Mated To The Dragon Of Manhattan (A BBW Paranormal Romance Book 1) (21 page)

It struck me how sneaky and underhanded that had been of Matthew. And that's when it hit me. That's when I knew. Truman hadn't cheated on me. I knew in my heart he hadn't. And I couldn't believe that I'd even entertained the notion, even for a second, and even though the evidence Matthew had presented me with looked pretty damning. Matthew was sneaky and underhanded. He'd digitally altered the picture or had spliced two pictures together, or
something
. But I knew with certainty that he'd played some kind of a trick. Truman hadn't cheated on me.

But now, I had even more pressing things to think about. He needed my help. Matthew and the other three had pinned him into a corner of the ballroom, up near the ceiling, and were making attempts to stab him in the eye with their several-foot-long, razor sharp claws. Truman was attempting to fight them off, trying to stab them back, but it was clear he was in trouble. Truman was, hands down, considered the strongest shifter that had ever lived. But Matthew and the three were also considered incredibly strong. And there were four of them. I knew they could kill Truman. I knew he could die if I didn't get him some help, and fast.

I tore out to the lobby while behind me, a near-deafening boom sounded in the ballroom, most likely the result of two shifters colliding with each other, or one of them crashing into a wall. After looking around the lobby for the three guards who should have been there, I realized that they hadn't even been there when I'd come down. Figuring Matthew had probably hurt or even killed them, I jumped into the elevator and hit the button for the penthouse, where Owen and a dozen other of Truman's loyal shifters were, while several more booms sounded. The second the elevator began moving, I whipped out my phone and dialed Owen, knowing that his birthday party was in full swing, probably with loud music playing, and that I'd likely actually arrive at the penthouse before he heard his phone going off, though I planned to call him repeatedly.

However, my phone didn't even send the first call. The screen flashed
No Service
. Swearing, I could only guess that all the shifters crashing in the ballroom were somehow disrupting cell service or had even knocked it out completely. With trembling fingers, I kept trying while the elevator continued ascending, but still had no luck.

"Damn it."

And then, to my horror, the elevator stopped on the fiftieth floor.

Not even having time to contemplate who else could still be left in the building, I began shouting even before the doors had fully opened. "Whoever you are, you're going to have to wait to get on. This is an emergency."

But there was nobody there. Though, I didn't waste any time waiting around to see who'd called the elevator. I hit the button to close the door, livid that whoever had called it had wasted precious seconds in my race to get help for Truman.

But the elevator door didn't close. I hit the button again. Nothing. I banged on the button with my fist. Still nothing.

"Son of a...."

Before I could bang on any more buttons, a lighted sign reading
Out of Service
above the panel began flashing red.

"Oh, damn it."

The master control panel for the elevator was located in a small utility room adjacent to the ballroom, and I knew that undoubtedly, the shifter fight had somehow damaged the panel.

A tinny, pre-recorded, female voice sounded from an intercom somewhere behind me, making me jump.

"The elevator is out of service. Please use red phone located in box marked
emergency
to call for help."

Now, I leaped out of the elevator, terrified that the doors would somehow close, locking me inside. A marble staircase for emergencies and people who preferred to walk ran from the lobby to the penthouse, just adjacent to the elevator, and though it wasn't exactly my preference at the time, I knew I was going to have to hoof it. Over two dozen floors up to the penthouse. I didn't have a choice.

After dashing over to the door leading to the stairs, I flung it open and began climbing as fast as my fairly short legs would carry me. After just four floors, my legs and my lungs burned. I wasn't
completely
out of shape, though I was certainly no athlete, either, and I was definitely a heavier, curvier girl. But I knew I couldn't stop, or even slow. I had to keep going. And so I did.

Several floors later, I was drenched in sweat. My t-shirt was clinging to my skin. But I kept going, and I didn't slow.

Several floors after that, my breaths were coming in ragged, wheezing gasps, and my legs were cramping periodically, making me cry out in pain. But I kept going, and I didn't slow.

But several floors after that, I almost literally couldn't breathe and I began to feel as if I were suffocating. With a wave of dizziness coming over me, I slumped against the stairwell wall, knowing I had to stop.  I promised myself that I would just long enough to catch my breath.

Not more than a few seconds later, while I sucked in great lungfuls of air, I began to hear a strange thumping noise that seemed to be coming from the flight of stairs above. But the flights stairs wound in a square, so I couldn't see, and I was so winded I didn't even have the strength or breath to call out to ask who was there. And very soon, to my astonishment, Mara appeared on the landing above me and continued on, pushing a giant wheeled suitcase down the marble stairs, panting.

I made some feeble wheezing noise, and she looked up and saw me and stopped, her flushed face registering surprise, though only for a second. Then, it registered irritation.

"God. Is
all
the help around here at the New Nation party in Times Square? And what the hell's up with the elevators? And why doesn't my cell phone work? I keep trying to call out, and it keeps-"

"Did Truman cheat on me with you?"

I suddenly needed confirmation that he hadn't.

Mara frowned. "What are you-"

"Just tell me!" I sucked a lungful of air with sweat snaking down my neck. "Now! I need to know!"

With her blue eyes wide, she stared at me for a second. "No, okay? That's the whole reason I'm leaving right now. I've had it. I'm going back to the West Coast. Despite all the time we've spent together, I can barely even get Truman to
look
at my tits, let alone actually cheat on you with me. And I'm sick of it. And I'm giving up. Not worth my time anymore. So, you win. You happy?"

I gasped for a little more air, my heart still hammering in my ears. "So, the two of you never shared any kind of passionate embrace? You were wearing a cream-colored top and a short brown skirt. Someone showed me a picture."

Mara frowned even harder, looking at me like I was crazy. But then her frown suddenly disappeared. "Oh. Maybe. Yeah, I remember that outfit. Though what happened that day wasn't any kind of 'passionate embrace.' I slipped on a puddle of grease or oil or something on the tile flooring outside the restaurant where we were having a business lunch with a bunch of people, and Truman caught me in his arms to keep me from cracking my head, perfect gentleman that he is. And come to think of it, I do remember some random man holding a phone kind of out at us from somewhere nearby. I guess he could have been taking a picture. I don't know. I couldn't even really clearly see who he was because the lighting where he was standing was kind of dim, and he was gone in a flash."

Having caught my breath, at least well enough, I began racing up the steps past her. "Thank you, Mara! Thank you!"

"Whatever! Consider that a victory prize from me to you, I guess!"

With renewed energy, I sprinted up several more flights of stairs before my legs began cramping and burning again. But I just pushed through the pain, panting.

Several flights later, I was within four flights of the penthouse. But my lungs were on fire. And I was beginning to feel like I was suffocating again. And I suddenly got a terrible leg cramp that made me do a funny little stumble while running across a landing, and I fell against the stairwell wall.

I knew right away that I'd sprained my ankle. I'd done it while running before. I knew what it felt like.

“No. No!" I tried walking on it and gasped in pain, jerking my foot off the floor. "Oh, no! Oh, my God, no!"

I sank to my knees, gasping for breath while tears ran down my face. Because of my rate of ascension and her rate of descent, I guessed Mara was twenty floors below me now. Probably too far to hear me call for help. Not that she could do much if she could. By the time she climbed the twenty flights to get to me so that I could tell her to continue on to the penthouse and get Owen and the other shifters, it would be too late. Truman needed help urgently. If he was even still alive.

Shuddering with sobs and gasping for breath at the same time, I collapsed to the landing, resting the side of my face on the cold marble. "Oh, God, don't let them hurt him. Don't let them kill him. Please."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I only let myself rest on the marble landing for a few seconds before pulling myself up to sit. Panting, I lifted the leg of my jeans and found my sprained ankle already swelling. I wouldn't be able to hop up the four flights of stairs to the penthouse on one foot, and I knew it. But I could crawl, and I was going to. I realized that my ankle injury was going to cost me precious minutes, but I couldn't give up. Not when Truman's life was at stake.

After taking a few great lungfuls of air, I began my crawling ascent, moving my hands from stair to stair and then bringing my knees up after me, one after the other, as fast as I could. After a flight-and-a-half, I was wheezing and gasping for air so badly I was nearly suffocating again. But I kept on going, sweat running down my forehead and into my eyes.

By the time I reached the fourth flight of stairs, the one that would lead me to the penthouse, the sounds I was making could only be described as animalistic. I was gasping, groaning, grunting, and wheezing. All the while, tears streamed down my face as I thought of Truman fighting alone. Truman, possibly already dead. With each drag of my knees up the stairs, I said a silent prayer that I would be able to get help to him in time. But I never once slowed. I didn't give up. I didn't quit.

I sobbed and gasped my way up the final flight of stairs. I crawled my way down the hallway to the penthouse door. And it was only then that it occurred to me that it might be locked. And I realized that if Owen and the other shifters had loud music on inside, they might not be able to hear me knock, or even bang, on the door.

But to my immense relief, Truman had left the door unlocked. I crawled in the penthouse, calling out for help, but found the place empty. Even though I was still struggling for breath, I somehow mustered just enough to swear out loud. Everyone was surely up on the rooftop. Meaning, I had one final flight of stairs left to crawl.

And so, after dragging myself over to the staircase, I began. Each stair felt like climbing a mountain. Each second felt like a year. When I got to the top, groaning and gasping, I found the door to the rooftop garden open just an inch, and I rammed my shoulder against it to open it all the way.

Owen was standing at a table of food and drinks not even five or six feet away, and he looked at me, his green eyes widening.

"Brette, what-"

"Truman. Ballroom. Help." I took a great, wheezing breath. "No elevator."

Immediately, Owen dropped his plate of food and turned to the party guests, a group of a dozen men talking, laughing, and eating while sitting in chairs among a copse of apple trees nearby. "Hey! Truman needs help in the ballroom! Everyone shift! We'll fly down!"

Everyone suddenly looked up, some of them jumping up from their chairs at the same time.

I gasped, clutching the doorknob and pulling myself up to my one foot that I was able to use. "Hurry, everyone! Matthew, Michael, David, and Adrian are trying to kill him!"

After that, everything seemed to happen in a blink. Owen told me to get on his back once he shifted; and then he immediately shifted, along with everyone else. I jumped on Owen's broad, scaly back, and we all flew down to the ground-floor entrance of the building. Everyone shifted back into human form to enter the lobby, and without a word, Owen scooped me up and carried me inside.

Once everyone was in the lobby, which shook with crashes coming from the ballroom, he set me down near the elevator bay. "Stay right here. I know Truman wouldn't want you getting in the thick of things."

Without even waiting for me to nod, he took off toward the ballroom, calling out to the other shifters. "Shift the second we get inside!"

I watched them all run through the open double doors, and seconds later, the crashing and booming sounds coming from the ballroom intensified. And after a minute or two, despite Owen's warning, I just had to go look. I just had to see if Truman was okay.

I made my way over to the double doors, at first hopping on one foot, and then eventually crawling. Then, using the doorway for support, I pulled myself up to stand on one foot. And what I saw inside the dimly-lit ballroom made me gasp with joy.

Owen, in dragon form, had sunk his claws in Matthew's scaly neck and was pulling him off Truman, who was still fighting Michael, David, and Adrian. Just a second later, Truman stabbed one of the three with a razor-sharp claw and then hit him with one of his mighty wings, sending him crashing to the floor. The other shifters on our side began attacking the remaining two shifters, and everything became chaos after that. It was hard for me to even tell who was who because of the dim lighting and because the shifters were fighting so far up above me. I hopped a little ways into the ballroom to try to see better.

And that was a big mistake. Within a few moments of my eyes adjusting to the dim light, I spotted Matthew, who, because of his icy blue eyes, was a lighter-colored dragon than the others. At the same moment, he seemed to spot me, too. And, likely realizing that I was the one responsible for his downfall because I'd gotten help, he seemed to fly into a frenzy of rage. He somehow rolled Owen off of him in the air and then swooped down. Heading straight for me.

I screamed, closing my eyes for a second. And when I opened them, I saw Truman colliding with Matthew not more than twenty feet above my head. And he seemed to be in a bit of a rage frenzy himself. He wrapped one large, clawed hand around Matthew's throat and shook him like a rag doll until Matthew's forked dragon tongue, which was at least three or four feet long, lolled out of his mouth. Truman then stabbed him through the heart with one razor-sharp claw right before stabbing him through the eye with the same claw, killing him.

When Matthew landed on the ballroom floor, the hardwood beneath my feet trembled and shook. Hovering in the air, his mighty, charcoal-gray wings flapping, Truman gave me a look, and even though his face while in dragon form wasn't nearly as expressive as his face was while in human form, I knew exactly what the look meant. It meant get the hell out of the ballroom, Brette. And I didn't need to be looked at twice.

I hopped on one foot out of the ballroom and leaned against the wall outside. Several minutes went by with various crashes and booms periodically making me cover my ears, wincing. But then, everything went quiet. And before I knew it, I was in Truman's strong arms, being held, and cradled, and kissed.

But I knew I had some explaining to do. And the moment he pulled his mouth from mine, I began.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Truman. I'm sorry I left to meet him without telling you, but he sent me a text, and I thought he was going to tell me everything, and so I went down here, but he just wanted to show me a picture of you and Mara. And the picture made it look like the two of you were embracing and almost kissing, but now I know that you weren't, and I even knew that you hadn't really cheated on me even before Mara even told me that when I ran into her on the stairs while I was running up to get help because the elevator was out, and I'm so sorry that I even thought for an instant that you'd betrayed me." I paused for a big lungful of air. "And I'm also sorry that I came into the ballroom after Owen had even told me not to, and-"

"Stop, Brette. Stop. No more apologies. Though I
do
wish you hadn't met up with Matthew before telling me first, I understand, and it's all over now. And you probably saved my life. If you hadn't gotten help, I could have easily been killed. I wasn't doing too great against Matthew and his three on my own, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold on. But you got me help just in time." With his deep gray eyes a little shiny, he suddenly paused and gave me a long, lingering kiss. "Thank you."

I nodded, tears overflowing my eyes for about the billionth time that evening. “Thank
you
. You saved my life right back."

Just then, there was a loud thumping from a utility closet nearby. Owen opened the door, and the three missing lobby security guards, bound and gagged, tumbled out.

Exactly a week later, I walked down a rose petal-strewn aisle to Truman on crutches. I didn't care that this wasn't exactly the way I'd imagined myself walking down the aisle at my wedding. I just couldn't wait to be Truman's wife.

The ceremony was held in the rooftop garden, which was still in full fall splendor, with all the trees in brilliant shades of orange and gold. When the minister, who was one of Truman's good friends, called for anyone in attendance with objections to speak now or forever hold their peace, Truman waited for a few silent moments to tick by before leaning in close and whispering near my ear.

"Thank God. I was almost waiting for Rolando Feathers to pop out from somewhere
.

I stifled a giggle, only partially succeeding. "Stop."

"Was almost waiting for him to pop out and arrest me for stealing your heart, being that he's a detective and all."

After the ceremony, the hundred or so guests who'd been present joined several hundred others for a reception in the ballroom, which had needed quite a few repairs after the shifter fight. After we'd had some pictures taken with members of our wedding party, Truman and I entered the ballroom to thunderous applause.

During our first dance, being that I really
couldn't
dance, on account of my crutches, Truman literally swept me off my feet and "danced" with me in his arms, his body swaying, while everyone watched. A collective "Aw" rose from the guests.

I rested my face against Truman's broad chest, suddenly overcome with emotion, sniffling. "Please don't let me go. And I don't mean just while you're holding me during this dance. I mean please don't let me go, ever."

With his voice a bit husky, indicating he was likely experiencing a sudden wave of strong emotion himself, he spoke near my ear. "This I promise you, Brette. I never, ever will."

Nodding while tears streamed down my face, I hugged my arms around his neck even tighter, feeling as if my heart might soar right out of my chest.

THE END

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