Chapter Twenty-Five

Gabriel

I walked toward mynew home with a spring in my step. Safi would be pleased with my catch. Earlier I'd spied an overgrown garden beside the house. Perhaps we could dig up some roots to roast and use a few herbs to season our meal.

I was not surprised to see Safi wasn't lying on the floor where I'd last left her. I closed my eyes and followed that invisible cord tethering me to my mate, visualizing her upstairs in the last room.

I set my catch in the kitchen tub and walked back into the foyer, climbing the steps two at a time. My heart sank when I reached the end of the hallway, for I could hear Safi's muffled cries coming from the other side of the door. I rushed inside to find her sitting on the four-poster bed, her eyes wet and swollen, and her face blotchy.

"Mi amor, why are you crying?" I sat beside her, pulling her into an embrace.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and sniffled against my chest but said not a word.

I cupped her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Please say something."

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then wiped her hand across a gossamer gown which she wore over her shift. I knew Safi was different the day I met her, and her unconventional mannerisms were what I loved so much about her.

"I-it's nothing." She shrugged. "Look at the pretty dresses I found." Her smile appeared forced as she waved to the dresses laid out across the foot of the bed. There were many colors, but the thin white gown she wore was what caught my eye. I imagined my mate without the shift underneath, the sheer fabric revealing her rosy, pebbled nipples and that auburn patch of curls between her thighs.

I shook my head at my wayward thoughts. My mate was in need of emotional support, and all I could think about was coupling. My new body had made me go loco for love.

I brushed a wayward crimson curl behind her ear. "They are beautiful, but do not try to distract me with fine lace. Why were you crying?"

The look in her eyes nearly broke my heart in two. "I-I just can't imagine an eternity without my mother." She ended on a sob, burying her face in her hands.

My heart clenched as I stroked her back. "You will see her again."

"No!" She dropped her hands, looking at me with fear in her eyes. "She will try to separate us."

I forced a smile. "She can't. Not now that we're bonded."

She looked lost in thought. "How can you be sure?"

I wasn't sure. But one thing I did know—Safi's mother loved her, and if she saw how happy Safi and I were together, perhaps she'd forgive us. "Give her time to cool down. You will see. She will forgive us, especially if we give her a grandchild."

Safi's jaw dropped. "You want to sire a dragon child?"

The way she said it, as if the thought of having a child with her should have repulsed me, filled me with sadness and anger all at once. How could Safi doubt my love?

"No." I clasped her hands and looked deeply into her eyes, willing her to see into my soul. "I want to sire our dragon child."

Her hands flew to her mouth as nervous laughter erupted from her throat. "Do you think your seed has taken root?"

I fingered the soft fabric of her white gossamer gown. I couldn't help the sly smile that tugged at my lips. "I'm not sure, which is why we must try as often as we can."

Safi's stomach took that most inopportune moment to growl. I reached for her, then shrank back as the sound intensified.

"You're hungry."

"No." She settled a hand on her belly. "I'm famished."

I slid off the bed and held out my hand. "Come. I have a surprise for you."

* * *

Dr. Straw

DR. STRAW HELD HIShead up high as he strolled into Ritter's, a saloon frequented by the upper crust of society and the one establishment where he always kept up with his tab. The gentlemen who frequented Ritter's were married to his best customers, so he had to put on a good show, especially considering he'd lost nearly half his clientele in the past two days. After he slipped off his hat and coat, he perused the room, captivated by two patrons arguing at the counter.

"I'm telling you, I saw a big fin and a long tail." Mr. Goldman slammed his drink on the counter, lean arms spread wide. He glared, the ends of his gray bushy mustache hanging below his chin. His short, stocky companion laughed.

Mr. Goldman had never looked more vulnerable than that moment. Straw knew his fortunes were about to change, for Goldman had very deep pockets and a blessedly sick wife. If he came to Goldman's aid, perhaps Goldman could help him regain his clientele.

"Goldman, you old fool," Mr. Ball, a dock foreman who had no business being at an upscale saloon, laughed while slapping Goldman on the back. "It was probably a trail of seaweed."

Goldman slammed his fist on the counter. "It was a tail."

Ball stepped back, narrowing his beady eyes while running a stubby hand through his thinning, white hair. "I suggest you ease off the drinks for the night. You can go on telling your story, but there's nobody here going to believe a tall tale like that."

"And I don't give a damn." Goldman tossed back his drink before slamming the empty glass on the counter. "I know what I saw."

Dr. Straw stepped up to the bar, hailing the bartender with a wave. "I believe you," he said to Goldman as he rested his elbows on the counter. "I saw the sea monster, too."

Goldman's brows rose. "You were on the beach yesterday?"

"I was," Straw lied, though it was an easy fabrication, for he'd heard the tall tale circulating through the streets and saloons. "It was the most bizarre occurrence. The healer's daughter rushed into the water and saved the boy from the shark, then lost all her clothes without suffering so much as a scratch."

Goldman flashed Ball a knowing look. "That is exactly what I saw."

Straw stood to full height, pulling back his shoulders. "I tell you, though I consider myself a man of science, there is something dark and foul at work here."

Ball's gaze sharpened. "What do you mean?"

Straw cared not a lick what Ball thought of him, for Goldman probably earned four times his wages, and it was Goldman who leaned forward, eager to hear more.

Dr. Straw looked down at Ball with a condescending smile. "That boy suffered mortal wounds, and yet he lives. Abigail Jenkens fell twenty feet from the pier, yet she miraculously recovered. There is no scientific explanation for it."

Goldman eagerly nodded. "I saw Pedro Cortez sitting with his grandfather on their front porch this morning. His face had a healthy glow. He didn't look like a boy who'd just had a brush with death."

Ball crossed his arms, rocking on his heels. "So what are you two saying?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Straw shrugged and looked for his glass, aggravated the bartender still hadn't poured him a drink. "The healer and her daughter are witches." He impatiently waved at the bartender again.

"Hogwash!" Ball shouted.

The annoying little man reminded Straw of an obnoxious barking dog the madam at his least favorite brothel kept as a pet. Straw had found pleasure in kicking that dog on more than one occasion. How he'd love to kick Ball now.

Straw imagined himself a preacher behind a pulpit, putting the fear of the devil into the bar patrons. "Mrs. Alderman could hardly stand because of her rheumatism. Mrs. Moody could scarcely draw breath. I have seen them both out and about town, acting as if they'd discovered the fountain of youth." He dropped his voice to an ominous rumble. "But worst of all is the McClendon boy. Fever claimed his brain months ago, robbing him of the ability to feed himself and walk, and yet I heard he was playing tag in the street this morning."

Goldman and Ball blinked at Straw, either too shocked or too dumb to speak. He seized this opportunity to put the final nail in the bitch's coffin.

"All these people have had that redheaded witch put her hands on them. I have done some investigating, and all I could find about this woman and her daughter was that they arrived on Saturday from Scotland. They go by Miss Fiona and Miss Safina. I have heard no one address them by a surname." He did his best to appear thoroughly shocked and scandalized, though the women he kept company with were several degrees more disreputable than the healer and her child. He turned up his nose and made a face as if he'd swallowed stale brandy. "I find this whole situation too odd for my liking."

Ball puffed up his chest, pointing a stubby finger at Straw. "You know what I find too odd for my liking? The fact that you claim to have been on the beach when the boy was attacked, and yet I didn't see you helping him, Dr. Straw."

The doctor did his best to remain impassive after Ball had thrown him off guard. "The mob was too thick. I couldn't get to the boy." Another lie. Truthfully, he'd been sitting at the poker table of a smoky saloon, doing his best to bluff his way out of a bad hand while the boy was drowning. He hadn't heard of the incident until later that night, slinking past O'Leary and out the back door, five hundred in the hole.

Straw tensed when Goldman and Ball shared a look. He'd seen that expression too many times to count, the non-verbal exchange between two men who'd pegged Straw for the charlatan he was.

Goldman cleared his throat. "The boy's feeble grandfather broke up the group. Why didn't you follow us to Mrs. Jenkens's house and help? You are a doctor, aren't you?"

"Miss Fiona was attending the boy," Straw grumbled.

Ball tossed back his head and laughed. "But you said yourself she was a witch. Why would you allow him to be healed by witchcraft instead of surgery?"

It suddenly dawned on Dr. Straw how much he hated Mr. Ball. "N-no surgery could have saved him," he stammered, then instantly regretted his words, for he knew he'd dug his hole even deeper.

Ball leaned up, jabbing a finger in Straw's chest. "And yet he lives, no thanks to you."

Yes, indeed, Dr. Straw hated Ball with a passion. If he wasn't a gentleman, he would've probably ripped the portly man's finger right out of its socket.

"Seems to me you're jealous Miss Fiona is a better doctor than you," Goldman said.

Straw cursed himself for a fool. Why did this woman have to move to his town and cause him so much trouble?

"Jealous?" He turned up his chin. "Preposterous!"

"Or maybe you're just angry she's taking away your clients." Ball raised his fists, his eyes simmering with anger.

Dr. Straw didn't like the direction this conversation was heading. He didn't like violence, not when he was on the receiving end. "I can assure you I have more than enough clients." He did his best to speak in a calm tone while feigning a smile. "My patients are loyal and trust their ailments to a man of science."

"Then why are you not healing them now?" Goldman asked with raised brows.

"Even a doctor's busy schedule must afford time for relaxation." Straw made a big show of checking his gold pocket watch, one of the few things of value he had left to his name. "Speaking of which, where is my scotch?" He turned to the bartender with a scowl.

The man had the nerve to walk up to him empty-handed. The saloon owner's son, whom the patrons called Davy, had the same strawberry-colored hair as his father, with more freckles on his nose than Straw cared to count. Straw disliked Davy, too, and not just because he still hadn't served him a drink. Over the past few days, he'd acquired a distaste for redheads.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Straw." Davy set down an empty glass. "But I can't serve you unless you pay your tab."

Straw jerked back as if he'd been slapped. "What? I always pay it at the end of the month."

"I know, but...." Davy leaned forward, his voice dropping. "We've heard rumors from your creditors."

Straw tensed at the sound of laughter from Ball and Goldman.

"Lies," Straw hissed.

Davy gave Straw a knowing once-over. "O'Leary was in here earlier, looking for you. He says you have until this Saturday to pay up or suffer payback."

Dr. Straw did his best to ignore Ball and Goldman's sniggering as he stepped back from the bar. "If you would excuse me, gentlemen," he said through a frozen smile. "I have a long evening at the hospital awaiting me."

He walked to the exit with haste. As he donned his hat and coat, he cringed as the conversation from the bar carried across the room.

"That man is no doctor."

"He's a disgrace."

"He needs to get his affairs in order before he points fingers at anyone else."

A wave of humiliation surged through Straw as he walked out onto the pavement. He did his best to ignore rude stares and sibilant whispers as he pushed through the crowd, elbowing anyone in his way. When an elderly lady bumped his hip with her heavy handbag, he cursed, then slyly stretched out his arm, tripping her with his cane. He smiled as he heard her hit the ground with a grunt. After he'd put considerable distance between himself and the saloon, embarrassment turned to anger, and anger turned to rage. In the course of a few days, that redheaded bitch had besmirched his good name to the entire town. He swore on his dead mother's grave, he would find a way to get even.