The Dragon Marshal's Treasure (U.S. Marshal Shifters 1)

The architecture was a seamless blend of every style she had ever admired. Somehow each building had the delicacy and grace of a Grecian temple, the deeply-felt beauty of a Gothic cathedral, the overwhelming sprawl of a castle, and the picturesque order of an English manor. The only thing the houses lacked was hominess. She couldn’t imagine any block parties in Riell. No backyard barbecues, no kids with lemonade stands, no sidewalk chalk hopscotch courts. It looked like velvet ropes should have been strung up warning her not to touch.

Even though she wanted to, they didn’t have to worry about her right now. Right now, all that mattered to her was finding that doctor Theo had mentioned, the one who had taught him to drive.

If only she could find something resembling a hospital!

She was driving over cobblestones and the car kept jostling them and making Theo’s hair drop over his forehead. She was worried that all the bouncing around might be bad for his concussion, and thinking that sealed the deal. If she couldn’t go get help, she’d make help come get her.

She parked and laid on the horn.

Birds took flight from every tree and housetop. They didn’t look like any she was familiar with: mostly these were a rich violet and bottle-green, like starling-sized peacocks.

The sound of the horn was like a hammer smacking into her head. If she’d needed more reason to be worried, and she didn’t, the fact that Theo was sleeping through it would have done the trick.

Doors opened up on both sides of the street and suddenly Jillian had half-a-dozen sleepy dragons on her hands.

Correction: angry dragons.

“What on earth or heaven has brought a human to our door?” This was from an elderly man who eyed her like she was something form out of a zoo. “You’re neither wanted nor welcome.”

“How did she even get in?”

Jillian stepped out of the car. “I’m Theo St. Vincent’s mate. I’m human, yeah, but he’s one of you, and he’s hurt. His wings were hurt, so he said it wouldn’t do any good to take him anywhere else.”

There was a general hum of chatter:

“The St. Vincent boy?”

“Cousin Theo?”

“I thought he died.”

“No, his parents died. He left.”

“He left,” Jillian said, her voice steely, “and now he’s back. If he were you and you were him, he wouldn’t let you die. Theo has honor. Find your own.”

“Well-said, honored mate of Theo St. Vincent.”

This was a woman’s voice, so calm that it sounded as if she’d never been ruffled or upset a day in her life. Jillian picked her out from the crowd: a Latina woman in her mid-fifties. She wore a stunning ivory silk robe beaded with pearls, but her long hair—lustrous black except for a single white streak—was slightly disheveled, as if she’d been woken up by the horn. Was that her bathrobe? She wore it as though it was nothing remarkable.

The crowd parted around her, its low hum of aggression not quite fading. The girl Jillian thought had called Theo her cousin, a girl with Rapunzel-long hair, was the only one who had her mouth shut. She was watching silently, her eyes huge.

The woman in white walked through the mob like a queen. With no more ado than that, she opened up the passenger side door and reached in to check Theo’s pulse. Her eyes met Jillian’s over the hood of the car.

“How long has he been unconscious?”

“About two hours.”

“His skin is clammy. This won’t make sense to you, but for a dragon, that essentially means he’s feverish. Does he have an infection? The cuts and bruises I’m seeing wouldn’t account for this.”

“His wings. They were badly torn. I’m sure they wound up getting irritated by the debris, but I didn’t think that would work this fast—”

“It wouldn’t have, if he had stayed a dragon. But the poor sweet fool took dirty, bloody gashes and brought them into his body to go who knows where when he took on this form.”

Jillian bristled. “He had to shift back to get us out of the house. There was a bomb.”

“Yes, well, I’ve known your mate since he was no taller than my knee, and he always seems to find a way to neglect his own injuries. It was hell itself getting him to recuperate from his appendectomy. If I shift, will you please help him onto my back and then climb on yourself? I need to get him to my office.”