Blood of the Wolf (4 page)

She knew these mountains. She hadn’t lived far from here when she’d been married to Lucan, but she’d moved to another state after the accident that had taken his life and changed hers. She’d been unable to bear being near the place where a sharply curving road had brought his demise.

As well as she knew the area, the thought of dragons here was more than her mind could fathom, even with the proof before her. In all the years she’d lived around here, no one had reported seeing scaled, reptilian monsters. To think, creatures like this one lived here—had apparently lived here for a while—was inconceivable. It was as if she’d found Big Foot and discovered he was highly domesticated with a big screen TV, plush furniture and a fridge full of beer.

“I’ll call a doctor for your arm,” he said.

“A doctor? You have a…” She shook her head. This wasn’t Big Foot. She’d slipped into a weird version of Planet of the Apes.

“Of course,” he laughed, a deep rumbling much like the one she’d heard just before he’d shot fire from his mouth and fried the witch-thing. She backed away.

His head tilted momentarily then straightened as he shook it from side to side. With what sounded like a sigh, he stepped a few feet away. “You’re going to see this sooner or later. That was half the point in me coming to you…” His body seemed to shimmer like a heat mirage. “It might as well be now.”

Suddenly, his scales slid, collapsing on themselves and slipping away into nothingness. A man stood before her—an ordinary, heart-shattering man, his dark hair mussed and his beautiful, green eyes full of pleading.

“Cool, huh?” Lucan said quietly.

Her pulsed raced out of control, and she couldn’t breathe.

No… It wasn’t cool. Not at all.

Black spots speckled her sight, the dark walls of disbelief closing in on her and shoving her off balance. She swayed, her body and soul seeming to separate.

In the face of all the bizarre things that had happened today, it wasn’t the shape-shifting that stunned her. It was the man. A man she’d denied earlier. A man who’d been dead for four long years. A man she could no longer deny was very much alive.

Chapter Three

Lucan dove for Meda as she fell. He caught her in his arms, terror stuttering his heart though he knew she’d just fainted. His body vibrated in response to having her so close without his armor between them. Her warmth seeped into him and spiked his arousal. God, he’d missed her. Having her in his arms, having her this close, was pure bliss.

He carried her to the couch as a staccato beat sounded on the front door of his chambers. He knew who it was. Because of the close mental connection shared between wingscion, or scion as the Dragons often called their fighting partners, Maksim Genjhury knew Lucan needed his aid. Just as his scion fought by side by side in battle, Maks would help Lucan in this challenge. He was closer to Lucan than Lucan’s own brothers, and Lucan knew he could trust Maks with his life and the lives of those he loved.

Maks,
he silently called.
Come in.

The dark-haired Dragon entered, in his human form and still wearing the business casual clothing he’d worn to the conference that had kept him from joining Lucan in Meda’s retrieval.

“I think she’s fainted,” Lucan commented, the back of his hand testing the warmth of her forehead.

Maks squatted beside him. His hand hovered six-inches over Meda as he skimmed the length of her body and scanned her injuries via Dragon magic. Each of the race had their own special abilities. Maks’ were medical while Lucan had dreams—useless dreams.

“She’s just in shock and has a nasty burn. Nothing life-threatening,” Maks confirmed.
“
I’ll have her right as rain in no time.” He carefully moved aside the edges of Meda’s torn sleeve to visually examine the wound. “What happened here? Looks like a Djinn attack.”

“Exactly.” Lucan looked away, sickened with anger at the sight of the scorched skin.

“You took care of it?”

He nodded. “Dead.”

“It’s a good thing you went when you did. I’m sorry I had to be at that healers’ enclave. Bad timing. I should have been with you.”

“You would have if you’d known.” Lucan shuddered at what could have happened. Meda would be dead if he hadn’t gone when he had. Then the Cruentus Dragons would have gone on a full-out offensive against the Djinn—and heaven help that race if that ever happened. Overall, despite their cunning and audacity, the Djinn were the weaker party. The Dragons knew they had superiority in magic and brute strength. Aware they could wipe out the Djinn, many of whom were innocents caught in their leaders’ political agendas, the Dragons worked secretly to overcome the Djinns without full-out battle.

But Lucan was part of his clan’s ruling family. The death of his mate would mean retribution—retribution and obliteration.

“Riven is the one who urged Janos to finally tell me her location, to step up the timeframe, I suppose. His sources revealed the Djinn were tracking her, but Riven didn’t think they’d actually found her yet.” Lucan looked down at Meda. Her complexion was so pale, and dark circles marked the skin beneath her eyes. A halo of thick, blonde hair flared out around her head.

“Was your trip successful?” he asked absently, more taken with Meda than his friend’s work.

“It was informative,” Maks said. “I got supplies. Learned a few new tricks, too. Nothing of use here—Meda’s wound is pretty basic. Why don’t you move her to your bed while I get my things?”

Lucan gathered her close when they were alone. His lips grazed her temple as he rocked her gently in his arms and carried her into his bedroom. Carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed, wishing she’d wake, wishing they didn’t have so much between them, wishing he could tell her everything had been a bad dream four years ago and today. Despite his hopes, he realized there was no way she’d easily forgive him for their separation. Saints…when he thought about that four years, his gut twisted. She could have married. She could have been killed by another of the Djinn.

“Lucan?” she murmured as she stirred.

“Right here, love. I’m not going anywhere. Never again.”

She turned in his arms and hugged him close. Her face pressed into his neck, and she started to kiss the skin there. He knew she wasn’t quite fully conscious of what was going on. Once, she returned to her full senses, she’d hate him.

As much as he knew he shouldn’t, he took advantage of the situation. Tilting her head up with his fingers, he claimed her lips. He parted them insistently and delved inside to taste her. Mint and Meda. Pure heaven.

Heat raced through his body—heat and an overwhelming sensation of belonging. Need. Home. Lust… Love.

His arms crossed behind her, and he tipped backward on the bed so she straddled him and had control. They feverishly kissed, the years of separation binding them together with intense desire. Her fingers twined in his hair, as her tongue hungrily dueled with his. Her thighs gripped his sides, her pelvis grinding slowly against his. He groaned. He needed to be in her. He needed to be part of her. He needed to—

You need to ease up for a few minutes and let me heal her,
Maks interrupted.

Lucan pulled his mouth from Meda’s with a shuddering gasp.

“I’m so mad at you,” she whispered.

“I know,” he answered. He swallowed. Beyond the hot desire, a plethora of pain clouded her eyes—pain he’d put there. It didn’t matter that he’d had no choice.

There’s always a choice,
his conscience prodded.

Maks leaned against the dresser while Lucan sat up again and shifted Meda to lay against his pillows. She grabbed his arm, clarity in her stare. Her senses had returned. No doubt, she was about to skewer him.

“Who are you?” she rasped.

“Lucan,” he replied in surprise, his brows drawing together.

“No.
What
are you? Explain. Because my husband most certainly wasn’t a…” She waved her hand toward the doorway, indicating what she’d seen in the living room. “He wasn’t a…shape-shifter—that’s what it’s called, right? A shape-shifter?”

“I was one. I just didn’t know it. Not until the day I first changed.”

“So you left me?” she demanded. “Because you become…a what? A dragon? You put me through hell. You let me think you were dead—”

“I had no choice.” Lucan glanced over his shoulder at Maks who pretended preoccupation with the pictures and frippery on the dresser.

“Why?” Meda insisted. “Because suddenly you sparkle in the sunlight or something? I’ve seen you in the daytime. You
don’t
shine.”

From her derisive tone, it was clear she thought him lower than a slug. He felt just about as good.

She scooted away from him and climbed off the far side of the bed, wincing and holding her arm as she looked around the room—for an escape route, no doubt.

He got up and started around the bed, afraid she’d hurt herself. He didn’t want to have this argument in front of Maks, but it looked as if he had little choice. He and Meda needed to hash this out before she got any angrier.

“No, I don’t sparkle, glow or shine. But on the day Dragons first shift, we burn. Our skin incinerates. It’s called molting. Two of my brothers found me and brought me back here.”

“And they just
knew
where to find you? Do burning dragons put out some sort of Bat-Signal? This is all crap, Lucan, and you know it! If you didn’t want to be married, if you wanted to go out and sow your wild oats or whatever, you should have just told me. Divorce would have hurt a lot less.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, he drove the fingers of both hands through his hair then blew out a hard breath before looking at her again. One of them had to remain calm.

“It’s not crap. And I would never divorce you or be willingly parted from you. Meda, listen to me.” He pulled her resistant body into his arms. She could pummel him and scream her rage, but he still needed to hold her. “They were watching me. As a child, I was lost to my people, and when they found me, they didn’t want to take me from my human family. Dragons live hundreds of years. Painful as being separated from their child might be, my natural parents believed they had plenty of time with me. My people waited…until I was of age. The young of our race appear completely human. Even a doctor can’t tell them apart. But at age twenty-six, we change—”

“You were twenty-five,” she exclaimed.

“Twenty-five years and three months. Twenty-six from conception. I’d like to say it’s not an exact science, but it never fails to happen at exactly twenty-six years.”

She was silent for a few moments, her lips pressed together. Pushing against his arms, she carefully extracted herself from his embrace then crossed her own arms over her middle and stared at the floor. Her head nodded twice as she thought then she took a shuddering breath.

“Can Lucan and I be alone for a minute?” she quietly asked Maks, and Lucan wondered if she’d just remembered the other man was there.

“Of course,” Maks told her.
Good luck,
he shot to Lucan then disappeared into the hallway, closing the doorway behind him.

Meda pinned Lucan with an outraged glare. Her low tone was a cold as ice. “And at twenty-
five
and
three months
, you forgot you had a wife? A pregnant wife, by the way. You forgot there was someone who would just about die at the news of your crash. It wasn’t just an accident,” she said through her teeth. “The car was so twisted it looked like wild things had shredded it apart and so burned-out it was barely recognizable. But…” She pressed a hand over her mouth. “There were charred bits of…you. And your wedding ring was there in the middle of it. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

Her grief slashed through him, and he knew he could never apologize enough for what had happened.

“No, I don’t know” he conceded, shaking his head then asked, “A child?”

She nodded. “I miscarried. They say it was from the stress, but something was wrong. It almost killed me. I can’t have children.”

He stared at her, as the blow hit him. He’d lost a child and, worse, almost lost his wife. As much as he might have wanted children, Meda’s death would have decimated him—oh God, like “his” had done to her.

“I’m sorry—”

“Why didn’t you contact me?” she interrupted. “I mean,” she blew out a breath, “obviously, this place has the means. You’ve got a damned, big-screen TV in your living room.”

“The change is ugly. Unpredictable.” No explanation would ever be enough. To his ears, his words seemed feeble. “That first time is the onset of many more molts for two years. You wouldn’t have wanted to see me. It would have been
dangerous
to see me.”

“Wouldn’t have wanted to see you?” she echoed in disbelief. “How could you believe that? You were alive. Breathing.”

“But not the same man,” he returned. “Can you honestly tell me you would have easily accepted that I’m not fully human? I’m not even close?”

She stared at him in silence, the condemnation remaining in her eyes. The same anger clearly said he should have given her the chance. “And after?”