Chapter Five

NASH

Crap. That motorcycle guy was Erin’s father?

I’d nearly died at her mic-drop moment. Even now, my cheeks felt hot. But, hell. How was I supposed to know?

Still…her father was a goddamned warlock? A motorcycle-riding, gang-leading warlock?

That explained some things about Erin but raised a thousand questions too.

And, crap. She was my boss now. A boss who hated me to the core.

So much for landing an easy, low-drama job.

“That way. A little more. Good. Now, let me check it.” Erin leaned in, tracing every line and hose in the dim dawn light.

I stepped back, giving her space to do her thing. And man, did she know what she was doing. Every movement was quick and efficient, every order delivered in a firm, even tone — and a glare at me.

We’d unrolled the first balloon and filled it with a huge fan, but it was still lying on its side.

“Now, we need to get it erect,” John said.

Chico chuckled. I rolled my eyes.

Erin muttered without taking her eyes off the basket’s steel frame. “You can borrow the fan if you need to get anything else erect, John.”

“Ooh. Busted,” Chico jeered.

John, to his credit, laughed too. “Good one, boss.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, then pointed down the length of the balloon. “The crown line is twisted.”

“Got it,” John said, stepping away.

Henry, the big boss, company owner, and primary pilot, was overseeing prep on the other balloon, Desert Skies One . Desert Skies Two, the balloon Erin was prepping, would be piloted by Madden, who was so busy chatting up female guests half his age that everything else fell to Erin.

I frowned. The Marines had technicians pre-check every flight, but every self-respecting pilot did their own check too.

Not Madden.

I stepped back, looking over the balloon, the lines, and the basket one more time.

“Boss lady won’t like you admiring her ass,” Chico warned in a low, laughing whisper.

I wasn’t admiring her ass. I was admiring her work. But now that he mentioned it…

My gaze wandered down the curve of her jeans as she squatted before the balloon. A split second later, I jerked my eyes back to the balloon.

Not appropriate. Not respectful. And above all, not interested.

“Not that it’s not a nice ass,” Chico went on, using the loud jabber of guests to cover his chuckle. “Still, a little scrawny for my taste.”

Scrawny? Looked pretty perfect to me. The thick flannel shirt and blue beanie clamped down over her long chestnut hair gave her a cute, tomboy look too. Not that I said as much.

“All right, everyone. Keep back, please.” Erin checked the area, then pulled the burner cord.

And, whoosh! A four-foot flame blasted into the frigid dawn air.

I watched it, transfixed by the heat. The roar. The sheer power.

I didn’t know what I was expecting, but I didn’t expect it to be so…exhilarating. A little like dragon fire.

Not even close, my inner beast sniffed.

Maybe not, but my senses had been so dull lately, it was nice to be mesmerized for a change.

Our guests oohed and aahed as the balloon slowly rose until it was vertical. Thump! The basket followed, tipping from sideways to upright.

Whoosh! Erin released another blast of fire.

My throat warmed as my dragon side fantasized about spitting fire.

“Wow. That’s amazing,” one of the guests murmured.

Ha. What would they say if they knew I really could spit fire?

I glanced at Erin through the flames. The glow reflected on her cheeks, hair, and in her laser-focused eyes. Her fingers played over the burner cord as she judged exactly when to blast more fire.

Then I cocked my head, because she didn’t move her fingers in any which way. Her fingers curled, and a sagging section of the balloon filled out smoothly.

Hang on. Is she directing the air? my dragon asked.

I stared, thinking of the previous night, when the candles had reacted to her. That, and the fact that her father was a warlock. Was she only a relic — or more?

Either way, she was awfully good at filling a balloon. So perfectly, the entire, massive bulb rose half an inch off the ground and hovered there. Not bad, especially on a chilly winter morning when tiny temperature shifts made for tricky handling — and especially on a balloon that big.

I glanced over to Desert Skies One . Henry had forty years’ experience, but his balloon vacillated between scratching the ground and two feet above.

“Grab it here.” Chico gestured for me to help him steady the basket as Madden climbed in.

“All right, ladies and gents,” he announced. “Time to board. You and you, please.”

“Oh! We’re flying!” someone cried a few minutes later, once everyone was aboard and the basket floated at about my eye level.

I’d been so busy, I’d barely noticed the sun rise. But, wow. The sky was glowing orange and gold, colors echoed in the landscape and in the balloon fabric.

“It’s so quiet!” someone else exclaimed.

It really was. Quieter than dragon takeoffs, even.

My inner beast scoffed. I can be quiet. Like when I dive from a cliff.

True, but taking off from a flat surface took powerful wingbeats that flattened every bush, flower, and blade of grass in a ten-yard radius. The balloon, on the other hand, lifted smoothly, silently.

I couldn’t help grinning as it rose higher.

“Pretty cool, eh?” John murmured from my side.

I nodded. My dragon side had pooh-poohed the whole balloon/propane/basket arrangement, but I had to admit… Pretty cool was right.

* * *

Working ground crew was a strange gig, I decided twenty minutes later in the parking lot of the Circle K convenience store. Work started at 4:30 a.m. with a flurry of activity to get the balloons aloft. Then we piled into the van, blasted the heating to full, and roared off to take up the chase — only to pull over at the Circle K.

That must have been a little ritual, judging by the buy ten, get one free coffee cards Chico and John pulled out to get stamped. Erin added a chocolate doughnut to her order, munching on it on her way back to the van.

“Come on, everyone.” Her nostrils flared. “The wind is picking up.”

I moved toward the back seat, but Erin shook her head. “You’re riding shotgun, so you can watch and learn.”

It was more grunt than invitation, but hell. That was fine with me.

As we drove off, John leaned into the space between the two front seats.

“So, you were in the Marines, huh?”

Good thing I’d left Special Forces off the resumé. But I wouldn’t be mentioning that any sooner than I would mention the job I’d taken afterward.

“And a pilot, no less,” John went on. “What do you fly?”

I sensed Erin stiffen. I did too. Some civilians avoided talk of military duty like the plague. Others pried too much.

What did I fly? I held back a dry, Myself, in dragon form , and stuck to the part he could understand. “Helicopters.”

“What’s a helicopter pilot doing on ground crew?” He cackled. “Did you get suspended or something?”

I clicked my jaw. Suspended? Yes. But not from that job. Not that I said that aloud.

“Just taking a little break. I’m happy for some mindless work for a while.”

Erin shot me a withering look. Oops. I didn’t mean to imply her job didn’t take skill. Just that the rest of the ground crew could afford to kick back.

Especially me. No decisions, no responsibilities. My new mantra in life.

John chuckled. “Amen, man.”

“Oh! It’s beautiful!” a voice squeaked over one of the handheld radios Erin had placed in the cupholder between the front seats. Through it, we could hear both pilots as well as the guests.

“We keep that one on transmit,” John explained. “That way, we can monitor them without the pilots having to call in. This second radio is set to a different channel if we need to hail them. We usually don’t have to, though.”

I nodded, listening to the guests rave.

“And, wow! I can feel the vortex!” the woman continued.

“No, you feel the updraft from Deer Mountain,” Erin murmured.

I stifled a laugh, looking at the mesa they flew over.

About a mile outside town, Erin pulled over and cracked open the window, though she kept her eyes on the balloons.

“Kind of cold, boss.” Chico shivered in the back seat.

“Sorry. I just need a minute,” Erin murmured absently.

She tilted her head, letting the cold air flow over her left cheek.

Henry’s voice carried over the radio. “Three-forty degrees at four point two.”

Madden chimed in a moment later. “Three-forty degrees at four point four.”

I looked north by northwest, drawing a mental compass as the balloons wafted slowly overhead.

Erin shook her head, murmuring, “Not for long.”

I looked around. The last streaks of pink and orange were fading into a perfect blue sky. It was beautiful. Stunning, really, especially with snow dusting the spectacular rock formations. No wonder Sedona drew so many visitors. And no wonder folks forked out hundreds of dollars for a ninety-minute balloon flight.

My dragon huffed. Poor things.

There was no sign of a wind shift, however. What made Erin think the balloons would change course?

I rolled down the passenger-side window, letting my dragon senses sift through subtle cues in the dry desert air, from the thick, pine-scented layer closest to the ground to the thinner, blander layers higher up, each sliding over and around one another like eddies in an ocean.

My ears twitched just as my dragon said, Over there .

I turned northeast, focusing my senses there.

“ Three-forty … Three-twenty-five ,” Henry called over the radio. “Looks like we got ourselves a wind shift.”

Erin pursed her lips.

I slid a glance at her. Lucky guess, unusual sixth sense, or magic powers?

“Oh, this is amazing!” one of the guests oohed and aahed.

“Beautiful,” another agreed.

“I can feel my chakras opening up,” yet another gushed.

I did a double take. Her what?

“Is that Airport Mesa?” the first asked.

“Yep. Right over there.” Henry’s voice came over the radio next.

“I knew it,” the woman said. “I can feel the power of its vortex from here.”

“So true,” another chimed in. “I didn’t realize how blocked my third eye was until now that it’s opening up.”

“Very cleansing,” another agreed. “That amethyst you bought probably helped too.”

John cackled. I arched an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “Some folks come to Sedona for the scenery. But lots come for the vortexes, the energy… You know.” He flipped a hand. “The spiritual vibes.”

Yeah, I’d picked up on that on my first drive through the town center two days earlier. Every second shop was packed with crystals, gems, dream catchers, and ads for spiritual retreats. But hearing those women talk was like overhearing a foreign language.

“Do you believe in that stuff?” I asked.

“Ha. Not me. What about you, boss?” John asked.

Erin pulled back onto the road. Her eyes, as always, darted between the asphalt and the sky.

“I believe there’s something special about Sedona,” she murmured.

Ha. A diplomatic answer. Was it an honest answer, though?

Maybe she knows, my dragon mused.

The world was full of things humans were ignorant of — and not just shifters like me, but witches, vampires, and demons. Beyond those were far greater forces that mystified even supernaturals at times. Fate… Destiny…

With a warlock for a father, Erin had to know about some of that. Or had he somehow kept it all a secret from her? But she seemed too down-to-earth and no-nonsense for the more spiritual stuff humans loved to speculate about.

She was quiet too. I swear, she uttered more words to herself than she did to me over the course of the next half hour. Which suited me, because I wasn’t here to chat. I was here for a job — an easy job — and to tune out for a while.

Which I didn’t exactly succeed in, because my senses — and my dragon — refused to snooze. My nose kept sniffing, hoping to catch a whiff of Erin’s scent. Which was a lottery, given all the competing odors out there. But every time her sunny, wild flower scent filtered through, my dragon side sighed. My mind replayed little movements she’d made, from her easy slide into the van’s high cab to the sway of her hair in the wind. And her eyes…were they green or blue?

I frowned. What did it matter? I wasn’t interested.

Not even a little? my dragon teased.

Not even a little. Some serious shit hitting the fan over the past year had turned me into a sulky, self-absorbed bastard, and that was that.

Plus, she hated me.

Well, I’ll enjoy while you sulk, my dragon murmured.

I folded my arms and watched scrub blur past the side window of the van.

Eventually, Erin exited the state highway for a dirt road. After one bouncy mile, she pulled over on the crest of a hill. Chico and John yawned and stretched, slowly gearing up for action.

“Landing point will be Angel Valley pullout,” Henry announced over the open comms.

“Copy that,” Madden echoed from the second balloon. “Angel Valley.”

Chico looked at Erin.

She shook her head and murmured, “Lime Kiln Road.”

I glanced in the direction she indicated, then back at the balloons. If Angel Valley pullout was the hollow just below our vantage point, it was a no-brainer — the balloons were heading directly for it.

But they’re moving a little too quickly, my dragon observed. And the airstream down here is more westerly than up there.

I sniffed the air. As a dragon shifter, I couldn’t see the wind any more than a human could, but I could sense different layers threading, weaving, and colliding when I really tuned in. And when I did that…

Huh. Erin was right. The wind would accelerate the balloons right over that hollow and carry them closer to the road.

Just then, Henry’s curse came over the radio.

“Correction,” he muttered. “Another wind shift. Plan B — Lime Kiln Road.”

With that, he pulled the burner cord, releasing a roar of hot air.

Madden followed suit — so quickly, some of his guests clutched the basket edges.

“Are we supposed to lurch like that?” someone peeped.

Madden chuckled. “Don’t you worry. It happens sometimes.”

I snorted. Not if he’d observed what Erin had. But, heck. I had only picked up on the wind shift at the last possible moment, so I couldn’t blame him. But Erin…

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. How had she known?

“Lime Kiln Road, here we come,” she murmured, letting the van coast down the road.

Soon after, she parked and motioned everyone out of the van. We fanned out around an open area, watching the balloons waft in.

From a distance, they hardly seemed to move. But now that they were only a few yards away, they barreled toward us like elephants surfing an invisible wave.

“Just grab one of the straps on the basket and jog alongside, slowing it down,” Erin warned. “Don’t try to slam the brakes on all by yourself.”

When the bottom of the basket swept by at eye level, I grabbed on to a leather strap. And, whoa — the balloon’s momentum nearly wrenched my arm off.

“Steady,” Erin ordered in the same voice you’d use on a couple of horses.

Our hips bumped, then our shoulders. My body warmed pleasantly.

The balloon dropped lower, keeping up that sideways shear. A moment later, the bottom of the basket thwacked through a bush.

I cursed, whacking through it too.

Beside me, Erin clutched another strap, all cowgirl determined to tame a wild bronco. A foot above me, someone gaped.

“Whoa. We’re coming in fast.”

But three jogging steps later, momentum gave up the fight, and the basket touched down with a light creak. Henry pulled a cord, dumping air. The balloon swung sideways, slowly deflating.

“There — grab the crown line.” Erin pointed.

Chico and I caught it and strode away from the basket, guiding the top of the balloon until it lay neatly stretched along the ground.

A few minutes later, the guests clustered around a champagne brunch while we ground crew heaved, rolled, and muscled both balloons into neat packages.

So much easier to fly alone, my dragon muttered.

True, but a job was a job.

My eyes slid to Erin before I forced them to the ground.

Just a job, I reminded myself. A little mindless work to help me get back on track. Once I got my shit together, I would be on my way to greener pastures and a new direction in life.

I just had to figure out what that might be.