectors of this human race.

As majestic animals of fairytales

We share our beings with great men

They walk in honor and the grace of Fate,

Fate that we cannot deny.

Copyright © 2016 Melanie Williams

- This Poem is based on the Series, The Dragon Guard by Author Julia Mills.

Prologue

Senses instantly on high alert, drawn to the delicious scent of honeysuckle and vanilla, the Water Dragon felt pleasantly sloshed, satisfyingly high, and happily hungover in the blink of an eye. Never one to be overly attracted to sweet-smelling fragrances, Rene, better known as King, was instantly punch-drunk as the amazing aroma permeated the murky waters of the swamp, making a beeline for his soul. Dancing a dangerous tango over his senses and igniting a fire in the belly of both man and Beast, he was sure he’d fallen asleep and slipped into a once-in-a-lifetime-dream-come-true.

And I’m never wakin’ up…ever.

Sure, he was on assignment. He should be focusing on the task at hand. No doubt about it, he needed to find a hint, a clue, or a wild-ass idea instead of drooling over the woman who had most assuredly just fallen from Heaven. But what was he doing? He was ogling every inch of her fantastic body.

Snap out of it, Asshole, he scolded himself. She's not the first woman whose ever caught your eye.

No, but she's damn sure the best lookin’.

And Gil will kick your ass if you don’t come up with something sooner rather than later.

Earlier in his life, carrying on a full-blown conversation with himself would’ve had him dialing 911 and waiting on the curb for the guys with the straight jackets. But those times were long gone. Talking to himself had become an everyday occurrence and was what he attributed his present state of almost sane to. Well, that and his new job.

Being an agent in the Dragon Protection Agency was nothing short of a godsend. One-hundred-and-ten percent better than the bullshit therapy sessions ordered by the Navy. It allowed him to not only once again be part of a Force with the Dragon Guard, but to also work through the metric ton of mental baggage from his multiple tours of duty as a SEAL.

And this way, he still felt useful. Like he was making a real difference in the world. Add to it that the DPA’s Leader understood Rene’s need to work alone and, well, it was better than sweet potato pie covered in whipped cream on a hot summer day.

Undercover, playing badass outlaw in his old stomping grounds, his first case was to locate the Congregation of Gator Shifters responsible for using stolen Voodoo to create designer drugs aimed explicitly at Shifters. And it didn't end there.

Not only were the bastards targeting the ‘more-money-than-sense echelon’ of the Paranormal community, but their fucked up mixture of super-charged Ecstasy, GHB, and Ketamine with a chaser of thousand-year-old Louisiana VooDoo was leaving a trail of bodies from one side of The Big Easy to the other. The only problem was, he'd been swimming through the gloomy bayous for damn near two months without seeing hide nor tail of any Gator he didn't personally know was good people. Talk about irritated, tired, and fed up ~ Rene was all of that and more.

Drawn to the surface by the new alluring arrival to the Swamp, the mossy-green and golden scales of his Dragon, donning his aquatic shape, skimmed the water’s surface. Drop-dead gorgeous with curves like a country back road, her long golden-blond curls hung in tight ringlets around her heart-shaped face. Dammit all, if she wasn’t prettier than a picture.

But still, there was something about her that made him antsy in a really, really good way. Not to mention his Dragon’s immediately and darn near uncontrollable need to get ‘up close and personal’ with the beautiful lady.

Forcing himself to hang back and tread water, Rene watched closely as the object of his instant desire carefully took a seat on the grassy bank and dipped her toes in the cool water. Zapped with an all-consuming need unlike anything he'd ever experienced, fire raced through his veins when her pink, puffy lips drew into an ‘O’ of surprise and tiny little goosebumps danced across her sun-kissed skin.

Yeah, Baby, the water’s chilly, but I can sure as hell warm you right up. The thought flashed through his mind as tendrils of steam shot from his snout. All he could think about was jumping out of the water and kissing her senseless. At least that way, they'd both be in the same predicament. This woman was dangerous in ways that made Rene's eyes cross, and his body want to know her in the truest of biblical senses. 

Something spectacular, damned near miraculous about this beautiful blond bombshell made both man and Dragon roll over, purr, and beg to be stroked. Then it happened. Just like an ACME anvil on Wile E. Coyote’s head in those old cartoons his brothers liked to watch. The word Mate echoed through his mind before exploding into ten-foot-high, red flashing letters.

Instinctually, immediately, and intensely, he argued with himself, Nope! Mnm – mhnm. No way. Not happening. I’m not doing that whole lovey-dovey bullshit. I am Dragon. Hear me roar. I have control. I am the master of my Destiny. Fate and the Universe know better than to mess with me.

Turning tail and swimming away, he just about made it to the bend in the shoreline just under the low-hanging branches of a Bald Cypress tree before the mind-numbing, spine-tingling need to look over his shoulder got the better of him. Maybe the whole Mate thing wasn’t so bad. After all, this woman had been made for him by the Universe. She was the other half of his soul. Could thousands and thousands and thousands of years of tradition be wrong?

And that’s how long it took him to go from pigheaded Neanderthal to swooning Dragon. That and being snared by the woman’s deep, mesmerizing dark-eyed gaze.

Completely and totally without his brain’s consent, his long, scaled body did a U-turn. No more messing around. Time to get the show on the road.

Swimming right back to the exact spot he’d vacated just minutes before, the Dragon’s head popped straight up out of the water as the woman’s smoky, contralto bathed in the sweetest Southern accent, whispered directly into his mind, “I wondered if you were coming back. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time, Dragon Man.”

Chapter One

Two Weeks, A House Full of Dead Bodies, and a Million Cups of Coffee Later

“Everybody out!” The deep baritone of Ike’s barked command had everyone jumping to attention. “Doc here needs the scene.”

Loving that her ‘brother-from-another-mother' was seven-foot-seven-inches of mocha-latte-skinned Black Bear Shifter who was just promoted to Commander of the Criminal Investigations Bureau Division of the New Orleans Police Department, Cilla stood to the side and let the man do his thing. It never ceased to amaze her how the skinny little boy with a tiny patch of peach fuzz atop his head, the one she’d defended against more bullies than she could count, had grown into the man he was today.

Just like her momma always said, “A little magic and a shit ton of puberty can turn any man into Hercules.”

Waiting until the last of the Crime Scene techs cleared the building, Cilla stepped closer. Patting Commander Isaac Warhall, aka Ike the Spike after his state championship-winning touchdown and resulting celebration back when they were in high school, on the arm, she smiled, "Thanks for that. Not everybody y’all’ve got workin’ on this case is used to my special kinda investigatin’.”

“Girl, when you gonna stop thankin’ me?” Putting his arm around her and giving her a tight side-hug, Ike reassured, “I got your back come rain or shine or the wrath of Gramma Lulu, Momma Cilla.”

Slapping him as hard as she could on the arm and holding back her laughter when he tried to act hurt, Dr. Pricilla DeClouette, New Orleans Coroner and Professor of Forensic Pathology at the esteemed Tulane University jumped back and scolded, “Ya’ know I hate that name.”

Shrugging as he threw his hands open wide and tilted his head to the side, Ike balked, “But it’s what you are, ain’t it? The reigning Voodoo Priestess of the great state of Looooosiana?”

Working as hard as she could not to bust out laughing at the big Bear’s exaggerated expression of shock and his larger-than-life imitation of his already thick Cajun accent, Cilla bit the insides of her cheeks and faked a growl through gritted teeth, “One day, I’mma kick your ass. I swear, I will. Ya’ know I can.”

Throwing back his head and laughing so loud the rafters shook, it took Ike a second to catch his breath before teasing, “Them days have passed, Sista Friend. Long passed. But I’d like to see you try. Might win the grand prize on one of them reality shows." Eyes popping open as wide as saucers when she snapped her fingers and tossed a slap of magic his way, Ike threw his hands up in surrender right before pretending to shake and shiver. “Don’t turn me into no frog, Momma Cilla. Please, pleeeeease don’t do it.”

Well aware that she was giving her oldest and dearest friend more ammunition than he ever needed, Cilla shook her head and snickered, “Go on now, get outta here. Let me work.”

Still laughing, but with heaps of brotherly love shining in his deep, dark eyes, Ike threw back his shoulders, clicked his heels together, and gave her a stiff salute. “Ma’am. Yes, Ma’am.” Going right back to his lovable self, he added, “I’ll shut the door on my way out and be waitin’ for ya’ on the porch. Take your time. I got nowhere to be, but here.”

“Thanks, Ike.”

“Never a problem, Girl.”

No sooner had the click of the enormous brass knocker hitting the thick cherry wood of the majestic front door echoed through the hallowed halls of the hundred-eighty-year old mansion than Cilla heard the voice of every single one of the Dead now in her care. Putting the massive black metal toolbox she’d had since her third year as an undergraduate, the kit, next to the original red brick hearth of the enormous, open front fireplace, her eyes floated around the room.

“I see y’all,” she confirmed. “And I hear ya’, too. Let me get comfortable, then one at a time, you can tell me exactly what happened.”

Holding steady as the usual external influx of fear, rage, and utter confusion washed over her, Cilla walked to the center of the room. Kneeling down on one of the plastic tarps covering the original wood floors, she folded her legs in what her old yoga teacher called the ‘easy poise,' better known as ‘criss-cross-applesauce’ to her nieces and nephews and took a long, deep inhale.

Slowly exhaling, preparing not only her mind but her body and soul for what was about to happen, Cilla found the most pissed off Spirit in the place and pointed, “Come on over here, Son. Tell me everything you can remember.”

Stalking across the room like the Alpha Wolf he was meant to be, the tall, still-a-bit-lanky, with a head full of steam, twenty-something-year-old stopped right in front of her. Looking down his nose, not in arrogance, just in the way she knew came naturally to someone who was supposed to lead a Pack, the young man threw back his shoulders, spread his feet shoulder-width apart, and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Ma'am, my name's Jasper Clemmons, and I have no idea in all of hell what happened up in here.” Thick, dark brows furrowed, and the corners of his mouth turned down as far as they could go. “Mary Lou Henniger…”

“Mary Lou Henniger? Bud Henniger, the Leader of the Panther Pride’s, daughter? That Mary Lou Henniger?" Cilla could hear her voice getting low, the magic from not only her mother's side of the family but her daddy’s starting to churn.

“Yes, ma’am. This here house belongs to…”

“It belongs to me.”

Spinning on her backside towards the barely contained power riding a commanding wave of sensual, Latin accent, Cilla’s eyes landed on the last person she expected to see at the sight of a massacre. “Damn you, Max. How many times do I haveta tell ya’ not to sneak up on me?”

“I am sorry, Priscilla. I have forgotten my manners once again.”

Tall, dark, and sexier than a man had a right to be with the sinewy grace of the Panther with whom he shared his soul, Maximillian Prentice was every woman's fantasy and dammit all to hell and back if the man didn't know it. Of course, he should. Not only was Max old even in Shifter years, but the man was the King of every Big Cat in the whole gosh-darned world. Not to mention, he could don the cover of Men’s Quarterly, GQ, and Men’s Vogue any damn day of the week.

Supremacy swirled around him like bees to honey. He could suck the air from the room but possessed the grace not to flaunt it. Although she'd known him for more years than she'd ever admit, even Cilla was shocked when the female Ghosts in the room leaned towards him, and the males all bowed their heads. 

“One day you’re gonna have to tell me how in the world you hold onto all that power and stay upright, Maxi Man.”

Grinning at the nickname she, and only she, was allowed to use, the King unbuttoned his jacket as he answered with more than a little flattery in his tone, “Mine is nothing compared to yours, Priscilla, my dear.”

“Yeah, okay.” She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. “I’ll letcha off the hook this time ‘cause we got bigger fish to fry, but you better than most, how very loooong my memory truly is." Turning back to Jasper, whose chin was damn near touching his chest while his upturned eyes stayed glued to Max, Cilla tried to lighten the mood with a little bit of her unique brand of cajoling. "Jasper, honey, let me introduce you to…"

On his knees before she could get the words out, the young Wolf’s hand hovered just above the floor with his palm down as he mumbled, “It’s an honor to meet you, King Prentice. The Clemmons Pack of Jefferson Parish welcomes you to New Orleans. All we have is yours to command.”

Pieces of the puzzle, bits of information, all the essential evidence other Coroners couldn’t give two shits about but made Cilla so good at her job, started to fall into place. It was why the young man seemed so familiar, why not one Spirit in all twelve-thousand-square-feet of the two-story antebellum mansion felt like a stranger. In one way or another, she knew them all.

Hardly able to keep still as Max touched the back of Jasper’s hand before consoling, “There is no reason to be so formal, young Wolf. I am here to help, nothing more,” she was once again in awe of the Panther King.

The strong, sour-sweet scent of fear and regret receded. Max had been able to calm the young man, but even so, Jasper remained on his knees. Raising his head, the bright gold of his Wolf's eyes shone through the muted haze of his Spirit as he nodded, “Thank you, Sir.”

No sooner had his eyes met Cilla’s than she blurted out the thought that had been running laps around her brain, “All y’all are the next in line to be the Leader of your Clans, Packs, Prides, Congregations, or what have you, aren’tcha?”

Spiking like steam rising off Bourbon Street after a summer rain, anger and frustration filled the air immediately followed with grumbles and mumbles of discontent and rage on its heel. Scanning the room, she witnessed one after another of the young people get confirmation from their peers before looking back at her with glaring nods.

“Son of a bitch,” she spat, the palms of her hands slapping against the tops of her legs. “Someone’s not only killin’ our kids, the nasty bastard’s startin’ Shifter genocide.”

Chapter Two

Walking towards the front door of one of the most famous plantations in the whole damn country, two things became crystal clear ~ Priscilla DeClouette was just on the other side of those huge, cherry-wood double doors, and the King of the Big Cats was right by her side. More difficult? No. Not at all. Infinitely more irritating? Damn straight.

He’d waited exactly two-point-two seconds after she left the Swamp before jumping out of the water, getting in his truck, and high-tailing it about an hour down Lake Pontchartrain. One visit to Granny Judy’s and Rene got all the information he needed ~ and as usual, then some.

Not only was his one true fated Mate none other than the VooDoo Queen of Louisiana, she was also the Coroner and a Professor. Damn, it was like hitting the lottery — beautiful and brilliant and ballsy - what an intoxicating combination.

“Boy, you better be careful,” the wise, old Badger Shifter warned. Taking a long drawl off the Cypress wood pipe she’d carved herself when she was much younger, Granny went on, “Piss Cilla off and you’ll be lookin’ for more than your tail.”

“I don’t plan to piss her off,” Rene solemnly assured. “I plan to make her mine.”

“Just like that, huh?” She looked over her wire-framed glasses. “Ya’ reckon you’re up to it?”

“I do,” Rene snickered in response then quickly added, “Any advice?”

“Yeah,” Granny chuckled. “Videotape the festivities. I always did love to watch Cilla kick your ass, Boy.”

“That wasn’t me. That was Raph…” He still couldn’t get the man’s full name out. It hurt too bad. He should've been there. Should've gotten his brother out of that hole in the fucking desert. Should’ve…”

“Stop that shit right there, Rene Malveaux.” Granny’s barked rebuke snapped the Guardsman out of his pity party better than a stick to the back of the head. “Raphael would tell you the same thing I’m gonna. You didn't shoot the mortar that killed him, any more than you twisted his arm and made him join up. For as long as I've known the Malveaux men, and that's a helluva lotta years, every damn one of y’all’s had honor, duty, and loyalty running through your veins. Your brother was no different.”

Blowing out a quick breath, he nodded and forced a smile. “You’re right. Always are. Thank ya’ for reminding me.”

Thank Heavens, the old woman’s phone rang, making his getaway far less painful than usual.

“I got this,” he mumbled to himself, forcing the memories visiting with Granny had unearthed. One more deep breath and sharp inhale, and he reiterated, “Yeah, damn straight, I got this.”

  Taking the six, stone steps two at a time, Rene held out his hand while he was still walking. Grinning at one of his oldest friends, he teased, "Heard they finally promoted you. How's it feel going from garbage man to door attendant?"

“Rene Malveaux, you old son of a bitch. Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” the big Black Bear Shifter happily bellowed, grabbing the Guardsman’s hand and pulling him into a welcoming, back-slapping hug. “Ain’tchu a sight for sore eyes?” Letting go of his hand as he took a step back, Ike smiled so wide his eyes almost completely disappeared. "Mark it down now. Sunday dinner with all the trimmin’s.”

“Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and some of them buttermilk biscuits only your momma can make?” Rene’s mouth watered just thinking about those biscuits.

“You know it,” Ike nodded. “Collard greens, black-eyed peas, and sweet potato pie, too.”

“I may never leave.”

“Good! Things just ain’t been the same without ya’.”

“Yeah, you say that now.” Giving a sharp nod of his chin towards the doors behind them, he went on, “Just wait till she sees me.”

Covering his laughter with a halfhearted cough into his fist, Ike winked, “Boy, she told me to expect you.” Turning to the side, the Bear Shifter opened the door. “Just try to make it out with all your scales covering your backside.”

With a mock salute, Rene nodded, “I’ll do my best.”

Wishing he had the element of surprise on his side, at least so he could listen without Priscilla and Max knowing he was there, Rene still slowed down under the guise of looking at the renovations to the old mansion. Turning a complete circle, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The dead were in the other room, of that there was no doubt. Closing the distance in three strides, he stopped short when his eyes landed on a specter he’d never expected to see.

“Jon Thomas?”

“Yes, Sir, Uncle King. It’s me.” The outline of the ghostly representation vividly flashed in an ever-increasing intensity as the young Dragon moved closer. Stopping no more than a foot away, Jon Thomas dropped his head and sighed, “I’ve got no idea what happened. One minute we were all celebratin’ the end of the summer and the next I was floatin’ on air.”

Reaching forward, a current of pure spiritual energy shot up Rene’s arm and straight into his soul. If he hadn’t believed it before, there was no doubt now, his one and only nephew was no longer among the living.

Shock turned to anger then rolled straight-on through to rage as Rene shook with barely contained fury. Looking past Priscilla, he glared at Max. “Did you know what was happenin’ under your roof?”

“No, no, mi amigo. I have only gotten here myself.”

“And you,” he took a threatening step forward, all sense of decorum gone. “What do you know about this?” Swinging his arm wide, he added, “How long has this shit been going on? What caused it?”

On her feet and charging towards him with fire in her dark brown eyes, Priscilla spat, "Don't you come up in my Crime Scene in my town throwing your weight around, Rene Malveaux. If that's the way you’re gonna act, you can shove your scaly behind right back under the rock where you been hidin’. We don’t need your shit up in here.”

Coming to a screeching halt, not six inches from where he stood, she slammed her balled-up fists on her hips and added, “Bustin’ in here, actin’ like you’re the law. That shit ain’t gonna fly. I was tryin’ to talk to these children before you stuck your nose where it don’t belong.”

Dammit all if she wasn’t the sexiest thing on two legs, even more so when she was mad as hell and yelling at him at the top of her lungs. Any other time, he'd picked her up, slammed his lips to hers, and kissed her till she didn't know which end was up. Unfortunately, there was a mansion full of dead children who needed immediate attention.

Ignoring the pull of his Mate and the roar of his Dragon, Rene stood his ground and sassed right back, “Well, get on with it, Momma Cilla. Get some answers.”

Turning so fast, she was little but a blur, there was no mistaking her murmured, “Keep it up. I’mma turn you into a nasty, little Gecko and feed you to a Gator. Hell, I might sell tickets,” as she returned to her spot in the middle of the room.

Appearing at Rene's side, Max's chuckle sounded in his head, “You do have a way with women, Rene. Or is it this one in particular?” Pausing for half a heartbeat, the Panther King added, “I seem to remember a similar meeting between you and Priscilla some years back.”

Deciding to forego any acknowledgment of Max's jab, the Guardsman instead forced all his attention to Cilla as she spoke with the Wolf named Jasper and the Panther named Mary Lou. “Was there anyone here you didn’t know or hadn’t seen before?”

“No, ma’am,” they answered in unison, the other newly departed around the room nodding and whispering in agreement.

“Now, I’m gonna need you to answer the next questions just as honestly as you possibly can. You’re not gonna get in any trouble. This is all confidential." Making a point of looking at every flickering Shade in the room, she continued, “Ya’ understand?”

Everyone nodded, returning her gaze in all earnest.

“Did anyone bring drugs ~ weed, pills, rock, anything other than alcohol?” As every young Shifter shook their heads, she added, “Remember, you’re not in any trouble. Not much we could do to ya’ now anyway. I just need to know anything and everything y’all can remember.”

Several long, tense seconds of absolute silence passed. Slowly, one then another and another started to whisper amongst themselves. The faint muttering became a dull roar until every single one of the Spirits were looking at each other and shaking their heads.

All except one tiny little redhead in the farthest corner.

Watching her dance from one foot to the other, head bowed as she wrung her hands, Rene leaned closer to Jon Thomas and murmured, “Who’s the little cutie in the back?”

Looking over his shoulder, the youngest member of the Malveaux Clan turned back and with an almost embarrassed look in his glowing green eyes, responded, "That's Abigail…Abigail Christianson, Vixen of the Christianson Foxes." Clearing his throat, he added just above a whisper, "And my Mate."

Another fucking stab to the heart. Not only Jon Thomas, but the girl who was to be his Mate, taken at such a young age. No chance of a future. It was worse than sad. It was heinous in every sense of the word.

Working as hard as he could to keep from losing his temper for the second time in as many minutes, Rene slowly nodded, “Why don’t you have her come on over?”

Suddenly alive, the air around them popped and crackled like static from an old radio as Jon Thomas mentally beckoned to Abigail. For a split-second, indecision and fear crossed the Vixen’s face. Then, with all the majesty of the Royal she would've been, the Fox rolled back her shoulder and forced her head high before marching across the room.

Holding out his hand, acting as if there was nothing unusual about meeting the Ghost of his nephew’s Mate, Rene kissed the back of her hand before standing back up and asking, “Did you see something or someone, Miss Christianson?”

Eyes darting to Jon Thomas then right back to Rene, she gave a single nod. “Not saw, so much as felt something…ummm…" Her eyes narrowed, and she bit her bottom lip, a ton of emotion racing across her delicate features before she looked back up. “Different…dark…creepy. But just as quick as I felt it, it was gone again.”

“And…?” Priscilla was suddenly at his side, taking over the conversation. Once again, Rene fell silent in the orbit of her power and presence. The day he could get her alone couldn’t come soon enough.

“It happened so quick. I thought I imagined it. Just like Jon Thomas said.” Abigail reached out for the younger Dragon’s hand, squeezing so tightly the tips of her shadowy fingers turned almost translucent. "We were dancing and partying. Then everything went black."

Chapter Three

“Can you show me exactly where you were when things changed?” It was hard to concentrate with the heat of Rene’s big, muscular body so close, making his intoxicating scent almost impossible to resist. But resist is exactly what she planned to do. It was not the time or the place to give into Fate. Then again, was there ever going to be a good time?

Everything had been hurry-up and wait since the day Cilla realized Rene was the Dragon for her. Yeah, he'd been a little slower on the uptake. It had taken him a few more years, and she waited patiently.

Sure as shit, just as soon as he knew what was happening, off to some godforsaken desert on the other side of the world he went. Playing hero and saving lives had come before happily ever after, and that was okay…if it had been the first and only time.

But it wasn’t, not by a long shot.

After one of the five freaking times that hunk of sexy Dragon got back from playing GI Joe, he'd shown up on her doorstep with flowers, a box of her favorite pralines, and a goofy grin. Any other woman batted her eyes, swooned, and put on a Lou Rawls album. Not Cilla.

She’d just been accepted into college. The first in her family to dare try to go to college. Yes, she wanted to be with him. Had dreamt about it for years, but the timing was all wrong. She’d worked too hard to get where she was to give it all up and play house.

The right thing to do would’ve been to have a grown-up conversation with the man of her dreams. What did she do? Run out the backdoor and hide in the Swamp for damn near ten days.

"Not my finest moment. Fucked that up in grand old style," Cilla breathed so softly no one else could hear.

Had that been the end of what her momma continued to call Cilla and Rene’s Love Olympics everything would’ve, could’ve been okay. However, it wasn’t.

A new graduate from the prestigious Tulane, she’d waited at the train station every day for three weeks for Rene to return from yet another tour of duty. Dejected and defeated, she’d sobbed silently until almost midnight on the twenty-first day.

Forcing herself off the wooden bench, her feet felt as if they were made of lead as she shuffled off the platform. Head down, shoulders dropping, and a pit in her stomach that felt like it was going to overtake her entire body, Cilla ran right into a silent Ike.

Looking up just enough to take in his expression, she didn’t have the stamina to listen. Slowly raising her hand, she’d let her palm fall against his chest before shaking her head. “Don’t wanna hear it. Can't care anymore. I'm done. Broken. Over it."

Shoving her memories to the back of her mind, where they belonged and needed to stay as far as she was concerned, Cilla let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The time to worry about her love life or lack thereof was later…way, way later.

Maybe this would be the time she and her Dragon finally connected, perhaps not. ‘Fate Will Not Be Denied' was her gramma's favorite saying. The old woman swore by it. Cilla thought it was a load of bull. Either way, there was an entire race of Shifters to save, and the responsibility rested squarely on her shoulders.

“A responsibility I take very seriously,” she ground out through gritted teeth.

“Excuse me?”

Not only did his rumbling baritone send chills racing down her spine, but the feel of Rene’s breath on her neck made it hard for her to breathe. Why did he have to lean forward? Whisper his question? Be so damned polite?

Whipping her head to the side, ready to tear into him like a plate of crawdads and a pitcher of beer, her mind went completely blank. The raw, unfettered look of longing in the depths of his gorgeous green eyes had her heart beating double time.

Grabbing hold of her restraint, she gave a sharp shake of her head before quickly replying, "Nothing. Just talkin’ to myself.”

Turning away before he could respond, her eyes went straight to Jon Thomas and Mary Lou’s clasped hands. A wistful sigh escaped her lips as she found herself once again wondering if the day would ever come when she and Rene would hold hands without screaming and yelling at one another. Of course, that meant she would have to admit that at least eighty percent of the fussing came from her.

Momma would call it a ‘growin' moment.' Cilla called it a pile of horse shit. She was strong, independent, smart as a whip, educated, magical…

"Stubborn-as-hell, and just as mouthy," she whispered under her breath. "Oh, fu…”

Thankfully, that was the exact moment the kids stopped and pointed. It gave Cilla a chance to focus on something infinitely more important than the litany of her faults.

Taking half a step forward before Rene's hand clamped down on her shoulder, she shook off his grip and spun on her toes. "What the hell do…"

“Hush up, Cilla.” Rene’s voice was low and growly, more Dragon than man.

Spinning back the way she’d come, twice as fast as the first time, her heels had barely touched down before a veil of murky, dirty, dusty pink slid over her vision. Fuzzy and out of focus, the edges of her sight narrowed, forcing her to zero in on the very center of the monstrous oakwood door she knew led to the cellar.

Walking forward, she blatantly ignored Rene and Max's warning growls, the need to get closer to the fading glow of the unknown glyph before her. Searching her mind, flipping to her mental Rolodex, she continued to put one foot in front of the other.

“It kinda…” She stopped, extending her hand, the tips of her fingers stinging as the white purity of her magic touched the black taint of the sorcery used to construct the symbol.

“Cilla…” Rene snarled, the warning as evident as his anger. “Don’t you dare touch that shit.”

“I. Have. To.” She insisted with pointed intonation, the taint of the evil slithering farther up her arm with every step. “I can’t fight it if I don’t know what it…”

And just like recognition dawned. It wasn't a single rune she was looking at, but instead, many symbols ~ each representing a specific type of Shifter. The sigils were twisted, bastardized. Then forced into an utter abomination against the Goddess and the Laws of Nature.

“This is how they did it,” she seethed. “All I have to do is unravel it.”

“No, Cilla! Stop…”

But it was too late. Despite Rene’s cussing and Max’s snarling, she slapped the palm of her hand to the cursed wood.

Expecting a thud and instantaneous stop, Cilla's body followed her hand as it sunk all the way up to her elbow. Digging the nails of her free hand into the doorframe, she poured all the magic she could muster into a demanding Creole spell, “Release me, Demon!”

“Oh, Girl,” an ominous voice from beyond the invisible vortex chuckled. “I taught you better than that. Ya’ gotta call a spade a spade." Popping into view was a face she'd hoped never to see again.

Glaring into his sunken soulless eyes had her stomach doing somersaults and her mocha latte threatening to make a command performance. Gnarly, skeletal hands, their knotty knuckles caked with gore and jagged nails crusty with the blood of his victims slammed into her chest, making her skin crawl just as if she’d sunk her hands into an anthill.

“Get your Goddess-damned hands off me!”

A shit-eating, know-it-all grin spread across his ghoulish face. If the appearance of his rotted, molten teeth hadn’t made her gag, the stench of his rancid, decomposing-flesh-scented breath would’ve surely finished the job.

Pushing so hard the joints in her shoulders cracked aloud, the Demon playfully scolded, “Now, is that the way you thank your Daddy for saving your behind, Little Girl?”

Chapter Four

With no recollection of how he got across the room, just thrilled that he had, Rene wrapped his arm around the waist of a quickly disappearing Cilla and yanked as hard as he could. Stumbling backward, it took all his will and most of his Dragon’s to stay on his feet.

"Son of a bitch! That was close," he growled when it was not nearly as difficult as he'd expected to remove his headstrong Mate from the black bubbling goo that used to be a door.

Spinning the only woman he’d ever loved around in midair then immediately catching her around the waist, he promptly threw her over his shoulder with no regard to her stammering objections. Making a rapid about-face, his only mission was to get Cilla away from the clear and present danger.

“Put. Me. Down.”

Ignoring his Mate’s roaring protests, he hollered over his shoulder, “Lock this shit down, Max.”

Making a beeline for the front door, he flew past Jon Thomas, Mary Lou, and all the others, reassuring, “We’ll be back to get y’all.”

Balled up fists pummeled his backside as Cilla continued to bellow, “Damn you, Rene Malveaux! Put me down!”

“No way! You can’t be trusted. No sense of danger. No thought of self-preservation. You are a walking disaster!”

With no warning, not even an inkling of an idea that his gorgeous, feisty, spiteful-as-a-horned toad Mate was about to pull a whammy out of her bag of tricks, one of the most formidable Dragon Guardsmen ever known found himself completely and totally magicked to a screeching halt. One foot in the air and the other stuck to the floor, Rene ceased up tighter than a nun’s chastity belt with Cilla’s Voodoo.

Standing like a dumbstruck statue, smackdab in the center of a haunted mansion, with a Priestess-eating door, a nasty Demon-possessed asshole, and only the Heavens knew what else, the Guardsman couldn’t even open his mouth. Much less stop Cilla from climbing off his shoulder, and that burned his hide worst of all.

No sooner had her feet hit the ground than she was right up in his face, cussing him like he’d just told her Christmas canceled and there’d be no Mardi Gras. Jabbing his chest with the tip of her index finger, fire burning in her eyes, and magic popping and crackling like fireworks, Cilla berated him up one side and down the other with a vengeance only she could make look sexy, “That’s your problem, Rene. You always think you know best. Think you’ve got all the answers. Never give anyone else a chance to say ‘boo’ before your runnin’ ‘round like a Dragon with his head cut off.”

Wishing he could grin as Cilla spun around and began to pace, he would never admit aloud to anyone how fucking spectacular she was in the midst of a full rant. It got even better when her arms were flailing around, and her cheeks getting all flushed. She was beautiful with one helluva capital B.

And she’s all mine. Now, all I gotta do is get my shit together. Piss her off many more times, and she's gonna turn me into an amoeba on a flea’s ass.

Still screaming at the top of her lungs, Cilla snarled and spat, “I had it all under control. Knew what I was doing. Had to follow the trail, get to the root of whatever happened here, and save these kids.” Her hands flew wide, and Rene could feel the anger and condemnation coming from the Spirits of all the young Shifters.

“Why?! Why can’t you ever leave well enough alone?”

Not waiting for an answer, which was good because she couldn’t give him one, the Priestess stopped dead center, right in front of him. Eyes narrowing so just the slightest bit of dark brown was still visible and the corners of her mouth turning so far down he thought she might be pouting, if she’d been a cartoon character steam would’ve been coming out of her ears. It was damn close to the most perfect sight he’d ever seen.

I truly am crazy as a bedbug. Who would have thought it? Pissed off Priestess turns me on. I’ll probably fall over dead when I see her naked.

Chest rising and falling as she took a long, deep breath, his mouth watered when her hands slammed onto the tempting flair of her hips, pushing her gorgeous breasts forward. It was like a gift from the Goddess. If he could only move, lean forward, something, anything. But Cilla was strong, real strong, and her magic didn’t waver, no matter how pissed off she got.

“And ya’ know what else pisses me off about you?” Planting the balls of her feet with such force he had to wonder how her leg didn’t break, Cilla spun so fast she was little more than a blur before pushing up on her toes and getting right back up in his face. “You have to be the most…”

Whatever insult she was about to plaster on him was ripped from her lips as every single door in the place flew open and every window in the whole place shattered. Shards flew around like miniature heat-seeking missiles as a howling unlike anything he'd ever heard almost made his ears bleed. Still stuck to the floor, he watched Cilla turn one way then the other doing her damnedest to get a bead on what fresh hell had decided to make an uninvited entrance.

Appearing out of nowhere, Max had grown three times as tall, damned near twice as wide, and was sporting a shitload of shiny black fur. Bright green, feline eyes glowing like a beacon in the chaos all around them, the King in his most fearsome form – Grand Executioner - commanded sharply, “Release Rene. Now!”

No sooner had he uttered the words than Cilla snapped out of her stupor, giving a backward flip of her fingers. Point-zero-zero-seven seconds later, the Dragon did an extremely painful face-plant into the hardwood floor. With no time to complain, but storing his anger away for another time, Rene was right back up on his feet, covered in mossy-green-and-golden scales, standing over nine-feet tall in his Warrior Dragon Shift.

Taking his place on the opposite side of Cilla, a cold chill slithered up his spine a split-second before the ghost of his nephew appeared at his side. “This is it. This is what we felt before we…died.”

“You hear that?” Rene roared over the ever-increasing shriek of the wind, refusing to look away from the cavernous hole that used to be the front door, knowing that whatever was coming would launch its attack from that vantage point.

“Si,” came Max’s staccato reply, but it was the guttural growl emanating from Cilla that had Rene’s head whipping to the side.

Unable to believe his eyes, even with the enhanced vision of his Warrior Dragon, Rene took an involuntary step backward as Cilla’s feet lifted off the ground and pillars of deep purple smoke billowed from her fingertips.

“Oh, fuck me! Wh-what is happening?”

Eyes the color of fiery opals, lips moving at the speed of light, he knew the deep guttural chanting was coming from his Mate, but the way it filled the room was more like Dolby surround sound. Riding on the impenetrable waves of her magic, the evil incantation sprung to life right before his eyes.

"Blood calls to blood. Power calls to power. One in blood. One in power. From Kin to kin, throughout and within, topside you come, no matter your sin.”

Appearing in her right hand, shining as bright as the full moon over the bayou, the DeClouette athame sliced down the open palm of Cilla’s left hand. Drops of her life’s essence sizzled and spat as they hit the ground in an eerie slow motion.

Time stood still. Every molecule of air was instantaneously sucked from the room. Shards of glass, clouds of smoke-the Spirits themselves- froze in time. And there, like an avenging Priestess hovered Cilla over it all.

Spreading her arms wide, a slow, sarcastic smile curved the corners of her deep red lips upward. Eyes darting from where Cilla stared at the entrance to his Mate and back again, over and over, Rene’s Dragon rattled the confines of his mind with a deep, threatening roar at the precise moment Cilla’s hands clapped together.

“Come one. Come all.” Her voice reverberated off every surface.

With absolutely no foresight and without the tiniest bit of warning, Rene was no longer in control. Pushed aside by his Dragon, the Guardsman became an unwilling passenger within his own body as his snubbed snout dropped open and fire flew over his fangs.

Wings extending to their full forty-feet span, the tips immediately bent back towards his body, stopping only when the farthest claw had joined with the protective cartilage of his shoulder blades. His momma used to call the webbed appendages of Warrior ‘Dragonfly’ wings, but that was before the razor-sharp, hooked talons on the end of each ‘finger’ extended. After that, she would just say, “Oh, Lordy, Rene.”

“Dragonflies only wished they were as deadly as me.” Any other time Rene would’ve laughed aloud at Mathghamhain aka Magnum aka his Dragon’s deep, growly chuckle. On this occasion, the Guardsman wanted to pluck every scale from his arrogant, overbearing ass.

“Stop this shit and let me drive,” Rene demanded. “Something’s wrong. This isn’t Cilla. She doesn’t fuck with dark magic. All this nasty bullshit is gonna burn her alive.”

“Not likely,” a rough, rasping, hair-raising voice invaded his mind, cockily countering, “Cilla’s got all the right stuff. It’s in her genes.”

“Cilla’s…”

But Rene’s retort was snatched from his mind as the living breathing embodiment of NOLA's very own version of seriously-bad-fucking-news slunk up from the creepiest, grungiest cracks of the floorboards. Gaunt, decomposing skin hung from his skull while his blood-red eyes glowed with a devilish glee that forced the little hairs on the back of Rene’s human neck to stand on end.

Dressed to the nines in the same black zoot suit, albeit tattered, torn, and covered in soot, he’d had on the night his wife, her momma, a teenage Cilla, and a Clan of Dragon Guardsmen threw his evil, possessed ass into the deepest depths of hell, Henri DeClouette still resembled Sammy Davis, Jr on steroids with twice the attitude. Flicking some nasty piece of slimy gunk from his left lapel, the once-prominent, soon-disgraced, irrevocably possessed, son of a nasty SOB of a Warlock winked in Rene’s direction before reaching out for Cilla’s still-bleeding hand.

Black viscous goo dripped from the angry slash mystically creeping across his palm. Power flashed to life deep within Rene’s core, a supremacy he hadn’t felt since the last time he stood in the same room with Henri reared his powerful head. Then it happened again. Without the slightest warning, Magnum opened his mighty jowls, this time turning Cilla’s evil-as-homemade-sin father into the foulest smelling Roman candle the whole damned world had ever been forced to smell.

Trying not to breathe, Rene felt Magnum’s shock half a second before he realized they were flying backward at an incredibly high rate of speed. Caught up in a wave of magic the strength and preeminence of which he’d never before felt, the Guardsman’s back instantly made bone-jarring contact with and then went right straight through the farthest wall of the mansion.

No sooner had his ass crashed into a pile of bricks than Cilla roared, “What the holy fuck is happening?” This time in her own sexy, contralto tone.

“Nothing much,” Henri’s ghastly voice attempted to schmooze his way out of the pile of deep shit he’d stepped in with both feet, not to mention the ash from his own personal bonfire. “Baby Girl, Daddy’s Hoooooo…” The Demon’s ghoulish lack of charm ended with a yowl of pain that forced every dog for three parishes in all four directions to yowl in pain.

“Oh, hell no, he isn’t!” Cilla shouted, right before an ear-splitting explosion, another toe-curling wave of pure-as-the-driven-snow Voodoo magic, and a whooped, “Take that you lousy, piece of Demon shit,” echoed far and wide.

Henri’s blood-curdling screams were thankfully cut off just as quickly as they started. Unfortunately, the next thing Rene saw was Cilla looming over him. Even worse, Magnum turned tail and ran. Snatching the scales of their Warrior Dragon, wings and all, back to where they’d come from even faster than he'd thrust them forward. The scaly coward quite literally slinked to the back of the Guardsman's mind fast as he could.

“Coward,” Rene snapped.

“Smart,” Magnum retorted. “That Mate of ours scares me scaleless.”

“Damn straight, Mags,” Cilla cheered. “Always knew you were the smart one of the pair.”

“Hey!” Rene tried to fight back but was once again cut off as his fiery Mate jumped in with both feet.

"Hey, nothing, Dragon Man. You almost let this shit get outta hand.”

"Me?" On his feet, nose-to-nose with Cilla, he started to fight, "How is it my…"

And just like that, she slammed her lips to his, kissing him like he’d always dreamed she would. Cilla’s sexy chuckle danced through his suddenly lust-fogged brain, “Everything’s your fault, Rene, everything. Always will be.”

Chapter Five

Blindsided by her piece of Demon crap father left her no way to counter the ‘I told you so’ she knew was coming from Rene. So, Cilla did the first thing that came to mind, she kissed him like he was the only man in the world. Only problem was, she’d poured gas on a five-alarm fire that she never wanted to put out.

Their hearts beating as one, the feel of his body against hers, and his tongue doing a wonderfully erotic dance with hers was damn near better than beignets and powdered sugar on a Sunday morning. She never wanted it to end and was seriously thinking about selling her soul to stay right where she was for the rest of forever and then some.

Shoving her fingers into his hair and holding on tight, she climbed his body just like she used to shimmy up the old oak tree out back of Granny’s. Her entire focus was making Rene hers…forever….in every way possible. Something she’d wanted for as long as she could remember.

True to form, just as she was on the brink of no return, they were interrupted by Ike’s bellowed, “What the hell did y’all do? Party like it’s 1999?”

Refusing to be deterred, Cilla held on for dear life even as Rene chuckled into their kiss making his chest do a wonderfully delicious shimmy that had her already hard nipples pushing to just shy of the point of pain. Why the hell wasn't her Dragon acting like the Neanderthal she knew him to be and taking charge. Now was the time to throw her over his shoulder. Talk about not knowing how the hell to pick a moment.

Knowing the exact second he’d read her mind, Cilla laughed out loud when Rene tore his lips from hers, squeezed her backside with his big, strong hands, and took off for the door like a scalded dog. Raining kisses all over his face, teasing him by pushing images of all the things she wanted to do to and with him into his mind, she suddenly realized there was a much quicker way.

“Hold on, Dragon Man, I got this trip covered,” she snickered as the picture of her little brick house on the edge of the Honey Island Swamp appeared in her mind.

With no more than a single thought, the couple was whisked away in a glorious cloud of her special sexy Voodoo magic. Still together, her hands lovingly gripping his shoulders, they landed on her porch in just a couple of seconds.

“Damn, I like the way you think, woman,” Rene purred before his lips once again found hers in a crushing kiss of passion that stole the breath from her lungs.

Gasping as the electricity of their connection sent lightning bolts racing through her veins, Cilla’s brain ceased to function. For the first time in her very long life, she was letting someone else be in control. Someone amazing, wonderful, and made just for her.

Hearing the door slam shut and feeling Rene charging up the stairs was almost as exhilarating as their first real kiss. Being with her Mate, the only man who could complete her – both body and soul – was the only thing she’d ever truly wanted.

Opening her eyes when Rene stopped moving, Cilla forced herself to break their kiss. Looking into Rene’s lust- soaked eyes, it felt as if her heart might just burst.

No, he’d never said he loved her. Hell, all they ever did was fuss and fight, but her Dragon wore his feelings on his sleeve. More than one time over the decades, she’d caught flashes of what he felt, heard bits and pieces of his thoughts, and most importantly, caught his eyes roaming her body. Sometimes, it was good to be Queen.

“What’s that little smirk all about Momma Cilla?”

Any other time, the use of her ‘title’ would’ve pissed her off and started a fight. On this occasion, Cilla found it almost cute, and couldn’t help but be flat out honest.

“I was just thinkin’ about how many times I’ve dreamt of this very moment.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rene teased, making a joke of growling and giving her sloppy kisses on her neck.

Giggling like a schoolgirl, all she could do was laugh, "Oh, yeah."

Pulling back, her mate speared her with a fiery emerald gaze as he purred, “You ain’t the only one been dreamin’ Cilla, my love.”

Just the sound of his voice was almost more than she could handle. She wanted her Dragon more with every beat of her heart.

“Baby, I fell in love with you before I was grown enough to know what love was, and every damn year it's gotten stronger. Priscilla DeClouette you have always been the only woman for me.”

Mind blank for the first time in her entire life, Cilla simply could not form even one rational thought. Arms around his neck, she crushed her lips to his, kissing him like he was the air she breathed.

Waiting was for sissies. Cilla had waited long enough. It was now or never and never would have to go straight to Hell. Shimmying out of his grasp, she shivered as the proof of his arousal slid between her thighs.

“Oh, Baby,” he groaned, a sly grin on his handsome face. “Can’t take much more of that.”

Stepping back out of his reach, she grabbed both his hands and pretended to scold, “Uh-uh, Loverboy. Ladies first.”

Shoving her hands under the soft cotton of his forest green T-shirt, she whipped it off over his head, shocked into complete silence as she gazed at his perfectly muscled chest. Running her fingers over his bare skin, wanting, needing to explore and discover every inch of her mate, she whispered, “Damn it all to Heaven, you’re just beautiful Rene Malveaux.”

“Aww, shu-shucks, Ma'am," he tried to tease, but it was the hitch in his voice that made Cilla's body hum with excitement.

Sliding down his body, kissing and tasting the special places she planned to revisit for the rest of her life, she loved that he was as excited as she was. Chuckling against his skin as he hissed in appreciation when she teased the sensitive skin just above his belt, she couldn’t resist running her fingers along his denim-covered erection.

“I might’ve liked you a little bit, too, all those years ago,” she cooed, watching his fists clench and unclench at his sides. “Better be careful, Dragon Man. Don’t want you hurtin’ yourself.”

“Don- Don’t you worry, Cilla, my love.”

Removing his belt, she unbuttoned his pants, letting her hand follow the trail of soft, dark hair disappearing into his boxers. Stretching her fingers to cover the sheer size of his erection, the proof of her arousal wet the crotch of her panties as he pulsed within her grasp.

Massaging and teasing her way to the tip, her thumb spread the hot, wet proof of his excitement over and around the entire top. Thighs tensing, his fists closing and opening in double time, she was thrilled when he threw back his head and panted, “Cil-Cil-Cilla, you’re k-killin’ me.”

“Gotta better way to go in mind?"

“Uh-uh…n-no…”

His answer ended in a loud groan as Rene started rolling his hips. Dragging his cock through her hand, he damned near panted as the pulse in his neck beat in a heavy staccato rhythm.

Heavenly, out of this world, and better than anything she’d ever experienced, Cilla was all in. She needed to be one with her Dragon more than she needed to breathe her next breath. Working her hand up and down his generous length, her pussy throbbed, and her heart nearly beat out of her chest as he grew larger still with every stroke.

Using her free hand and a smidgen of magic, she pushed his pants to his ankles once again in awe of his incredible physique. Tickled pink when he lifted his feet and kicked them out of the way, Cilla placed the palm of her free hand on his thigh and leaned forward.

Mouth watering in anticipation, she took as much of him into her mouth as she possibly could. The smoky heat of his essence set every one of her taste buds on fire. Lights flashed behind her eyes. Nothing had ever tasted so wonderful, so intoxicating, so perfect as her Mate…her Dragon.

Massaging the bulging vein running the entire underside of his cock with the tip of her tongue, Cilla enjoyed taunting and tormenting his body until it shook with need. Slowly letting him slide from her mouth, she held just the tip between her lips, mercilessly teasing the slit with her tongue.

Trembling fingers, scorching with the heat of both man and Dragon, gently touched her scalp. The muscles in his thighs quivered. His body shook with the sheer strength it took him to hold back and allow himself to enjoy her foreplay.

“You’re nothing if not a Neanderthal, Rene Malveaux…my Neanderthal.”

His strained chuckle was exhilarating, almost as much as the living, breathing need she could see within him to move, to be an active participant in their lovemaking. He was holding back for her, using all his considerable strength to give her exactly what she wanted. Tears filled her eyes as she finally realized there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her… or that she wouldn’t do for him.

 Pining to see her Dragon lose control, to completely let go, to get lost in the spectacular wonder that they were together, Cilla sucked his cock as far back into her throat as she could. Hollowing her cheeks, she hummed and swallowed over and over again.

A deep, growling groan, followed by the slide of his hands to her shoulders, forced her hands around his thighs. Holding tight, her cheek against his leg, she held fast, refusing to give in as he tried to pull his cock from her mouth.

Needing to give him pleasure, Cilla craved his complete and total surrender. Not because she was on some crazy power trip, but because she needed Rene to understand how very much he meant to her and how long she waited for them to be together.

“Let go, Rene, mon amour.” She threw in a little French, remembering how much he loved the language. “Let me show you what you mean to me.” 

Sliding her lips to the base of his cock, she once again hollowed her cheeks, then tightened her grip the slightest bit, stroking as she pulled him in and out of her mouth. Feeling his balls draw tight to his body just before he roared, “Oh Cilla…Cilla, Cilla, Ciiilllaaa,” made the Priestess feel as if she was Queen of the world.

Unable to answer, her heart so full of love, it was close to bursting, Cilla hummed, “Mmmmmmhhmmmmmm.’ Reveling in the vibrations that extended his orgasm, she smiled around his erection as a whole new set of groans filled the room.

Struggling to pull himself from her mouth as hard as she tried to keep him where he was, the resulting back and forth had them meeting one another stroke for stroke. Taking advantage of the situation faster than she could, Rene slipped his hands under her arms, attempting to lift her from the ground.

Pulling on every ounce of strength she possessed, Cilla quickened their pace, thrusting him in and out of her mouth until he once again bellowed her name and the warmth of his essence flowed down her throat. Swallowing every drop, she continued until his heart rate slowed to a dull roar. Only when she knew beyond all doubt that her man was satisfied did she let him slide from her lips.

As he dropped to his knees, Rene's gaze made her feel more loved than she'd ever imagined possible. The feel of his hands on her waist sent shockwaves to the very depths of her soul. Then he spoke, and not only his words, but his tone of utter astonishment and complete devotion made it hard for her to breathe. “Cilla, I will love you till the stars no longer twinkle and the moon refuses to shine.”

Leaning forward so slowly she thought she might pass out; her man took loving his Mate to a whole other galaxy. Placing a kiss on first one temple then the other, above one eyebrow then the other, Rene tenderly worshiped Cilla the length of her neck.

Across to the neckline of her crinkly Tyvek jumpsuit, Cilla pushed farther into his hands as he worked her zipper downward while delicately paying attention to every inch of her décolletage. Only realizing he had her down to nothing but her navy blue lace panties when a breeze from the ceiling fan grazed her shoulders, goosebumps rose all over her body, and her skin tingled when Rene leaned back and took his time marking every single inch of her body with his glowing green eyes.

“Damn, Baby Girl, you make a man wanna stay in bed for days,” he marveled, the perfect prelude to the way he took her lips with sheer loving force.

Lifting her onto the bed, he laid her back on the soft downy of her comforter, kissing and caressing until she was nothing less than addicted to his touch. Rene was everywhere - in her heart, in her soul, in her thoughts…in every molecule of her being.

The total union of Cilla with her Dragon was indescribable. His hands on her body, his thoughts in her mind, and Mags, his Dragon, tickling her magic with his downright blew her mind.

Laying the flat of his hand on her stomach, the tips of his fingers so close to where she ached the most, she got no warning as with a scorching flash of his own mysticism he removed her panties. Naked and at his mercy, the place she’d always dreamt of being, Cilla lifted her hips, working hard to get those wonderful fingers of his where she needed them most. But Rene refused.

Gently massaging the heated skin above the curls covering her pussy, he grinned like a bad boy with a secret while moving his thumb back and forth, teasing the very tip of her extremely aroused clit. Shaking with unspent sexual tension, she screamed her uncontrollable need, “Oh my Goddess…Re-Rene…Rene…Rene…pppllleeeaaassseee.”

The smile in his voice pushed arousal off the charts as he snickered, “Yes, my sweet, Priestess. I’m right here. Ain’t no place better.”

The feel of his body moving against hers, forced Cilla to pry her eyes open just in time to see him kneeling between her legs. Snared by his heated gaze, downright captured, there was nothing she could do but look into the eyes of the man she loved with all her heart.

Placing his hands under her ass, the tips of his fingers erotically pressed into her heated flesh as he pulled her closer. Her hips lifted of their own accord, the outer lips of her pussy meeting the tip of his cock in perfect synchronicity. Trying to move forward, needing to push him as far inside her as he could possibly go, Cilla’s movements made them gasp in unison, as Rene blessedly began to move.

Rolling her hips, forcing him to go faster, she moaned as he slid all the way into her waiting body. Sighing in perfect harmony, the feeling of absolute bliss rolled over and around them. For the first time ever, Cilla was whole. She was one with the man she was meant to love in every way possible. Savoring the feeling of her womb contracting around his hard, throbbing cock, every emotion flowed freely between them heightening her desire, driving her wild with the need to never be anywhere but with her Dragon.

Moving because there was no way she couldn’t, Cilla followed Rene’s gaze, marveling at the sight of their body joined as the Universe had always intended. Thankfully, Rene read her mind. Thrusting in and out, he rolled his hips in harmony with hers, accentuating the electricity every time they touched.

The change in motion had the head of his cock massaging the tender bundle of nerves at the top of her channel as her clit made continuous contact with the base of his cock. Powerless to do anything but feel, the world faded away as Cilla focused on everything she felt for her Dragon as she reached for his hands. Sliding her fingers between his at the precise moment that she screamed her release, Rene followed, roaring right alongside.

Slowly returning to earth, Cilla could barely catch her breath as Rene continued slowly moving in and out of her, their hands still clasped as he grinned “Hey there, Momma Cilla, how you doin’?”

Not giving a good gosh darn that she was sporting a goofy grin with love sparkling in her eyes, Cilla winked, “I’m pretty damned good, Dragon Man, pretty damned good indeed.”

Chapter Six

Watching the first rays of the dawning sun shine across Cilla’s back, Rene grinned so big his cheeks actually hurt. But then again, he’d been doing nothing but smiling and gazing at his sleeping Mate for hours.

Cilla had always been his reason for living, but now, she was everything. Yeah, sure, he’d heard every story ever told about finding the one woman in all the world who was made for him, and every damned one of them paled in comparison to the real thing.

Everything, every single little thing was different, better, almost perfect now that they were truly together. The sun was brighter. He was happier. The world was just a more beautiful place.

“Then what the hell took ya’ so long, King? Waitin’ for an engraved invitation?” Cilla teased, her voice still slow and lazy as she laid a pile of sweet Southern accent on his nickname.

Running the tips of his fingers down her spine, he purred, “Just waitin’ for an invitation from my Queen.”

Letting the last word float from his mind to hers as he laid butterfly kisses on the Dragonfly tattoo covering her shoulder, he snickered when she grumbled, “Yeah, ‘cause standin’ at the train station every day waitin’ on your mangy hide for damn near a month wasn’t proof enough of how I’ve always felt.”

Stopping with his lips hovering over her delicate skin, the miasma of Cilla’s conflicting emotions washed over him like boiling water mixed with ice cubes. Part of her was teasing, having fun at his expense, the other part, the more dominant, larger part of his Mate’s soul was angry and hurt.

Faster than even he could track, Rene slid his arms around Cilla, turning her over until they were face-to-face. Not waiting for her to catch her breath or get her bearings, he blurted out exactly what he was thinking, “When did you ever wait on me, Priscilla Angelique?”

Knowing he’d pushed too far too fast, but so confused and tormented by what she was feeling, he completely ignored the flames dancing in her eyes and the spark coming from her fingertips. Well, until Cilla snapped her fingers.

Flipped on his back so fast he had vertigo and pounced on with such force all the air was knocked out of his lungs, Rene could only stare as his gorgeously naked Mate scowled down at him. Doubling up her fist and pounding on his chest, she exploded, “When? When did I ever wait for you? Damn near all my fucking life, Rene Damas!” The emphasis on his middle reminded him how very much Cilla hated her own, especially when he used it in anger.

“Every day! Every day for three weeks, when you were on some Goddess-forsaken desert. Your momma said you were coming back. Said you’d promised not to re-up!”

Six quick punches to his chest and one quick breath and she was back at it, full force, no holds barred. The way her naked breasts bounced up and down was a bit distracting, but the pure, raw honesty in her voice was stronger than even his attraction for all things Cilla.

“I cried!” She roared. “Real fucking tears, I cried over your worthless ass!”

Her fists went a little wild. She gave him a left hook in the chin, and not even that stopped her tirade. “I was done. Fucking over you. Promised the Goddess, the Heavens, every freakin’ Saint and Sinner I could think of that if you came slinking back to my door, I’d slam it in your face.”

Pummeling in such quick succession it felt like one continual punch, Cilla reached a true raging crescendo. “And that would be after I’d kicked you square in the balls! But what happened?!”

Keeping his mouth shut, Rene bit the insides of his cheeks ‘cause he knew what was coming. Even as regret and guilt were burning a nasty little hole in the depths of his soul. He’d hurt his Mate. Hurt her real bad, and the damnedest thing was, he hadn’t known until now.

But Cilla was gonna make damned sure he never forgot…

“You showed up with pink roses, dressed in your uniform, and a goofy assed grin. You’re a dick. The bona fide, grade A, King of the Buttheads, DICK! I swear to all that’s hol…”

“…holy, she’s gonna kick your ass seven ways from Sunday then all the way back to last Easter.”

Arms around Cilla, Rene sat up, tossed her behind him, and stood up in the middle of the bed. Ignoring the fact that he was naked as the day he was born, he pulled on Magnum’s magic and growled through gritted teeth, “What the fuck are you doing back here?”

Never one to stay out of a fight, Cilla appeared at his side, a funnel cloud of fluorescent yellow and navy-blue Voodoo spinning like a top threatened, “Son of a bitch. What in the hell do I have to do to put you down and keep you down?”

Not waiting for an answer, she took a step forward, her hands in the air, both thumbs and both second fingers prepared to snap and hissed, “Well, this time, I’mma puttin’ your ass where it belongs, locking that shit tight, and throwing away the …”

Throwing his hands out in front of him, true fear stretching what was left of the decaying skin hanging from his skull, Henri DeClouette shrieked, “It’s not me! I swear to the Devil himself. It wasn’t me!”

“I don’t give a good…”

“Wait,” Rene ordered, working hard not to flinch when more than a little bit of Cilla’s magic snapped him in the bare behind. Keeping his eyes on Henri while praying that his precocious Mate wouldn’t fry him and tell everyone it was Gator tail, he calmly, or at least as much as dragonly possible, said, “Maybe we should hear him out.”

Nodding his head like one of those bobblehead dogs in the back of Old Lady Simmons 1977 Cadillac Eldorado, Henri blew out a long, seriously stinky breath, wiped pretend sweat from his brow, and sighed, “Thank ya’, King. Thank ya’ loads.”

“Yeah, thank him,” Cilla scoffed. “He’s not the one cartin’ around your nasty taint.”

“Now, is that any way to talk to your…”

“Go on,” Rene quickly interrupted, knowing he needed to keep Henri on track or Cilla would reduce them both to matching greasy spots on her shiny tile floors.

Clearing his throat and straightening the lapels on his suit, Henri went to take a seat, to which Cilla growled, “Stay on your feet, Demon. You ain‘t stayin’ long enough to get comfortable.”

Stopping in his tracks, Henri gave a deep bow. Returning to attention, he smiled, “As you wish, Cilla, my dear. But can I ask a little favor?”

“If you have to.”

“Can y’all put some clothes on? It’s a might bright in here. If ya’ know what I mean?”

Trying not to laugh out loud because he’d truly forgotten his family jewels were hanging out, Rene couldn’t help but snicker when Cilla conjured them some clothes while grumbling, “If you'd've stayed where you belonged, you wouldn’t have gotten the Full Monty, Fuckface.”

Loosely clasping his hands, the universal sign of a truce from a demon because without their hands they couldn’t conjure, he began, “It wasn’t me who hurt those children. I would never in a million years do anything in your city, Cilla. I promised your momma all those years ago, and it’s the one oath I’ve stuck to. That, and not tempting you or your man there.”

Pausing, an expectant look on his face, Rene was the first to speak, snidely assuring, “Henri, you’re not gettin’ a thank you here. You brought all this shit on yourself, and ya’ know just as sure as God made little green apples ya’ did. Now, hurry it up, or I’mma let Cilla blast your ass to the deepest, darkest hole in the Underworld and not think another thing about it.”

“Well, I never.”

“Yes, you damned sure have,” Cilla snarled. “More than a thousand times you worthless bag of…”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Henri relented, his hands once again in the air in surrender. “I see where you might still be a little miffed at me.”

“Miffed?!”

Feeling Cilla losing control, Rene jumped in front of her and while pointing his finger right at the vacant hole where Henri’s black heart used to lie, demanded, “Speak or get the fuck out!”

With the bottom half of his rotting head disappearing as he shrugged his shoulders so high Rene wondered if they were still attached, Henri sniffed, “Alright, I’ll hurry it up. But you should know how much power it takes for me to get up here. I’ve gotta reap four shit tons of souls and make deals that might be the most honest.”

Once again met with silent stares, the Demon finally started to give up the good. “So, this goes back about three hundred years or so. When the great Shifter Wars were happening right here in this little piece of Heaven known as the Honey Island.”

Raising his hands, adding flourishes to his story, reminded Rene what a showman Henri used to be back in the day. Of course, it pissed Cilla off even more than she already was.

“Reader’s Digest version, Asshat.”

“Okay, I hear ya’, Girlie.” Waving his hands, Henri hurried on. “Here it is. The Devil’s honest truth. It was nearing the end of the War and the Head of the Black Bear Sloth was just sure the Leader of the Dragon Clan and the Alpha of the Wolf Pack would cut his people out of the treaty they were about to sign with the Cats, the Gators and all the Others.”

“So, that big old Alpha Bear, Ike’s granddaddy as a matter of fact, snuck right on out to the Backside Pond. Sitting on Devil’s Rock, he wrung the neck of a redheaded Rooster, smeared his blood on his face, and called up…”

Pop! Bam! Bang!

Whatever Henri was going to tell them was swallowed up in a sea of moldy green smoke and an explosion that rivaled cannon fire. Coughing and hacking, Rene grabbed Cilla and held her tight to his side, whipping up a magical wind to clear the air.

Unfortunately, he just wasn’t fast enough. Gone as quick as it had appeared, the noxious smog was whisked away, leaving King and his Queen face to face with a much deadlier foe.

Rum in one hand, a cigar in the other, wearing a top hat decorated with feathers, bones, and shrunken skulls, the white-faced, black-eyed Baron Samedi stood tall and proud. Scruffing Henri by the nape of the neck like he was lost little kitten, the Loa of the Dead shook the Demon until his eyes rolled back in his head then laughed out loud, “Oh, my Childrens, you needs to hear this tale from the horse’s mouth.”

Chapter Seven

Trussed up tight in a thick web of the Baron’s sorcery, back-to-back with her Mate, Cilla tried hard to override the bastard’s power but for the first time in her very long life, the Priestess was utterly out magicked and unequivocally madder than a wet hen. The only good thing to come out of the whole damned mess was watching Baron Samedi toss her daddy’s ass back to the Pits of Hell. It wasn’t enough, but it was something…and it was short lived.

Because what was currently happening was not only horrific, but completely mortifying. Baron Samedi was having a grand old time flying through the air and making she and Rene ride on his airstream.

 “It’s like surfin’ on a Demon’s fart,” she snarled directly into her Dragon’s mind.

His answering snicker only fueled the fire of her rage, but when he quickly and sincerely apologized, Cilla’s heart melted all the more. “I’m not lettin’ anything happen to you, Cilla, my love. I’ve gotta whole lotta makin’ up to do, and I plan to grovel at your feet and worship you like the Queen you are for the rest of our lives.”

“Aww, now, Rene, you don’t…”

“Yes, I do.” His objection was adamant and heartfelt, and it ate away at the teeny-tiny bit of Cilla’s resentment. “If I’d’ve known you’d waited all that time… I’d’a… I’d’a… Well, shit, I don’t know…”

Coming to a rough, ass-kicking landing on the very pointed top of Devil’s Rock, Cilla could only guess what Rene was about to say because the Baron chose that moment to cackle like the loon he was, “Oh my, oh my, oh my, that boy is sure one for the words, Queen Cilla. I can see whys youse been caryin’ that torch fors all those years.”

Still laughing, adding hooting and hollering and a little bit of dancing to his floorshow, the Loa of the Dead summoned a circle of pig’s blood encompassing the entire rock and closed with a huge gris-gris bag that smelled of rotten flesh and rancid tobacco juice. Pulling one bottle of rum after another from the inside pocket of his double-breasted tuxedo jacket, he placed one at each of the four corners.

Fighting against the ever-tightening bands around her wrists, Cilla turned her head as far as she could from side-to-side when the Baron suddenly went silent. An icy chill clawed at her insides when she realized Rene had gone so still she didn’t know if he was breathing or not.

“Talk to me, King,” she pleaded. “Don’t leave me hangin’.”

No response. Only silence. Eerie, sickening, scary silence.

Then a flash of light, a hiss of pain, and the smoky scent of her Dragon’s blood.

“BARON SAMEDI!” Cilla roared. “I’ll flay your skin from your rotten bones if you touch…”

“If I touch what, Momma Cilla?” Fetid breath assaulted her nostrils as the Loa of the Dead appeared out of thin air not two inches from the tip of her nose. “Youse thinks youse gonna hurt Baron Samedi?” Throwing back his head, he chortled, “Priscilla DeClouette, youse so cute. Youse make Baron Samedi laugh.”

“Oh, I’mma make you laugh. Oh, yeah, you’re gonna be laughing you fool ass off when I tear you into little pieces and…”

“Cilla,” Rene’s wheezing plea froze the words on her tongue.

Heart ceasing in her chest, she laid back against her Mate and gasped. He was dying. Really and truly, honest-to-the-Goddess dying. And she’d been sitting there having a pissing contest with a freaking Loa.

Throwing herself forward as far as she could, bearing Rene’s limp weight on her back, Cilla demanded, “What the fuck did you do? What is wrong with him? Tell me now, you fuckin’ freak of nature. ‘Cause if he dies, I will move Heaven, Earth, and fuckin’ Hell to kick your ass every day for the rest of eternity.”

Tapping his long, jagged talon at the end of his skeletal finger against the tip of his pointed chin, the Baron hummed, “Mmmmmm, lets me sees here. What did I do to youse Dragon?” Starting to slowly pace as he continued to tap his chin, he went on, “Well, I took this heres knife.”

Rolling his hand over he produced a tarnished silver athame not unlike the one she’d been given by her momma and waved it in the air. “Then I mights have pushed this sharp little tip…” He waved it right under her nose. “And jabbed into his arm and cut a nice thick piece right off his hide.”

A red veil dropped over Cilla’s vision. Rage, unlike anything she’d ever experienced, even when she was fighting her daddy at the rip young age of sixteen, filled every single cell of her body. But before she found a way to escape her restraints, kill the Baron, and save Rene she had to ask, “What else did you do? A single slice, no matter how deep, would harm a Dragon.”

Not waiting for the insane Loa of the Dead to answer, Cilla followed the Mating Bond connecting her soul to Rene’s. Halfway there, she felt the scorching sear of her Dragon’s blood.

“Silver,’ she hissed. “You laced the blade with silver.”

“I always did says youse was the smartest Priestess, Cilla. Youse good girl. Youse good.”

Knowing Rene was coming closer and closer to death with every beat of his heart, Cilla blurted out the first thing that came to her mind, “Tell me about the deal you made with the Black Bear.”

When Baron Samedi stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned his head towards hers, she knew she had his attention. “Isn’t that why you’re here? Why you stopped Henri from telling us. It’s your story, right?”

When the Baron’s body followed his head and he was completely facing her, she added, “And you like…no, I mean, deserve an audience.”

“I do. I really do,” the Loa hummed in appreciation.

“Then you better slow down that silver you stuck up in his veins. Make sure the Dragon can hear, too.”

Taking a step forward, then another, and another, the Loa stopped right in front of her and with a wink, smirked, “I can do one better.”

Clapping his hands before throwing his arms open wide, he smiled so wide Cilla could see the green moss growing on his back teeth. Gross to be sure, but it was the flash of magic and the loud thud just over her shoulder that made the hairs on her arms stand up at attention. Sliding her eyes to the side, she saw an unconscious Ike tied up with the same magical ropes as she and Rene, only he was hogtied like a calf at the rodeo.

“See? Better, right?”

There was nothing to do but stall, and that meant agreeing with the nasty bastard. “Yeah, sure, better. Baron Samedi always knows best, right?”

Sure her tongue would shrivel up and rot and her hair would all fall out for lying, she justified it by mumbling, “I gotta save my Mate. If I go bald, that silly old Dragon’s gonna owe me a lifetime supply of peanut butter cookies and strawberry daiquiris.”

“What chu say?” The Baron sing-songed. “You ready for my story?”

“Oh yeah, I’m ready,” she lied again. “You gonna wake these boys up?”

Good Goddess, please wake these boys up. Don’t let my boys die.

Breathing a sigh of relief when Rene took a huge, gasping breath and she felt the silver poisoning recede, Cilla turned her attention to Ike. The two seconds it took for the Bear to wake up seemed like two days, but when he finally opened his eyes and moaned, “What the hell?” She promised to make him a double recipe of honey buns as soon as she knew her Dragon was okay.

“Everybody ready?” Baron Samedi boomed as the circle of blood grew until Ike was also included before bursting into flames. “Now, we got a little light, too.”

The evil grin on his face danced all over Cilla’s one remaining nerve. If it was the last thing she did right after getting her boys out of danger, she was going to rid the world of Baron Samedi once and for all.

“I knows you and your Dragon already heard this, Momma Cilla, but for the Bear, I’mma do a little recap.” Walking over and backhanding Ike across the face, the Baron started, “Okay, Ike, listen and listen good. This is a little bit of family history I knows your daddy, nor his daddy shared with you.”

“Let me guess,” Ike sassed. “You’re gonna tell me about the deal my granddad made with you during the War, yeah? You’re gonna tell me he betrayed all the other Shifters. That he wanted you to guarantee the Bears would end up at the top of the heap.”

Shock and awe filled Cilla, emotions that were echoed in her Mate. Ike knew. How could he have known and not done anything about it? Shouldn’t he have held his granddad accountable? Wasn’t there some kind of cosmic justice for Shifters like there was for her and others of her kind?

“There is, but not everybody believes in it.” Rene’s voice was strained, the excruciating pain as evident in his tone as it was pulsing through their bond. “I had no idea the Bears were among the Outsiders.”

“Yeah, no shit,” was the only response she had before tuning back into Ike and the Baron’s conversation.

“Oh, ho ho, so, you do know?” Baron Samedi was surprised, but it was the pride Cilla heard in his voice that freaked her out all the more. 

“Yeah, I know,” Ike taunted. “Just like I know that you reneged on your deal. You didn’t help our Sloth at all. In fact, you did everything you could to push the Black Bears into extinction.”

Snared by the gaze of a moan she thought of a brother, Cilla braced for what she feared was to come then audibly exhaled when Ike spat, “And that’s why Cilla’s Gramma helped us. Momma Cecily blessed the mirrors that we wear over our hearts. She gave us gris-gris bags with her own blood. And best of all, she did it all right under your nose and you didn’t even know it.”

Shooting into the air like a bottle rocket on Fat Tuesday, Baron Samedi started to chant. Low and guttural with hate and vengeance dripping from every word, the effects of his hex were immediate and agonizing.

“You gonna writhe and you gonna bleed. I gave a warning and the warning you did not heed. You all gonna pay. Baron always wins the day. You gonna die. Baron don’t lie.” Over and over he said the words, increasing the power of the curse right along with its effects.

Strip by unbearable strip the skin was ripped from not only Cilla’s body, but from the heart wrenching roars of pain, also Rene and Ike. Forcing the pain from her mind, focusing on the bond she shared with not only her Mate but his Dragon, she willed the ancient Warrior to not only hear her but to ignore the silver eating away at him. 

“Come on, Mags. We’re not goin’ out like this. If you don’t wake up and get busy, I promise I’ll haunt your immortal ass throughout eternity.”

Holding her breath, she waited and prayed. Long, tense seconds ticked by. Time she wasn’t sure if Rene could survive. At the end of her rope, just about to give up hope, everything seemed to happen at once.

Magnum’s roared ripped through Rene’s mind into hers as the Dragon King thundered, “Hold on, Cilla. Time to get scaly.”

A flash of twin green dots flashed in the darkness of the Swamp right before a wonderfully Latin accented voice teased, “Looks like I got here just in time.”

The ground under the Devil’s Rock shimmied and shook with such vigor, Cilla was sure she and Rene were about to end up ass over teakettle in the deep, murky water of Honey Island. Hitting the ground like a two-ton sack of rocks, her head literally ended up hanging over the edge of the monstrous crater that opened up and spit out none other than Papa Ghede, the Spirit of Life and Death, the first man who ever died.

Surrounded by the scent of cheap cigars and rum spiced with peppers, his unadorned, black top hat sat at a gaunty angle atop his head perfectly completing his attire of formal black tail, white shirt, and darkened sunglasses. Shorter than Baron Samedi, his perfectly- manicured, long, gray beard nearly touched the top of his feet, but it was the magnitude of mysticism swirling around him that had Cilla lifting her head and staring in disbelief.

With a deep, resonating baritone and a traditional Cajun accent so thick it took her second to follow, Papa Ghede aimed the power of his glare at the Baron as he chastised, “How many times have I told you, Boy? How many times? You just do not mess with a DeClouette.”

“Shut youse damn…”

Brandishing his cane like a saber of old, Papa Ghede aimed the opened mouth skull at the top right at the Baron and spat, “Stay.”

Dangling upside-down over the crater, Baron Samedi’s head was right about Cilla. Chuckling despite the fact that she was still tied up, Rene hadn’t spoken, and Ike was still bleeding, she couldn’t help but taunt, “Oh damn, looks like your ass is going to time out.”

Fingers colder than ice wrapped around her wrist and from one blink of her eyes to the next, she was standing upright with Papa Ghede on her right and his cane in her hand. Tapping her arm with the tip of her all be them long, but perfectly manicured nails, he winked, “Go on, Cilla Angel. He’s yours to banish.”

“But he has to reverse what he’s done to Rene and heal Ike. It’s his magic. I can’t fix what he’s done.”

Narrowing his eyes and cocking his head to the side, Papa Ghede quipped, “The hell you say. You, Momma Cilla, the greatest Voodoo Priestess in the history of Voodoo.” Laying his hand over hers, the one holding the cane, he gave a little shake before letting go and instructing, “Now tap that little head on the edge of my doorway and tell that vile gatecrasher to get his ass home.”

Not having to be told twice, she hit the skull on the smoldering dirt and gibed, “Head on home, Dickhead, and don’t come back.”

Laughing out loud as a terrified scream followed the flailing Baron into the hole, she turned to tell Papa Ghede thank you only to find the Spirit was gone and Rene stood in his place. Throwing herself into his arms, she kissed him soundly, not finishing until she was damned good and ready no matter how many times Ike cleared his throat or Max teased, “I believe the saying is, ‘Get a room’.”

Chapter Eight

“I swear to the Heavens, I’m about to start singin’ The Party’s Over and standing with the front door open.”

Chuckling with such glee that her shoulder bounced up and down, Rene couldn’t help but kiss the special spot behind her ear and whisper, “Or, I’ll just take you to bed and these assholes can fend for themselves.”

“Rene!” She gasped, her smile so bright and so beautiful Rene thanked the Universe for about the hundredth time. Getting control way quicker than he liked, she went on as she patted his shoulder, “Come on out and have some apple pie and ice cream. I promise to get rid of everybody after dessert.”

“I’m holding you to that promise, Priscilla Angel…”

“Don’t say it,” she growled over her shoulder, adding a wave of magic that slapped him on the ass for added incentive.

Good Heavens and then some, he loved that woman more than he knew it was possible to love another person. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d follow her to the ends of the Earth and then some, all she had to do was ask.

Sitting down just as Max jokingly complained, “You think you had it bad? I ran all through the Swamp in a full coat of fur.”

“And we’re damned glad you came to the rescue,” Cilla reassured, kissing the Panther’s cheek which made Rene growl in jealousy and everyone else in the room burst out laughing.

“Rescue?” Ike questioned with a wink and a grin. “I didn’t see no mangy cat coming to the rescue. I was laying there bleeding like a stuck pig and y’all two…” He motioned with his fork between Cilla and Rene. “…were playing kissy face. I coulda bled to death and y’all woulda just had hickeys.”

Laughing so hard he damned near choked on his pie, Rene couldn’t help but tease, “Just like you after the Junior Prom.” Wrapping his arm around Cilla’s waist and pulling her into his lap, he went on, “Wasn’t that Evelyn Whiteside? Head cheerleader, drum majorette, and Hickey Hoover Lips?”

“Aww, now, that just ain’t right,” Ike groused before busting out laughing just like the rest.

The sound of the doorbell had Cilla excusing herself and Rene following after. Standing to the side, his heart skipped a beat as he laid eyes on Jon Thomas standing hand-in-hand with Abigail and Jasper and Mary Lou right behind. Cilla’s counter-spell had worked. His miraculous Mate had brought them all back from the dead and rejoin their Spirits with their bodies.

Grabbing Jon Thomas’ outstretched hand, the older Guardsman pulled his nephew in for a back-slapping hug before finally being able to say, “Damn, it’s good to see ya’, Kid. Good to see y’all.” Looking at the girls and Jasper, Rene leveled his stare before sternly warning, “Y’all stay outta trouble, ya’ here?”

“Yes, Sir,” the younger Shifters answered in unison and Cilla followed up with, “Y’all want some pie and ice cream.”

Thankfully Jon Thomas almost immediately answered, “No, thank you, Ma’am. We got to get out to the farm. Momma’s cookin’ dinner and we promised to be there.”

“Okay then,” Cilla smiled. “Next time. Y’all be safe.”

“We will,” Jon Thomas assured then looking at Rene added, “Thank you, Uncle King. I owe ya’ not only my life, but that of my Mate.”

“Just stay safe and we’ll consider it a debt paid.”

Once again shaking hands with his nephew, Rene knew Raphael would be proud of the man Jon Thomas was becoming. “Ya’ done good, Bro. He’s a damn good kid.” Shoving his sorrow aside, he followed Cilla back into the dining room and right into the same conversation Ike and Max had been having when they left.

“I just don’t understand why your grandfather thought anyone would cut the Bears out of the Treaty,” Max insisted.”

“Look,” Ike stressed. “Like I’ve said every day since Cilla banished the Baron, he never trusted nobody. Hell, I don’t think he trusted my dad.” Shoving his last spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, he added, “And I’ll say this again, too. Thank God for the DeClouettes. These ladies…” He pointed at Cilla then the picture of her gramma and mom in side-by-side frames on the wall. “…saved the Black Bear Shifters, along with all the rest of us.”

“Hear, hear,” Max cheered.

“There! There!” Rene came right back, pointing at the front door before going on, “I love y’all, but you gotta go.”

“Oh, my Lordy,” Ike groaned. “Ya’ sure y’all ain’t Rabbits.”

“Just wait till you find your Mate.”

“Oh, I think he has,” Cilla winked, threading her fingers through Rene’s. “He’s just not ready to share.”

“Shut up, Cilla,” Ike growled.

“We’re leaving,” Max interrupted, motioning for Ike to follow. “How about we play a game or two of pool and you can tell me all about it.”

“Yeah,” Cilla hollered after them. “There is a lot the two of you have in common.”

“What did that mean?”

Turning towards him, she wrinkled her nose and grinned, “That old tom cat knows who his Mate is, too. He’s just steering clear.”

No longer able to wait, Rene scooped Cilla up in his arms, spun on the balls of his feet, and headed straight for their bedroom. Living out in the Swamp had never been his thing, but if that’s what his Mate wanted then that’s what she’d have.

Through the door and across the room, he gently laid his Queen in the center of the bed, carefully following her to avoid even a second’s separation. Holding his weight on his forearms positioned beside her head, he settled his weight onto her body, sighing as the wonderful electricity of their connection raised goosebumps all over his body. Then her legs went around his waist, bathing his throbbing erection in her delicious heat, and he thanked the Heavens for the woman made just for him.

Rolling his hips, holding her body captive, he reveled in the look of complete abandon on her face. Feeling his way across her hips, up her ribs, and resting lightly at the sides of her breasts, his thumbs teased the area close to her nipples through the soft cotton of her dress.

Smirking as Cilla arched her back, trying to force his touch, Rene chuckled, “Patience, mo shíorghrá.”   

Smiling widening as she growled in response, he admitted, “I hadn’t meant to torture you, but now that I see what effect it has on you, I have a new favorite pastime.”

Reaching around her body and unzipping her dress before she could respond, he lifted Cilla into a sitting position. Kissing and tasting along her collarbone, he made short work of her dress, breathing a sigh of relief when she was blessedly naked.

Mouth watering at the sight of her voluptuous breasts and berry-colored nipples just as they did every time, he licked across first one and then the other of her hardened peaks. Rewarded with an, “Oh my Goddess, King… never stop,” he knew their lovemaking would always be fiery and passionate…just the way he liked it.

Needing to leave no part of his mate untouched, Rene took the nipple between his lips, teasing it with his teeth and tongue until Cilla bowed her back, pushing more of her breast into his mouth, and moaning his name like an unending mantra. Releasing her sensitive, heated skin he latched onto the other, while sliding his hands towards her panties.

Kissing the valley between her breasts, he tasted and marked every inch he could reach of her erotically curvy body. Finally reaching the silk of her panties with his lips, he inhaled long and deep. Cilla’s wonderfully unique scent forced his control out the window. Kneeling between her thighs, he slipped the garment down her legs, throwing them over his shoulder as soon as her feet were free.

Stunning, truly the most magnificent creature he’d ever laid eyes on, that was his Cilla. As slowly as his need to be inside her would allow, he ran his eyes over every inch of her glorious body.

Starting at the bright pink polish adorning her toes, he worked his way up her shapely legs that would soon be wrapped around his body in ways most people could only imagine. Stopping at her soft, creamy thighs, he remembered every single fantasy where they pillowed his head. Her rounded stomach, on Heavens, the perfection of her curves. Each and every one begged to be loved over and over again.

“King?” His name on her lips drew his gaze. He was even learning to love the way she used his nickname.

“Yes, mo ghrá?” He crooned, massaging her thighs, making sure to brush the outer lips of her pussy on every pass. The sensual way her hips rose at every touch, made his cock pulse against the zipper of his jeans.

“Rene… I w-want… N-No, I need….” she panted.

“What is it you need, mo chroí?” He teased, running his index finger up and down her slit, already wet with the proof of her arousal.

Breathing growing more ragged, Cilla’s head thrashed from side-to-side as she alternated between begging him to stop and pleading that his attentions never end. Marveling at the vision of his Mate in the throes of passion, her head thrown back, her eyes closed tight, her mouth open as she called his name like a prayer to the Heavens, was nothing short of miraculous.

“I… Rene… Rene… yes!” She wailed as he pushed through her folds and teased her body. Contracting around the tip of his finger, her pussy attempted to pull his digit farther into her warm wet passage, but he resisted, knowing exactly how to give Cilla the most pleasure.

Adding another finger, he began gliding them in and out, his thumb drawing lazy circles around her swollen clit as his fingers drove her higher and higher. Every few swipes he bent his fingers in a come hither motion, the tips gently brushing the very special bundle of nerves that drove his Mate wild with pleasure.

Needing to taste her more than he needed his next breath, Rene pulled his fingers from her body, answering her grumble at the loss by driving his tongue into her pussy as far as he could reach. Her taste exploded on his tongue. Flashes of light burst before his eyes.

He devoured Cilla like a starving man, swallowing every drop flowing from her gorgeous body. The more his tongue moved within her, the more of her he drank in, until he felt drunk, almost high on the power their love had on his very existence.

Legs coming over his shoulders, she closed them around his head. Breathing became nearly impossible, and still he consumed all she could give, knowing nothing in the world was as important as pleasing Cilla.

Feeling her tense a second before her orgasm overtook her, he was thrilled as she screamed his name. Coming on his tongue, filling his mouth until her juices ran down his chin, he continued to lick and massage as she slowly came back to earth.

Looking up, Rene found Cilla smiling a lazy smile, gazing at him through passion-filled eyes. His only thought was to keep that exact look on her face for the rest of their lives together.

Cock pulsing against his zipper, it was only then that he realized he was still completely dressed. Not wanting to leave his place between her thighs but needing to feel her skin against his, Rene stood in one fluid motion, tore his black T-shirt over his head and kicked his pants in the corner as quickly as possible.

Climbing onto the bed, he held himself above Cilla, only a few inches separating their lips. Ever so slowly, he slid into her warm, wet channel. Inch by glorious inch, he joined with his one and only Mate, shaking with the extreme effort it took to go slowly.

Every contraction of her muscles pulled him farther into her body, milked his cock, begged him to move faster. Summoning all his control, Rene held back. Sweat covered his chest and ran down his back. He’d never felt more alive.

 Cilla was more than ready, her excitement growing so quickly her juices puddled between them. Seated completely within her, he held completely still, reveling in the feel of his Mate wrapped tightly around his cock. Watching her face, eyes closed in passion, sweat dotting her upper lip, and mouth slightly open as she panted, he could no longer hold back.

“Look at me, mo ghrá. Look at the man who was born to love you and only you.”

Cilla’s eyes flew open. The electricity only they could create sizzled stronger and brighter than it ever had. Wrapping her legs around his waist, Cilla held tight as he casually slid in and out of her. Meeting him stroke for stroke, their pace accelerated until he was pistoning in and out, driving them both to the release they so desperately needed.

Grabbing his shoulders, her manicured nails bit into his skin as she crushed her chest to his. The feel of her pebbled nipples rubbing against his chest created a friction he thought might just set them ablaze.

Shifting his hips, his pelvis bumped her clit while the tip of his cock rubbed her sensitive bundle of nerves with every stroke. Her orgasm was building, bringing them both to the edge of something bigger and better than either had ever imagined. Buried deep inside his mate, Rene felt her muscles contract even more tightly around him until he was sure they had become one in body, just as they had always been in spirit.

Coming with such force their bodies shook, it was a struggle for Rene to stay conscious. He had no clue if the shouting he heard was his or hers or both and didn’t care. Watching his exquisite Mate float back to Earth, he couldn’t resist covering her face and neck with tiny, soft, butterfly kisses.

Rolling to the side and taking her with him, he lovingly placed her across his body, loving that she was boneless and spent, and it was all because of him. An unexplainable peace flowed between them, so much so that when she opened her eyes, he fell even deeper in love with his one and only Mate. There would never come a day when he would not need this woman with every fiber of his being. He planned to make sure she would never have to wait for him again.

Hours later they lay completely exhausted, her head on his chest, their legs intertwined while their sweat-soaked bodies cooled from their lovemaking. Her hand rubbed tiny circles on his chest, causing the bell on the bracelet he’d given her as soon as they returned from the fight with Baron Samedi to tinkle almost continually.

Sitting up, he positioned Cilla on his lap. Kissing her pulse, his lips just above the delicate chain circling her wrist, he sighed, “Did you realize the bell is made from one of Magnum’s scales?”

“As a matter of fact, the old guy shared that secret with me.”

“So, that’s why he’s been hiding out for the last couple of days.”

“Yep,” Cilla giggled, the sound filling his heart and shining a light into his soul.

“Have you never heard the old Dragon saying?”

“Nope, can’t say that I have.”

Pulling her closer, looking as deep as he possibly could into her gorgeously brown eyes, he lowered his lips to hers. As soon as they touched, he whispered directly into her mind, “Every time a dragon kisses his Mate, a bell rings.”

Opening completely to him, Cilla chuckled, “I sure hope you have extra bells, ‘cause this one’s gonna get one helluva workout.”

Until we meet again…

Never give up on love. Anything worthwhile is worth the wait.

Epilogue

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Elle, open… hiccup… up! It’s me.”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Gage, you there? Hiccup-hiccup-hiccup. Tell Elle to get…”

Raising her hand to knock again, she fell flat on her face when her best friend opened the door and growled, “What the he… Shit! Jodes! Are you okay?”

Rolling over, she raised the empty tequila bottle shakily and gave a drunken snicker, “As a damn skunk, Girlie.”

Footsteps somewhere behind her muddled head sounded a second before Gage’s deep, groggy voice asked, “Need me to make the coffee, Hun?”

She knew he was talking to Elle but couldn’t work up the energy to care as she yelled, “Hell no, Dragon Butt. Open another bottle. Let’s party.”

Not even bothering to fight against the two sets of hands that slid under her arms and lifted her to her feet, Jodie leaned on Gage because he was so much bigger and sturdier than her bestie and chuckled, “Take me to your bar.”

“Nope, no way,” Elle grumped. “You are going to the guest room to sleep it off and when you get up, you’re gonna tell me what the hell this is all about.”

Digging her heels into the oriental rug that covered the floor, she yanked her arms from their hands and shook her head until she almost fell on her ass. Grabbing the wall to stay on her feet as she swatted Elle and Gage as they tried to recapture her, Jodie yelled, “Stop that shit right now. Leave me be.”

Letting go only when she was sure she could stumble to the couch, she flopped onto the cushions, laid her cheek on the cool leather, and warned, “If you touch me, I swear I’ll barf all over your shit.” Rolling her eyes to glare at Elle, she added, “And you know I’ll do it.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Elle rolled her eyes then looked at her mate and huffed, “She’ll do it. She’s just drunk enough and stubborn enough to be a total pain in the ass.”

“More than usual?” Gage laughed then quickly holding up his hands in surrender back peddled, “Just kiddin’ there, Jodes. Just makin’ a funny at three-forty-five in the morning.”

“Makin’ a funny, huh?” She spat, rolling over until she was on her back and flopping her foot on the floor before the room started spinning. “That shit must run in the family.” Grabbing for the bottle that wasn’t there, she flopped back over on her side so she could glare at the three blurry Elles and four hazy Gages going in and out of focus just out of arm’s length as she snapped, “Your dumbass brother tried to kiss me. Guess he was just ‘makin’ a funny’.” She raised her arms and attempted to make air quotes, finally gave up and added with a wild laugh, “So, I punched him in the nose and left him to bleed in the hay. That’ll teach that stupid, dumb Dragon to put his lips on me.”

Rockin’ Around the Dragon, Tree

Coming Holidays 2019

Meet Abe.

Big, Bald, and bad to the bone, he leaves 'em all in the dust!

Tattooed, dark-eyed, and 7'2" this Dragon makes Hell's Angels look like soccer moms at the spa and turns the bad guys to ash!!!

Back the heck off or pay the price.  At least that was the plan...

Then a severed head was delivered to a certain fiery redhead and all bets were off.

Fate is working overtime to keep this couple safe, but it's gonna take one heckuva SAVAGE to save the day!

SAVAGE PROTECTOR

Chapter One

“Where’s the stiff and how’d he die?”

“The victim,” the Dragon Protection Agency’s Pathologist ground out through gritted teeth, making Abe raise the right side of his mouth in a shit-eating grin. Teasing her was always the highlight of going to a crime scene. “…is female and she’s this way.” Raising her gloved hand, Dr. Kelsey Whittingham motioned to the black body bag sitting on the edge of grass. “I prefer…”

“You prefer not to work with me, Doc,” Abe chuckled, knowing it wasn’t true but pushing his luck. “But Gil calls the shots. So, let’s get this over with as quickly as we can.”

Stepping in front of him, a hard feat in and of itself since he was seven-feet tall with long legs and always moving at a high rate of speed, the six-foot-three Valkyrie spun on her toes and stopped. Holding up the index finger of her right hand, she cleared her throat and in what Abe called her Dr. Death voice, thick with her original Norwegian accent, deadpanned, “Number one, I do not have a preference with concern to who attends any incident. You are as good as any other agent.” Adding her middle finger to the mix, she continued, “Number two, you will show respect to the dead at my crime scene.” Raising her ring finger, she added, “Number three, you don’t scare me. I can and will kick your ass if you piss me off.” Pointing all three fingers right at his chest, she gave him one single stab before plastering on a fake smile and nodding, “Now, play nice. We have company coming.”

“Wait. What?” Knowing damn good and well that Kelsey loved fucking with him more than drinking single malt whiskey and playing darts ~ it was the beauty of their friendship, Abe refused to let her see him sweat. Sure, he hated anyone that wasn’t part of his team being at a crime scene before he’d been able to scope it out for himself, but the way Dr. Death had said ‘company’ had both he and his Dragon preparing for the worst.

Pushing his hands into the special-order, XXXL black latex gloves he always carried in the pocket of his black leather jacket, the Guardsman squatted beside the body bag. Paying close attention to every single detail as Myles, one of the DPA’s EMTs who also worked with Kelsey when needed, slowly pulled the zipper down, he caught the familiar scent of Wolf, cauterized skin, and liquid silver.

Holding out his hand for the EMT to pause when he saw that the victim had been decapitated, his eyes shot to Kelsey. “Have you swabbed? Can I touch?”

“Yes, and Yes.” She gave a single nod. “She’s all yours until the bus gets here.”

Focus back on the body, he ran the pad of his index finger along the incision at the base of her head. “Smooth. Surgical. Precise,” he murmured to himself as he moved to the blackened skin ringing the top of the victim’s neck. “This one, too.” Without looking up, he nodded to Myles, “Okay, show me more. Stop at her waist.”

Taking mental notes as he continued to talk to himself, Abe listed off, “Still dressed. Only a few drops of blood on her shoulders and the top of her collar. Whatever was used instantly cauterized the wound.”

“Had to be damned near flaming.” Pointing to the top of the spine, Myles went on, “See how the bone’s burnt, too?”

Not looking away from the corpse, Abe slowly nodded.

“The blade had to be heated to somewhere between fourteen-hundred and eighteen-hundred degrees Fahrenheit. Not to mention, razor sharp and swung with incredible force.” Clearing his throat, the silver and white Dragon who knew more about anatomy and physiology than nearly anyone in the world, added, “Sound like anyone we know?”

“Not anyone. Everyone,” Abe grunted, trying to work some levity and failing. “But, there’s no scent of the assailant. No one we know would be able to hide their scent from us.”

“You’re thinkin’ too close to home.”

Leaning his ass onto the heels of his well-worn cowboy boots and laying his elbows on the top of his thighs, Abe narrowed his eyes and prompted, “Enlighten me, Professor.”

“And if you say a Valkyrie, I promise I won’t take offense,” Kelsey sarcastically interjected, her lavender eyes swirling with the promise of retribution.

“No scent,” Myles reiterated before moving right along without acknowledging the Valkyries not-so-veiled threat. “Had to be a Reaper. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Okay,” Abe considered. “Let’s say you’re right. Mind you, I don’t think you are, but for the sake of argument, let’s take your theory all the way. How do you explain the rips in the top of her blouse that go all the fucking way through the flesh of her ti…ahem, I mean breasts,” he quickly corrected, not wanting anymore shit from Dr. Death. “And the three buttons…”  He pointed directly to the place on the silken fabric where the first buttons should have been. “…that should be right here but have been torn off ?” Pausing for a split-second for effect, he picked right up where he’d left off. “All of that tells me that whoever or whatever did this had one helluva set of claws and ripped something from around her neck. Reapers snatch their victims from the side or behind. Do not behead until they get them underground. Witnesses are not their thing. And, those sick bastards never take trophies.” Slapping his hand on his leg, he nodded, “And the mother fucker who did this most definitely took something for himself.”

“How ya’ figure?” Both the Dragon and the Valkyrie asked in unison.

“Because every damned thing points to here.” Touching the body at the base of what was left of the neck, he explained, “See? No marks. No scratches. Nothing at all in this little circle.” Glancing at Kelsey and then Myles, he added, “I’d bet you a thousand dollars and a year’s worth of beer that she was wearing a necklace with a pendant and the evil bastard snatched it off her neck right before he relieved her of her head.”

“Well, shit, as much as I hate to admit it, you might just be right,” the Valkyrie cautiously agreed. “We’ll do a spectrograph on it to see if there’s any bruising not associated with being decapitated under the skin and in the musculature.”

“Yeah, sure, you do you, Doc. I understood exactly none of that gobbledygook.”

“But,” Myles jumped in. “If what you’re sayin’ is really what happened. Not only was our bad guy this close to her…” He held his palm less than a foot from the tip of the dead girl’s nose. “He was also faster than anyone I’ve ever met. This bastard surprised an Alpha female during a full moon, ripped off her necklace, and decapitated her well before she even thought about getting her claws or fangs out.”

“Okay, unzip this bag the rest of the way and let’s see what else we find.” Eyes glued to the body, Abe reverently asked, “Was she mated?”

“No, only marked as an Alpha.” Lifting her left arm, Myles showed him the flaming moon brand on the underside of her wrist.

“Refresh my memory…” He pointed at the glyph. “That means she’s Alpha, high ranking within her Pack, but not the Leader, yeah?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Myles answered. “She’s also relatively young for an Alpha considering the Flaming Moon Pack has an incredibly deep hierarchy and the only way anyone reaches Alpha level is by blood sport.”

“Ya’ gotta love the old ways,” Abe sighed. “How old is she, anyway?”

“Only forty.” Kelsey shook her head. “At forty years from birth, Valkyries are still considered teenagers. I can’t imagine losing a sister so early in her life.”

“Neither can I.”

The words reached his ears just as the heavenly scent of roses, lavender, and chocolate-covered cherries forced him up onto his feet. Turning so quickly it took his vision a second to focus, suddenly punch-drunk, woozy, and way out of his depth.

Holding out his hand, his entire world was turned upside-down and inside-out the moment her hand touched his, but it wasn’t until she said, “Agent Sera Morningside. I hear we’re going to be partners.”

SAVAGE PROTECTOR

COMING SOON

The One That Started It All!

HER DRAGON TO SLAY,

Dragon Guard, Book 1

Chapter One

“Dammit, Grace, pick up the phone,” she growled through gritted teeth at the third voicemail she’d had to listen to in the last five minutes.

“Everything okay, Kyndel?’ Barney, the nice guy in her office, asked.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just trying to find Grace.”

“Oh! Anything I can help with?”

Kyndel thought about telling him her troubles, but Barney had been spending an excessive amount of time in her office lately. At first, she'd thought he was just being nice, but then he joined her hiking group, and just yesterday he showed up with her favorite no whip, nonfat, iced white chocolate mocha from the frou-frou coffee shop on the corner. It had been then Kyndel realized she was Barney’s newest crush. It had been a long time between boyfriends and Barney was nice, but…um…no. As flattered as she was, there was no way she had an office romance.

'Don't shit where you eat' was one of the pieces of sage advice Granny had given her just after graduation. Not that it ever truly made sense to Kyndel, but she got the gist of it…keep your personal life out of the office.

She saw the puppy dog look on Barney’s face and hated to crush his spirit, but Kyndel decided a brisk walk home would be better than leading the poor fellow on, in any way.

“No but thank you so much.” Then, to make sure he got the hint and skedaddled, she added, “Have a nice a weekend,” before turning her chair and dialing Grace’s office for the third time.

Voicemail again. Time to pack up and get the heck outta dodge before someone found something else for her to do. Bag on shoulder, scowl on face, and more than a little disgusted, Kyndel headed out of the office.

Never loan Grace the car… Never loan Grace the car…was the mantra playing on a loop in Kyndel’s mind. She was madder than a wet hen and getting hotter by the minute. It was no fun to walk home after ten hours of work. No fun to be abandoned and forgotten by the best friend she’d loaned her car to. No fun to make the five-block journey past the park…in the dark.

At twenty-six, she rarely admitted her fear of the dark and held her aunts responsible for the phobia. Had they not made her watch 'The Brain Eaters' when she was only six years old, Kyndel was positive everything would've been just fine. It wasn't that she believed aliens would set loose a horde of parasites to eat every human brain on the planet; she had a little more sense than that. It was the feeling of being watched…like someone was hiding in the shadows, just waiting for an opportunity to scare the living daylights out of her. At the mere thought of her' phantom stalker', the hair stood up at the nape of her neck, and she walked a bit faster. 

A sudden thud, and what sounded like footsteps pounding on the hard ground, had her stopping in her tracks. “What the…?” She gasped, opening her eyes wide, hoping it would help her see through the shadows.

Several tense seconds later—that felt like damn near forever—and Kyndel moved again. This time, her eyes slid side-to-side like the stupid black and white cat clock her granny used to have in the kitchen.

The farther she got from where she'd heard the 'thump,' the easier it was to convince herself it had just been kids sneaking into the park after hours. Manlove Park was a popular make-out spot for teenagers. There might've even been a time after moving to the city when Kyndel herself had been convinced to take a walk on the wild side, but that was a story for another day.

Shoot, now I wouldn’t know the wild side if I tripped and fell in it.

It had been almost a year since she’d dated the muscle-headed jock from the gym. Three long, tortuous dates and all because he had an incredible body. Of course, dating the douche bag had come at a price. She’d spent the entire time listening to him drone on about his body parts…and not the good ones…and only when he wasn’t checking out every other woman in the joint.

It wasn't that he'd hurt her feelings. Kyndel knew who she was and had never been under the misconception she would be Miss America. She had a few extra pounds, and her curves had curves, but she was cute and had a brain, something not everyone could claim. What had pissed her off the most about dating Vinnie was, she'd wasted three whole evenings of her life that she could never get back. The one compliment the jerk had given her had been about her skin; he thought it was beautiful. Her granny always called her complexion peaches and cream and said her freckles added character. 

Yeah, cause I need more of that.

She sighed as she thought about how much of her youth she'd wasted hating those tiny brown spots, until the day she realized they weren't going anywhere. It was time to buck up and learn to love them or stop looking in the mirror. From that day forward, she stopped using makeup to cover them and embraced her 'freckled-self.' She also learned to accept her curves. If ya don't like 'em, don't look at 'em was her motto. For the most part, she ate right and worked out at least three times a week. But dammit if she didn’t love her Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia and someone would lose a hand if they tried to take it from her.

A loud 'thud' echoed between the buildings. Kyndel stumbled to a stop. She looked and listened. The longer she thought about what she’d heard, the easier it was for her to convince herself someone had yelled for help. So, for the second time in about as many minutes, she searched the inky shadows for signs of life. Her anxiety level quadrupled the longer she stood still. She wanted to scream when only the sound of leaves rustling across the sidewalk and the occasional car passing by reached her ears.

Disgusted, she grumbled aloud, "You've gone bonkers, Kyn." The sound of her own voice somehow calmed her rankled nerves, and she added, "Get to stepping, girlie."

The clicking of her heels bounced off the brick wall of the library as she hurried past. Resuming her original mantra, she added Must kill Grace at the end for good measure.

“I swear when I get my hands on…”

Her words were cut short as the unmistakable sound of a man groaning came from the shadows.

A chill skittered down her spine.

Goosebumps covered her arms.

She counted to three, unable to move…simply listening…praying it was only her imagination. One deep breath later, she slid her right foot forward, prepared to make a beeline for home at a high rate of speed.

The groan came again. Closer than before. More desperate…almost pleading.

The need to help the injured grew within her. Turning towards the darkness, Kyndel searched for the source of the noise.

Shaking so much her teeth chattered, she looked for any sign of the man she knew needed her help.

"It's time to make a decision, Kyndel. Fight or flight. What's it gonna be? God knows, standing like a bump on a log isn't solving a damn thing.”

Flight won. She turned, almost running, her satchel clutched tightly to her side like a lifeline.

“Keep your head up and eyes front. Home’s only a few blocks away,” she reassured herself, with the promise of snatching her best friend bald for the stupid mess she was in.

Feeling guilty and worried for Grace, her heart at war with her brain, Kyndel thought aloud, “Hope everything’s okay…” 

Grace had always been a little scatter-brained, but she’d never just forgotten Kyndel before. It bothered her that there’d been no answer at Grace’s office or on her cellphone when Kyndel had tried to track her down before leaving the office. She’d even taken a chance and tried her own home because Grace had a key, but only got voicemail there, too. It was a war between anger and worry that accompanied most of her thoughts about her friend lately.

The running joke was that Grace spent most of her time hooking up with eligible bachelors she met at work. The good Lord knew her bestie was gorgeous; five foot nine, long raven hair, blue eyes, and a curvy body without an extra ounce of fat. To top it off, she was a first-year lawyer, with a promising career. Grace had it all…brains and beauty, the total package. 

Giggling nervously, she gave herself a mental swat to the back of the head. She didn’t want anything bad to happen to Grace, just a bump or bruise, even a hangnail would explain being left. If she really had just forgotten, Kyndel was going to be pissed and more than a little hurt.

The shadows seemed to be closing in. Fear pushed Kyndel until she was almost jogging in her sensible work heels. Looking over her shoulder, the toe of her shoe caught an uneven piece of concrete, and from one heartbeat to the next, she was falling forward. Arms flailing, mouth stretched wide in a wordless scream, the sidewalk racing toward her face, everything around her seemed to happen in slow motion. All she could think was that’s gonna leave a mark.

Bracing for impact, she squeezed her eyes tight and prayed…then nothing happened. Opening one eye, then the other, Kyndel found herself hanging above the sidewalk, looking at a pair of the biggest feet she had ever seen—and they were sexy.

Sexy feet? I really am losing it. Wait! Why the hell am I above the concrete?

Warmth radiated from the perfectly muscled arm wrapped around her midsection. Goosebumps emanated from the extra-large hand holding firmly to her blouse, just a little too close to her breast.

She wiggled to change position, the cushion of her well-rounded ass finding the ridges of an incredibly hard set of abs. She trembled. Her heart raced. Just the thought of the man that could hold her upright made up for all her previous mishaps.

Within just a few seconds, Kyndel’s world turned on its axis. The scenery blurred as she was effortlessly spun around and immediately found herself sitting atop the body of her rescuer, looking at faded denim covering extremely muscular thighs. Laughing aloud, she asked herself, wonder what part I'll see next?

The same muscled arm that had saved her face from inevitable demise now kept her upright. She did a one-eighty, draped her legs over his thighs, with her knees barely touching the sidewalk, and got her first look at the top half of her rescuer. All she could do was gape. He was absolutely the most handsome man she'd ever seen, with features that looked like they'd been carved by expert hands.

Even with his eyes closed, he gave off the distinctive air of authority. The dim light highlighted his high cheekbones and aristocratic nose, adding to the power she felt radiating from his every pore. His perfectly formed lips made visions of passionate kisses and hot, sweaty nights dance through her brain. It didn't help that all he had on was a pair of well-worn blue jeans.

She imagined that denim riding low on his tapered hips when he stood, highlighting the incredibly sexy dimples that sat on the front of his hips. She absolutely knew without looking they were there, and that simple bit of knowledge made her temperature rise another degree, despite the cool breeze.

At the touch of her fingertips against the cool skin of his neck, an electric current arced between them. Flashes of light burst before her eyes. She blinked to clear her vision, then felt for his pulse, strong and steady against her digit. Heat rose from his skin, making her worry he might have a fever. Her eyes wandered down his well-toned body. She scoffed, unsuccessfully trying to convince herself she was only checking for further injury.

Who the hell do you think you’re fooling?

She continued her perusal, taking note of his massive shoulders and a chest that could've been sculpted from granite. The light smattering of hair that glistened in the shards of light from the streetlamps emphasized his nipples, which were pebbled from the cool breeze. Her mouth watered, and her pulse raced.

What the hell is it about this guy? Is he doused in pheromones? Or am I in heat?

Her eyes landed on the best set of abs she’d ever seen. Unable, or maybe it was unwilling, to stop her hand, she traced the defined lines of his eight-pack, mesmerized by the feel of his skin beneath her fingers. The electricity continued to flow between them. The sound of a horn in the distance pulled her from her musing and brought her current situation into the glaring light of reality. The sexy man that had kept her from breaking her face on the concrete was out cold, and she was paying him back by sitting on his lap and copping a feel.

She scrambled to her feet, surprised her rescuer hadn’t moved an inch during her less than graceful attempt to remove her butt from his lap. But there he lay, unmoving, except for the rise and fall of his chest. The longer he remained unconscious, the more panicked she became.

Looking up and down the street and cursing Grace for the hundredth time, Kyndel wished for her car. First Aid class had taught her never to move an injured person unless you knew what was wrong. Not that she could pick him up and carry him, anyway. The dude was HUGE. At least six-foot-three or four, and his muscles had muscles. She prayed he hadn't hit his head on the sidewalk. A concussion could be really bad if not treated.

“You’re worried about a concussion now?” She scolded herself. “You’ve been drooling over the guy while his head is lying on the cold, hard sidewalk. Brilliant, Kyn, just brilliant.” Reaching for her satchel, she grabbed her old sorority sweatshirt from inside, wadded it up, and knelt forward to lift his head. 

Her fingers tangled in his soft, brown hair. The scattered shards of light made it look like melted chocolate flowing over her skin. 

Would it shine in the sun or maybe have highlights? Some lighter brown mixed with red, even a few blond streaks woven throughout?

The silky softness of his tresses turned to something wet and sticky.

Blood!

Kyndel gulped. Panic seized the breath in her lungs as the true severity of the situation smacked her in the face. She fought to keep her calm. Now, there was absolutely no denying he needed medical attention. Reaching into her bag and cursing herself for not thinking of it sooner, she dug around for her cellphone.

Coming up empty-handed, she instantly remembered plugging it into her car charger the night before, not giving it the slightest thought until that moment. Cursing and threatening death to anyone in the immediate vicinity, she sat back on her heels and thought.

 All I know to do is run down the street for help.

Looking at the fallen man, then in the direction of the Mini Mart, she reasoned he’d probably be okay. She’d be gone five minutes…tops. Run in, use the phone, run back. It all seemed very logical, but fear something would happen to him in her absence kept her in place.

This guy was important to her. That alone had all her red flags flying and bells and whistles screaming in her brain. She tried to push her feelings aside and look at the situation with logic, but that was like holding back a freight train with her pinky finger…not gonna happen. Besides, her granny would most definitely haunt her and probably kick her butt if she turned her back on someone who needed help.

“No one’s gonna mess with this behemoth, even if he is unconscious,” she reassured herself. “He probably doesn’t have a wallet to steal anyway.”

Should she dig in his pockets to try to find one? Some kind of ID?

Nah.

She wasn’t keen on trying to explain her hand in his pants if he woke up. Her cheeks warmed at the thought of touching him again.

“What are you doing out at night in just a pair of jeans and bare feet, anyway?” she asked the unconscious man. “Guess it doesn’t matter. You need help, whether you’re dressed properly or not.”

Hooking her satchel over her shoulder, Kyndel stood and took one last look at her 'patient.' Before she had barely moved an inch, a large, warm hand latched onto her bare ankle.

“What the hell?” she screamed, trying to pull her leg free while looking down to see what new fresh hell had befallen her.

READ THE WHOLE STORY HERE!

IT’S FREE!

MEET THE MAIDENS OF MAYHEM

We are the Maidens of Mayhem. Bodies buried with twenty-four-hour notice and a picture ID. Alibis provided upon request.

For our 'extended stay' clients ~ padded rooms on the third floor and straight-jackets kept in the closet on the right.

We're open 24/7/365. Call 1-888-MAIDENS for your free consultation.

That Hound Don’t Hunt

Maidens of Mayhem ~ Book 1

Chapter One

“Nooooooooooo!”

“Yes!”

“No! Nonononononononononono ~ Noooooooooooooo!’

“Yes, dammit! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

As you can see, I totally had the situation under control. Sure, to the outside observer ~ the untrained eye ~ it might’ve looked like I was chasing a four-foot-eleven-inch wailing woman with flaming red feathers covering her head and chest, bright blue and brilliant yellow plumage adorning her back, and an extremely long, straight-as-an-arrow, felt-like-a-dagger-when-slicing-at-your-shins tail of the same brilliant color scheme, but I assure you, it was the treatment I’d prescribed for the patient.

Everyone knows Parrots need an incredible amount of exercise. They need to spread their wings, feel the wind in their feathers, get the blood pumping. It was all part of the regim…oh, fuck it! Who the hell am I kidding? I was outta my depth, in over my head, and sinking faster than the Titanic.

In the last ten days, I’d lost my father, inherited a rundown, full-to-capacity-and-then-some Home for the Shifterly Insane, and for some strange, unexplainable reason been embarrassingly unable to control the appearance of my alter-ego ~ affectionately known as the Pink Princess. To say my life had gone to the birds was…well…ummm…the no-shit statement of the decade.

Sure, I was a trained psychologist with PhD’s in Behavioral Psychology and Neurolinguistics. I had an impressive (Not boasting, just stating the facts.) ratio of patients I’d been able to help. And awards decorated an entire wall of my huge corner office atop the largest medical building in Manhattan.

But… And it’s a big but. Think three plumbers all bent over and stuffed under the same kitchen sink big. To date, I had only treated humans. Yeah, okay, some could say I’d taken the easy way out. It was even suggested over the years, mostly by dear old dad, that I’d turned my back on my own kind.

But that was unequivocally not true. I, Maxine Monroe, Pink Flamingo Shifter, and daughter of Horace T. Monroe ~renowned Healer of Shifters, chose to use the extra-special abilities given to me by the Universe to help humans. Sue me! I thought I was being altruistic! Thought I was spreading the love and doing something good for the world.

Never in a million, trillion, zillion, bajillion years could I have ever imagined that my dad would get eaten by one of his patients. I mean, come on. Eaten by a prepubescent Pterodactyl being treated for Anorexia. Who the hell could've seen that coming? I actually laughed out loud when I got the call. It went something like…

“Dr. Monroe?”

“Yes?”

“Dr. Maxine Monroe?”

“The one and only.”

“Dr. Maxine Monroe of 969 Park Ave, New York, NY?”

“Unless there’s another,” I sighed, annoyed even though the voice on the other end of the receiver had a smooth Cajun drawl that made my tail feathers shake. “Who is this? And what’s with the twenty questions?”

“Name’s J.B. St. Sabin. Det …”

“Little Jean Baptiste? The boy with a face full of freckles, coke-bottle glasses, and jeans four sizes too big who pulled my braids every damn day of second grade?”

The words were outta my mouth before my brain had even had a chance to engage. Through all my stammering and stuttering and silly-as-shit apologies, tension shot through the phone like a bullet from a gun. Clearing his throat with an air of truly earned authority, he growled, "That's Detective St. Sabin, Miss Monroe.” Low and rumbly, what I was sure was meant to be a pointed rebuke, his snarl sent shivers up and down my spine in a way that had my harlot of an alter-ego begging to be spanked.

“Ahem, yes, Sir. Sorry for the inappropriate trip down memory lane, Jean...I mean, Det. St. Sabin.” Shocked at my unusual demure, not to mention respectful, response, I shook my head while mentally kicking myself in the ass and sassed back, “Was there something you needed, Jean Baptiste? And, for future reference, the name’s Doctor Monroe.”

So there! Take that! Who do you think you are? I knew you when you still had fleas behind your floppy ears, and I’ve got the pictures to prove it.

History always has a way of repeating itself, or so that’s what people keep telling me. What those same damned people didn’t say, was that as it’s making its trip back around the bend it’ll reach put and kick you in the ass, ‘cause that’s what it did to.

Y’all see, I’ve known Jean Baptiste St. Sabin since, well, for a helluva long time. All of us in the Swamp knew each other in one way or another, and Shifters stay even closer than most.

That old Hound Dog, when he was a little Hound Dog, used to pull my pigtails in grade school, had the utter fuckin’ nerve to trip me when I was carrying buckets of paint from the Art room to the Theatre in high school, and disappeared like a coward when I was ready to head to New York.

He didn’t even come to my Bon Voyage Party, and I know he was invited. Sent the invitation myself. So, after all of that, you’d think that I’d call him an asshole and hang up on him, but I didn’t. And secretly, I was happy as a pig in shit to hear his voice on the other end of my phone. Didn’t mean I was gonna be nice, but I was happy all the same.

“As I said, Dr. Monroe, this is Det. J.B. St. Sabin.” I guess he thought if he repeated enough, I would fall in line. Fat chance! Max Monroe marches to her own drummer, by gods! “And I’m callin’ from the Tallullu Parish Sheriff’s Office. Are you sittin’ down?”

By this time, I was past embarrassed, had kicked the shit outta irritated, and was barreling towards pissed-the-hell-right-off. So, you'll understand why my next response was, "What the fuck, Jean Baptiste? I haven't heard from you in a Coon's age, and you call up to play twenty questions. I don't have time. I have patients waiting. Just get on with whatever bullshit game you're playin'."

“Dammit, Maxine, I’m callin’ ‘cause your daddy’s dead! He got eaten by a flyin' dinosaur.”

“The hell you say!” I burst out laughing so loud my assistant, Ariel, ran into the room to see what had happened. “That’s a good one. You really got me. Thanks for the laugh and the blast from the past. Now, I gotta go.”

"Shut up and listen!" Jean Baptiste's roar, coupled with the flash of pure, raw anguish that filled the airwaves, sucked the laughter from right outta my lungs and had me falling back into my chair.

Stammering and stuttering just like I’d been doin’ a few seconds before, J.B.’s rambling apology became little more than background noise as the words replayed over and over in my head. “Your daddy’s dead. He was eaten by a flyin’ dinosaur.”

I have no clue how long I sat there or how many ways he apologized but riding on a wave of genuine concern, his sentiment of, "Max, do ya' need me to come up there and getcha?" Snapped me out of my stupor.

“How exactly did he die?”

“Are you sure you want me to tell you over the phone?”

“Well, shit, Jean Baptiste, you already slapped me upside the head and kicked me in the ass. Might oughta go on and finish the job.” Once again, my mouth had started flappin’ long before it should’ve, but I gotta give J.B. credit, he came right back at me…and it was just what I needed.

“Alright, Maxi Pad Monroe…” Nothing like pulling out the old high school nickname to set a girl straight. “Since your nasty ass attitude has only gotten worse with age, I’ll pull no punches. Doc was treating one of the Thomas twins…”

“The Thomas’ had twin Pterodactyls?”

“Yes. Second Set. Anyway, Doc was treatin’ the oldest girl for an eatin’ disorder…”

“Over-eating is common in young prehistoric Shifters.”

“That wasn’t her ailment. She…”

“It wasn’t? Are you sure?”

“Dammit, Maxine,” Jean Baptiste growled, making my body heat up like a Gator in July. I had no clue what was going on with my hormones, but it fell low on my list of things to worry about, so, I just kept listening. “Are you gonna shut up and listen or should I just come up there and shut you up for myself?”

For once in my very long life, I actually slammed my lips shut before I made a complete and total fool outta myself by doing my best Mae West impression and saying, “Come up and see me some time.” I know it’s shocking, but I did. I really did. I deserve a gold star and a bag of those little peanut butter cups.

Taking a deep breath, before counting to five as I let it out, I finally said, “Save the details. I’ll catch the next plane.”

And that’s how I ended up on the wrong side of Tallullu Parish, LA in the backass Swamp where even Gators fear to tread. Hold on, folks. Ya’ ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

READ THE WHOLE STORY HERE

Welcome to Hairy Wart! Home of the SOUTHERN FRIED SASS DETECTIVE AGENCY and the DRAGONETTES - proof that it's not the size of the scales but the SASS in the flames that makes the Guardsma...ahem, I mean, Guardswoman. Where the Tofu is always Southern Fried and the Soul Food is vegetarian, 'cause it just wouldn't be right to eat your neighbors.

LATER GATOR

Southern Fried Sass ~ Book 1

Chapter One

Ring…ring-ring-ring…riiiinnnggg….

"I'm coming. I'm coming. I'm com…. Son of a bitch!" I knew Miss Bunny, our landlady, the owner of the diner our office was on top of, and the leader of the HW Ladies’ Prayer Circle was working up one helluva sermon just as soon as the words slipped through my lips, but in my world, hot coffee down the front of a brand new cream-colored, linen suit deserved a ‘son of a bitch', a ‘mother humper’, and a ‘shit, shit, shit’, so, I figured she was lucky I stopped where I did.

Juggling the box of office supplies my half-sisters and our angsty assistant had requested, (Read that as demanded.) I bent down, grabbed my empty cup, and climbed the last three steps. Wrapping my hand around the knob, I shoved the door open and screamed, “Will someone puhlease get the damned phone?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Portia sassed as she sauntered into the room, plopped her butt in her chair and finally picked up the phone. “Bubble, bubble, are you in trouble? Not to worry, we’ll be there on the double. No need to fear. No need to fret. We’re Southern Fried Sass. We’ll eliminate the threat. How may I help you today?”

Stopping mid-stride, left foot still in the air, I stared at the pink-haired, Pearlescent Pixie with hundreds of braids all over her head, two nose rings, and round, fuchsia-framed glasses, I mouthed, "What the hell?" To which she shrugged and giggled into the phone, "Sure Henrietta. I'll have Faith give you a call."

Rolling my eyes and groaning under my breath, I made my way into the kitchen/break room, (Another demand from the ‘crew.') let the box from Oscar's Office Emporium drop onto the table and growled, "Look at this crap. Just look at it, will you?" Waving my hands up and down, making sure my half-sisters – Rosie and Daisy – got a good look at my ruined clothing, I bitched as I threw my thumb over my shoulder as if I was trying to hitch a ride on I-10 during rush hour traffic, “And who the hell told Tinkerbell she could answer the phone like that?”

“I am not a Tinkerbell! I am a Pearlescent Pixie from the Peaks of Mt Percival! Get it right.”

Puce-colored bubbles appeared and immediately burst, fizzling like Pop Rocks thrown into a bottle of Coke. Yucky maroon smoke streamed from my fingertips, and barf-green blobs, like misshapen pieces of confetti, rained down all around the room. My boiling point was mere seconds away and all I could do was seethe through gritted teeth, "Please. Shut. Up. Portia."

“Well, I never,” she huffed.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure she has,” Rosie chuckled as she kicked the door shut with the pointed, silver toe of her flaming red, four-inch heels. I have no idea how the heck she walks in those babies, but she sure does turn the male heads.

Handing her an absolutely ginormous pack of sticky notes, I grumbled, "I just don't understand why she can't answer the blasted phone. It's not rocket science." I stopped and hit the ‘BREW' button on the super-dee-duper coffeemaker I'd purchased from Amazon for a small fortune before continuing. "Pick up the receiver, say hello. I mean – come on people, a monkey could do her job.”

Taking a deep breath, I thought of all the things I should’ve or could’ve done instead of opening a Paranormal Private Detective Agency with my long-lost family. Quickly closing that door before it got completely out of hand, I added, “It’s our first real day in business. Wouldn't it be nice to have a customer or two?"

“If you say so,” Daisy yawned, lifting her head off the table and pushing her thick auburn curls out of her face. “I would take a day or two off just to sleep if you asked me. Maybe, we should start next week, or next month, or…” Her words faded into another yawn and her head slowly dropped back onto the stack of folders she was using for a pillow.

Thankfully, I wasn’t asking her, but I wasn’t getting upset with her lack of enthusiasm either. There is a reason that she is the way she is, a reason we’re all the way we are. Let me explain.

You see, Rosie, Daisy, and I, along with our oldest sister, Harmony, have the extreme pleasure (Note the sarcasm.) of being the product of Nate the Bastard’s sperm donations to our respective mothers.

Yes, I call my ‘father’, and I use the term extremely loosely, Nate the Bastard. It’s the best name I could come up with. The other ladies have their own iteration of the same theme. You can only imagine the fun we have on Father’s Day, but I digress…

The story we've been able to piece together since the Asshole Extraordinaire popped into Harmony's life and tried to kill her (More on that later.) is that dear old dad sold his soul to the Devil long before he met any of our moms. We don't know why he did it or what he hoped to gain, just that he was, and presumably still is, dumber than a burlap bag of dicks and greedier than an old hog – that's the truth, whether we like it or not. Better to deal with what we’ve been given and move on, ya' know what I mean?

It took a bit, but the four of us have come to terms with the fact that his fucked up DNA runs through our veins. We do thank the Goddess on a daily basis that our mothers were ‘somewhat’ normal and very, very powerful in the white magic, good side of the Goddess and the Grand Priestess way. (Woohoo for dominant genes and good being stronger than evil!)

Anyway, Nate the Bastard decided to have children with absolutely as many unsuspecting Witches as he could find, wait until that child had come into his or her powers, and then substitute the kid’s soul for his with the King of Hell – yep, you guessed it - big, bad Lucifer himself.

Great father figure, right? Yeah, our collective gene pool is a muddy puddle of shits, giggles, sludge, and plain old pond scum. I, for one, have decided never, ever to reproduce. Doesn't mean I won't practice if I ever find a man that makes my wand tingle and my toes curl. But…umm, yeah…maybe we'll talk about the lack of male companionship in my life later…much later.

For now, let’s stick to the subject at hand…

As luck would have it, Aunt Dot, Harmony's mom's sister and one batshit crazy witch with a heart of gold and a hair-trigger temper, happened to be hanging out with some of her friends in one of the many backwater dive bars near Buttface or Asshat or Whateversville, West Virginia where Harmony now lives in the house she inherited from Auntie Dot.

Yes, it’s true, Dot is one of the ‘living impaired.' (Her definition, not mine.) She does, however, not subscribe to the old adage of resting in peace. She is the Ghostess with the mostest, still raising hell and wreaking havoc whenever she can.

Moving on, back in the day, she overheard Nate the Bastard telling his merry band of dipshits about his crazy plan to populate the earth with his spawn. (Sure, the term is offensive but most of his offspring turned out to be, well…umm…let’s just say, not quite right.) After running home and telling Harmony’s mom, Mary, who was pregnant with my awesome half-sister at the time, the two of them came up with the plan to banish dear old dad to CopacaNetherworld. (That’s the deep dark hole stuck between Purgatory and the Pits of Hell where Witches and Wizards who messed up in epic and truly horrible ways while alive get to live out their afterlives. Think 1960’s Vegas, complete with the Rat Pack, scantily clad cigarette girls, and mobsters, where the same day repeats itself over and over, you can never get drunk no matter how many Gin and Tonics you drink, and the food tastes like actual shit on an actual shingle. Colorful, but still Hell no matter how you slice it.)

Giving credit where credit is due, I have to say Dot and Mary had some real chutzpah. Nate the Bastard was strong, hopped up on Hades’ Hellfire and stronger than three oxen and a Sumo wrestler. What they did is freaking amazing, to say the very least.

They were ready and waiting. Nate walked in the front door, the ladies cut off his head, threw a major-kick-him-in-the-ass-make-him-see-stars whammy on his skanky hide and Bob's your uncle – they were rid of the asshole. (I've never really understood that saying, but Bertie, a friend of mine from some little village in England, always says it and it seemed to fit this situation so, I gave it a try.) My sperm donor was magically thrown into the biggest club in Purgatory making the world safe from his lying, impregnating ass for what they presumed would be forever.

Of course, his assholishness didn't stop there. Unbeknownst to the ladies, during the years after he'd made his pact with Hades and before he met my mom, Nate the Bastard had been shoving a nasty little spell of his own making into every grimoire he could find. The hex or curse, whichever you prefer, was to talk Harmony into releasing him from Witchy Purgatory.

Talk about hedging your bets. The bastard really tried to think of everything. Why is it that truly awful people always come up with the most foolproof plans? Yeah, I have no clue either. Something to think about though, later, after my tale maybe.

For now, back to your regularly scheduled story...

Thanks for sticking with me. I know that explanation was long, but it was necessary, and you're about to see why. Remember back up there before I got off track on Nate the Bastard when I said it wasn't Daisy's fault that she was so tired all the time? Well, now I can tell you, and you will understand, that her mom, Cassandra, is none other than a goddess. She's the one humans call the Sandman. (I know. I was shocked too.)

But, if you think about it, she’s got the best cover ever. Everyone thinks she’s a tiny, little, gnome-like dude who puts people to sleep and gives them peacefully sweet dreams. When in all actuality, she could be a supermodel. (Really, the woman is gor-ge-ous. The only fault I can find is that she was conned by Nate just like all the others. Then again, he was a silver-tongued demon – literally.)

Now, you see why I can’t get mad at Daisy for always being tired. Her internal clock doesn’t kick into overdrive until about nine p.m. Good thing Rosie and I don’t need a lot of sleep, because when Daisy is awake, she is A-WAKE.

“Are you listening to me, Faith?” Rosie demanded. “Or have you gone off to La-La-Land again.”

“I’m listening.” (I wasn’t and she knew it.) “Just thinking about how to drum up some business.” 

As if on cue, the door behind me swung open and in pranced Portia. Her bubblegum pink tutu flounced to and fro while her flashing, bedazzled, magenta, talon-like nails made my head spin. (At that point, I was really considering an office dress code.) Sticking out her hand and dangling a piece of paper just shy of the end of my nose, the Pink Pearlescent Fairy huffed, "Henrietta says her chicken coop was vandalized and three of her best egg-layers were hen-napped. She’s freakin’ out and wants you to come right away.”

Closing my eyes and counting to three, I prayed that it was all a bad dream, that when I reopened my lids the day would've reset. I would get a redo. Imagine that. Yeah, well, imagine no more, that crap didn't happen.

Snatching the message from my snippy secretary’s fingers, I slapped on a sickeningly sweet, all be it fake, smile and smirked, “Thanks so much, Portia.”

Before I could read the message, the phone was ringing once again. Fortunately, the pink pain in my butt answered the damn thing on the second ring. Unfortunately, she screeched, "It's Henrietta again, and she's so pissed she's literally clucking between every word"

With a truly exasperated breath, I let my head fall forward as my shoulders followed suit by slumping in what I could only assume was a most unflattering way and sighed, "Just what this day needed, a six-foot-three Cajun Chicken Shifter whose about to sprout feathers and peck the ground."

Grabbing my purse and throwing back my shoulders, I added, “Come on, girls. Time to get to work.”

READ THE WHOLE STORY HERE

About Julia

Hey, Y'all! Julia Mills, the Sassy Southern Storyteller here. Thanks so much for stopping by. Hope all is well with you and yours. In my world, a good book where a Vivacious Heroine beats the odds and gets her hot Alpha will never let you down. I freely admit, I'm kinda partial to guys with scales and wings, but hey, I can love a Hero with fangs and fur just as much!

I LOVE stalkers! Facebook! Instagram! Hop on over and follow me on BookBub or Amazon. You can even sign up for my newsletter right here. And my website is www.JuliaMillsAuthor.com. (Wow! I’m everywhere! LOL!)

Take Care of YOU and ALWAYS Dare to Dream!

Talk to ya’ soon!

XOXO Julia

Also by Julia Mills

Find Them All on Amazon

*****

The Dragon Guard Series

Her Dragon to Slay, Dragon Guard #1

Her Dragon’s Fire, Dragon Guard #2

Haunted by Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #3

For the Love of Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #4

Saved by Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #5

Only for Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #6

Fighting for Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #7

Her Dragon’s Heart, Dragon Guard #8

Her Dragon’s Soul, Dragon Guard #9

The Fate of Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #10

Her Dragon’s No Angel, Dragon Guard #11

Her Dragon, His Demon, Dragon Guard #12

Resurrecting Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #13

The Scars of Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #14

Her Mad Dragon, Dragon Guard #15

Tears for Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #16

Guarding Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #17

Sassing Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #18

Kiss of Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #19

Claws, Class and a Whole Lotta Sass, Dragon Guard #20

Dragon with the Girl Tattoo, Dragon Guard #21

Dragon Down, Dragon Guard #22

Twinkle, Twinkle, Sassy Little Star, Dragon Guard #23

Dragon Got Your Tongue, Dragon Guard #24

Her Dragon’s Fury, Dragon Guard #25

Dragon in the Mist, Dragon Guard #26

Dragon Got Run Over by A Reindeer, Dragon Guard #27

Tangled in Tinsel, Dragon Guard #28

Cupcake Kisses & Dragon Dreams, Dragon Guard #29

Her Dragon's Treasure, Dragon Guard #30

Aww Snap, Dragon, Dragon Guard #31

Imagine Dragon, Dragon Guard #32

Save a Horse, Ride a Dragon: MacAllen Clan, Dragon Guard #33

Burn Dragon Burn: Dragon Protection Agency, Dragon Guard #34

She Thinks My Dragon’s Sexy: MacAllen Clan, Dragon Guard #35

Dreamin’ of a White Dragon, Dragon Guard #36

Dragon Her Home: Paladin Warriors, Dragon Guard #37

Stone Cold Protector: Dragon Protections Agency, Dragon Guard #38

Dragon’s Lore: Paladins ~ 2, Dragon Guard #39

Her Love, Her Dragon: The Saga Begins, A Dragon Guard Prequel

*****

Dragon Guard Berserkers

BANNING

ASHER

RAYNOR

*****

Ladies of the Sky

Sadie’s Shadow

*****

Southern Fried Sass Series

Later Gator

Nosey Rosie

Lazy Daisy

*****

The ‘Not-Quite’ Love Story Series

Vidalia: A ‘Not-Quite Vampire Love Story

Phoebe” A ‘Not-Quite’ Phoenix Love Story

Zoey: A ‘Not-Quite’ Zombie Love Story

Jax: A ‘Not-Quite’ Puma Love Story

Heidi: A ‘Not-Quite’ Hellhound Love Story (Magic & Mayhem Kindle World)

Lola: A ‘Not-Quite’ Witchy Love Story (Magic & Mayhem Kindle World)

Sammie Jo: A ‘Not-Quite’ Shifting Witchy Love Story (Magic & Mayhem Kindle World)

Harmony: A ‘Not-Quite’ Haunted Love Story (Magic & Mayhem Kindle World)

*****

Kings of the Blood

VIKTOR: Heart of Her King ~ Kings of the Blood ~ Book 1

ROMAN: Fury of Her King ~ Kings of the Blood ~ Book2

ACHILLES: Soul of Her King ~ Kings of the Blood ~ Book 3

*****

CAUGHT: A Vampire Blood Courtesan Romance

CONDEMNED: A Vampire Blood Courtesan Romance

*****

MARROK: A Wolf’s Hunger

*****

Out of the Ashes: Guardians of the Zodiac: Pisces ~ Book 1

Scorched Ember: Guardians of the Zodiac: Taurus ~ Book 2

*****

Alaric: A Vampire’s Thirst