Smell returned first. Rotten food, stale sweat, and… wet fur? As her consciousness returned, dark, guttural growls came with it and an eerie scratching. Like the sound of a bear’s claws on a tree.

Hannah opened her eyes, her head still pounding from the drugs they’d used on her.

She sat on the dirty floor of an old barn. Cold drafts seeped through the holes in its walls, bringing welcomed fresh air. The long-empty barn reeked of dogs and unwashed people. Half a dozen lanterns made more shadows than light. She lay slumped, arms twisted behind her back and handcuffed around one of the thick posts that held up its roof.

Six leather-clad brutes lurked by at the edges of the room. She recognized the one who’d grabbed her. Oddly, none of them seemed interested in the woman they’d kidnapped. Instead, they stared nervously at the floor ahead of her, where a familiar figure crouched, his back toward her.

Stephen LeMar. Somehow, that didn’t surprise Hannah.

He crouched delicately on his heels to avoid soiling his suit in the dirt and rat droppings that littered the wooden floor. He was the source of the odd scratching. She couldn’t see over his shoulder, but he dug at the floor with something she couldn’t see. A knife, by the sound of it.

Gingerly, Hannah rose to her feet. The movement drew the bikers’ attention for the briefest of moments, and then they returned to staring obsessively at LeMar. She flexed her arms as much as the cuffs allowed. Bumps, bruises, stiffness… but no major injuries. A tug confirmed that the cuffs were locked, and not toys.

It wasn’t going to be easy to escape. What about rescue? They hadn’t gagged her. LeMar didn’t seem like the type to overlook something so obvious, however. If she could scream, it probably meant there was no point doing it. Several ancient farms lay scattered in the woods around Beverly. The nearest help might be miles away.

The scratching stopped. LeMar put his hand on his knee and considered his work.

No. Not a hand. A claw.

Hannah gasped in shock. What protruded from the sleeve of his immaculate suit wasn’t a man’s hand. It was a green-scaled claw, tipped with inch-long talons that glinted wickedly in the lamp light.

He turned. Seeing her shock, he smiled. Fangs filled his mouth. Curved daggers that had no place in any human being.

Drugs. It had to be the drugs they’d used on her. Hannah pinched her eyes shut as the room started to spin. When she opened them again, LeMar’s hand was normal once more.

But the world wasn’t.

Her kidnapper had carved… no, scratched an elaborate rune on the floor. Energy glittered in its crevices, a sickly yellow mist. LeMar kicked dirty straw over his work, then retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped his shoes clean.

Worse, the bikers had shifted subtly in some mad, terrifying way. Their manes of hair seemed wilder, shaggier, like the coats of great animals. Yellow eyes reflected in the lamp light now, in a way no human eye ever did. And was it her imagination, or did their flickering shadows look like great wolves?

Drugs. Hannah swallowed and clung to that explanation like a life preserver. It had to be drugs.

“Right.” LeMar tossed his soiled handkerchief aside. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Wait!” Hannah cried. Another voice yelled that word at the exact same moment: the biggest biker.

LeMar glanced between the two of them. “What?”

She spoke first. “What are you doing? Why did you kidnap me?”

“It’s an experiment. You know what I am, right?”

“A jerk?” she suggested. “A treacherous, conniving Worm?”

To her surprise, he laughed with delight. “You have no idea how right you are. Do you?” His eyes narrowed suddenly. “Or are you less ignorant than I suppose?”

She had no idea how to answer that, so she just glared at him.

“You know you’re Kindred, yes? No? No.” He nodded. “As I suspected. You don’t know what Brandon ‘Lorde’ is. You have no idea why he’s giving you a fortune for some old thing. The only thought in your pea-brain is ‘Oooh, how lovely! Look at all the monies!’” His voice grew thick with contempt. “I’d tear the truth out of you – if I thought you possessed it. Fortunately for you, you’re an idiot. The information I could rip from your guts isn’t worth the dry-cleaning bill I’d rack up for this suit.”

Though her heart hammered, she fought to keep the fear from her face. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he terrified her. “What kind of experiment involves typing a girl up in an old barn?”

“One that requires bait. The object you gave to Brandon. It was a gold coin, yes?” Although she said nothing, he continued as if she’d agreed. “I thought as much. I want to see if that coin was Blood Gold.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“I’m sure,” he said drily. “Trust me, if I thought you did know, I’d be disemboweling you right now. Dry-cleaning bill be damned.”

LeMar smiled at her. Hannah didn’t smile back.

“So, anyways,” he clapped his hands and turned toward his minions, “if I’m right, Mr. ‘Lorde’ will show up here tonight.”

Hope blazed in Hannah’s heart. Would he really come to save her? Would he risk his life for a woman he’d only known a day?

Of course. He had given his word, sworn to protect her. Even after only a day in his presence, she knew it would tear his soul apart to break his word. He was a man of honor, and he would come for her.

“If I’m wrong – which I doubt – then you’ll spend a mildly unpleasant night tied up here.”

“And in the morning?” She didn’t ask if he’d let her go. He enjoyed this vicious teasing.

LeMar bowed his head in mock sorrow. “Sadly, you just deposited enough money to cover your brother’s debts. So, your family needs more bills.” He turned to the largest biker, the one who’d asked him to wait. “I suggest a car accident.”

“Like the one we did for the boy?”

They were the ones who’d run over her brother Danny?!? Shock and icy fury flooded through Hannah.

“No, no hit-and-runs. She knows too much. If you think you can pull off a coma, that would be great.” As she stared at him in fear and outrage, LeMar shook his head. “Scratch that. Too risky. She could recover. Easier to make it fatal. I hear funerals are expensive too.”

Satisfied with his plan, he strode for the door. Leaving Hannah too stunned to speak.

One of the bikers cleared his throat. “Wait.”

LeMar paused. “What’s your problem?” he growled.

“Where are you going?”

“Out. I don’t explain myself to my servants.”

True lupine growls rumbled up from all the leather-clad men. To her shock, their shadows twisted into the shapes of full wolves, crouched and furious. LeMar was not intimidated. He straightened, and his arrogant, domineering gaze swept over them. Under it, the bikers withered and ducked their heads.

Only their leader still dared to speak. “What are the six of us supposed to do if a Dragon shows up?”

She couldn’t have heard that word. It was impossible. Though her throat went dry as she remembered the scoundrel’s scaled ‘hand.’

LeMar shrugged. “Try to survive? I’d suggest running away; it will probably improve your odds. Up to you. Not my problem.”

Hair sprouted from the men’s hands. Hannah grew dizzy as their faces lengthened and burst out with dark, shaggy fur. Angry snarls rumbled in broad chests. Yet none of the… Werewolves? Did she truly dare use that word?

She swallowed, hard. Yes, werewolves. Mad as it sounded, that’s what they were. Uncontrollable shivers swept over her at the truth of that terrible, crazy thought.

And LeMar? What was so terrible that it cowed werewolves?

The pack leader was the only one who didn’t completely submit. Hannah felt a grudging respect for the way he struggled to protect his pack. “Why aren’t you staying with us? Together, we can take him.”

LeMar sighed and began to speak in a tone adults used with particularly stupid children. “Because you’re expendable and I’m not.”

A chorus of snarls and snapping burst from the bikers. Their muscular forms shimmered, blurred. Clothes and leather faded, replaced by mangy brown fur. Before Hannah’s astounded, terrified eyes, six wolves appeared where the men had stood a moment before. All of them bayed, howls of rage that resounded through the barn.

Stephen LeMar answered their anger with a fury of his own. Light burst around him as he threw his arms wide. Green scales flooded over him, and he suddenly grew, towering over both Hannah and his minions. His fingers twisted into lethal talons, his jaw lengthened, and a long, sinuous tail unwrapped from his body. In the blink of an eye, the handsome businessman had disappeared. Replaced by a raging, furious Dragon that threatened to shatter the beams that held the barn roof aloft.

No. Not a Dragon. Despite her terror, a calm voice spoke in the depths of Hannah’s mind. Dragons had wings. LeMar had nothing. Just two masses of scar tissue at his shoulders where wings ought to be.

Shock and horror rose, almost overwhelming her. Nothing in her loving, ordinary life had ever prepared Hannah for this. Yet, now, in her darkest moment, she found a quiet strength. Faced with monsters out of legend, some part of her wanted to break. To give up and crawl, weeping, into the depths of her own mind. To hide from the danger and chaos.

She refused. She forced herself to look at the raging creatures howling for each other’s blood. This wasn’t drugs. This was real. If her safe, comfortable world fell apart, then so be it. She was strong enough to face reality, however terrifying it might be.

Because she wasn’t alone. She had him.

Brandon.

What had they called him? A Dragon? Not a maimed Worm like LeMar, either, if a pack of werewolves feared to face him.

Brandon had sworn to protect her, and she trusted him. Her guardian would come for her. He would destroy the men who had dared to kidnap his charge. Though her life depended on it, she didn’t doubt him for a moment.

“HOW DARE YOU?”

LeMar’s scream boomed, shocking the pack into silence. “Dogs! Curs! You dare bare your fangs to your better? I should shred you where you stand!”

As quickly as it started, the confrontation ended. The wolves whined, twisting their muzzles away from the Worm. With a flicker, their lupine forms disappeared. Six men knelt on the ground, heads bent submissively to their Master.

The sight chilled Hannah. How terrible was this wingless Dragon, if he frightened men as strong and menacing as these Werewolves?

Hissing in fury, LeMar held his draconic form a moment longer. Then – silently accepting their surrender – he shifted back to his human form. One hand smoothed a crease out of the sleeve of his silk jacket. “Remember your place,” he spat as he walked to the exit. In the doorway, he paused and glanced back at his whining, groveling followers. “And don’t despair. I’ve left you a weapon. Use it.”

A weapon? Hannah froze, wracking her brain. What was there in this decaying, empty barn that could possibly hurt a Dragon?

The door banged shut behind LeMar. The Werewolves shuffled to their feet, angry and impotent. One caught her staring at him and anger blazed in his eyes.

Hannah dropped her gaze to the floor, as if he frightened her. Staring challenged dogs; it could drive a mean one into an attack. She bet Werewolves felt the same. Best to show some ‘submission’ of her own, if she hoped to survive the night.

That scattering of scuffed straw lay in front of her – and she gasped. The rune! That had to be LeMar’s ‘weapon’! It was the only thing out of place in this old barn. But how could a simple symbol be dangerous? Was it… magic? She hated to use that word; it felt insane to take magic seriously. Though was magic any more unbelievable than Werewolves? Something she now knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, truly existed. If there were monsters in this world, then why not magic? What else could harm something as powerful as a Dragon?

She sank to the ground, tucking her feet under herself to gain a little cushion from the cold, hard floor. Then, holding her knowledge secret, she leaned back and waited.

 

Hours passed. The Werewolves paced, fearful and irritated. Sometimes, one would step too near a pack-mate and a furious spat broke out. Blows, bites, snarls, until the Alpha bullied them back into line. Hannah kept silent. No tears or words to draw their attention. Once, her leg cramped and she had to shift her weight. Even that tiny movement annoyed a wolf, who took two steps toward her before his Alpha cuffed him away.

In the end, the waiting ended without warning. Violently, and in a heartbeat.

With a bone-jarring crash, something large slammed into the ground just outside. The barn rocked from the impact, a cloud of dust raining down from its beams. Before a wolf could even howl, a great claw tore through the wooden wall and ripped the door away with one ferocious swipe.

There, in the ruin of the doorway, stood a Dragon. Scales as black as a starless night glinted in the lamplight. Ebony wings, sleek and powerful, arched from his back. This was a true Dragon, not some crippled Worm like LeMar.

Was it Brandon? Her guardian?

Yes. His eyes betrayed him. ‘Eyes are the windows to the soul,’ her grandmother had told her. And Brandon’s blue orbs blazed in the Dragon’s face. Set alight by some inner magical fire, but she would know – and trust – those eyes anywhere!

Werewolves screeched, howled, dropped to all four. The Dragon’s tail lashed out, sending three of them sailing through the barn’s thin walls. As they staggered to their feet, whimpering, one braver Werewolf charged the Dragon directly. Brandon’s claws caught him as he closed, flinging the wolf into a beam. He bounced off and slammed into the floor, unmoving.

Seeing that, the three tail-whipped wolves traded glances – then turned and pelted into the darkness, howling in fear. Their last pack mate fled after them, yipping. The Dragon snarled with contempt but let him flee.

That left only the Alpha. He alone wasn’t cowed, even by a Dragon. Still in his human form, he retreated to stand in front of Hannah.

Stepping carefully around that hidden rune.

The Dragon crouched, ready to spring. The Werewolf leaned forward, shifting his weight to his toes, preparing to dodge the attack.

As he did, Hannah picked both her feet off the ground and mule-kicked him with all her strength.

It almost wasn’t enough. The pack leader rocked, barely staggered. That tiny motion shifted his foot an inch, however. Far enough to touch the edge of the hidden rune.

A sharp, electric ‘crack’ rang out. Light blazed skyward, enveloping the wolf in a sickly green light. He jittered, dancing crazily like a man grabbing a live wire. Then he vanished, leaving only the smell of ozone, and burned fur behind him.

Hannah stared, shocked speechless by the destruction she’d caused. She’d… killed someone. A man. A wolf. A Werewolf. A…

A form hurtled toward her.

Brandon.

Her Brandon, not the terrifyingly glorious Dragon of his soul. Her fierce, human Protector.

He pulled her into an embrace. Strong, muscular, male arms wrapped about her, silently promising the nightmare was over. He was here. He would shield her, with his life if need be.

“Are you all right?” he asked, with a worry in his voice that made her heart sing. “I came as quickly as I could.”

“I’m fine. I’m handcuffed here, though.” She glanced about for a key – and prayed it hadn’t been in the Alpha’s pocket.

Brandon solved that problem. Reaching behind her (and pulling their bodies closer in the process…) he snapped the metal chain like a dry twig. Then, more gently, he drove his thumb through the metal of the cuffs and wrenched it open. Freeing her chafed wrists from their prisons.

Her jaw dropped. How could he tear apart handcuffs like that?!?

Well, he was a Dragon. She swallowed. It was going to take her some time to get used to that…

Later. She’d think about it some other time. Now, she simply leaned into his embrace. Cuddling against his shoulder. Feeling his warmth, the beat of his loyal, brave heart against her cheek.

Knowing her world would never be the same again.

Hannah didn’t care.

This ‘new’ world had him in it. Her valiant, majestic Protector.

That, alone, made it a thousand times better than her old, comfortable life.