Burned (Dragon Mates Book 3) Page 2

  "W-why are you laughing at me?” Her voice wobbled, but she kept on, a thread of pique running through it. “I mean it. Don't you come another step closer to me."

  The object, which Ash finally realized had to be a sword and a carrying case since, naturally, she was coming from the Institute, still shook violently in her hands. He restrained his temper, as it had nothing to do with her.

  Using his dragon reflexes, which were so fast he knew she would hardly be able to follow the movement, he whipped out his hand to grab the object, instantly recognizing by the feel of it in its case that it was only a practice sword. Easily, he flipped it out of her hands. She gasped in absolute horror, another small scream bursting out of those amazing lips.

  Really, he was noticing her shapely lips right while she was apparently trying to attack him for no good reason? His dragon softly bugled an agreement, a curious fascination with the woman keeping him otherwise silent in Ash's head.

  Now, that was interesting. Pushing it aside for now, Ash narrowed his eyes as he regarded the frozen woman.

  "First," he said, balancing her sword in his left hand, which had become a great deal stronger than his right hand, “I applaud your bravery. That was a nice first strike. But you seem so scared that I think you weren't going to be able to defend yourself very well."

  She swallowed, the movement against her throat instantly drawing his eyes to the smooth skin there. Yanking his gaze away, he went on. "Second, if I had wanted to do something nefarious to you, don't you think I would've been paying attention to where I was going and would have already seen you?"

  She just stared at him in continued horror. Well, since he couldn't see all of her face, he wasn't quite sure of her expression. Actually, maybe she wasn't quite all that terrified now. Wouldn't she have either fainted or bolted if she were?

  More casually, testing the waters, he went on. "You have to admit that your reaction to a non-event was a little over the top, don't you think?"

  At that, she straightened, that strong chin of hers jutting out somewhat. Aha. It seemed there might be a little fire in her after all. Of course, the woman clearly was taking sword fighting lessons at the Institute. She couldn't be a wilting flower.

  Voice less shaky now, she flung back, "I don't think it was over the top at all. And," her hand suddenly scrabbled in the purse she had slung over her shoulder, coming out still trembling yet triumphantly holding a small bottle of what he assumed was pepper spray, "I can still defend myself against you."

  She rather defiantly shook the bottle in his direction, pushing her hood back away from her face so that it fell down just barely behind the back of her head.

  Ash suddenly lost his ability to speak. Utterly taken aback by the sight of her, he could only stare for a long moment as a brief gust of wind kicked a few dry leaves around the pavement of the parking lot. Coppery red hair spilled out from under her hood, pulled back from her face but with several tendrils curling out and around. Big eyes, which Ash thought might be brown but couldn't quite tell in the low light, looked at him with an expression that danced the line between nervous, then defiant, then nervous again. Luscious lips were set in features unadorned of makeup, still showing a telltale sheen of exercise sweat on her brow, yet so uniquely, stunningly beautiful that Ash stared transfixed at her. The gorgeous explosion of freckles all over her face and chin, still bringing to mind a beautiful constellation, extended down her neck and then beneath where the material of her sweatshirt covered it up.

  His dragon also stared in a fascinated silence that filled space in Ash's mind. The woman was like a warrior queen of old. A tall, gorgeous, strong warrior woman standing before him, despite the fact that her hand still trembled and her eyes were huge with nervous trepidation.

  "Well? I—I've got the upper hand here. Um…” She bit her lip, again pulling his eyes to her generous mouth for a brief second. “Can you give me my sword back, please?"

  Her voice jostled Ash loose from his bizarre fascination with her. He nodded, manners and sense returning to him. "Of course. Look, I'm just coming in here to see Nick. The owner? I'm guessing you know who he is. I'm a client of his just like you are. So really," abruptly, despite himself, Ash suddenly felt his mouth ticking up into a smile, "you have nothing to worry about from me. I have no particular desire to attack you. Or anyone else."

  She studied him, eyes still wide but seeming a touch more relaxed. Gently, he extended her case-covered sword back to her, handle first. Her gaze dropped to it for a second before skimming back up to his. Damn. She was gorgeous, and obviously did not know it at all. She was so unlike the types of self-absorbed women Ash had been surrounded by his entire life that he felt slightly flummoxed. Even so, he owed her an apology. She'd been genuinely scared of him.

  "I'm really sorry," he said as she tentatively took her practice sword back. "You saw a big figure of some strange guy walking through a dark parking lot right at you. And my thoughts were—somewhere else, so I wasn't paying attention to anything.” He shook his head, once more irritated with himself. “I must have terrified you," he said with genuine remorse.

  A tentative smile flashed across her face, lifting up those beautiful lips for a brief moment. Ash's dragon rumbled, the sound equal parts confusion, captivation, and approval. Approval? Huh. Ash didn't have time to parse that, though. The women took a breath, released it, and nodded.

  "Yeah, you kind of did freak me out. Sorry I jumped you with my sword. Um, it's just a practice sword.” She sounded almost contrite. Almost. “It wouldn't have done much damage inside its case anyway. I have to admit that ever since I moved to L.A., I've been a little on edge.” She smiled as she relaxed more. “It's such a big city, always so much going on everywhere. I'm not used to that," she added somewhat shyly. The rich sound of her voice, like velvet wrapped around a pillow, stroked the air.

  Ash let himself rock back on his heels slightly, trying to make himself seem a little less imposing. Yet this gorgeous pretend warrior woman was close to his own height. She had to be at least six feet tall. He wondered why he'd sensed any nervousness from her. She was an imposing figure on her own.

  "In fact," her voice now relaxed too as she even lowered the arm that held her spray, "just the other day, this woman at work I'm friends with said—"

  The breeze suddenly snapped into high gear, flipping back the other direction across the parking lot. It whisked Ash's light hood back off his head, exposing his face completely beneath the parking lot light.

  The beautiful warrior woman's eyes widened at the full sight of him. She gasped in shock. Her hand flew to her mouth as she stared at the ravaged right side of his face.

  It was as if ice cold water had been dumped on Ash, sending a chill through him.

  Right. He was a monster. A dreadful, ugly beast of a man.

  This sort of situation was exactly why he never went out in public anymore.

  Inside, his dragon keened, a ragged, aching sound that slashed across his mind. Ash let everything painful and ugly and enraging slam back down over him, the brief moment of tenuous connection with a beautiful woman shoved away.

  This sort of horrified response, he was all too accustomed to.

  "I beg your pardon," he said in chilly tones. His hands went up to pull the hood back over his face even as he turned to start walking toward the far side of the building and the private entrance to Nick's office. "I didn't mean to frighten you. Have a good evening."

  He brushed past her, her tantalizing scent of spiced cinnamon wafting to him and drawing another bizarre, hollow-sounding keen from his dragon. Straightening his shoulders, Ash picked up the pace, ignoring the slight drag of his right leg with gritted teeth and a renewed surge of massive annoyance.

  And another emotion he didn't feel like naming. One that hurt too much to acknowledge.

  Behind him, she cried out, "Wait! Oh, my god, that wasn't what I—that was so rude of me—I'm sorry! Wait! Please, I'm so sorry!"

  But Ash ignored her,
as well as the sudden, sharp pinch somewhere in his chest as he walked away from her.

  He was nothing more than a monster, and no one who saw him would ever let him forget it.

  2

  Teagan stared at the priceless old book in front of her, gloved hand raised slightly above it in preparation to turn the page. All she saw, though, was the expression on that amazing guy's face the other night when his hood had fallen back and she'd seen the terrible scars.

  She was the most horrible, awful, cruel bitch in the world to react that way. She still felt completely terrible. He had been smiling at her, she'd just been able to see it in the shadowy lights of the parking lot. Then his hood had fallen back, and she'd gasped, dramatically covering her mouth in horror like a stupid twit. Right that second, his face had frozen into something she had instantly recognized.

  A practiced mask to cover up his pain.

  She knew exactly what that looked like. It was the same sort of mask she herself had adopted throughout much of her own life.

  She'd hurt him, a total stranger who had started to sound like a really nice person as they talked. Even after she'd attacked him with her training sword for no good reason at all except that she had a highly overactive imagination. He'd talked to her, he was nice, and—okay, fine. He was kind of really fascinating, even in their interaction that had lasted bare minutes. He also had a really gorgeous face, at least the part of it that wasn't so terribly scarred. His eyes were a dark forest green, at least in the dim light of the lot. Something had sort of shivered through her with interest in his presence, after she became convinced he wasn't planning to ax murder her.

  Then she'd gone and overreacted to the scars on his face, which probably every single person who ever saw him did. Of everyone in the world, Teagan should have known better than to react that way. She knew exactly how awful it felt to have someone look at your face in disgust.

  Seriously. She should be committed. She also should be chastised for the rest of her life. She didn't know who he was, she would never see him again, but she knew without a doubt he wouldn't forget how cruel she had been.

  It was enough to make a girl just want to go back to bed and pull the covers over her head. Unfortunately, being a responsible employee didn't really allow that.

  "Really, Teagan, I can't imagine this is that difficult of a task for you." A grating, snippy voice jolted her back to the present moment. "But if it is, I can handle it. I knew you weren't ready to work on projects like this one yet."

  The woman the voice belonged to, who happened to be on the short side and, among many other reasons, apparently hated Teagan for her height, started to push Teagan out of the way.

  On the other side of the work table, another voice tolerantly said, "Celia, let her continue. You're supposed to be helping to train her, remember?"

  Teagan inhaled a very quiet breath as Celia muttered something ungracious under her own breath but stepped aside. Their direct supervisor, Walter Ainsworth, was a really decent guy. He was so laid back he insisted his team call him Walter rather than Mr. Ainsworth, even though using first names for department heads was generally discouraged at the Center. Even so, Teagan paused for longer than was necessary, suddenly frozen in a brittle tangle of nerves over what she was about to do. "I'm sorry, Walter,” she said, nervous habit overtaking her. “I actually wasn't paying close enough attention. It's okay if Celia does this one."

  Walter shook his head, silvering strands of his hair catching light in the room. “Absolutely not," he said, smiling kindly at Teagan. "Your internship years are behind you. You need to keep working on this one today. I have faith in you. Go on," he said, nodding at the ancient manuscript whose unfortunate damages Teagan had been working on cataloguing for a few days now. "The Book of the Near Hills is ready and waiting for your healing touch."

  Teagan didn't have to look at Celia to know the woman was shooting daggers at Teagan from her eyes, though she wouldn't do it openly in front of Walter. Taking a deep breath, Teagan pushed aside the image of the scarred man she’d been so cruel to and focused every last bit of her attention on the text before her.

  The Book of the Near Hills hailed from one of the areas of history that fascinated Teagan the most. The Irish and Scots ancestry on her mother's side had hooked Teagan ever since they'd taken a trip to Ireland when she was just a kid to reconnect with her maternal family roots. They'd done a trip to Jamaica that same year, to explore her father's Jamaican roots, but it was her sister who had become taken with that culture. Teagan herself had simply fallen in love with the romance and mystery of ancient Irish kings and queens, and the myths and legends she'd at first read for fun and then later studied with academic earnestness all the way through her master's degree. She loved it so much, in fact, that she was pretty much killing herself by working somewhere in the vicinity of twelve to fifteen hours a day here in her dream job at the renowned Bernal Center, driven purely by love of her work.

  Leaning closer to the text, she carefully examined the small tears in the page, not to mention the greatly loosened binding, that had prompted the book's owner, a wealthy collector, to send it to the Center in hopes it could be repaired properly. As she looked closely at the tears, Teagan abruptly brightened. Yes, she definitely knew how to fix this type of damage. She'd done something exactly like it during her internship just this past summer.

  Buoyed by the wave of confidence, she nodded. "Yes, you're right. I do know how to repair this one.” Talking quickly, making sure she didn't look at Celia, Teagan listed each step she would take to restore the precious old book to a state much more like its original.

  "Excellent," Walter said in an approving voice after she'd finished her explanation. "You've got this, Teagan. Celia," Walter turned his attention to the smaller woman, "I've got something else for you to work on today. Let's go to the archive room and I'll show you."

  With a saccharine smile that Teagan caught out of the corner of her eye, Celia nodded with fake excitement. "Of course. Actually, can I meet you there in just a few minutes? I need to add a note to my log before I forget."

  Although Teagan wasn't looking directly at the woman, she had a strong suspicion that Celia might have actually batted her eyes. Walter, who had worked in the archival and restoration profession for thirty years and had been here at the Bernal Center for the past ten, was a nice guy who was generally aware of everything that was going on in his department. He was also, Teagan thought with a slight internal eye roll, a man. Which meant he wasn't impervious to female charms, no matter how deliberately charming they were.

  "Of course, no problem," he said in a genial tone, turning to leave the room. "I'll check back with you in an hour to see how your progress is going, Teagan," he added over his shoulder as he left.

  Celia waited until the sound of his footsteps in the hallway faded before she leaned down over the book, getting in Teagan's way. "I can't really see when you—" Teagan began in a tentative voice.

  Celia cut her off by shaking her head and standing up again to her full height, which meant that the top of her head really only came to about Teagan's elbow, and looked at Teagan's face. "Oh," she said in overly earnest tones, “Don't let me get in your way here. I am completely sure you're going to do an excellent job restoring this book." While they weren't exactly beady little eyes, when she narrowed them they sure were awfully small. "But I was wondering. Have you really been using that spot removal cream I told you about? Because I don't see any change in your skin. Your face is still all splotchy."

  Teagan swallowed hard as the familiar old rush of embarrassment and self-consciousness snaked its way up through her. Thanks to the same Irish genes she loved so much, she had the unfortunate tendency of flushing pretty hard when she was uncomfortable. Which, naturally, made the freckle explosion across her body only intensify.

  Celia's eyes widened as she shook her head in mock consternation. "Oh, no. I didn't mean to put you on the spot. Oh, just look at you.” She pointed right at Teagan
's face. “They really stand out when you get all red like that, don't they?"

  Teagan swallowed again and returned her attention to the book in front of her. She had to blink a few times against the familiar sharp prickle in her eyelids. But no way, dang it all. She would not let this woman get under her skin. Celia was just a coworker. Not a boss.

  Except that she definitely knew how to get under Teagan's skin. Almost literally.

  "It's okay," Teagan mumbled, hunching down more over the manuscript. "I'd like to get started on this before Walter comes back."

  If she looked at Celia right now, she was certain she would see a triumphant smile on the mean little woman's face. She'd seen it enough times before that she knew exactly what it looked like.

  "No problem!" Celia's voice chirped with false positivity now. "Enjoy working on the manuscript. I hope you manage to do okay at it. Don't make any awful first-timer mistakes, now!" On that note, Celia turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

  Teagan bit the inside of her lip, blinking again a few times again before the manuscript came back into focus in front of her. Interestingly, Celia hadn't actually put any log notes into her daily work log. Teagan sighed. She knew mean girls like Celia really, really well. She'd grown up surrounded by them in her public high school. Little drama queens and captains of the cheerleading squad and prom queens and all that junk that she'd never had any time for.

  Not, of course, that anyone would've ever asked her to do any of those things. Go to prom, be on the cheerleading squad, be part of the popular girls' group. Teagan had been way too busy reading books about ancient Ireland and dreaming about kings charging into battle on their fierce steeds, fighting dragons, rescuing maidens from towers. Or, more likely and definitely more her favorite type of story, fighting right alongside their fierce warrior queens.

  Closing her eyes for a brief moment, taking a deep breath to center herself once again, Teagan visualized one of her favorite historical persons. Queen Boudica, who had spurred her imagination ever since she was a little girl and her mother first told her stories about the flame-haired queen of ancient times who easily vanquished her enemies and was as strong as any man. The fierce queen's history also had prompted Teagan's interest in swords.