Alpha's Fire (Shifter Ops 4)

I lead Tabitha down the red carpet in the window-lined hall. I don’t scent fear in her spring rain aroma. Though she’s human, I know she senses what I am to her on some level. Her curiosity outweighs her caution, her distrust, with me.

Her gaze keeps drifting up and down my frame, as if she finds it pleasing, but then she averts her gaze when I catch her at it. It feels like she’s looking for something she can’t find, can’t see. We head toward the large, round tower of the castle. Below us is a courtyard surrounded by sheer stone walls as is customary for a medieval fortress.

“Where is this place?” she asks.

“Romania. Transylvania, to be exact.”

“Holy shit. You took me to Transylvania?”

“In my private jet.”

I watch her closely to see if she’s moved by this. Impressed by my means. She is not. She doesn’t show me any disdain, but it seems my wealth does not excite her.

Hmm. I will have to discover what makes her tick. Sex, perhaps. Based on those looks she keeps sneaking my way, I believe she finds me attractive.

“Is this Dracula's castle?”

“No. His lies about fifty miles from here.”

“That far, huh?”

There’s something glib about her remark, but I don’t understand it.

I need to find out if she remembers my other form. My dragon. She hasn’t mentioned it, which makes me think she’s blocked it out. The drugs the doctor gave her may have affected her memory of our meeting.

I hesitate. We traverse the rest of the hall before I say, “I showed you myself, and you were frightened. You fainted.”

“Why would I be frightened of you?” she asks easily.

She doesn’t remember. She can’t.

“You were frightened at our first meeting, too,” I remind her. “When you saw me in the Italian Alps.”

“That was because you looked like John the Baptist on crack.” She steals a glance at my crotch as if remembering how my manhood looked. “I was a single woman hiking alone, I needed to be careful.”

“I wouldn’t have hurt you. I will never hurt you, Tabitha.”

I glide before her to press a fingerprint to a panel on the wall.

“Plus you were naked,” she says, her gaze traveling across the breadth of my chest now like she’s remembering what I look like unclothed. “And there was that weird storm that blew up…” Her voice dies as I open the doors to my grand ballroom. I take her arm and guide her forward into the grandeur. Here she will get a true impression of my means. Of all that will be hers now.

The ornate painted ceiling is four stories above our heads. Gold and white columns line the walls, breaking up sections of the parquet floor. A poorer king’s palace could fit inside this space.

My dragon hates small, confined spaces. Places where I’d have to bust through walls if I shifted. Here, I can shift and still be comfortable.

“Wow,” she says. “Throw a lot of parties?” Her voice echoes a little.

“Not for many centuries.” Again, I get the sense she’s unimpressed. I try not to worry. Steering her towards a set of gold-framed doors, I take pleasure in simply having her here, by my side. In the privilege of breathing in her honeysuckle scent. I show her another smaller but no less grand hall. The one with columns and walls coated in gold.

“Is that real gold?”

“Yes.”

She stops and traces the pattern embossed in the gold–the spiral loops that form a triangle. The same pattern is found on each of my scales. “I like this design,” she murmurs like she’s more interested in the pattern than the gold. “Borromean rings, right? Three circles that cannot be unlinked. The symbol of unity.”

I wait until she’s ready to move on. We exit through a normal-sized side door into a set of rooms with tasteful arrays of chaises, desks, and leather armchairs tucked around fireplaces. A long hall runs between them with floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with my red and gold-bound books. There are even a few rolling ladders.

“Oh my God.” Tabitha claps a hand to her forehead like she might swoon. “I may have just had a mini-bookgasm.”

I don’t understand the word bookgasm, but her delight pleases me. Finally, something that impresses my bride.

I guide her forward with the slight pressure of my hand in the small of her slender back. I love touching her. Feeling the gentle slope of her back just above the curves of her glorious ass.

She stops before an ancient globe in a wooden frame. Big as a chair, the globe’s surface is yellowed and displays countries that no longer exist.

“This is incredible,” she breathes.

“There’s more.” Enheartened, I take her hand and press my palm to a security pad, unsealing a special glass area. Inside the temperature and moisture-controlled rooms lies my vast array of ancient maps, displayed carefully.