Isla sat in the back seat of Felice's ancient hatchback and watched the mountain whizz past as they climbed the switchbacks. They'd been driving for twenty or so minutes at this point and she couldn't even begin to say what she felt.

Blurry? Fearful? Out of place?

Well, that one rang true. Through and through. She looked down at her attire, her shaking hands, the bruises she could feel on her neck. God. Ivan had found her. But he wasn't there now. He was... somewhere else. And she was racing off into the mountains with three strangers who had all just listened to her story. It was the second time she’d told it that night. And only the second time she’d ever told it at all. It was a horrifying story. But somehow these three all seemed to have bigger problems.

Strange night.

Made all the more strange by Idris's persistent grip on her hand. He hadn't let go since they'd gotten in the car. And the only reason Isla let it go on was that she got the feeling he was holding on to her as much as she was holding on to him. For dear life. She'd felt his world tip in that kitchen, and though she didn't know the story, she'd known instinctively that he and his father didn't know each other. That Idris was completely stunned to see him.

And now they were traveling into the mountains to try and find some other guy who could explain everything to them?

Isla doubted there was much to explain. No matter how much Felice seemed to believe that Donovan had had a good reason for disappearing whenever he had. In Isla's experience, people didn't really need a reason to skip out on their families. All they needed was a way to do it, a minor temptation, an opportunity. But this wasn't her life, her family, her place to say anything like that. All this was, was a ride. A ride away from the danger she'd just been in.

She involuntarily gave Idris's warm hand a little squeeze as she relived the moment he'd thrown her over his shoulder, raced out of the club, and away from his whole life, just to keep her safe.

She felt his eyes on the side of her face and she couldn't help but turn to him. Those eyes. What was it? Something that made her feel safe. They were so unusual, the brightest green she'd ever seen. Almost celery. But deeper.

She looked away as Felice pulled into the driveway of a little house.

It was almost 3 am at that point, but the lights blazed.

There was a bicycle in the lawn, a baseball glove strewn on the front steps, and cloth diapers hung on a line.

Felice and Donovan led the way into the house while Idris and Isla walked behind, their hands clasped tightly together. Why did she feel like they were about to go down the rabbit hole?

They walked through the clean, plain little house to the living room where there were two men and two women. One man, built like a tank with short brown hair, stood, his arms crossed over his chest. The other man laid sprawled on the floor, his messy blonde hair sticking up from having pulled his hand through it. The two women, one with black hair and one with red, sat next to one another on the couch. They all wore pajamas, as if they'd just woken up.

The blond man on the floor jumped up with the fluid motion of an athlete, wincing just the tiniest bit. He favored one side over the other.

But there was no pain on his face. Just joy. A huge, pulsing joy. Isla could almost feel it against her skin, like he had tossed it across the room.

Idris, on the other hand, had frozen. It was like standing next to an iceberg.

Felice moved to the blonde man as if she couldn't stop herself. She fixed his hair in a motherly way. The man smiled down at her, something alive and affectionate in his eyes.

"O, honey, we need you to show Idris. It's too much to explain with words," Felice said.

Meanwhile, Idris stared back and forth between this man, O, and his mother like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Show me what?" Idris's voice was low and powerful and had everyone in the room shifting, as if to accommodate for his very presence.

"Trust me, dude, it'll be better if I just show you," O said, starting to cross the room with his hand out.

Idris automatically shifted to put Isla behind him. Something surged in Isla's chest. A tight racing feeling that she had to swallow against to make it subside.

O cocked his head to one side, his hand still extended. "I can show your girl at the same time, if you want?"

Isla opened her mouth to explain that she wasn't his girl, but clapped it back closed. Who cared about shit like that at a time like this? When apparently both Idris’s and Isla's lives were shifting to pieces like Pangaea.

Idris looked from Isla back to this guy O. "You mean you want us to literally take your hand?"

O cracked his neck to one side and turned back to the redhead sitting on the couch. "Jesus, this is like pulling teeth."

He turned back. "Yes, just touch my hand and I swear, pretty much every question you have is about to get answered."

Isla looked up at Idris and saw that he was not going to move. He'd gone all iceberg again. Only his eyes moved. And they were on his mother's face. She said nothing. But she did stare right back at him.

Isla huffed out a breath. "Alright. Let's get this show on the road."

She lifted her hand that was twisted together with Idris's and placed them right into the center of O's outstretched palm.

And that's when the world as she knew it ceased to exist.

She didn't have skin anymore. Or a body. She was only a rushing, whirling sensation. She was a molecule in the air of a memory. She saw Felice, much younger, falling through the air. A beast catching her in its claws, saving her. She saw the beast transforming into a man. Donovan. But young, and the spitting image of this guy O. She saw Felice and Donovan in an embrace, obviously very much in love. And then a great, red lizard clawing and fighting, trying to kill them. She watched in confusion as they escaped through a hole in the sky. Next was Felice, thick with a child. The twin sadness and relief in Felice and Donovan's eyes as she grew. And then a baby. Must be Idris. That thick swatch of dark hair, the bright green eyes. The baby crawling, in pain, scratching at his skin like there was a creature inside trying to get out. And again, Felice and Donovan's sadness as they soothed him. And then another baby. A blonde this time. She watched the two brothers roll in grass. Dirty and screaming with laughter. She watched their mother yell at them in their bunk beds for playing too late at night. She watched the younger one, holding his head and crying out, sobbing, while the older one, terrified, dragged him inside to his parents. And then she watched, in horror, as Felice, holding Idris, kissed Donovan and the little blonde baby goodbye. She watched a light flicker out in Felice's eyes. She watched heavy tears roll over Donovan's face as he dragged a hand over Idris's dark hair, kissed his boy on the cheek. And then took his blonde son through a hole in the air. And with a flash of something like a rainbow, was gone.

The fog cleared and once again, Idris and Isla were standing in an ordinary living room. Every eye in the room was turned to them. O stood in front of them, a sweet, hopeful expression on his face.

Felice crossed the room to lay a hand on her son's face for just a moment, but Idris stepped around her. He was looking right at O.

"O," he said, in a gruff whisper. "Owen."

O nodded, his hair flopping, his eyes intense and clear.

"You were my imaginary friend," Idris said. "You weren't real. You were only in my imagination."

"Well, no." O shook his head. "I'm super real."

"Jesus Christ," Idris ripped his hands through his hair and paced a tight line.

Isla looked at him, figured that if she was there, she might as well help. "Let me see if I've got this straight." She pointed to people around the room. "Long-lost brother. Long-lost father. You left because long-lost brother was what? Having headaches? I assume due at least in part to whatever the hell you just did with your hand and the vision." She took a deep breath. "Also, there was some freaky shit with like, monsters? Beautiful monsters? I'd want to say dragons but..."

She trailed off as everyone in the room besides Idris gave her a look. A look like she'd just hit the nail on the head. "Jesus Christ," she couldn't help but echo Idris.

"You're trying to tell me that my father is a dragon?" Idris turned to his mother, obviously the only person in the room whose opinion he actually trusted.

She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Yes."

"Well," O interrupted. "What we're really trying to tell you is that you're a dragon."

"Tact, O," the redhead on the couch murmured. "Let's give the guy a second here."

"Look," the black-haired woman stood up. She was curvy and pretty and seemed to be in control of the situation. "We need to take a breather here. Muscles," she seemed to be addressing the large brown-haired guy in the corner. "Could you make sure everybody has something to eat and drink if they want it?" She stood and crossed the room to Isla. "I'm Lucy. The redhead is Mel, we're both humans. That one over there is my husband, Amos. He and O and Donovan are dragon shifters. And Idris, of course, but… jeez. Okay. I'm getting ahead of myself." She swiped her hair back. "Do you want some clothes to change into? And maybe me and Mel can explain some of this?"

Isla could have kissed Lucy. "Yes. God Jesus, yes."

She took a step to follow Lucy down the hall but felt herself inexplicably pulled backward toward Idris. Like they were attached on a string. She turned to him, keeping her back to the group. "Do you think it’s safe?" she asked him in a low voice.

She couldn't have known that her sweet, trusting question, her worried eyes, her scent, was the only thing tethering him to the world he'd lived in for 30 odd years. She couldn't have known. But it was. He dragged a hand over her hair.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Isla. I swear to god."

So twenty minutes later, Isla stepped out of the shower, and into some yoga pants and a t-shirt of Lucy's. The saint of a woman had even loaned her a sports bra. Though both women had drawn the line at underwear. Luckily, they were almost the same size, although Isla's legs were a bit longer. When she came out of the steamy bathroom, it was to see Lucy and Mel sitting on Lucy's bed, waiting for her.

"Do you want to sleep, eat, or ask questions?" Mel asked, cocking her head to one side. She had the prettiest face, a little off-center and interesting.

Isla braided back her damp hair. "I have a million questions. But after the night I've had, I don't think my brain can take anymore."

Both Lucy’s and Mel's eyes flicked to the forming bruises on Isla's neck but neither said anything.

"Answer me one thing," Isla said. "Is this shit real?"

Mel laughed. "Super fucking real."

Isla let out a long breath. "Okay. So. Wow."

"Sleep," Lucy said. "It'll do you good. And we're off in the morning, early."

"To where?"

Lucy and Mel looked at each other.

"You want the truth or something that you'll believe?" Mel asked.

"The truth."

"Alright. We're going to the dragon realm."

Isla laughed and dragged a hand over her face. "Sure. Why not?"

A dog barked down the street and she tensed. She suddenly felt weirdly naked being this far away from Idris. "I think I’m gonna-"

"Go find your man? Sure. You guys are staying on a pull-out couch in the playroom. Sorry the accommodations aren't more, well, accommodating, but it'll do for the night."

The dog barked again and Isla went still as she followed Lucy down the hall. Lucy turned, saw the look in her eye. "Isla, look. Believe as much or as little of this as you want. It took me long enough to believe it even after I was staring a dragon dead in the eye.” Lucy chuckled, her eyes far away, looking into her past. She shook her head and concentrated back on Isla. “But if there’s one thing you believe in tonight, please believe you’re safe.” Her eyes pulled at Isla, imploring her to know the truth. “I don’t know exactly what you and Idris were running from tonight, but if your bruises are any indication, it’s some bad shit. But know this. We’re in the middle of nowhere up here. It’s hard to find this house even if you know where to look. And otherwise? Needle in a haystack. And even if you did get found tonight, you’re sleeping in a house with four dragon shifters. And let me just tell you, even when they’re in human form, they’re badasses who protect their women, okay?”

Isla nodded. She wasn’t sure if she trusted what this woman was saying, or if she was just too tired to object. But she laid a quick hand on Lucy’s shoulder to show her that she’d heard her. Lucy nodded back and showed her to the playroom, where her husband, Amos, was just putting sheets on an air mattress.

He rose and crossed the room to his wife. His eyes searched Isla’s. “You’re safe here, Isla,” he said.

“So I’ve heard.” It wasn’t the most polite response, but hell, she’d been through a lot tonight.

He nodded. “My kids are sleeping in this house. I will literally rip apart anyone who comes in here with bad intent, okay?”

Wow. Okay. Anger issues?

Whatever. Worked for her. She was reaping the benefits. She flashed him an awkward thumbs up. “Sounds great.”

Lucy laughed a little at the reaction. “Okay, sleep well. We’ll wake you up in the morning a little bit before it’s time to go.”

And then Isla was alone. Blissfully alone. With silence and darkness and a semi-comfortable bed. She flipped off the lights and stumbled through the sea of toys toward her bed. She slid under the covers. And the dark night seemed to press in through the windows. She knew she was safe. But apparently her heart didn’t know that.

Where was Idris? She felt like an idiot for hoping he was nearby, but there was no fighting it. She wanted him.

Even so, she squeaked in fear when the door to the playroom swung open.

“It’s me,” Idris said in a low voice, filling the light in the doorway with his bulk. The room fell dark as he stepped in, closed the door. She heard the soft swishing sound of his shirt coming over his head. And then the clop of his shoes being kicked off. She heard a belt hit the ground and she mentally roped her lady parts down.

Come on. This was crazy. She was not about to jump this guy’s bones. Everything in both of their lives had just been completely turned upside down. Hell, the very RULES of the world had been turned upside down.

But still, it didn’t mean that she couldn’t get a lady boner from listening to him undress in the dark. She braced, still as a mouse in the bed.

He stood over her.

“I’ll sleep on the floor if you want. But I’d rather sleep on the bed.”

Well, shit. She’d rather he slept on the bed, too. She just didn’t want to have to say it out loud. Even after everything that had happened tonight, she still had a little pride.

Instead of saying anything, she just scooted all the way over to one side. And then he crawled into bed and stretched out in one smooth move.

They both laughed out loud when his weight flung Isla’s side of the bed up in the air and rolled her right over onto his chest. His arms automatically came around her back. The way they had in the hallway at his mother’s house. It made her want to purr.

“So, apparently I’m a dragon shifter,” he said. And the two of them were laughing even harder.

“What does that even mean?” she gasped, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Fuck if I know. Apparently they want to show me tomorrow. Take us to…” he paused. Like he didn’t want to say it out loud.

“Oh, I heard. The dragon realm.”

He was chuckling at how hard she was giggling. A little bit of hysteria from her day seeping into the moment.

"It's nice to hear you laugh," he murmured into her hair. "I never heard you laugh at the club."

She wiped the tears from her eyes and propped her chin up on her fist, his chest beneath her. "There wasn't a ton to laugh about at the club."

He murmured back in his throat, like he couldn't argue. One large hand swept down her back, almost absently, as if he knew his touch was welcome. He was enjoying her without the nervousness of first touches.

She couldn't lie. She liked the confidence.

"So, what do you think?" he asked her. "Should we go with these crazies tomorrow?"

Isla closed her eyes, felt his solid presence beneath her. Smelled his smell. Vaguely smoky, all man. She sighed. "Look, Idris, I don't care if we're going to the moon tomorrow. If it's somewhere that Ivan can't follow me, I'm in."

The smile that grew on his face damn near burned her eyes out. She'd never seen a face change so completely. He suddenly looked a lot like his younger brother, boyish, delighted. "So. We're going."

Whatever wall that Isla had firmly bricked into place after their first kiss pretty much came tumbling right down.

"One condition," she said.

His face sobered. Serious, calm, waiting.

"You have to tell me how you got these," she said, one finger tracing the edge of the bruises on his cheekbone. She followed the line down his neck and, after only a second of hesitation, over his shoulder and chest.

He stayed very still under her touch, like he didn't want to scare her away. "You gave me those," he said.

Her eyes snapped up to his. "Excuse me?"

"You distracted me. I fight, for money. Only I was thinking of you. And not of my opponent."

"What were you thinking about?" Her voice was huskier than she might have wanted it to be at that moment.

"I was thinking about what it would be like to have you thinking about me while you danced tonight."

"And what was it like?" Suddenly, the lines where their bodies touched, her weight up on his chest, weren't lined with warm comfort. There was a thin, slicing edge of fire between them. One that shortened her breath. Liquefied her insides. Sent everything within her on a slow, liquid slide.

He chuffed out a little frustrated laugh. "Pretty much the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen. All that focus, that attention on me. For me."

She shifted against him although she was doing everything she could to hold her body still. He wasn't moving. He was somehow doing the iceberg thing while simultaneously melting her against him.

His voice lowered an octave. "Your body was yours. There, under such control. But it was also mine. All those men wanting you. Screaming for you. But you were mine."

Isla shifted her legs, she couldn't keep still, and they slid along the length of his. She felt the rasp of his hair against her sensitive instep. Her hands flattened and then fisted against the skin of his chest. He didn't move except to pull the hairband out the end of her braid. He cruised his hand through her hair and sent it tossing all around the two of them.

"You were moving for me," he continued. "Showing me what you'd do for me if we were alone."

Isla's breath started coming up short. She'd never had someone describe this to her before. For her, stripping had always been deeply impersonal. It had to be. In order to get up on that stage every night and do it over and over again, it had to be. But here he was, peeling that theory like an orange. Because it was right. It had been personal. And it hadn't been just a dirty moment between two strangers. She would never have admitted it then, but now, with the events of the night crystallizing around them, with nothing but their heartbeats and her thin shirt between them, she had to tell the truth. At least to herself.

"In those moments," he said, "I was a king. And you were my queen."

Isla dropped her mouth to his, unable to stop herself. It was like she was dying of thirst and she'd just stumbled upon an orange. She devoured him. Her hands were in his hair, her legs instantly banding around his waist. She pressed herself to him, knowing he could feel her heat even through her thin pants.

And praise Jesus, the iceberg was gone. And there was a volcano in its place. Idris's hands instantly found her ass. He gripped and slid his hands along her curves like he was holding on for dear life. Not for the first time, Isla said a little prayer of thanks that she had more than enough for a man to grab onto.

Their mouths were in a fused, biting slide. They warred for control of the kiss. Isla fought with him and with herself. So much of her just wanted to melt into him and take and take and take. She was sinuous melting wax over top of him, heating and moaning into him.

She needed him.

The thought cooled her like lemon on a paper cut. Had her eyes flinging open and her lips tearing away from his. She'd had a hard day. There was a lot going on. But she didn't need him.

She reared back, caught halfway between straining toward him and away from him.

But he was sitting up then, too, smashing his chest against hers as he pinned her legs around him with his hands.

"Enough," he said, and his voice had enough surety, enough primal command that he silenced her internal battle.

She held still. His hands were strong on her knees, but he wasn't holding her down. The only thing that was restraining her was his eyes. And she was caught. Pinned. She felt an electric wire buzzing between them that she didn't dare break. If she looked away, she'd go spinning off into the atmosphere.

"Don't twist away from me," he growled. "You need this. And I’m going to give it to you."

Isla couldn't help but press her hips forward the tiniest amount.

Something just on the edge of arrogance touched at his eyes, but his expression remained stern.

He continued on, not moving an inch. "And then you're going to fall asleep in my arms. And know that you're safe. Do you hear me?"

She remained still, like a rabbit faced with a fox.

"Don't make me repeat myself."

She nodded her head. "Yes," she whispered.

"Say it again." The command was so crisp, so clear, that it had the words tripping out of her mouth.

"Yes. I want it."

And those were the last words before he'd gripped her shirt in his hands, ripped it off over her head. He growled at her sports bra, but that too was gone in a matter of seconds. His eyes bored into her breasts, but he wasn't deterred from his mission. He lifted her off of him like she weighed nothing. He rolled her over and slid her pants off of her. He growled even more when he realized that she didn't wear any underwear.

Her heart was racing like the hoofbeats of a runaway horse. She'd never known this kind of rising feeling. It balanced on the delicious edge of excitement and panic. She felt like she might just cease to exist the second he stopped touching her.

But luckily he didn't stop touching her.

He reared up over her on all fours. Caging her in. His chest rose and fell in massive breaths. He was equal parts wild and controlled. Rising, thrashing, and restrained. Isla felt that looking into his eye was like looking into the eye of a circling tiger.

But he didn't give her long to think it over. Because then he dropped his face to her breasts. She could feel his beard intentionally scraping over the tight gather of her nipple. He inhaled the scent of her like a madman. And then his mouth. A painful pull at her breast that spoke of such need for her that she arched and rose up off the bed, wild for him.

But then he was back on his knees, ripping himself away from her. His eyes went serious. There was still so much heat. But he was sober.

Bending over her, he reached for one arm. He grabbed her hand and laced his fingers through hers for just a moment before he circled her forearm and dragged his hands down to her shoulder, touching every inch of her arm. The other one got the same treatment. And then it was her chest. Her breasts were covered with his massive palms, pressed, kneaded, but he moved down, over her belly. One finger dipped into the crater of her navel before he went down even further. Over her hipbones, to her thighs, around to her ass. He stroked over her thighs, down her calves, all the way to the arch of her foot. He traced in between each of her toes. And then slid his hands under her, to touch her back. And then her ears, her nose. He gently glided his hands over her face, threading his fingers into her hair, over every inch of her scalp.

And then finally, so gently, he trailed his hands over her neck, over the bruises that were starting to shine in a delicate necklace. She shivered against the touch. But not in fear. Not in pain.

In understanding. He was reclaiming her body. He was taking it back. He was wiping away the memory of any other man touching her. Not the men who tucked dollar bills in her g-strings. Not any lovers who may have come before him. And certainly not Ivan.

She wanted to touch him, but couldn’t move from being touched. Her body trembled. Rose. Heated. For all of her last year trading in her sexuality, she’d been touched almost never. There were never any liaisons. No dates. No furious scuffles in the back seat of some guy’s car. There was the endless rev of stripping, dancing. And there was solitude. Home alone.

But he was remedying that, stroking it away with each persistent touch of his hand. He was undoing her. Hatching her shell away. She was opening for him.

And then, when the thought was too much, too intimate, he leaned down over her and touched the pit of her arm. She giggled with the tickle of it and he did her one better, burying his face there next. He took a hearty sniff of her there and her eyes went wide with laughter and surprise.

“You perv!” she giggled as he bit and buried his face there.

“I’m not a perv,” he said, smiling. “I’m a man. And no man can turn down that smell. The smell of a woman all sweaty and turned on for him.”

And then his mouth took hers again, for just a second. A sliding meeting of tongues that was over too fast. Because he slid down her body, little by little, open-mouthed kissing as he went.

He shouldered her knees apart and looked up at her.

“Isla,” he said, his eyes like burning emeralds. “This is the only touch I want you to remember from tonight.” Keeping his eyes on hers, he lowered his tongue to her pussy and buried it.

Isla bucked with the sensation. Her eyes slammed closed as she tightened around him.

He groaned against her flavor, but he pulled his tongue away. “No.”

Her eyes flew open and she stared down at him.

“Look at me,” he said. “Don’t look away.”

And then he was on her again. His tongue working a tight circle around her clit before he lowered his head and suckled her. Isla was so close already. She hadn’t realized how close to the edge he’d brought her just by working his hands over every inch of her.

She planted her feet and pushed her hips up, rising toward him and approval flashed in his eyes.

He was devouring her, his tongue doing things she hadn’t thought were humanly possible. Isla clamped a hand over her mouth, knowing that they were just one door away from a lot of other people. But she couldn’t silence every moan that worked its way out of her as he worked his tongue over her.

He was sucking her, swallowing her, spearing her until she shook with the pleasure of it. He was filling her with the sensation. Every place he’d touched before that was echoing, buzzing, rising, joining the feeling that was purring in her pussy.

His eyes were hot on hers and she was caught, spinning away and up, through the atmosphere. Her body tensed, down to the head of a pin. And then she exploded.

She was a writhing, straining river of gold as she rode his mouth from the bottom. She couldn’t be contained. She was every element at once. The first woman to walk the earth. The earth itself.

She collapsed in a heap underneath him. As tired as she was, there was no missing the arrogant grin that crossed his face as he crawled back up over her.

“God, you taste good,” he muttered as he nuzzled his face into her neck.

And all she felt was the burn of his beard, his nose at her ear. She only felt the open-mouthed kisses he rained over her collar bone. She didn’t feel the bruises she knew were there. She didn’t feel the echo of Ivan’s hands.

The only touch she could feel was Idris’s. The only touch she could remember.

The thought made Isla's eyes sting. He had reclaimed her body. So that he could give it back to her. So that it could be hers again.