Chapter 9
Embarrassing, much? Kira pulled her draken princess dignity around her like a cloak. “I was not salivating.”
And she didn’t have to be useful, either. Since when did princesses have to be useful?
Nonetheless, she didn’t want people thinking she was following Flynn around, panting over him. Because she certainly was not.
The memory of him kissing her thrust itself into her mind. The way his chest felt under her hands, the hard planes of his pecs, his lips devouring hers, the way he smelled like wild desert heat…
“Whatever you say, Princess,” Jasmin said. “But you may want to remember that this is a crew full of predator shifters. They can smell arousal and sex pheromones from across the room.”
Shit. Could they? “I could have lived without knowing that,” she muttered.
Jasmin smirked.
They stepped into the main part of the cabin, and for a minute Kira forgot Flynn and his lips and the way he made her feel.
She’d been raised in a castle, and then a mansion. But those were huge, and cold—stone and marble and drafty oversized rooms. This was…
Homey. Inviting. Not at all what she’d pictured when she’d imagined Flynn’s crew of brawlers.
In front of her was a curving staircase that led up to a loft. To the right was a living area with a vaulted roof and a big stone fireplace, and to the left was a large kitchen with a granite breakfast bar, opening into a comfortable dining area with a hewn timber dining table.
Kira felt a pang almost as deep as the one she’d felt looking at Tank and Lissa. In all those formal, beautiful places she’d lived, she’d longed for someplace that felt…cozy. Welcoming.
Here, there were deep leather couches and warm wood paneling everywhere she looked. Cards, beer bottles and drink glasses covered the coffee table, as though the crew had been interrupted in the middle of a game.
Discarded clothes were scattered randomly, making it look like there’d been some kind of orgy, but more likely everyone had Changed in a hurry, leaving them behind.
Damn, she shouldn’t have thought about an orgy. Now she was back to the memory of Flynn’s lips…his hands…
Concentrate.
Jasmin had moved into the kitchen, and was measuring coffee into the coffeemaker.
“So,” she said. “Hit me with it. What kind of trouble are you in? And, more important, how likely is it to blow back on the crew?”
Kira started. “What makes you think I’m in trouble?”
Jasmin rolled her eyes. “Well, you’re sure as hell not Flynn’s date.”
Oh, really? And what the hell was wrong with her? “What makes you so sure about that?”
Jasmin made a derisive sound. “Hello? Bullet wound? Unless gun battles are your idea of date night.”
Oh. Right. Flynn had mentioned being shot. Kira raised her eyebrows. “I prefer candles and a nice bottle of wine, myself. But I’m not so sure Flynn wouldn’t count a shootout as a date.”
That surprised a snort of laughter from Jasmin. “You might be right about that.” Her eyes narrowed. “As long as you’re not the one who shot him.”
Kira said drily, “I’m not sure Flynn wouldn’t count that as a date, either. But I didn’t. Not my idea of foreplay.”
Jasmin smirked again. “What about digging the bullet out afterwards? Bare chests, rippling muscles, wounded warriors…”
Annnd, they were back to flashes of her and Flynn making out, high on battle adrenalin. Flynn backing her against the wall, his hard body pressing against hers…
Kira caved. Jasmin could probably smell the pheromones anyway.
“Okay, that was kind of hot,” she admitted.
Jasmin cackled with laughter. “Right?” she said. “The first time Brody and I kissed, it was right after I stitched him up from a brawl we’d just been in.” She got a dreamy look in her eyes. “Blood and sweat and fight adrenalin…it was smokin’ hot.”
She flipped the switch on the coffee pot so it would start brewing.
She went on, “But Flynn doesn’t bring women back here. If he’s getting laid—which, judging by how grumpy he always is, he probably isn’t—he’s doing it somewhere else.” She turned her bright green gaze back on Kira. “But I’ll tell you what Flynn does do. He’s a fucking magnet for broken and abandoned shifters. He has this compulsion to help them. Don’t fuck with him, and don’t get him killed. Or this crew will tear you apart.”
Before Kira could come up with a response to that, Jasmin’s head went up, her eyes darting toward the door. “They’re back.”
The jaguar could move almost as fast as Flynn—she was out the front door before Kira even realized she was going.
Kira didn’t follow—instead, she went to one of the big windows in the dining area that looked out on the porch. It was open, like all the windows on the ground floor, letting in the cool night air through the screen.
The whole search crew trooped across the muddy lawn. First came a woman with long curly black hair and a faint scar on her face. Walking next to her was a gorgeous, naked, leanly muscled man with his dark-brown, shoulder-length hair plastered to his head by the rain. In one arm he cradled the cutest little black panther imaginable, its paws on his chest and its head tucked under his chin.
A baby panther. It was a baby that had been lost. The man carrying him—his father—must be Xander, which made his curly-haired companion his mate, Jenny.
They were followed by a tall man with blond hair that flopped over his eyes, and a scar across one cheek. That must be Brody, the wolf—Jasmin’s mate. He was dressed, but his clothes were ripped and torn from the underbrush. The owl floated overhead.
The panthers got to the porch stairs, where Flynn was standing with Sloan, now in human form. His dark-blond hair was long on top and shaved on the sides, and his gray eyes looked tired and miserable.
Jenny paused at the top of the steps, Xander and the little panther just behind her.
“I’m so sorry,” Sloan said softly, his head down. “I didn’t know Brandon was even there. I thought he was inside with you. My cat just went nuts—” He shook his head.
“It’s not your fault,” Jenny said. “He got away from us. Ninja panther strikes again.” She put her hand on Sloan’s arm. “Are you okay?”
“Fucking PTSD,” Sloan muttered.
Jenny patted his shoulder, and then rubbed the side of her face gently against Sloan’s. Like a cat, Kira realized. Of course, duh. They were both cats.
She went on across the porch. Xander tried to shoulder past Sloan, not making eye contact, but Flynn’s quiet voice stopped him. “Xander.”
Xander stopped, but kept his eyes down, stroking his son’s fur.
Sloan reached out and ran his fingers down the baby panther’s back. “Hey, Brandon,” he said. “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
The little panther stretched and shimmered, and there was a sound like twigs snapping. Suddenly there was a little boy in Xander’s arms, maybe two and a half or three, with dark silky hair and an identical expression to Xander’s.
“You’s very snarly,” he said disapprovingly to Sloan. “You made my panter run away.”
“I know,” Sloan said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He touched the little boy’s shoulder. “You know I wouldn’t ever hurt you, right?”
The boy rolled his eyes. “I knows dat. But my panter doesn’t know all the fings dat I know.”
That brought a slight smile to Sloan’s face. “I hear you. Sometimes my leopard doesn’t know things that I know, either.”
“Like, thunder-boom doesn’t hurt him really?”
Sloan huffed a tiny laugh. “Yeah. Like that.”
Brandon nodded. He reached up and pulled Sloan’s face down, rubbing his baby cheek against it. “Okay. I isn’t mad.”
He poked Xander. “Daddy, we isn’t mad at Unca Sloan, right? We has to kiss his face so he knows.”
Xander raised his eyes to Sloan’s. Kira saw him take in the still-healing gouges on Sloan’s arms and torso, from Xander’s claws.
The moment stretched with tension. Everyone held their breath.
Xander put his free hand around the back of Sloan’s neck and gave him the same face-rubbing cat-gesture of affection.
Of forgiveness.
Kira could see Sloan’s shoulders relax as he heaved out a deep sigh.
They all came into the house after that. She could hear them toweling off in the entryway, bickering over the dry sweats on the shelf or picking up their clothes from the living-room floor. There was more talk, now—friendly insults and occasional bursts of laughter. Only Caitlyn and Sloan were left on the porch. Kira watched through the window, unable to tear herself away from the obvious love between them.
Sloan wrapped his arms around his mate, holding her close. “Why can’t I do this?” he said, frustrated. “Why the fuck can’t I control my cat?”
“Hey,” she said softly. “You’re doing way, way better. Remember when you couldn’t even find your cat during a storm?”
He nodded.
“Remember when the two of you saved my life?”
He rolled his eyes a little, and she gave his shoulder a playful smack. “No eye-rolling. You’re my hero. Deal with it.”
Sloan kissed her forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” She cupped his face in her hands and made him look in her eyes. “A little stronger every day, right?”
“Right.”
Caitlyn gave him a long, sweet, hot kiss, and Kira felt a little sting at the back of her eyes.
Oh, no. She blinked back the tears. She wasn’t getting all sentimental. She couldn’t afford to do that. Not now, with everything riding on this.
But there was this strange ache in the middle of her chest. And it didn’t get any better when she heard Xander say, “Hey, Ursa Major. What the hell was up with Protect-a-Bear tonight? Lissa wasn’t even in the fight.”
Kira turned around. Caitlyn and Sloan had come inside, and everyone was drifting into the kitchen. Brody was pouring coffee, and people were wrangling over the cream and sugar.
Tank was leaning against the end of the breakfast bar, one arm possessively around Lissa. “It’s a bear thing,” he rumbled in his deep voice.
Lissa nudged him. “Go ahead. Tell them. You know you want to.”
Tank’s face went red. “You tell them.”
“Okay.” A huge smile spread across Lissa’s face. “Big Bear got a little overprotective because I have a baby bear bun in the oven. I’m pregnant.”
The whole room erupted with squeals and exclamations, people crowding around, hugging and congratulating, asking questions and not listening to the answers.
Everyone except Kira, alone in the corner by the window.
And Flynn, leaning against the counter by the coffee machine. After congratulating them, clapping Tank on the shoulder and cat-kissing Lissa, he’d faded to the background. Now he was watching his crew, a half-smile curving his mouth.
But his eyes looked troubled.
As if he could feel her watching him, Flynn turned his head and met Kira’s eyes.
The union of these two, the Draken Princess of Al-Maddeiri and the Lion Consort, will be the salvation of the draken.
The words sounded in her head, clear as a bell. Words she hadn’t really understood, as a five-year-old child.
Words she didn’t really understand now. The Al-Maddeiri were no more, and the rest of the dragons didn’t need saving.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, Flynn turned his head and met her eyes.
He wouldn’t want any part of a “union” with her. Why should he? He had this—an extended family to protect. She had a target on her back. She’d bring nothing but trouble to them all.
The congratulations and back-slapping were dying down, though people were still chattering excitedly. Suddenly, Tank looked up and followed Flynn’s gaze.
He pulled Lissa tighter against him, and he began to glow once more with that strange magic. “Who the fuck is she?”
Everyone turned and stared, the room falling silent.
Oh, hell.
“Hi,” she said, waving lamely. “I’m Kira. Don’t mind me.”
Flynn pushed himself off the counter and came to stand beside her, cocking an eyebrow at her. “Aren’t you going to tell them, Princess?”
Kira blew out a sigh. “I wasn’t, but I have the feeling you are.”
Flynn folded his arms across his chest and faced his crew. “Meet Kiraset Lael of the House of Al-Maddeiri. She’s a draken princess who’s been dead for twenty years.”
Stunned silence met that pronouncement.
“A dragon?” Caitlyn asked, eyes wide.
“Dead?” Lissa said. “She doesn’t look dead.”
Brody said, “Unless she’s a vampire dragon. Or a zombie dragon. Do they have zombie dragons?” He looked hopeful.
Funny guy. Kira said, “Yes. We eat wolf brains. Mmmm.”
She could see Jasmin behind Brody, biting her lips, trying not to grin.
“Moron,” Xander said to Brody. “Look, she has fresh wounds that are half-healed. Zombies don’t heal. Their flesh just rots and tears off in gangrenous strips.” He rolled his eyes. “Everybody knows that.”
“I hate my crew,” Flynn muttered.
Kira was kind of starting to like them.
“Kira is an old friend,” Flynn went on.
Everyone really stared this time. Caitlyn said in a stage whisper to Lissa, “Did we know he had friends?”
Lissa shrugged. “I guess it could happen,” she whispered back dubiously.
Kira watched the back-and-forth, fascinated. She wouldn’t have thought anyone would have the guts to fuck with an alpha who had as much juice as Flynn, but his crew was obviously used to giving him shit.
“Is that a friend-friend, or a fuck-friend?” Xander inquired.
Jenny smacked him on the shoulder.
“Just asking,” he said, glaring at Jenny and rubbing his shoulder. “Because if she’s a fuck-friend, Flynn might get a lot less grumpy, and not yell at me if he found out I messed up the measurements on some expensive paneling on a construction job…” He looked around the now-silent room. “For example. Not that I would ever actually do that.”
Flynn raised his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head. “Fine. Kira and I are not fucking at the present time. According to the draken, she’s my destined mate. We were handfasted when I was twelve and she was five. Now that she’s not dead anymore, we’re apparently supposed to go ahead and mate and bond save the draken from some unspecified disastrous fate. Which we’re not going to do. The end. Now, take your mates and go the fuck to bed and leave me in peace.”
Nobody moved. Everyone appeared shell-shocked.
“For fuck’s sake, go to bed!” Alpha power rolled through the room.
They began filing out, eyes still wide.
Flynn said, “And Xander? I’m taking the cost of the paneling out of your pay.”
Xander detoured past them and whispered not-so-softly to Kira, “If you could arrange that getting laid thing for him before that happens, that would be awesome. Just sayin’.”