Redemption (Dragon Shifter Book 2) Read online

He takes my forwardness in stride and hands me his helmet. And unless he’s hiding another one in his bags, it seems to be the only one he has.

  “You should use this. You don’t want to get bugs in your eyes,” I say, trying to hand the helmet back to him.

  Faris grunts. “No way, beautiful. That’s the only helmet I’ve got, and we aren’t going anywhere until you put it on that pretty head of yours.”

  He seems serious about it, so I put on the helmet then open the visor. “We should go the next town over to Greystone’s Bar—it’s right off the highway. You can’t miss it.” I don’t add that there are also no prying eyes to report my whereabouts and who I am with to my brother. But that’s the main reason I don’t want to eat in Juniper. “They have decent food and cheap alcohol.”

  “Sold,” he says. “Hold on to me.”

  I’ve ridden on motorcycles before, but when I wrap my arms around Faris and lean against him, I realize that this won't be like any other rides. Faris smells amazing—masculine and clean—not unlike the high desert around us. And he feels like solid muscle beneath my arms.

  Faris doesn’t drive the motorcycle like an ass trying to scare me, but he isn’t slow, either. Exhilaration pumps adrenaline into my blood as I cling to him and move with him around the curves in the road. I’m sure which is getting my heart beating faster—riding on the back of a motorcycle for the first time in years, or the man driving it.

  Faris finds Greystone’s bar without trouble. And after he parks, he doesn’t object as I use his strong shoulders to lean against as I dismount from the bike. I take off the helmet and hand it off to him, and it immediately hits me that I almost definitely have helmet hair.

  Faris gets off the bike and grins at me as I am not so subtly trying to fluff my hair back and contain the weird chunks jutting out at the same time.

  Heat flushes across my cheeks at his smile, and I point at my head. “Helmet hair.”

  His grin widens. “Trust me, you don’t have helmet hair.” His grin turns positively sharp around the edges. “You look good enough to eat.”

  I glance down at the parking lot. The gravel has been so ground in that I can barely see hints of it beneath the sand. “Thanks. I think.”

  Faris holds out a hand, and I take it, and we walk into the bar that way. It should feel too familiar too soon, but I enjoy walking into the bar by his side. And I like the feeling of his hand on mine. His fingers are long and fine, but his skin is subtly calloused. I idly wonder if he works on his own bike.

  We take one of the two-person tables near the bar but off in its own dark corner—pub style, so I have to hop a bit to get on my chair. Faris doesn’t laugh at me, which means added points for him. The table is only a little sticky, which is a win in this place. I forgive them though because their burgers are amazing.

  “What can I get you?” The waitress is in her late fifties, with dyed blonde hair, blue eyeliner, and the permanent polite smile you only gain after years in a service job.

  “I’ll take a beer,” Faris says. “Can you recommend something local?”

  The waitress rattles off a few beers from local breweries—Oregon breweries, anyway. And he selects an IPA.

  “I’ll have the same,” I say. I’m tempted to drink one of their margaritas—they are fabulous in this place. But no matter how comfortable I already feel around Faris, I know that a ton of tequila on a first date isn’t a wise choice.

  “I’m surprised you’re drinking,” I say when the waitress leaves.

  He raises a brow at me. “Why is that?”

  “I thought Islamic people couldn’t drink alcohol. Or eat pork, stuff like that.” Crap. Have I assumed too much about where he comes from? His accent sounds vaguely middle eastern to me, but it’s subtle. And what do I really know about placing accents, anyway? I can only guess Australian versus English with slightly better than fifty percent odds.

  “I’m from before that time,” he says.

  The comment confuses me. What can he mean by that? But the waitress comes back before I can ask.

  “Here you go,” she says, setting the beers down in front of us. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “What did you mean? Before that time?” I ask, then take a sip of my beer. I grimace at the strong, hoppy bitterness. Maybe I should have gone for the margarita.

  He shrugs and looks down at his drink for a moment. “It never reached my village.”

  I find that answer just as confusing. But what do I really know about the Arabic world other than what I see on TV? Not much. My tiny town isn’t exactly the epitome of diversity. And sadly, extensive world travel hasn’t been in my budget. Yet.

  One of my favorite songs comes on over the jukebox, and I can’t help but sway a little in my chair. Faris takes a long drink, watching me. And I swear that even when I close my eyes, I can still feel his gaze.

  “Would you like to dance?” he asks, deep baritone rousing me from my distraction.

  I grin at him. “Finally. A guy who likes to dance. Where have you been all my life?”

  I hop off my chair, and he steps off his. Then once again he takes my hand, this time leading us to the dance floor. As we get a step onto the darker inlaid wood that splits the dance floor from the rest of the bar, the song shifts to another one I like—but this one is a slow number.

  Faris doesn’t hesitate before he pulls me in closer, and we sway to the music as one. We fit together well, I can’t help thinking that as we move to the music. Faris is taller than AJ — not that AJ ever wanted to dance—and I fit perfectly right beneath his chin. The next song that comes on is uptempo—and Faris doesn’t hesitate to move with that music as well. He’s a good dancer, and just a touch silly, which I love. After the third song, another slow one, we make our way back to the table. Thankfully, the one we picked is in the bar's corner, where we can converse over the music.

  “Have you lived in Juniper your whole life?” he asks me, waving at the waitress.

  I know he doesn’t mean for it to be insulting, but I immediately feel like a country bumpkin. “So far,” I say. “But it won’t be the last place that I live.”

  He raises an eyebrow at my bristling tone but doesn’t call me out on it. “Anywhere specific you plan on going?”

  “Everywhere,” I say before I can stop myself. But he doesn’t laugh at my enthusiasm or my big dreams. “I just—I want to travel. And I’m going to. I just haven’t quite gotten there yet.”

  AJ would have laughed at my big dreams, but Faris merely nods and replies, “There’s a lot to see. Nothing quite compares to just going out and doing it. You’ll never read a book that will give you the same experience as standing in front of great monuments. Speaking with people from different parts of the world.”

  I practically bounce in my seat, delighted that he understands. “Have you done a lot of traveling?”

  He nods. “I have. But you never tire of it.”

  Before I confess that I wouldn’t mind seeing the world with him—a crazy thing to say to a man on the first date—the waitress makes her way to us. At her raised brow, Faris asks me, “Hungry?”

  “Starved,” I confess. “I haven’t eaten since my lunch break hours ago.”

  “What’s good here?”

  “The burgers are amazing,” I say, at the same time as the waitress who says, “Burgers.”

  Faris grins. “Sounds like a burger is the way to go.”

  “Make it two,” I tell her. “With extra cheese on mine.”

  I drag him back out to the dance floor. After a couple more songs, we chat more and eat our burgers, then we dance again.

  The way he holds me close, the way he moves, makes me wonder how amazing it would be to be with him. But I don’t say that—I speak my mind, but I’m not that forward.

  Once another fast song ends, we return to our table so I can recover. Faris for his part doesn’t look like the dancing is wearing him out at all. I down half of my third round of beer before I stop mysel
f. The dance floor is hot, and the cool drink tastes so good. But I don’t want to get drunk with a man I barely know.

  No matter how much I already like him.

  Might not be likely after the giant burger, but I prefer to be cautious. Especially because I already like him far more than I should.

  “So tell me about your brother,” he says.

  I open my mouth to tell him the whole story then snap it shut. No matter how he makes me feel, I’ve known Faris less than twenty-four hours. I can’t admit to a near stranger exactly what my brother is doing or how bad it is. “The town hasn’t been the same for the last couple of years. Since our grandfather died.”

  Faris doesn’t push for information, but he nods to show he’s listening.

  “He was the last person who could keep Dez in line. I’m not a fan of my brother’s, but he respected my grandfather. I don’t think he has much respect for anyone else.” I take a deep breath and lean forward in the chair over the table separating us. “After Grandpa died, Dez went completely off the rails. He got deeper into the mess that he’s in. So deep that… I just don’t know how he’s gonna get out of it.”

  Faris watches me for a long moment before speaking. “He’s why you haven’t left Juniper? Even though after knowing you less than a day, I can tell that this is the last place you want to be.”

  I shift in my seat, uncomfortable that I’m so easy to see through. Faris has already picked up on my biggest secret. Apparently, I’m not as good at hiding my emotions as I thought I was. So much my working the mysterious stranger angle. “It’s not that—or maybe it is. I don’t know. I think I’m still hoping that my brother can be saved.”

  Somewhere deep inside, my heart aches. I know my hope is in vain. But I can’t let go of it fully. He’s the only family I have left.

  Faris, insightful man that he is, knows enough to stay silent. Instead, he stands and reaches for my hand. And we walk back to the dance floor.

  The song is slow, rhythmic. And when Faris pulls me closer than he has before, I go willingly. It feels good—too good—to dance in this man’s arms. I feel things I haven’t felt in a very long time. Safe. Cared for. Wanted.

  At the end of the song when he steps back and then leans down, ever so slowly, to kiss me, I don’t move away.

  His lips are soft against mine, but demanding. His tongue slips between my lips, and I wrap my arms around his neck. God, the man can kiss. For a long moment, I lose myself in him. His hard body wraps around my softer one, and we fit together perfectly. I lean into him, wanting more.

  More than just a kiss.

  Then as suddenly as it began, Faris breaks the kiss, leaning back. But he doesn’t release me from his arms. “You want to get out of here?”

  I don’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

  3

  Faris

  Her arms squeeze me as we drive down the back roads toward Juniper. I can’t remember a night I have enjoyed more than this one. Sounds dramatic, even in my head. But it’s true.

  I’ve lived through wars, through the huge celebrations after them, and I’ve seen more than a dozen human lifetimes. But a night in a backwater bar with Kyra outshines them all.

  I love the way she feels snuggled up next to me. The way her sweet scent comes through to me even with the air whipping around us on the bike. And dancing with her… It was one step away from bliss.

  The wide and open Oregon scenery is flying by us as we get closer to Juniper. I’m seriously considering stopping for a moment to ask her if she wants to continue to ride for a while, instead of heading home. Letting go of her so soon makes my skin feel too tight.

  Then two cars whip out in front of us another comes from the same turn out to follow behind us.

  They slow way down, boxing us in on three sides, leaving the gravel and brush on the side of the road the only place I could head toward. If I had been the only one on the bike, I might’ve said fuck it, hit the gas, and taken my chances on cutting between the one on the side of me and the other in front. Betting on the fact I could make my way through them—one way or another.

  But not with Kyra on board.

  A helmet isn’t a good enough defense to a bike accident. Not for a far too easy to damage human like Kyra. I slow to a stop, and I use my telepathic ability to call out to Bren—the only other Dragon in our group with a psychic connection.

  Bren. I’ve got trouble.

  Quickly, I relay our position to the other dragon, and I hear Bren's reassuring mental voice respond. Normally, I could handle the humans on my own. But that might mean shifting into my dragon, and if I reveal what I am to these men, they have to die. And I can’t have that, not if the men surrounding us are the ones I suspect.

  I don’t want to kill Kyra’s brother.

  When we pull off to the side of the road, I kill the engine.

  “What are you doing?” Kyra hisses at me after pushing the visor up, her voice urgent nearing panic. “We need to get away from them, Faris. Please. I know you can get away on this bike.”

  “Running away isn’t my style,” I tell her.

  “He’ll hurt you, Faris,” she says, voice breaking in panic.

  I wish that I could reassure her. That I could tell her she has nothing to worry about. But there isn’t a way I can do that. Not in the time we have. She won’t understand.

  Despite her protests, I help her off the bike and get off myself. I stand up straight and stare coolly at Dez and the five guys he’s brought with him. They all circle around my motorcycle. I haven’t been a king in a very long time, but I will not allow this rabble to cow me.

  Dez looks angry, his lips are pressed together and turned down in an arrogant sneer when he looks at Kyra and me. I can see the family resemblance now, and it’s surprising I didn’t see it before. Dez has the same hazel eyes as Kyra, although his hair is a dark blond. He’s much taller, six feet to her five-three. It’s his expression, I decide. His overall demeanor is so different from his sister’s that it overruns the rest of their similarities.

  “Get in the car, Kyra,” Dez orders his sister, sending her the same dark look he directs toward me. The man looks even more the criminal than when I first saw him. It’s not the jacket he’s wearing or his expensive-looking jeans, it’s the predatory gleam in his hazel eyes—so like his sister’s, yet so different because of the evil soul behind them.

  Of the five men he’s brought along, I only recognize one from the store. That means he has more than a few men working for him. Whatever his business is that Kyra won't to talk about, it generates enough money to buy designer jeans while living in a town with few opportunities, and hire muscle around him. I have my suspicions about what this asshole does for a living.

  “No,” she says, standing by my side proudly.

  Dez nods at one of his goons—a big guy with no discernable neck — tries to grab Kyra. “Sherman, put my sister in the car.”

  I grab his hand and allow some of my dragon strength to show through when I squeeze it almost hard enough to break all of his knuckles. His fingers crunch under my grip, and I release him. The man falls to the ground, holding his fist against his chest. He cries out in pain, then starts crying. He shuffles back toward his friends, tears running down his cheeks. His eyes are wide, staring between me and his hand in shock.

  Two other men—his friends, one would guess, laugh at him. But Dez doesn’t even glance down at the injured man.

  “You will pay for that,” Dez says, and his eyes lock on me. His voice is even, but I can hear the anger beneath. “We were just going to beat you senseless, but now you’re gonna die.”

  A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. I know I can’t fully shift without revealing my secret, but the thought of this weak human killing me is just too amusing.

  “Let’s see you try,” I say, motioning for them to come at me.

  Dez doesn’t enjoy being laughed at, and he yells out to rally his friends as he rushes me. The other four move in, and as expected, Dez
hangs back. He's the leader who starts a fight but avoids getting in the fray. He waits until the end to take the glory that isn’t rightfully his.

  The first one to reach me goes down with a quick pop to his jaw. His eyes roll back in his head before he crashes to the ground.

  “Fast fucker,” the second one mutters as I dodge a shot to the jaw from him.

  I grin, then take him down with a swift kick to his knee. He manages not to scream, but he falls down gripping his bent leg.

  The third runs at me and I step back at the last second, grab him, and send him flying into one of their cars using his own momentum. The fourth gets a swing in on me, but I dodge it, so it barely glances against my forehead. I turn to face him and see Dez right behind him, holding a gun.

  Before I can do anything else, a gunshot cuts through the sounds of the fight.

  Pain hits me, sharp and deep. I look at Dez, who is still holding the gun, standing behind his last man. I fall to my knees on the ground beside my motorcycle, holding my stomach.

  I glance down at my stomach and can see blood patch darkening my faded black T-shirt. Pressing my hands against the wound, I look up and directly down the barrel of the gun that Dez is pointing at my face. Fear touches me. I’m not sure if I can shift fast enough to recover from a bullet to the brain.

  I’m not afraid to die, but I just found Kyra. And I’m not prepared to let go of her yet.

  The sound of several motorcycles roaring closer shifts Dez’s attention from me. He shouts at his men, and mostly limping, they load back into their cars. Dez tries to grab Kyra, but she fights him. Kicking and screaming and scratching at her brother. Finally, Dez curses at her and lets her go.

  I glance over my shoulder to see my crew approaching.

  “Screw you, then,” Dez says to his sister. Then, leaving her behind, he runs back to his car and takes off. “Stay with this piece of shit. I’m done with him, anyway.”

  Everyone but Lex and Hannah are approaching. That doesn’t surprise me—no doubt Lex stayed back to protect Hannah and his unborn youngling.