Dead Sexy Dragon

Chapter Two

Stig woke with a start. The built-in alarms on the locks beeped incessantly and annoyingly. He smacked the buttons in irritation and rubbed his face. The skin was smooth, his scales banished by the rising sun. From the ache along his left shoulder and hip, he surmised he’d fallen asleep slumped on that side against the cold, wet stone. Stig hissed in pain as he slowly climbed to his feet and stretched the stiffness from his muscles and joints. He yawned and reached high overhead. He’d survived one night without complication. Only eight more to go.

As Stig gathered the lengths of chain and hung them on their wall pegs, he was troubled by the vivid dream snippets now flashing through his mind. He was a little ashamed he’d conjured up such a dirty vision of Cora touching herself. Despite the shame, Stig started to get hard at the images of Cora sliding tongue-slicked fingers into her tight cunt. Her breathless moans as she came rang in his ears. The urge to work the head of his cock overwhelmed him.

God! What kind of a pervert was he?

Stig shook his head, got dressed, and left the unlocked chamber. He climbed the stairs slowly, his body still sore from its night of punishment. He hesitated on the top step and listened carefully. His highly acute dragon senses picked up on the faint sound of Cora’s deep and relaxed breaths.

Certain she still slept, Stig cautiously entered the kitchen and quietly crept up to his bedroom. His gaze hovered on Cora’s door. Standing in such close proximity, Stig was overwhelmed by her scent. The light, bright smell of freshly cut grass and some kind of citrus tickled his nostrils. And there, even more powerful, was the musk of sex.

That was a scent he hadn’t expected. Stig inhaled deeply and confirmed his initial identification. The smell of her arousal filtered through him, setting his body on edge. He could practically taste her sweet pussy. His tongue slipped out to wet his lips in anticipation. He took a step toward her door before stopping abruptly.

“What the fuck are you doing?” His harsh whisper sounded incredibly loud in the quiet house. It was enough to shake him from his lust-induced stupor.

With a gulp, Stig took a step back and tried to make sense of his primal urge. He remembered his dreams. The sight of Cora writhing atop her bed spurred his desire. A troubling thought entered his mind. What if that hadn’t been a dream after all? What if he’d connected with Cora on a much more intimate level?

“Shit.” Stig turned on his heel and shut himself away in the bathroom. He started a hot shower and peeled out of his clothing. A quick glimpse in the mirror and he caught the flash of his dragon’s reptilian eyes. The beast was subdued during daylight but lurked and waited for his chance to strike. If Cora’s smell made him ravenous with need, how the hell was he supposed to control himself in the same room with her?

With a groan of frustration, Stig stepped into the shower and stuck his face in the bracing spray. The blast of hot water cleared his foggy head. After a night forced into dragon form, he always woke a little groggy and confused. Hopefully a shower and some breakfast would allow him enough time to get his dragon instincts under control. He couldn’t risk behaving inappropriately with Cora—or revealing his true identity.

Shit. Cora. What the hell was he going to do about her? She couldn’t stay here—that was for damn sure. Until his mating period ended, it was too dangerous to keep her nearby. She spurred his arousal into dizzying heights. He couldn’t imagine how strong his scent must have been last night. Were it not for the safety of his lair, he’d have been a bright shining beacon for the Knights who hunted his kind.

Thankfully his human form produced very little dragon scent of any kind. The sunlight burned away whatever excess might have clung to him. In the old days, dragons had used the precious daylight hours to move from hiding place to hiding place, their scent signature masked. Shunning—the practice of separating males about to go into heat—had been common among the small tribes. Separate one to save many.

By the dawning of the twentieth century, new compounds were discovered by the alchemists among the dragon communities that suppressed the heat phases. The side effects were mostly intolerable and often dangerous. Stig had requested the drugs to suppress his phases during his military service. Because the Brotherhood of the Green Hide—the dragons charged with protecting their species from the slayers of the Knights of St. George—needed intel and artifacts from areas like Afghanistan and the old buried sites in Iraq, he’d been given permission to obtain and use the compounds.

They’d very nearly killed him. After leaving the service, he’d spent four months at Nico’s manor in a sort of rehab. He’d sworn then that he’d never take the drugs again. Locking himself up in the cell was better than going through that.

Stig wrapped a towel around his waist and crossed the hall to his bedroom. He paused in the doorway. The smell of bacon and brewing coffee made his stomach growl. He backed out and craned his neck at Cora’s door. It stood open and revealed a neatly made bed and stacks of luggage. He fought the urge to go inside and snoop. The odds of finding anything in her bags to tell him why she’d shown up on his doorstep were low. He’d rather not risk being discovered rifling through her things.

The ring of his cell phone startled him. He snatched it off the dresser and glanced at the display. It was Ignatius, the oldest dragon of their cobbled-together tribe and the head of the Brotherhood.

“Yeah?” Stig didn’t bother with the usual “good morning.”

“Any problems last night?” Ignatius was gruff and all business.

“No.” Stig didn’t hesitate. Mentioning Cora’s presence would just piss Ignatius off, and that was the last thing he needed right now. There was no reason for his very, very old friend to get bent out of shape. Cora would be gone by lunch.

“Good. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

The line went dead. Stig tossed his phone onto the bed and made quick work of pulling on some jeans and a navy blue tee. His work boots and belt completed his laid-back ensemble. Finding out what had brought Cora to his doorstep last night, complete with her entire apartment in boxes, remained his top priority. If she was in real trouble, he’d move heaven and hell to protect her, but if it was something less pressing, she had to get out of his cabin until his phase ended. As he dressed, Stig tried to think of how to approach the subject of evicting Cora from the guest bedroom. It sure as hell wouldn’t be easy.

Downstairs the delicious scents of a home-cooked breakfast nearly knocked him off his feet. His mouth watered with anticipation as he entered the kitchen and swept his gaze over the table near the bay window. Plates laden with his favorites took center stage: biscuits fresh out of the oven, scrambled eggs, and crispy bacon strips. Apparently she intended to butter him up with food. Frankly that was a-okay with him.

“Morning.” Cora smiled at him from behind the butcher block island. Seeing her in the same light blue camisole and striped cotton drawstring bottoms from the dream hit him like a punch to the gut. She alternated scoops of vanilla yogurt and berries into rocks glasses. “You don’t have parfait cups,” she explained, and placed the glasses on the table.

“Never needed them.” Stig poured a cup of coffee from the steaming carafe and sat in his usual chair. He grabbed a plate and piled food onto it. Across the table, Cora served herself and sipped apple juice. Bringing up the dreams seemed best done while they were occupied with food. “You sleep okay?”

“Yes.”

Her clipped reply caught his attention. Despite her downward gaze, the stain of a blush was evident on her cheeks. His belly clenched. So that hadn’t been a simple dream. His dragon had preyed on Cora’s psychic energy. That type of thing had happened before but never in such a sexual manner. In the close, cramped quarters at war, Stig often found it impossible to keep from feeding off the dream energy of his comrades. He’d joined his friends on fishing excursions and football games and the like but this thing with Cora? That was all new.

Cora held up a glass jar. “Where did you get these raspberry preserves?”

Clearly she wanted to change the subject. “Farmer’s market in town. They get together every Saturday morning on the courthouse lawn.”

“I’ll have to check it out.” She painted a thin layer of the deep red spread over a halved biscuit.

Her comment reminded him of the real issue at hand. Best to approach the situation delicately. “How long are you planning to stay?”

“Awhile?” She glanced at him as if to gauge his response. “Maybe. Possibly.” She bit her plump lower lip before continuing. Stig tried not to focus on the soft pink flesh compressed between her teeth. If he did, things might get a bit more heated than necessary. “I…um…the thing is…I’m sort of in trouble.”

Stig’s ears perked. All thoughts of a lustful nature fled. “Sort of?” He frowned. “You either are or you aren’t. Which is it?”

“In,” she said quietly. “I’m really in the shit.”

“Money trouble?”

“Kind of.” Her sheepish expression told him there was more to this story than he probably wanted to know.

Stig sighed and sat back in his chair. “No more ‘kind of’ or ‘sort of,’ Cora. Just tell me what’s going on, okay?”

“Okay.” She exhaled heavily and launched into her tale. “So you know how after Grams died, I inherited the bakery, right? Well it turns out Hector was in a lot of debt after he died. He’d started gambling, I guess. Underground stuff.”

“Shit.” Stig shook his head and rubbed his jaw. Hector had always been a little too fond of card games, races, and dice but Stig had never imagined he’d get himself in that kind of trouble. Then again, Stig hadn’t ever expected Hector to plow his truck into a telephone pole either.

“Yeah. Deep shit,” Cora clarified. “A few weeks after he died, these guys showed up at the bakery. They were so scary.”

Stig heard the fear in her voice. It rattled his core. He could just imagine what kind of lowlifes had shown up on her doorstep. “What did they want?”

“Money. Lots of it. And I didn’t have it, Stig. The bakery was barely in the black. All of the companies that we depended on for business were closing down or laying off their workers. My breakfast rush was hardly a trickle through the door. Lunch was even worse. Catering orders nosedived. And birthday cakes?” She shook her head. “When families make cuts, businesses like mine are the first to go.”

Cora went silent. Shame flickered across her face. Stig sensed her reluctance. “Cora?” he prodded gently.

“You have to understand, Stig. I’d just lost my grandmother and my brother within three weeks. I was so confused and swimming in grief. I was desperate. I just wanted them to leave me alone.” She blinked rapidly. A glimmer of tears obscured her soft green eyes. “They told me they wanted me to make some deliveries. They’d drop a box with an address at my back door. I’d hide their box in one of my bigger boxes of cookies or pastries and send my deliveryman on his way.”

Stig tried not to let the disappointment show on his face. Inside was a different matter. He wanted to shout at her, chastise her for such stupidity. He counted backward from ten to get a handle on his frustration. “What was in the boxes?”

“Drugs. Money. Guns.” Cora shrugged. “I don’t know. I was too afraid to look. What if the person on the other end of the shipment reported tampering?”

He could appreciate that fear. “I suppose something went haywire at some point.”

“My delivery guy was T-boned at an intersection during a rainstorm. The boxes of cakes and pastries and cookies went flying all over the damn road. One of them just happened to spill out a brick of cocaine.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Stig kneaded his temples. “Were you arrested?”

“No. But the story hit the evening news. At that point, I had, like, nine employees I hadn’t let go because of finances. All but four of them quit. My regulars were canceling orders left and right.” She gave a sad little shrug. “At that point, I figured my ass was already toast, so I told the cops the truth.” Cora issued a sarcastic laugh. “Needless to say, the people I’d been ferrying boxes for were none too pleased.”

More tears welled in her eyes. She sniffled loudly. “I went ahead and opened for breakfast the next morning. You know, burritos and pastries and all that. Right before eight, some jerk in a white cargo van drove by and tossed two Molotov cocktails through the front windows. We barely made it out alive. After the police were done questioning me yesterday morning, I grabbed my stuff and I ran.”

“To me,” Stig murmured.

“To you.” Cora dabbed at her face with a napkin. “You were the first person to pop into my head. I knew you’d find a way to help me, but that eight-hour drive here was the longest of my life. ”

Stig reeled with shock at Cora’s revelation of criminal misdeeds. “We’ll have to get you a lawyer.”

She nodded. “A friend of mine is an intern in the public defender’s office. Her boss was able to keep me out of cuffs but he thinks the district attorney will probably hold jail over my head in exchange for testimony.”

Stig cursed softly and wiped a hand down his face. “Why didn’t you come to me before, Cora?” He didn’t even bother to hide the aggravation in his voice. “I would have helped you! I would have given you the money to cover Hector’s debts.”

“There’s no way you have the kind of cash on hand these people wanted, Stig. You were a marine just like Hector. I’m sure your furniture business does well, but there’s no way you’re pulling in those kinds of profits.”

Of course, Stig thought with some sadness. Cora had no idea what kind of wealth he’d amassed over the centuries. To her, he was nothing more than a former marine and woodworker. She had no way of knowing the truth—that he was an immortal dragon. During his lifetime, he’d bought and sold property, invested in new technologies and pharmaceuticals and more. He wasn’t as wealthy as, say, Ignatius or Reynard, but his bank account showed a very healthy balance.

“I would have found a way, Cora.” He should let it go but he couldn’t. He fumed over the situation she’d gotten herself into because she’d been too proud—and silly—to ask for help.

“I know,” she whispered. “I just didn’t want to involve you in something so ugly.”

“I would have gladly mired myself in it. You’re very important to me, Cora.”

Her head snapped up at that revelation. Their gazes locked across the table. Stig couldn’t believe he’d said that aloud, yet he had no urge to take it back. It was the truth, plain and simple. Cora meant a great deal to him.

Other than the handful of marines he still kept in touch with via e-mail or phone, Cora was his last connection to humanity. She was something sweet and sassy and beautiful he wanted to protect. Her genuine love of life kept him tethered to reality. It would be so easy to shut himself away in his isolated fortress and live as many of his Brothers preferred: in solitude. Embracing the loner lifestyle had proven useful over the years. It kept him safe and his life free from complications. It allowed him to keep his mind on his duty and on protecting the dragon community from the Knights who wanted them extinct.

For Stig, it had always been easy to separate himself from the outside world. He liked living alone in the middle of nowhere.

Until Cora.

Sitting here in his kitchen, sharing a home-cooked breakfast, made him painfully aware of all the simple pleasures he’d been missing. There was something alluring about the idea of coming down to a kitchen filled with the smells of breakfast cooked by the woman sharing his life. He hadn’t realized just how lonely his solitary lifestyle was until then.

But those types of ideas were dangerous. Cora wasn’t the girl for him. The rules of the Brotherhood of the Green Hide were painfully clear. Other dragons in the general population might stray across species lines but it wasn’t allowed among the Brothers. The very act that had made the Brotherhood necessary and that had put the Knights of St. George on the hunt for them had been caused by a human woman and a dragon. It simply wasn’t done.

Even if Stig’s blood oath to the Brotherhood hadn’t stood in his way, Cora belonged to another world and deserved things he could never give her. To protect her from the danger that always surrounded him, he should send her away. His dragon was already sniffing around and trespassing into her dreams. It was only going to get worse.

Unfortunately, a very real threat to her existed outside the safety of his home. Until it was sorted out, he had to keep her close.

“You can stay until we sort this out.” Stig rose quickly and cleaned off his plate. “You’ll be safe here.”

Cora stood and caught his hand as he turned to leave. Her touch branded him and sent electric arcs up his arm and across his chest. His breath arrested in his lungs as Cora slid her arms around him and hugged him. Stig didn’t know what to do. His arms dangled uselessly at his sides. Her curvaceous body pressed against him in all the wrong—and right—places. He could so easily cup her cheek and tilt back her head, finally claim that pink pout for his own.

Arms still around his waist, Cora smiled up at him. “Thank you, Stig.”

“Anything for Hector’s sister.” He quickly pecked her forehead and stepped back. “I’ll be in the shop if you need me.”

Lips on fire and pulse sprinting, Stig spun on his heel and left the house. He had to get away from her before he made a colossal mistake.

Anything for Hector’s sister. The words echoed in her mind, rubbing a raw spot as they bounced around. She gulped back her disappointment and started to clean up the kitchen. For a second there, Cora had been sure Stig was debating whether or not to kiss her. She’d heard the uptick in his heartbeat as she’d hugged him. There was no mistaking his body’s response to her closeness. He wanted her.

But he was afraid. She’d sensed that clearly. Of what, she couldn’t say. There was some line he wasn’t prepared to cross. Cora’s mischievous side wondered what it would take to get him to throw caution to the wind and take the leap. She supposed a little aggressiveness on her part might work.

Was that a good strategy? Probably not, she admitted. Stig didn’t seem like the type to be led into anything he didn’t want. He was principled like that. She mentally crossed off any plans to strut naked around the house or display any sort of seductive behavior. The last thing she wanted to do was alienate or annoy him. She needed to stay in Stig’s good graces. He was the only thing between her, the streets, and some very bad men.

Disappointment seemed to be Cora’s default setting as of late.

She cleaned up the kitchen and headed upstairs to change out of her pajamas. A pair of jeans and a simple yellow tank top were the first things she spotted when she opened her suitcase. Once dressed, Cora found her laptop and cell phone and moved downstairs. A comfy brown leather couch in the living room called to her. She nabbed the corner seat, stretched out her legs, and started making phone calls and typing notes.

The detective in charge of her case gave her an update. There were no leads on the arson at the bakery, nor were there likely to be any in the future. None of the witnesses were talking.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

“I’d rather not say.” Cora didn’t want to risk anyone finding out where she was. The kind of people who would burn down her bakery were the kind of people who probably had someone on the inside. “You can reach me on my cell.”

“Sure.”

The call ended and Cora returned a message from her insurance agent. There was some question as to whether the policy would pay for the total loss since Cora had technically been engaged in illegal activities, albeit under duress. That piece of information left her even angrier at herself. What the hell had she been thinking? Why hadn’t she been braver and told those punks to go to hell? Why hadn’t she been smarter and reported their sorry asses to the police?

But what was done was done and there was no changing it. She’d made her bed. At least she’d be able to start over in a new city. Where or how she’d build her new bakery, she had no idea. She’d find the right place eventually. She had to because the thought of never again waking up early to knead dough or decorate cupcakes or mix up some of her grandmother’s famous pastries was unimaginable. Baking was in her blood.

Her business dealt with, Cora called and texted a few friends to let them know she was okay. She hedged on the location with them as well. She couldn’t be too careful.

With her to-do list complete, Cora set aside her phone and laptop and wondered how to spend the rest of her day. Used to the hustle and bustle of the bakery, she found the house incredibly quiet, almost unnervingly so. How could Stig bear the solitude? Perhaps he found the animal residents of the surrounding woods company enough. The thought of said animals goosed her memory. She eyed the kitchen and shoved off the couch. Last night, she’d heard something odd down in his basement. She’d meant to tell Stig about it but he’d left in such a hurry. The thought of bothering him now wasn’t all that appealing. His abrupt departure had made it fairly clear he wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.

Cora stood in front of the forbidden door. There could be something down there, something hurt and in need of help. Curiosity triumphed over sense and Cora twisted the handle. The unlocked door creaked ominously as she drew it open and stepped through the doorway. Steps led down into darkness. She cautiously felt the wall on either side of the staircase but detected no light switch.

She retreated from the darkness into the safety of the kitchen and located a flashlight in one of the drawers. She flicked it on and carefully descended the stairs. Moist, pungent air engulfed her. She listened intently for any noises but heard only the faint drip of water. A plumbing leak?

The light beam bounced side to side. She expected to see a basement of some kind, four walls and shelves, but there was nothing. As far as she could tell, there was only the stairwell leading down to a cement floor.

Her internal alarm clanged loudly. This wasn’t right. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her worst fears were realized. The staircase dead-ended at a large metal door with a keypad.

Cora’s blood went cold. This wasn’t a basement. This was a holding cell.

As if the fires of hell nipped at her heels, she rushed up the steps. Panting and shaking, Cora slammed the basement door. She dropped the flashlight back in the drawer and ran back into the living room where she promptly flopped down on the sofa and tried to reconcile what she’d seen.

What was Stig keeping down in that basement? Was it something illegal? He obviously didn’t want anyone to know about it. Oh God! What if he found out she’d been down there?

“Calm down.” Cora spoke sternly to calm her nerves. Stig was a standup guy. He’d been a marine, for crying out loud. Surely there was some other explanation for what she’d uncovered. It was likely to be simple and not in the least bit sinister.

Of course, she couldn’t ask him because he’d pretty much forbidden her to go down there. What was that saying about curiosity and cats?

Her gaze fell on the limestone mantel. There were pictures of Stig with similarly burly men she’d never met. Framed photos of Stig and Hector and other marines took center stage. They’d been taken on various deployments and during their downtime stateside. In most of them, Hector and Stig were side by side, arms slung over one another’s shoulders as they grinned.

The sight calmed her. Whatever was going on down in that basement, in that holding cell, she had to trust him. Hector had trusted him implicitly. She had to believe her brother’s judgment of Stig’s character was true. Those men had fought in the fiercest of battles and had depended upon one another for their very lives. Surely Hector would have seen Stig’s malicious side if he had one. And yet, she still had to know what was going on.

Cora took a steadying breath and made her decision. Tonight she’d ask Stig about the basement.