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His real name was Samhrain and he was the cousin of Geoffrey Stonehearth, the main chief of the Blutrot clan.

In the early nineteenth century, Sheriff Norman did something that caused him to be shunned, and he and his immediate family left Montreal. It wasn’t clear what kind of crime he had committed that forced him into a self-imposed banishment. Even though Sheriff Norman had become the black sheep in the clan, Chief Stonehearth would still lend his power if Sheriff Norman asked for his help. No matter how grave one’s sin, every dragon had undying loyalty toward the clan and to protect their clansmen against outsiders.

Except Schwarzen, of course.

Among the breeds, Schwarzen were loners. Rogue.

Fiends.

“Do you have any plans in the event the entire Blutrot clan comes to retrieve Emily?” Jericho asked. “You don’t think they’d let you get away with it, do you?”

“For claiming my own mate?” Rovik made a distasteful sound. “They can try at their own risk.”

Jericho’s turn to snort in contempt. “Arrogant bastard. Cocky as always. Does it occur to you that you won’t always win in a fight?”

“So far, I’ve never lost.”

“So far,” Jericho mocked. “There’s always a first time for everything.”

“We’ll burn that bridge when the time comes. She’s my mate, man. Out of all people, you should know what that means.”

Jericho grunted in agreement. As a werewolf, Rovik’s partner knew the importance of one’s mate, especially for Eldritch folks like them. “True,” he confided. “I imagine Sheriff Norman won’t let this matter die. What would you do if they come? You can’t fight them alone, no matter how mighty a Schwarzen you are.” The mocking tone in his voice was evident. Jericho paused. “Perhaps you can ask for reinforcement from the Guild?”

New York City was the melting pot of various Eldritch folks. To be able to live in the city meant one must obey the rules set by the Guild. Their number one rule was no fighting could occur within the city limits that would attract unwanted attention from the Mundanes. Most humans were oblivious to the supernatural folks who were thriving among them. The last thing the Guild wanted was for Mundanes to realize supernatural creatures existed.

Violation of the Guild’s holy rule meant Enforcers would come and kick his ass out of the city after they finished breaking him into tiny pieces. Since Rovik decided to make New York his home, he had been closely monitored by the Enforcers due to the nature of his beast. Rovik liked New York because no one would pick a fight with him unnecessarily. Otherwise, male hatchlings were more likely to seek confrontation because he was a rare Schwarzen. It was a dragon thing. Dominancy and being territorial were ingrained deeply in younger male blood.

“There’s no way the Guild would sully their hands helping a Schwarzen like me. They’d gang up on us both before we wrecked half the town,” said Rovik while contemplating his options. “Judging from how desperate they were about Emily, I had a hunch they’d come to retrieve her. I must find out why they’re keeping Emily in the first place. Thought I’d ask my folks at home.”

“You think Senior would help?” Jericho had doubt in his voice. His best friend knew how dysfunctional the relationship between him and his father was.

“He has to. Mom has been nagging me about grandkids since I got home from Iraq. She’ll want to see Emily.”

“Ah. When will you be leaving?”

“I’d say the sooner the better. I was thinking to get tickets after lunch. If we’re lucky, we might be at the ranch before midnight. Then we can leave to catch the earliest return flight.”

“Short visit, huh?”

“Can’t tolerate being under the same roof too long with my old man. You know why.”

“Well, then, I’ll man the office while you’re gone. I checked with Al earlier and we only have two active cases. Matt can handle those while I keep an eye on things.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

After replacing his landline phone into its cradle, Rovik padded into the kitchen to investigate the source of the delicious aroma which was making him hungry.

Emily greeted him with her pretty smile. “Good morning. I hope you don’t mind me helping myself to your kitchen.”

“Babe, mi casa es su casa.” He padded to her and gave her a kiss. “What are you making? I’m hungry.”

“Bacon and eggs. Some toast. Coffee.”

“I’m having what you’re having.” Rovik couldn’t resist kissing her again. She was like crack. He was addicted. Couldn’t get enough.

She had showered and washed her hair. He liked the scent of shampoo and clean soap permeating from her. This morning she wore his T-shirt and a pair of his old jeans. No bra, of course. Her nipples pressed against the fabric. His mouth watered. Heat stirred in his loins and he hardened.

Damn.

“Let’s eat,” said Emily. She placed a plate of bacon and eggs on the table. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black. Two sugars.” Rovik took a seat.

Emily scooped eggs and bacon onto his plate. “Toast?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

She fixed him coffee and buttered toast for herself. He tried the eggs and found them very delicious.

“And you’re a great cook, too? You’re just perfect,” he gushed.

She blushed. “I’ve been taking care of people since…forever. My mom always worked and I was home alone. I did the cleaning and cooking or I’d starve. And when I lived with the McGuires, I did the cooking too because the sheriff is a terrible cook.”

“I can imagine.” Rovik took another bite. “Anyway, I’ve talked to Jericho about our problem and I think the best course of action is for us to go to my parents. My dad might be able to help track down your family.”

“Your parents? Where?”

“They live in Waco. Texas.”

“Texas?” She sounded uncertain.

“Don’t worry, they won’t bite you. I know for sure my mom will like you. She’s been griping about grandbabies for the past couple of years; I don’t feel like going home for Christmas.”

“Grandkids.” She blushed again. “Do you like children?”

“I do. They taste delicious.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Rovik laughed. “I do. I want a large family. I’m was an only child growing up, and it’s kind of lonely. When I broke something I couldn’t blame it on anyone else. It would have been different if I’d had siblings.”

“So your ulterior motive is to have a large family to give our kids alibis to blame each other when they’re into mischief. Just lovely.”

He smiled.

“What?”

“You said ‘our kids.’ Are you looking forward to making them?”

Her face reddened even deeper. She grabbed her fork and started jabbing at his hand.

“Getting violent, are we?” Rovik dodged her attack. At the same time, his phone rang. He lifted a finger at her. “I’ll be a moment.”

It was Marcus, one of his men. The jack of all trades in his office. “Boss, Jericho said you need tickets to Texas. I booked two first class flights to Waco. American Airlines. It departs this evening at seven. I also rented a car for you. The tickets will be ready at check-in. Are you okay with it or do you want me to pick up the tickets myself?”

“No, that’s all right.”

“I put an open date on the return flight since I didn’t know when you planned to be back. Do you need anything else, boss?”

“I don’t think, so. Thanks, Marcus. Are you holding up the fort all right?”

“This is a slow week, so I can catch up on the paperwork. You have a nice flight, boss.”

Rovik returned to the kitchen. “We have tickets for tonight. Seven o’clock. That means we should be getting ready soon.”

“Seven o’clock? There’s plenty of time.”

“Yeah, but we need to get you clothes first. That means we need to go shopping. Have you been to Barney?”

She shook her head.

“You’ll love it.”

Chapter Seven

By the time they arrived on Rovik’s parents’ ranch, it was close to ten o’clock. Rovik parked the rented car in the driveway, behind a red pickup truck. Rovik’s parents’ house was a two-story brick bungalow and well maintained. The house was situated in the middle of twenty acres of wooded property where neighbors were scarce. The concrete walkway was lit with solar lights, illuminating a well-tended flower garden.

As soon as they got out of the car, the front door opened and a beautiful woman came out, sweeping in their direction.

“My son!” She gave Rovik a motherly, smothering hug. “I’ve missed you. You should visit more often, you rascal. Have you been eating right? Do you eat your vegetables?”

Rovik reddened in an instant. His body was ramrod tensed. He looked uncomfortable that his mom still treated him like a small child.

Emily enjoyed the spectacle. It wasn’t every day she got to see a macho man like Rovik being cajoled like a baby.

“Why, look at your hair, dear!” His mom gave him a critical once over. “It’s too long. And you forget to shave, too. You do look so scruffy.” She pulled Rovik’s jacket open then frowned upon seeing the tattoo on his neck. “Is that a new one? Oh, son of mine, that tattoo is absolutely dreadful. People would think you’re a homeless person when you present yourself like this. Why can’t you dress like your uncle Sven? He looked respectable even though he was penniless.”

“Mom. Cut it out.” A tight smile plastered itself to Rovik’s face. “This is Emily, my mate.”

Rovik’s mother squealed in delight. “Why of course, my son told me he’d taken a mate. Come here, my dear, let me take a look at you.”

The matronly woman swathed in blue vintage 50’s style descended upon Emily without losing a beat. Seconds later, Emily found herself being hugged tightly to the point she had trouble breathing. Rovik’s mom was unbelievably strong. She smelled of English rose, butter, and cookie dough. Suddenly, Emily was shrouded in nostalgia of her own mother’s memory. Money was always tight, so her mom preferred to bake cookies for snacks instead of going out.

Rovik’s mother released her. The woman had blue eyes just like Rovik—it was clear where he inherited them from. She had a pert nose, wide mouth, and petulant chin. “Child,” she beamed, “you’re such a beautiful girl. How lucky my son is to have you, scruffy as he is. I hope you’re feeling peckish, yes? I’ve made roasted capon and stuffing and apple pie. We’re having a late supper tonight. Oh, where’re my manners? I bet you must be tired from travel. Come, do come in.”

Rovik’s mom herded her into the house, chirping happily about stuff. Rovik himself stalked silently after he retrieved their overnight bags from the car.

Inside, an older replica of Rovik greeted her with open arms. “You must be the girl my son’s talking about. Welcome.” The man hugged and kissed her on the cheek. “Are you tired, child? Would you like some tea?”

“Thank you. I don’t want to impose.”

“Hush, you. It’s no trouble at all.” All his warmth and friendliness vanished the moment he was face to face with Rovik. The tight expression on his face cracked into a forced joviality when he addressed his only kid, one would think he was facing his archenemy. “Son.” He nodded stiffly. “Long time no see. How’re you doing?”

Rovik behaved in the same manner. “Doing well, sir. Thank you.”

Sir?
Emily lifted an eyebrow.
How friggin’ formal.

“Well, your mother has slaved over the stove all day. Why don’t we all eat, shall we?” Rovik’s dad waved in the direction of the kitchen table.

The delicious smell wafted from the oven and a pang of hunger gnawed at the pit of her stomach. She took her seat after a brief dash to the bathroom to wash her hands. A steaming cup awaited her by the time she returned. Emily took a delicate sip. The fragrance of the black tea was heavenly. It was laced with a rich, luxurious scent of citrus.

“This is amazing. What kind of tea is this?” she asked.

“Earl Grey,” Rovik’s father answered. “A friend of mine sent some from England. He’s a purchasing agent for a tea company in London. Said their batch this year was particularly excellent. Don’t you agree, dear?” He turned to his wife.

“I’m rather partial to bergamot, I’m afraid. I used to add it to everything I cooked: cake, pudding, stew, so much Rovik got sick of it. He refused to eat my cooking—that son of mine. He’d rather scarf down any questionable comestible as long it was topped with melted cheese,” said Rovik’s mother as she brought the plate of gorgeously roasted plump bird to the table.

Comestible?
Emily was amused. Rovik’s parents might be Texan but they seemed stuck in the Victorian Age. Come to think of it, they didn’t have an accent either, while Rovik did talk with a slight twang.

Rovik scoffed. “It’s called pizza, Mom. It’s the only food you didn’t bother to cover with citrus.”

“Hardly!” She sniffed. “If such a thing could be called food. I fail to see the allure of baked dough slathered in tomato sauce and dripping cheese. It’s revolting, I daresay.”

“It is not. Pizzas are delicious.” Rovik was being stubborn.

“Son, do not argue with your mother,” Rovik’s dad warned in a grating voice.

Rovik cast him a dark look.

Suddenly, Rovik and his dad leapt from their seats, growling dangerously, ready to tear out each other’s throats. Long, sharp spikes burst out from their forearms. Claws scraped the surface of the table.

“That’s enough!” Rovik’s mom roared. “No violence at the dinner table. And Senior, where are your manners?” She glared at her husband, then her son, “Junior! I know the urge is in your blood, but show respect to your father. I swear I should have sent you to a fine finishing school instead of letting you to join the army.”

Rovik quickly recovered himself. “I’m not a debutant, Mom, damn it. I’m a guy! And I’m a former marine, not army. Don’t lump us together.”

“Language, Rovik, language!” his dad tensed again.

“Let’s eat!” Rovik’s mom clapped her hands, clearly ignoring her son and husband this time. “My, my, I hope you’re hungry, my dear Emily.”

She found Rovik’s family hilariously dysfunctional. Watching them was entertaining. “Ah, yes. I’m starving, actually,” she admitted.