Chapter 14
When Flynn woke up, Kira was still asleep. They’d fallen asleep spooned together, with her tucked up against his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so deeply.
Or woken up feeling so good.
She was still curled on her side, one hand loosely wrapped around the handle of the knife under her pillow.
He gave a half-smile and shook his head, then sobered down as his chest gave an unaccustomed ache.
She shouldn’t have to sleep like that. Fuck it, she should have one place where she felt safe.
Apparently, ‘in his arms’ wasn’t it.
Whatever he’d felt last night, she clearly hadn’t. Not the same way.
His lion grumbled, Protect her.
Yeah. If only I knew what the fuck she really needed.
He eased out of bed without waking her. He was hard again, aching with a longing to sink inside her and forget everything else, like he had last night.
But that wasn’t who he was, or what he did. Flynn didn’t lose himself. He paid attention. He kept watch. He’d only slept with her because she’d needed him to. For the magic.
Right. Even he didn’t believe that shit.
He’d done it because it was meant to be. Because he belonged to her—had belonged to her since he was twelve. But to her…well, it sure as fuck hadn’t been dutiful and boring. But that didn’t mean she still didn’t intend to go off and live her own life afterward.
Boring ever after.
Flynn was an expert at not showing what he was feeling. He could let her go without anyone ever knowing he gave a shit. But not until he knew she was safe.
He moved his left arm experimentally, expecting the bullet wound to pull. He didn’t feel anything. He moved over to the mirror, twisting to look.
The wound was completely healed—in only a few hours. That should have taken another day.
He stared at it, not sure what he felt. He should be glad—if even that much bonding magic could heal him, maybe it could heal her.
But if it had healed her on the first try, that was it. They were done.
Everything in him wanted to climb back in bed and pull her close. Kiss that vulnerable place at the back of her neck, feel her hair sweep across his chest when they lay together.
Feel her sheathing him with soft, wet sweetness.
Using all his willpower, he turned away. Instead he moved around the room, picking up Kira’s discarded shirt and the towel he’d used to wipe away her blood last night. It was selfish, hoping her healing would take longer. He couldn’t stand to see her the way she’d been last night. It would tear him apart.
And if she died…
No. He’d lost enough shifters he should have saved, ones too damaged from Grant’s torture to come back. Every one broke him a little more.
Losing her would finish him.
He left the room, dropping the shirt and the towel in the laundry room at the back of the house, then headed upstairs. It was still early; he’d only been asleep for about four hours. The crew would be showing up before long—they always had breakfast together in the main cabin on Sundays.
He had things to do before then, but he put them off a few minutes longer. Instead, he went to the concealed wall safe in his bedroom and pulled out a battered metal box, about four by six inches.
He balanced it on the palm of his hand, feeling its weight.
He hadn’t opened this in years. He’d kept it stashed, with the few other things that really mattered to him, in a safe place that no one would think to look. After he’d escaped from Alexander Fucking Grant and settled in the cabin, he’d cleaned out his stash and brought everything here.
Nothing said “home” like ditching your safe houses.
Now he flipped open the metal tab that locked the box, and opened it. The stuff inside wouldn’t mean anything to anyone but him. Three scraps of cloth, worn and scorched.
The first was an Elite Lion Guard commander’s insignia. It was from his mentor, Markus, who’d been killed in the last battle. Only bits and pieces had been left in the ashes—a blade from his ceremonial knife, a couple of medals, some insignia.
Flynn had stolen this one. He’d been destined for the Elite Lion Guard from birth, and he’d barely known his family. Markus was the only father he’d ever had.
The second piece of fabric was a bit of satin hair ribbon. It had once been bright yellow, but was faded to a pale beige. It had belonged to Princess Kiraset.
He rolled it between his fingers. He’d wanted—needed—something that belonged to her. A little piece of what could have been, even if it was an arrow to his heart every time he touched it. He remembered sifting through the rubble until he found something, and clutching it in his hand, so tight, unable to believe she was gone. That they were both gone, the princess and Markus—and the Al-Maddeiri Lion Guard with them. And he had nothing to live for anymore.
Twelve years old, filled with emptiness and a suffocating sense of his own failure.
Maybe he’d failed, but the princess had lived. Against all odds, like some fucking movie, she’d risen from the ashes of his memories.
And what the fuck was he supposed to do with that?
He put the bit of ribbon down and picked up the last piece of cloth. His own cadet insignia. Against his will, the words of his oath came back to him—given once to the king of Al-Maddeiri, when he began his training. And again to the princess, during their handfasting.
With all that I am, and all that I have, I will protect and fight for you and yours.
My claws your weapons, my body your shield.
My life and my magic, yours
Until I die, or the House of Al-Maddeiri is no more.
He dropped the piece of cloth as if it burned him and slammed the box shut, squeezing it until the corners cut into his palm.
He was Flynn, alpha lion, who bowed down to no one.
The pull he felt toward Kira was nothing but magical chains he’d accepted when he was too fucking young to know what an idiot he was.
And yet…that voice inside his head wouldn’t go away.
Are you going to let her die this time? Alone?
Fuck.
He went to the computer in his office and sent an encrypted email to Jesse Travis of the Silverlake wolf pack. Last year, Jesse and his pack had come into possession of records kept by an organization called Gen-X—an evil, criminal, off-the-books group who’d done experiments and genetic manipulation on shifters.
One of Jesse’s other pack members also had ties to a clandestine group known only as the Agency—the group that had supposedly taken Gen-X down.
Flynn was way more cynical than that. And, surprisingly, so was Travis—at least, he was cynical about Gen-X. They both believed it was impossible to stamp groups like that out. They might go underground for a while, but some psychotic genius always popped back up again like a Chuckie doll.
But if Flynn respected anyone in this world—and he didn’t—it would be Jesse Travis. If anyone could find rumors about dragons being imprisoned and experimented on in this world, Jesse’s contacts could.
If they were in another world, though…
He sent another email to Israel Jonas. His mate, Ashley Silver, was the only dragon living in the human world—at least, officially. When the dragons had left this world centuries ago and returned to the Dragonlands, they’d made a deal with the Shifter Council not to come back.
That didn’t mean none of them had. Flynn would bet a bottle of Grant’s best Scotch there were more, like Kira, living under the radar.
And according to what Israel had told Flynn a few months ago, that ancient deal might not hold up much longer. Dragon factions were fighting each other, some wanting to come back and assert their power in this world, some wanting to protect it.
And still others saying this world was better left alone altogether. Flynn was voting for option number three.
He had no desire to get involved in draken politics, but now he might not have a choice.
His last message was to Fletcher. Flynn needed to know if he was alive or dead, why he hadn’t shown up last night, and if his intel on the state of draken politics differed from Israel’s.
Even if you trusted someone, that didn’t mean their intel wasn’t incomplete. Or just plain wrong.