Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Sammy stood near the open bay door, watching as the lights from the delivery truck vanished down the back alley. While she was annoyed with them for leaving her with a huge statue to move all by herself, one that was quite possibly the wrong item, she did have to hand it to the men. They'd managed to get that big truck threaded through a narrow alley even with a dumpster, a disabled car, and a van that was parked rather poorly.

She'd have hit each and every thing on the way in and out with her two-door sedan. Then again, driving wasn't something she was very experienced at, seeing as how she'd spent the whole of her life in New York City. Already the car she'd leased needed to go in for a few minor repairs.

It was hardly her fault.

Parking in Savannah was limited. Plus, the parking garage near her apartment building had very small spots and very poorly placed pillars. As noted by the fact she'd backed into one the day before.

The moment she locked up tonight, she planned to get in her vehicle and head home. She was tired, hungry, and longing for a nice hot bubble bath.

First things first.

She needed to deal with the statue and closing up the gallery for the night.

She looked up at the strap for the rolling door and grunted. "Seriously, why are you not automatic?"

With a grunt, she turned and stared at the backside of the statue. The thing's butt was sculpted with as much care as the front. She had to give it to the artist: the man had an eye for detail and had basically re-created the world's most perfect ass.

If only real men looked that delicious in a pair of jeans.

Not to mention had backs that were as corded with muscle as the one shown in the sculpture.

She had half a mind to text the artist, who had demanded he not be bothered in the seventy-two hours leading up to the exhibit so he could center himself without pressure or worry (as if he hadn't been the source of her worry for weeks), just to see what the asking price was on the statue. She would have, had she honestly thought she might be able to get it up the stairs to her apartment.

As it stood, she couldn't even move it an inch, let alone up a flight of stairs.

"What am I going to do with you, big guy?" she asked, before biting her lower lip and looking at the carbon copy of the order form once more.

If her first instincts had been correct and this piece wasn't a last-minute change, it was an issue.

A big one.

If it didn't belong at the gallery, where did it belong, and how had it come to be there?

More importantly, who in the heck had space for something that size and where was her sculpture?

A sharp ringing from the other side of the large receiving area of the docking bay nearly left Sammy jumping out of her skin. She calmed herself when she realized it was her cell phone, near her clutch bag, on a metal table by the door to the offices of the gallery. In a fit of frustration, she'd set it there after texting and calling the artist multiple times.

Maybe, he was actually breaking his weekend of silence after all.

Barefoot, she covered the distance to the table, doing her best to step around the packing material everywhere. She was unsuccessful in avoiding the packing material and in the next breath, pain shot through her foot. She dropped her heels and the order form.

"Son-of-a-mother-loving-what-the-heck-bit-me?" she yipped while lifting her injured foot to find a nail from the wooden crate rammed into her flesh.

She put one hand on the stone statue to help balance herself. The stone warmed almost instantly under the weight of her hand. She yanked her hand away, only to realize how silly she was being.

Statues did not heat when touched.

She put her hand to it again, and then used her free hand to pull the long nail from her foot. With a groan, she held the nail up to inspect it. "Wonderful. Looks like I'll be getting an updated tetanus shot this weekend in addition to babysitting a hot guy statue. Come to Savannah, they said. It will be fun, they said."

Blood dripped down onto the packing material as her phone stopped ringing.

Sammy glanced up at the face of the statue, instantly noticing just how chiseled the features were that the artist gave the man. "Hope you're not squeamish around blood, big guy."

She laughed at her own lame attempt at a joke but was happy no one else was around to hear. She gave the statue a pat before trying to stand on her injured foot. Pain shot through it, going up her leg, but after a few moments it dulled to a bearable throb. The floor around her foot, along with the packing material, was now covered in blood. Had she not been witness and part of what happened there, she'd have thought it was a murder scene.

Her phone began to ring once more.

She stepped gingerly on her way to it. Once she had it, she turned to see the bloody footprints she'd left in her wake.

"Hello?" she asked, too preoccupied with the pain in her foot to stop and check to see who was calling.

"Hey there. Sorry I missed your call earlier," said Holland, Sammy's best friend and college roommate. "Ezra and I had date night tonight."

Sammy snorted. "I was hoping you were the artist calling me back. But you'll work in a pinch. And hasn't every night basically been date night since you reconnected with him out of the blue and married him in the blink of an eye?"

Holland laughed softly. "Stop being snarky. You totally like me more than that artist you've been telling me about. And you've already stated your thoughts on Ezra and me getting married so fast. And I already explained to you it's called mating."

Random chance had put Sammy on the same page as Holland in college. Prior to that, Sammy had feared she was a total and utter freak. That she was some kind of fluke. It had been evident from an early age that she wasn't like other people.

It hadn't been until college when Sammy met someone else like her. Someone different. More than human.

Holland was that. Her special person. The one who would help hide a body if need be or eat an entire tray of brownies with her should the mood strike. The person who made Sammy feel a little less alone in the world.

It turned out Holland had a special someone in the form of a hot dude who, according to what they'd been told, she'd been created for.

Sammy wasn't sure how she felt about the whole mate thing.

The idea that she could possibly have a perfect match out there was appealing to some degree. To another, it was downright unnerving.

What if Fate got it wrong?

What if Sammy's special someone (if they even existed) was a total tool?

What then?

Did Fate accept returns? Or did they have employees who were as helpful as the delivery men had been, leaving behind a statue, telling her it was her problem now?

Could she lodge a complaint somewhere?

Were there do-overs in the world of supernaturals and mating?

It was a bit much, and seeing as how the notion of mates was new to Sammy and Holland, it hadn't, as of yet, fully sunk in. Sammy wasn't entirely sure it ever would. Plus, there was a high likelihood that she didn't have a mate. Holland had stressed that not all supernaturals got one.

It was still very weird to think of her friend as married. It had all been so sudden, and it wasn't as if Holland and Ezra had married in the normal sense of the word. Claiming and mating were entirely different.

Besides that, the guy Holland was married to was thousands of years old and a dragon-shifter, of all things. That part had been buried in the conversation until later, like it would somehow lessen the shock factor.

It didn't.

In a million years, Sammy would have never guessed shifters were real, let alone some of them were dragons. Hell, the notion that a dragon was real was still sinking in. Anything more than that was simply mind-blowing.

And even taking into consideration that there was an entire supernatural underground that existed just under humans' noses (which was also new to Sammy and Holland, since they'd basically thought they were alone and total freaks before), having her friend up and marry a guy she'd only just reconnected with after four years of not seeing him was a lot to absorb.

A whole lot.

Last Sammy had known, Ezra had been a random hookup at a bar she'd dragged Holland to for her twenty-first birthday. Not a dragon-shifting immortal who worked for some secret government agency that dealt with supernaturals and protected mankind.

Sammy couldn't remember the organization's name because it was a mouthful, and one of many things Holland had told her about upon her return from the Middle East.

"The jury is still out on this whole mating thing," said Sammy as she lifted her bleeding foot in hopes it would slow the blood and lessen the mess. "As soon as this show is over, I'm flying out there to re-meet him. A one-day meet-up to have it all dumped in my lap wasn't enough. I need more one-on-one time with him. That way, if he's hinky in any way, I can deal with him. So you know, I'll make a purse out of his dragon pelt."

Holland laughed. "Uh, thanks, but he's not hinky. He'll be pleased to know you'd recycle him."

"He's like ten billion or something," said Sammy. "That's too old for you."

"He's not quite that old. And he doesn't look much older than thirty," offered Holland. "And you liked him just fine at my birthday four years back. Remember how you picked him over that loser you had set me up with?"

"Hey, that was Louise who picked the butt-munch for you. I'm who picked Ezra. Remember it correctly," said Sammy with a smile.

She was happy for her friend even if she did think Holland and Ezra moved way too fast on the marriage thing. Fated mates was a concept she couldn't quite wrap her mind around. It would take some time.

"Oh, I do remember it right," said Holland with a snort. "I was just forcing you to admit you trusted Ezra from the start. You also thought he was hot. Never once did too old come up."

"Because he is hot," added Sammy. "But you didn't need to marry him days after he came back into your life. That is sudden."

"There were extenuating circumstances that I already explained to you. And I also explained that when you meet your mate, you don't really get a choice on the claiming. It kind of takes over you both and happens. And, Sammy, it really is a good thing. I promise. You'll see if you meet your mate," said Holland. "I want to fly there to spend time with you, see your new place, and hear all about your new job, but work has been really busy for Ezra. He'd rather I not head off alone right now. Not with everything that's going on."

There was something in Holland's voice that alarmed Sammy.

"What do you mean by that? What's going on? Issues with your last story aren't popping up again, are they? You swore to me that was dealt with and that you're safe. Are you?" demanded Sammy, worried for her friend.

Holland was a journalist who went after big stories. Ones that often put her in harm's way. The human trafficking story had done just that. Although it had been far more than the already horrendous act of trafficking people. From what Sammy had been able to pry from her best friend, it had been a wild and dangerous ride. One that had left her reconnecting with Ezra after four years of not seeing or speaking to the man.

It also left her mated.

"I'm totally fine. And yes, I'm safe," said Holland. "And that story I was working on isn't done so much as it's something I can't write about. The public can't know about certain things. But light needs shed on the human trafficking violations. I reached out to some people I know to help."

"Ones that won't spill the beans on the fact dragon-shifters are a thing?" asked Sammy.

Holland sighed. "Ones that weren't told about Ezra or what he is."

"As grumpy as I want to be with Ezra for stealing my bestie, I could use his arm reach right about now," said Sammy with a slight laugh. "It sucks to be short."

"Did you put things on the high shelf of a cupboard again?" asked Holland. "I warned you about that before you moved. I told you that you needed to pretend those shelves don't exist."

Sammy snorted. "I'm not even unpacked yet, so no. That isn't it. I'm actually at work right now. Long story, but the highlights are that I currently have an epic-size stone statue of a hot dude to try to move all by myself, while trying to get the main rolling door of the loading area closed so that it's not standing wide open, exposing me and the gallery to who knows what."

"Well, no one can say our lives are dull," said Holland.

Sammy laughed. "No. They certainly can't. Hey, didn't you tell me Ezra, in addition to being a super spy or something, was a trained physician?"

Holland grumbled. "He's not a super spy. He's what is called a Shadow Agent. Wait, I'm not sure I'm supposed to talk about this over the phone. Setting that aside, yes, he's a doctor. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's gone to school for it at least a dozen times or more. What's up?"

Sammy eyed her foot. "We know I'm not run-of-the-mill, but does that mean I can't get tetanus?"

"Dear Lord, what happened?" asked Holland.

"There was a statue unveiling incident. It resulted in me ramming a nail through the bottom of my foot. I've managed to track bloody footprints through the place. I'm kind of winning at life right now."

"Sounds like it," added Holland. "Ezra is running errands right this second, but I can call him and ask. He should be home any minute now. Did you hear back from James?"

"Who?" asked Sammy.

"The good-looking doctor guy Ezra made an appointment with for you to get some testing done," said Holland before she sighed. "You told me you stopped by the guy's lab to get the testing done before you went to the airport."

Sammy bit her lower lip. "I might have lied about going to that headquarters place on my way to fly out. Can you blame me? Sounded very clandestine."

"You are so weird."

"Thanks. I should let you go. I need to figure out a way to close this rolling door or I'm going to be sleeping on the floor in here all weekend to keep the place safe," said Sammy, only partially kidding.

"There isn't anyone you can call there to help?" asked Holland.

Sammy sighed. "I don't really know anyone in Savannah yet."

"Not true." Holland laughed slightly. "You know Jillian."

"Who?" asked Sammy.

Holland laughed more. "Your neighbor."

"How do you know her name?" asked Sammy. "I haven't even managed to get it out of her with all her nonstop niceness."

"My husband might think you're an English rose in need of protecting. When I told him you were moving to Savannah, he did a background check on everyone at your new place of employment and in your building."

"I'm both touched and creeped out," said Sammy. "I should have had him plan a mixer for me. You know, to get to know everyone. Also, I'm kidding. Don't let him do that."

"Ezra mentioned having friends down there. Want me to have him reach out to them? If they're like him, they're going to be able to reach high shelves for you."

"I'm flipping you off right now," said Sammy with a laugh.

"No you aren't."

Sammy gave the middle finger to midair.

"Okay, I know you well enough to know you totally are now ," said Holland. "I'll call my husband and ask about the tetanus risk to you, and if he has anyone who can reach high things in the area."

"Thanks," said Sammy as she hung up and checked her foot again. The bleeding had finally slowed.

Remembering there was a first-aid kit in the employee restroom, she went to head in that direction but stopped as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Her attention went to the open bay door.

The security light that was mounted to the building across the alley began to flicker before cutting out completely. The back area was suddenly blanketed in darkness.

A shiver of unease ran up her spine as she stood there, looking past the statue, out into the night. She'd never been one to be afraid of the dark before. That being said, the air around her felt different…off…alarming even.

"Get it together," she said to herself, but her gaze went to the statue, and she felt compelled to talk to it instead. "I'm new here and that back alley seems a little sketchy. In New York, I wouldn't have touched it with a ten-foot pole. I'm overreacting, aren't I?"

Confident she was correct, that she was simply letting her imagination run wild, Sammy headed for the door to the office area. The employee restroom was at the end of the hallway there.

Get down!

A scream tore free from her at the sound of a deep, distinctively male voice booming through her head.

Now!

Sammy spun around and slipped in some of her own blood on the floor. The act caused her to stumble forward. At the same second, something whizzed by her head, just missing her.

She looked up at the wall near her to find a red dart with a vial of something in it, protruding from the drywall. Confused and in shock, she reached out with a tentative hand and touched the end of the dart. "What the…?"

Run!

Sammy spun around, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from and what was going on. Her attention went first to the statue for some reason. It was then she caught slight movement outside in the darkness.

Her focus returned to the dart in the wall.

Who in the hell was shooting darts at her and why?

Her phone rang and she bit back another scream, startled as the noise sliced through the unsettling silence.

She fumbled for her phone, accidently knocked it off the table, sending it scattering across the floor toward the base of the statue. The phone represented safety to her, and she instinctually ran for it as another dart shot past her, lifting her long dark hair as it did.

Run the other way! Not at me!

She swatted at her head, hoping that would stop the nervous breakdown she was clearly suffering coincidently at the same moment someone was shooting darts at her. She dove for her phone and slid through her bloody footprints before crashing into the stone statue.

It didn't budge, not that she expected it would.

"Ouch," she whispered at the point of impact.

She was on her knees in the blink of an eye, using the statue to get to her feet. When she realized that one of her hands was on the man's thigh while the other was squarely on the very impressive bulge the artist had put in the front of his pants, she froze.

Dear God, woman. I'm hard enough already, or did you miss the fact I'm stone? Your hand there is not helping matters any.

"Miss the fact you're…?" Her voice trailed off as the air around her thickened.