Chapter 15
Zaden
I was mid-polish when the sound of tires on gravel made me look up. A battered Silverado eased to the curb. The guy behind the wheel was a wolf. I'd seen him around. Broad-shouldered, military cut, the kind of gait of an enforcer. He hustled around to the passenger side and coaxed a kid out.
The kid followed, shoes kicking up dust. The man led him straight to the bar, bypassing the tables. He stopped in front of me on the other side of the bar. "Krystal here?"
I jerked my chin at the kitchen doors. "She’s cutting limes. She’ll be out in a sec."
The man eyed me for a moment. "You with the Beck Clan?"
"I am. Zaden Roberts." I held out my hand.
He shook my hand. "Jack Griffen, wolf pack enforcer." He placed a hand on the kid’s head. "This is Krystal's son, Bryce. I tried to call her to let her know my son caught a stomach bug. Nathan's not home. Elle is helping Erin at the Inn. Sorry I had to bring him here."
"No problem. Bryce is safe here. Like I said, Krystal is in the kitchen."
Jack nodded, then turned to Bryce. "You’ll be fine, yeah?"
The kid rolled his eyes. "Yes. I’m good."
The man ruffled his hair, then made a hasty exit.
I let the moment sit, then slid a ginger ale across the bar. "On the house. With a cherry."
Bryce eyed the glass, then me. "Aren’t you supposed to ID me first?"
I smirked. "Only if you’re ordering the good stuff. Besides, you look like a man who can handle his soda."
He cracked a smile, took a tentative sip.
The way he held the glass, left hand, fingers splayed, never letting it rest on the bar, reminded me of someone.
Took me a second to realize it was me. When I drank, I did the same thing.
Never trusted the surface not to get sticky or slide out from under me.
The dragon in my chest purred, pleased at the parallel. I ignored it.
"You want to hang out back, or here at the bar?" I asked, keeping it casual.
Bryce shrugged again. "I’ll stay here, if that’s okay. I got a book."
He dug a paperback from his backpack, battered and taped at the spine. I peeked at the title. Some fantasy epic, all dragons and castles and airbrushed warriors on the cover. I almost laughed.
"You like that stuff?" I asked.
He nodded, flipping to his place. "It’s better than reality most days."
"Depends on the day," I said.
He sipped his ginger ale, eyes never leaving the page. For a while, the only sound was the music, the hum of the cooler, and the click of Mike arranging chips. Angel disappeared into the back office, cursing about vendor invoices.
I polished another glass, watching the kid out of the corner of my eye.
He read fast, lips moving in silent rehearsal of the dialogue.
Every once in a while, he’d underline a word or jot something in the margin.
Not the actions of a casual reader. Obsessive, maybe. Or just smart. I could respect either.
After a while, he looked up and caught me staring. "You ever read this one?"
I shook my head. "Not that series. But I’ve been known to appreciate a good dragon story."
He nodded, considering. "Most of them get it wrong," he said, matter-of-fact. "Dragons aren’t all greedy and evil. Some are just trying to survive."
I tilted my head. "Is that right?"
He set the book down, looked at me dead-on. "If you could fly anywhere and never have to answer to anybody, wouldn’t you do it? Wouldn’t anyone?"
It hit a nerve I didn’t expect. "Maybe. But it’s lonely up there."
He smiled, small and knowing. "Yeah. That’s what my mom says, too."
I leaned back, feeling the old ache in my back where a knife had gone in once, a long time ago. "She’s smart, your mom."
He nodded, distracted, and picked up his book again. "She’s the best."
I busied myself at the bar, but the dragon in me wouldn’t let it rest. The feeling was back, that crackle under my skin, the itch that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with blood. It was the same feeling I got when I was close to my brother Drake or one of my clanmates.
"How old are you?"
"Nine," he said, not looking up from his book.
If you add in the nine months of pregnancy to his age, that would be pretty close to when Krystal and I had hooked up. Ten years ago.
I looked at the kid again. The eyes, brown, but flecked with gold at the edges. The line of his jaw, the set of his shoulders, the stubborn way he held himself even when he was the smallest in the room.
I felt it then. The dragon in me woke up, hungry and raw, and recognized what my human brain had been denying.
Kin.
Bryce.
My son.
The bar spun a little. I gripped the edge, grounding myself. The sensation wasn’t like falling, it was like remembering something I'd sworn to forget, and realizing it was never gone, just waiting for me to let my guard down.
"Hey," Bryce said, pulling me back. "You okay?"
I forced a smile. "Yeah. Sorry. Zoned out for a second."
He nodded, then pointed at the bowl of cherries behind me. "Can I have another?"
I picked out the best one and skewered it, handed it to him like it was an Olympic medal. "Only the finest for my VIP guests."
He snorted, then ate it with a flourish. "You want anything else, little man?"
Bryce shook his head. "I’m good. Mom says not to eat too much sugar, or I’ll go feral."
It was all I could do not to pass out right there behind the bar. "That’s a real thing with wolves, huh?"
Bryce grinned. "You should see what happens to Elle at Halloween."
I forced a laugh and drifted back to my end of the bar but couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t stop thinking about what this meant.
My son.