The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2 (62 page)

“How much longer before I can collect my pay and get out of here?” I grumbled, climbing out of my rig to go and check on things around back.

I heard the dry, choking rasp as soon as I opened the doors.

“Are you all right?” I asked, climbing in and stepping cautiously towards the covered crate. There was no reply, only a further round of coughing and a terrible-sounding wheeze. “Are you hurt in there?”

I realized I didn’t even know his name, not that I needed to. Nor did I need to run for my water canteen when he started to dry heave, but that’s precisely what I did. I told myself it was only reasonable to make sure Mr Honour-and-Higher-Purpose stayed alive long enough for my client to kill him, since that’s what he’d claimed he wanted so badly.

I returned and jumped into the back of the truck. He was gasping now, sucking in air, each breath sounding deathly parched. Canteen in one hand, I hurried to the crate and tugged loose a corner of the tarp. “I have water. You need to dr—”

My voice fled as I lifted the plastic sheet from the front of the wooden container. A liquid gold gaze peered at me through a slim crack between the nailed planks of the box. It startled me, penetrating and intense, sending a swift, unbidden heat into the core of my being. Just as quickly, the golden eyes were shuttered as they turned back into the darkness of the cell and the prisoner’s wheeze grew more violent.

“Stay away,” he rasped from deep within the shadows. His throat scraped with every syllable, sounding as dry as cinders. “Leave me. This will pass.”

I muttered a curse, low under my breath, knowing he was in far worse shape than he wanted me to think. I walked around the crate, pulling off the tarp as I went. The few gaps that separated the wooden planks were so tight not even my little finger would be able to slip through them. No way could I get the canteen to him without breaking open the box. And that was out of the question.

“Hold on,” I said. “I have an idea.”

Slinging the canteen strap over my shoulder, I hoisted myself up on to the side of the crate and clambered to the top of it. I brought the canteen around and took out the stopper. Beneath me, his bright citrine eyes followed my every movement through the narrow breaks in the wood. Every nerve ending in my body tingled, warning me that something Strange and powerful lurked just beneath me.

“Come closer, bring your mouth up to me,” I told him, more a command than request. “Stop being noble, and take a drink.”

“Nisha.” My name was barely a whisper in the shadows below. “You know the rules.”

I swallowed, recalling very well the instructions I’d been given for this job. Instructions that all my logic and experience told me to follow. But then he coughed again – a deep, shredding heave of his lungs – and neither logic nor experience had prepared me for the concern I had for him in that moment.

I leaned down and brought the mouth of the open canteen to the largest gap in the top of the crate. “Drink.”

I thought he might refuse again, but then I heard him moving – sensed him drawing nearer to where I waited. His eyes locked on mine. I felt a warm rush of breath puff through the crack and skate across my hand. White teeth gleamed as he parted his lips near the break in the wood and waited for me to pour the water into his mouth.

I gave him only a trickle, not wanting to rush him before he was ready. His lips closed on a deep growl that vibrated through the crate and into my bones. And then the growl became louder. The crate rumbled beneath me, shuddering and shaking.

I leapt off – just in time to watch the whole thing explode before me, wood planks splintering in all directions like nothing more than toothpicks.

The Strange being within the container erupted out of the wrecked crate in a blur of gleaming, iridescent blue-and-black scales and immense, talon-tipped wings. The great head of the dragon swung toward me, massive jaws agape, those golden eyes looking far fiercer in the light of my rig than they had in the dark confines of the box.

Terrified, I scrambled backwards, then pushed to my feet and fumbled for the pistol holstered on my belt. Hands shaking, I chambered a round and lifted the gun up in front of me to take aim on the beast.

But he was gone now. In his place was a man. A shapeshifter. Breathtakingly handsome, and utterly naked. He was tall and muscled, his skin a warm, sun-kissed bronze. Blue-black hair fell down around his shoulders in thick, glossy waves. Ageless citrine eyes seemed to bore straight through me as he strode forwards, undeterred by the weapon I held squarely in line with his head.

“Stand down, or I’ll shoot,” I warned him. “Don’t think I won’t kill you.”

He gave a mild shake of his head and kept advancing, easy paces that devoured the distance between us. I didn’t fire on him, and I suppose he guessed I wouldn’t. With gentle strength, he brought his hand up and wrapped his fingers around the barrel of my gun, slowly lowering it to my side.

“You tricked me,” I muttered, wondering why I should feel such a sting at that.

“No,” he replied, his voice as tender as I’d heard it all night. “My captors had denied me water and I was dying of thirst. You saved me. You . . . surprised me. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been surprised by goodness, particularly in a human.”

He smiled and stroked my cheek. When I turned my face away, ashamed of the pleasure that raced through me at just his praise and light touch, he caught my chin and gently drew my gaze up to his. “I think, Nisha the Heartless, that despite what you lead others to believe, you are, in fact, very kind.”

His hands were warm and firm as he cupped my face and brought me towards him. He kissed me – a sweet, tender brush of his lips across mine. All of my senses reached for him as though I’d been starving for this – this Strange kiss – all my life. I could have kissed him all night.

Perhaps I would have, if not for the sudden rumble of an approaching vehicle outside the warehouse.

“My client,” I managed to gasp as I broke away from the shapeshifter I was expected to surrender to his would-be killers that very moment. I heard the crunch of gravel, the sharp squeal of brakes . . . the hard
thump-thump
of two vehicle doors being closed. “They’re coming for you.”

He nodded solemnly and stepped back from me. Back towards the splintered remains of the cargo crate and the broken shackles that had fallen off him during his change. He wasn’t going to fight the men who were coming for him now. Wasn’t going to threaten me or attempt to bargain his way out of capture.

He was noble and proud, and I’d never been so livid in my life.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” In truth, I should have been asking myself that same question. I had but a split-second to decide my next move – a decision that would set the course of my future, right then and there.

Did I surrender my Strange cargo to his captors, collect my pay, then roll on to the next job and the next one after that? Or did I throw everything away to help one crazy shapeshifter escape a death he neither feared nor resented?

I swore under my breath and ran over to grab some clothing from the personal supply chest I kept in the back of my rig. The wool tunic I found was moth-eaten in places, and the ancient blue jeans had last been worn by a dead man, but both were big enough to cover him. Whoever he was.

“What’s your name?” I asked him, hastily pulling the clothes out of the chest. Outside the warehouse, I could hear my client’s men nearing the door. I threw a hard look at the Strange man behind me. “Your name, dammit!”

“I am Drakor,” he replied, scowling at me.

I threw the sweater and pants at him. “Get dressed, Drakor. We’re getting the hell out of here.”

His golden eyes were grim with understanding. “You do not know what you’re doing, Nisha.”

“Tell me about it.” I shoved my gun back in its holster as he shrugged into the clothing. “We need to hurry if we’re going to outrun these guys.”

“Nisha.” He came to me, dressed like a pauper, yet his handsome face was serene. I was even tempted to call it regal. “This could be a very costly mistake for you.”

I shook my head, hoping to dismiss some of my own misgivings, slim as they were. “We need to go now. Come on, Drakor. Follow me and don’t argue.”

He growled something dark in a language I didn’t understand, but when I jumped out of the back of the truck, he was right beside me. I slammed the doors and threw the lock bar into place. I motioned him towards the cab as I ran around to the driver’s side. I hopped in, and he took the passenger seat.

“You’d better hang on,” I said, glancing in my side mirrors. The men started to open the warehouse receiving gate behind us. I threw the rig into reverse and watched as their faces lit up with surprise – then fear, when they realized what was about to happen. I looked over at Drakor, sitting beside me in silent observation. He probably thought I had lost my mind. Heaven knew, I was beginning to wonder myself. “All right, here we go.”

I stomped on the gas and the truck rocketed backwards out of the place, sending my client’s men scrambling for cover. I righted the rocking vehicle and put us on the road, heading off into the cold, dark night. The two of us . . . together.

We were six hours north of Port Phoenix before I dared slow down even a little.

The rig’s dim headlights piercing deep into the darkness ahead of us, I glanced out the side windows, trying to get some idea of where we might be. The night was fathomless on all sides. Nothing but stars overhead and vast forest wilderness encroaching on the broken pavement of the seldom-used highway.

No one behind us, either, which I figured was about the best luck we could hope for at the moment. I didn’t suppose it would hold out forever. Tonight I had put a giant target on my back. I had been in business with powerful, dangerous people long enough to know that a stunt like the one I’d just pulled would not go uncontested.

“You look tired,” Drakor said from the seat beside me.

He’d been quiet most of the trip. Pensive, I thought, having caught him staring out into the dark more than once since we’d been on the road. I knew he had to be as exhausted as I was; he’d confided in me during the drive out of Port Phoenix that his body was depleted after being starved of food and water during his captivity. Breaking out of the crate had drained him even further.

But I didn’t think it was any amount of physical fatigue that had him so still and brooding. His mind was burdened, perhaps his heart as well.

“I’m fine,” I told him. “And we need to keep moving.”

“No, Nisha.” In my peripheral, I saw his dark brows lower over those shrewd canary-yellow eyes. “I want you to have rest. Find some place to stop the vehicle now.”

There was an air of command in his voice that almost made me obey simply on instinct.
Almost.
“We can’t afford to stop until we’ve put more distance between them and us. They could be following even now. We have to push onward.”

He reached across the cab, his strong, elegant fingers closing over my hand where it was locked in a death grip on the wheel. “Nisha, we go no farther until you rest. It is not a request.”

I gaped at him, astonished by his arrogance. “Last I heard, I was the one calling the shots around here. Unless someone died and made you king, I’ll thank you to sit back and let me handle the situation.”

He removed his hand from mine and I found I instantly regretted the emptiness left in its place. Drakor settled back into his seat and gazed out the window. “My father passed 157 years ago, after centuries of a peaceful, noble reign.”

I threw a sharp look at him. “Excuse me? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

He sighed remorsefully and glanced back at me. “My father’s death made me King of the Strange. Or would have, if I’d actually been worthy of accepting that mantle of responsibility. Either of my elder brothers would have been far better suited, but they had both been killed in wars with mankind by the time my father took his last breath. I was little more than a stupid boy, unfit to rule.”

I hit a rut in the ruined old road and had to jockey to keep my rig on course. When I was able, I stared at him again, incredulous. “If you haven’t assumed your father’s place in all this time, who has?”

“I was twelve years old when I relinquished my power to his court. I believed our kind would be better served by someone other than me.” He grunted then – a soft, wry exhalation. “Apparently someone in my homeland felt the need to make certain I could never change my mind. I suspect it was a member of the court who betrayed me to the person who hired you.”

I was outraged – not only by the thought of Drakor being sold out by a traitor, but also by the notion that he would have so readily accepted it. “So, you are willing to let yourself die rather than risk failing as king?”

He looked at me for a very long moment, a storm seeming to brew beneath the burnished gold of his gaze. “I
was
willing.”

“And now?” I asked.

“Much has changed since I was shackled inside that box and shipped across the ocean to this place, Nisha. Now I find myself questioning quite a lot of things.”

Although he was contemplative and hard to read, I sensed the flicker of determination beneath his calm demeanour. He would make a dangerous adversary, I had no doubt. His kindness and intellect would make him a formidable but fair ruler.