Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

Rose

By the time I had my trailer hitched to the back of John's SUV, not only was I sweating, but too much time had passed. It was already beyond midnight, and I'd be lucky if I could make it home before the sun rose.

I'd tried to move the man from John's vehicle to mine, and I'd had to face the fact that it simply wasn't going to happen. Which meant not only had I potentially poisoned a man, not taken him to the hospital and kidnapped him, but I was also now adding grand theft auto to my list of new crimes.

I was on quite a freaking roll.

I'd also taken to calling my captee Dragon because I had no idea what his real name was. I'd searched his pockets for ID or any other clue and had come up with absolutely nothing. No wallet. No phone. No money. No keys. Literally nothing. How was that even possible?

Who the hell was this guy?

Through all of that, he'd not stirred even a little. I took his temperature, checked his pulse and his pupils again, all of which were still the same. The only thing that had finally given me a modicum of comfort in this crazy scheme of mine, had been when he began lightly snoring and curled over onto his side.

If he was just sleeping. I'd never encountered anyone who did so so soundly. It was unsettling.

Either way, it was time to go. I scribbled a note to my boss apologizing for borrowing his vehicle like this. I also did what any kidnapper would do and lied my ass off, telling him that I had a family emergency, and the hitch had been stolen from my much nicer than his SUV, so I needed to swap vehicles with him temporarily and that I'd return his as soon as I could.

Technically, the hitch from my car was missing, but that's because I'd removed it and thrown it in the back of the trailer.

I compounded matters by telling John that the big man was at the hospital and was going to be fine, but I doubted we'd see him at the church again. I only hoped John believed all this bullshit and didn't actually look into any of it. One peek beyond this lame note and my story would fall to pieces.

I taped the paper to my car window and thanked the Goddess that I'd given John my extra set of car and trailer keys weeks ago "just in case."

Double checking the connections of my trailer with John's unfamiliar hitch one last time, I hopped back into the driver's side and took off for the coast. In five to six hours, we'd be safely in the middle of nowhere on the northern coast. Then maybe I could figure out what had gone wrong today and what I was going to do about it.

No matter what though, I was certain I'd be going to hell for all this.

When the golden glow of the morning sun finally peeked over the jagged horizon, I yawned and stretched to relieve some of the stiffness in my arms and legs. I'd driven through the night to get here, too worried that my passenger would wake halfway through the trip to stop—even for gas.

I was coming in on fumes, but I could see my cottage at the end of the gravel road.

Home.

As much as I loved being on the road during the sales season, there was always something special about returning here for the winter. I rolled the window down just enough to take in a deep breath of the chilly sea salt air. I could hardly wait to be curled up next to the fire in my chair that overlooked the ocean. Maybe with a good book and a cup of hot tea with a splash or three of rum.

I almost cried at how good that sounded right now.

Not everyone agreed that building a cottage on the edge of a cliff was a smart move, but I didn't care. It was worth it for the views alone.

With my focus on my breathing more than the road, one of the tires hit a pothole and jostled the vehicle roughly to the side.

"Crap," I exclaimed, grappling the wheel to straighten me out before I tipped my load.

I heard a string of incoherent words mumbled behind me and my heart jumped into my throat. Dammit, I was so close.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and could see the dragon man had shifted position, and his hands were rubbing his head, but his eyes were still closed.

I didn't have long. Minutes. Seconds. I didn't know. Fortunately, we had arrived. Both of us in one piece, which in itself kind of felt like a miracle.

"What in the fae hell is going on?" A rough, graveled voice from the back seat battered at my senses, sending chills racing along my skin.

Okay then. Change of plans. Forget parking the trailer. It was time to get out and run. My heart raced as adrenaline surged through my body, fight-or-flight instincts kicking into overdrive.

I jammed on the brakes, the sudden stop causing the trailer to lurch violently. My hands shook. I barely remembered to shift the gear into first before I frantically fumbled with the door handle. With a swift yank, I flung the door open and leaped out, my feet hitting the ground hard. The impact sent shockwaves up my legs, but I ignored the pain, ready to sprint for my life.

More words roared from the man in the backseat, but they were muffled by the windows and drowned out by the pounding of my heart in my ears. I was already racing to the front door, my legs pumping furiously beneath me. The gravel crunched under my feet, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

I should have tied him up. The thought flashed through my mind, a bitter realization of my own shortsightedness. It was a nice thought, but not exactly helpful at this point. I was running for my life.

I reached for the door handle.

"Why am I in the backseat of one of these automatic coaches in the middle of nowhere?" The question echoed in my mind , a stark reminder of how quickly this situation had spiraled out of control.

I didn't hesitate. I slammed the door shut behind me, the sound reverberating through the empty cottage. With shaking hands, I threw the many locks I had back into place, each click offering a small measure of relief. And then, driven by pure instinct, I went to the shotgun closet. Living alone, away from town, had taught me to be prepared. I might be isolated, but I wasn't a fool. I knew how to protect myself.

After I pulled out what I needed, the familiar weight of the weapon oddly comforting in my grip, I ran to the front of the cottage. My heart pounding in my ears, I peeked out the window, scanning the area frantically. There he was, stepping out of the vehicle with one hand holding his head, his face contorted in a mix of pain and fury as he bellowed in anger.

The sound, though muffled by the walls, sent a chill down my spine. I double checked my gun to ensure it was still loaded, the metallic click seeming impossibly loud in the tense silence. Then, steeling myself, I took a deep breath and waited, every muscle in my body coiled tight, ready to spring into action.

I didn't have to wait long.

The pounding at my door started almost immediately, each thunderous blow reverberating through my skull.

"What is the meaning of this?" his voice boomed with a dangerous edge. "I shouldn't have to repeat myself, but where in the hellscape of this realm am I?" The words dripped with venom, promising retribution with each syllable.

I shuddered under the weight of his righteous anger. It was impossible to blame him when it had been my dumb idea to drag him out here. In hindsight, it was easy to see other scenarios that might have gone better. Preferably one that didn’t include my meeting a gruesome and untimely death.

But I was committed now, for better or worse, to seeing this insane plan through to its bitter end.

"I was trying to help you," I yelled through the door, my voice tinged with frustration.

"Help me? Are you insane? I don't need help," he roared back.

"I beg to differ," I retorted, trying to keep my voice steady. "My boss was going to take you to the hospital, and then where would you be?"

"Not here. That's for sure. Wherever here is." He hesitated a beat before continuing. "Open the door and stop hiding like a coward. You need to take me back to the church right now."

Everything in my body screamed for me not to comply. My heart raced, and my palms grew sweaty as I contemplated my next move. Whatever the herb had done to him, he was still twice my size and probably ten times as strong. Hell, his massive hands were probably capable of snapping my bones like twigs. The thought made me shudder, and I found myself backing away from the door.

But I wasn't a coward, and him calling me such triggered my pride. I hid from nothing, including whatever consequences I'd brought down on myself with my reckless actions.

With a surge of adrenaline, I moved to unlock the door, my fingers trembling slightly as I fumbled with the latch. Then I immediately retreated, my heart pounding in my ears as I positioned myself with my back against the far wall. The familiar weight of my shotgun was a small comfort as I aimed the barrel squarely at the opening, ready for whatever might come through.

"The door's open," I called out, my voice steadier than I felt. I swallowed hard, tightening my grip as I waited for his next move.

The knob turned, and with every centimeter, my stomach twisted into a bigger knot. What the hell had I been thinking bringing him here? I had no excuse. No real reason. I'd simply reacted. I was officially the village idiot.

When he finally pushed the door open and stepped across the threshold, his massive frame seemed to engulf the entire doorway. If it was at all possible, he appeared to have grown even larger since our hasty departure from Dean Village.

"That's far enough," I warned, my voice sharp as I aimed my gun directly at the vicinity of his heart. My finger twitched on the trigger, ready to act if necessary. "No matter how big and powerful you are, you can't outrun a gunshot to the chest. And it would be a shame if I went to all this trouble to keep you alive and then was forced to kill you." The irony of my words wasn't lost on me, but I needed him to understand the gravity of the situation.

His eyes narrowed, a mix of anger and confusion flashing across his face. "All this trouble?" he scoffed, his deep voice rumbling through the room. "You mean when you kidnapped me from the church after you obviously drugged me. Is that what you call 'keeping me alive?"

Again, my pride and outrage flared. "I did not drug you. That's absurd."

"It was that stew, wasn't it?" he accused, his voice laced with suspicion. "I've never tasted anything so delicious in my life. Or addictive, for that matter. Should have known there was a reason. What did you put in it?"

I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at his words, despite the accusation. "You really liked my stew?" I asked, my tone softening slightly.

He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "That's the part you think is important right now? Your culinary skills?"

"I repeat," I said, my voice firm, "I did not drug you. Why does everyone insist on calling my herbs drugs? They are medicinal."

His mouth twisted into a savage frown, the lines around his eyes deepening. He seemed to be concentrating, perhaps trying to recall something or piece together fragmented memories. But what truly troubled me was the aura of red growing around him, pulsing and shifting like an angry storm cloud. Although, I noted with some relief, at least I didn't see the dragon anymore.

"Why are you so angry?"

He narrowed his eyes, "You mean, besides the drugs and the kidnapping?"

I huffed out a breath, feeling the weight of frustration settling on my shoulders. I was already tired of arguing with him, the back-and-forth getting us nowhere. "It's your aura that worried me from the beginning," I explained, trying to keep my voice steady. "But it was the rest that terrified me. Why did I see a dragon?"

His expression shifted, a mix of emotions flashing across his features. "Because that's what I am," he stated matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather. "And I guess being told I have to keep that a secret doesn't matter in this situation because you clearly know more than any human should."

My head spun from his confusing words. It was official. Either I was crazy, or he was. There was simply no other explanation.

"Are you trying to tell me that you aren't human?" It wasn't that I couldn't believe him. This was Scotland. Our history was steeped in the unexplainable. And I did believe in magic. Of sorts.

And my father once told me that myths were truths that had no facts. That had stuck with me like glue.

"I'm not trying to tell you anything. You asked a question. I answered it. End of story."

I scoffed. "End of story, my ass. As far as I'm concerned, you've barely scratched the surface. Explain this dragon thing to me. I need more information."

"I could show you," he sneered. "Although you should know that he's more likely to destroy your little cottage here than greet you warmly. He's on a bit of a warpath lately. But if you insist..."