Mikolas

T
his book is
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P
ublished
in the United States of America by

Saranna DeWylde
© 2016

C
over Art by Croco Designs

N
ear Hoosier National Forest

I
t had been a shit week
.

First, she’d had to hang out with dragons. Then her bike had been demolished by ghouls. After that, she’d had the indignity of being launched into the air on the back of a dragon who would never let her forget how she shrieked in his ear. She hated heights. Her vision did weird and crazy things. She couldn’t see anything in front of her, but she could see small animals moving from a ridiculous distance. So needless to say, it was mildly upsetting.

Her best friend was now a dragon’s mate.

Stupid Mating Fever.

Yeah, that was the best part. She could feel the Mating Fever coming for her. It was just like all the stories she’d heard. Voshkie assumed since she’d made it to the sage age of two-hundred, that she was mostly gold nymph—no more of that dragon nastiness in her woodpile would ever rear its ugly head.

Then
he
happened.

Mikolas Fucking Tatsu.

With his hot body, his smart mouth, and his godsdamned kindness.

Ugh
.

She could’ve ignored the broad shoulders, the deep voice that made her toes curl, the strong hands and even his sculpted face. Yep, she could’ve put it all out of her head.

Except for the kindness, the empathy. All the gentler things she’d been told not to look for in males. Especially dragons.

He was always aware of her comfort and her safety, but he didn’t treat her like she was helpless. It was the same concern he showed his brothers or another equal.

That was like Voshkie-nip. It made him a strange new bug she’d never seen before and she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

And his sculpted face.

His strong hands.

His ripped arms.

Gods!

Her blood turned to molten lava around him. She felt everything with a million times more intensity, and it scared her because this was only the beginning. For the longest time, her only concern was Krysanthe’s safety. That was her reason for being.

That’s not to say she hadn’t had a life of her own or lovers. She was all for a good round of erotic rodeo, but this Mating Fever stuff? No thanks.

Her biggest, darkest fear was that if she gave in to the Mating Fever, she’d be Voshkie no more. She’d be a dragon and lose her gold nymph heritage, her status.

Her abilities.

She didn’t want or need to fly.

And she didn’t want anything to do with the dragon way of life.

The Drago Knights, they were unlike any dragons she’d ever known. They valued each other above gold, and their Alpha had agreed to let Krysanthe go to someone else if that’s how she could best serve her people. That was more than a miracle; it was some kind of magick.

Mikolas was everything she could ever want in a mate, but if she couldn’t fight this thing between them, it was possible she’d have to go back to dragon lands. She had a fine line on her lower back that could’ve been a tattoo—mortals and supes alike had confused it with a “tramp stamp.”

It was anything but.

It was the scales of an Alpha.

Female dragon shifters were rarer than the gold they sought—and an Alpha? Unheard of. She’d be hunted by other Alphas, forced to fight for her freedom and her life until she was too tired to fight anymore.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the flesh under her hands as she rode pillion on the back of their stand-in bike heading toward West Virginia.

Her skin was so hot, she almost couldn’t breathe, and all she could think about was touching him and getting his hands on her.

Voshkie was glad that Krysanthe was with Ondrej. She’d be his number one priority and Voshkie couldn’t say the same at the moment.

Her priority had become Mikolas Fucking Tatsu. Or fucking Mikolas Tatsu, more like.

If there’d been any way around riding like this, she’d have found it, but it was important for anyone who might be following their progress to believe that she was Krysanthe. It would buy Krys and Ondrej the time they needed to figure out who was behind the attacks and if it was safe for Krys at the Remus werewolf compound.

Well, she supposed safe was a relative term.

Werewolves were never safe unless they were loaded with silver bullets. She’d been on the front of the war between the Remus and the Orlaith. She’d taken her share of wolf heads.

She thought again of the differences between the Drago Knights and all the other shifters she knew. Yeah, better Ondrej for Krys than Borgia Remus.

She leaned in closer to Mikolas, not wanting to, but unable to help herself.

Gods, but he felt so good.

He was so warm, as if lit by some inner fire, which she was sure he was—dragon fire.

She was so screwed.

No pun actually intended.

“We should stop for lunch.” His deep voice reverberated inside of her helmet and she felt it all the way down to her toes.

Stopping would definitely be good.

“It doesn’t look like there’s much around here. You ever been to Santa Claus, Indiana?”

“Can’t say I have. We can stop wherever. Next truck stop is fine with me.”

They continued down the highway until they saw a sign with a gas station and a diner. For Voshkie, it was close enough. She had to put some space between them, if only for the hour it took to eat.

The place looked practically deserted and she noticed there was some kind wedding chapel and a no-tell motel behind the restaurant.

She lifted a brow. The universe certainly had a sense of humor.

He shrugged. “I don’t know, man.”

They went inside and a server brought them menus.

“You did a brave thing,” he said from the other side of his menu.

“What do you mean?”

“Leaving the princess with my brother.”

She pulled his menu down. “Why was it brave?” Was he about to tell her she’d made a terrible mistake? That his brother was really some kind of craven bastard?

“Because she’s your responsibility and people like you, like Ondrej, they have a hard time letting go of things they think they can control. But you did, and you did it because it was best for her. I admire that.”

“Thanks.” She was a little unsure and uncomfortable. Even though this was how she wanted to be treated, it wasn’t usually on the docket. So when she was treated as an equal, it made her nervous. Like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The gold nymphs treated her with respect because she demanded it and they’d seen her fight. She could best any of the Orlaith.

Mikolas was another story. She could probably best him, maybe. She squinted as she appraised him. He might actually be able to get the drop on her not just because he was strong, but because she didn’t want to fight him.

That didn’t sit well with her.

Only her brain kept going back to the part where he gave her the respect of an equal not because she demanded it, or she’d kicked his ass. It was just who he was.

They sat in a companionable silence for a short while after they ordered their food.

“I’m terrified this is going to go south for her.” Voshkie referred to Krysanthe. She needed something to fill the silence besides her own thoughts. Especially because they kept venturing down a path that made her leather pants cling in an uncomfortable way.

“Ondrej will protect her.”

“I know that.” She put her menu down. “When she told me about what happened with Dezo and how she turned him to solid gold with no pain, I knew Ondrej would always put her first.”

“That’s an amazing power your princess has.” Mikolas nodded. “I can see why you’d be wary of trusting dragons around her.”

“Have you heard the stories of Orlaith Princesses stolen by dragons? Aranka thought it sounded very romantic.” Voshkie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it’s not really romantic to be taken from all that you know and love and tortured into basically killing yourself.”

“Did that happen to someone you know?” His too keen observations seemed to see things she didn’t want to show him.

She looked up and met his eyes. There was nothing predatory there, it didn’t seem as if he was looking for holes in her defenses. So she decided to give him the truth.

“Yes, my mother.”

“No wonder you hate us.”

The kindness in his eyes was almost her undoing. “I don’t hate you. Or Ondrej.” She pressed her lips together. “Or even Imre, even though he stole my pie. I reserve judgement on Fabian, though. If he bailed or he’s part of Dezo’s crew, I’ll hate him until the sun burns out.” She referred to a member of their club who’d been out of touch since the ghoul attack.

Emotion played so easily on his face. He didn’t try to mask the pain he so obviously felt at the mention of Dezo’s name. Traitorous fuck that he was. Voshkie found it easy to despise the creature that brought such pain to Mikolas.

“He did wrong, but he was still my brother. I wish I could cut him out of my heart as easily as it seems you put things out of yours. I know he doesn’t deserve my love, but I guess that’s how brotherhood works.”

“It didn’t work that way for him.” She had no problem wishing him to burn in the eternal fires of damnation. Brother or not. Voshkie tried to imagine if Krys had betrayed her that way, how she’d feel. But she couldn’t even fathom such a thing.

“I know. That doesn’t mean I have to change who I am,” Mikolas said gently.

“I still don’t quite believe you and Ondrej are real.” She kept waiting to see the darkness underneath. The gold lust that was more important than anything else. It hadn’t been forthcoming. Not even in the face of Krysanthe’s great power, the ability to turn anything to gold. The Drago Knights still valued Krysanthe more than what she could do. It was unheard of.

“What about Imre?” Mik asked with a smirk.

“He’s so much like Aranka, I know he’s real.” She laughed. “But you and Ondrej are so much like storybook knights, like the Round Table. Dezo was your Malagant.”

“Didn’t they hunt dragons?” Mikolas’s expression said he was unconvinced this was a good thing.

Voshkie shrugged. “Some would say.”

“Yeah, I don’t like that story. Tell me a different one.”

The server returned with a veritable orgy of food. Six fried chicken dinners that included all the fixings: baskets of rolls, mashed potatoes and country gravy, homestyle green beans, and buttery ears of corn.

“You two sure that’s going to be enough? You got tapeworms?” Their server looked genuinely concerned.

“I’m just a growing boy.” Mikolas patted his stomach.

“You need anything else, just holler.” She dropped the ticket on the table and headed back toward the kitchen.

Voshkie dove in, but found after she’d consumed just two plates of chicken, she was full. This was unusual and an unacceptable state of affairs.

“What’s wrong with you?” Mik asked after he’d cleaned his last plate and was eyeing her third. “Is your food not good? Do you want something else?”

She shrugged and pushed the plate over to him. “I don’t know. Not as hungry as I thought.”

“Are you sick?” He studied her.

Voshkie realized she felt a little warmer than normal. “Maybe just tired.”

“We can stop for the night.” It wasn’t a question, it was a determination.

“I don’t need to stop.” She didn’t need to be coddled and resented anyone who tried.

“Hey, if you’re not a hundred percent, we stop. You’re no use to me on the road or in a fight if you’re sick. It’ll give me a chance to check in with Ondrej and Krysanthe.”

“Yeah, if you insist.” Maybe he was right. Maybe she did need to sleep, because if they were attacked right now, she’d be worthless.

“I do. We’ll get this to go.” He pointed at her plate. “You can have it when you’re feeling better.”

“Nah, you eat it.”

Voshkie had a sneaking suspicion what was wrong with her and she didn’t like it one bit.

He eyed the plate. “It’s no fun eating your food if you don’t actually want it.”

She completely understood that logic. “Sorry, I’ll try to make squabbling over chicken more fun tomorrow.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” He dropped a hundred on the table. “Let’s go check out that no-tell. Maybe they have a suite with one of those heart-shaped tubs.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And just what would we do in a heart-shaped tub?” Voshkie practically dared him to get fresh. Although, she wouldn’t lie and say it didn’t appeal to her. She imagined him all slick and warm…

“Soak, of course. I don’t know about you, little nymph, but my ass is tired.” He flashed a cocky half-grin.

“I’m not little.” Voshkie was 6’1, could bench press a solid three-hundred pounds, and take two werewolf heads at once. She was
not
little.

“You are next to me.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Mikolas had her beat by at least five inches. In fact, she kind of liked it, but only because he never tried to intimidate her.

“Make sure you get two beds.”

“Why? We slept together in the cave.”

It conjured images she had no business thinking about and her brain did dirty things with scenarios that had been strictly platonic. “Hold on, buddy. We did
not
sleep together—”

“I beg to differ. We were in the same space. We slept. Therefore, we slept together.”

“You’re being purposefully obtuse.” She put her hands on her hips.

“No, you are.”

“Great comeback.
No, you
.” She rolled her eyes as she mocked him.

“Looks like you’re feeling well enough to spar. You’ll feel fine in the morning.” He grabbed her shoulder and squeezed in a gesture of encouragement.

Probably not. It would probably be worse and she didn’t know what to do. “I’ll walk over the motel. Stretch my legs a bit.”

His eyes narrowed and she suddenly felt like she had something green and gnarly in her teeth. “Voshkie, you’re all flushed. You look feverish. Maybe you should ride.”

“Nope. I’m good. I need some good sleep and shower and I’ll be fine.” She’d heard this was how it started for the female shifters like her—this Mating Fever. Even her brain was already starting go along with mother nature’s plan.