Chapter 5
5
AUSTYN
I push my leg against Tate’s, trying to keep him calm. Walter wanted to separate us—one in the front of the car and one in the back—but one look at Tate and the tension in his face convinced him otherwise.
Not knowing what’s going on has me on edge. When Jacobs first contacted me over a decade ago, we set a routine. I get an assignment. I complete the assignment. Without any interference from him. Why is this time different?
It has something to do with Tate. But what? I should have realized sooner that Tate’s a shifter, but his dino hid from me. Will he trust me enough to help him through this? Thanks to Walter the prickhead, Tate thinks he’s just an assignment. And although that isn’t true, it should be. I need to remain professional.
Walter darts nervous glances at Tate through the rearview mirror. He should be nervous. Having a man turn into a dinosaur might void your vehicle warranty. And your vehicle.
Tate stares out the window as we drive southeast on Highway 200 out of Hope, but I doubt he notices the majestic mountains surrounding us. His hands are clasped tightly in his lap, turning his fingers a mottled red and white. I touch his wrist, and his head swivels to stare at me with wide eyes. I smile, ignoring Walter watching us in the mirror, and when he unclasps his hands, I thread our fingers together. His body relaxes and he closes his eyes.
I wish I could reassure Tate that it will all be fine. But I’m not sure that’s true. I’ve only been to Victor Jacobs’s estate a few times. Usually, I’m invited. Not whisked away by one of his hoodlums.
Jacobs thinks of himself as a king. And a crime boss. The crime? Awakening entire species of dinosaurs. But along with that comes the usual. Extortion, drugs, human trafficking. I’m okay with the first two. Almost. Keep people quiet. Get them to do what you want for the good of our survival. The illegal drugs are used to help ease the pain of shifting for the first several thousand times. And even more drugs to get over the mental mind-fuck. But the last one. Human trafficking—dino trafficking—I’m not okay with that. And I pray that the rumors of a serum being developed to control dinosaurs are just that: rumors. But according to my visitors a month ago, it’s true.
Dr. Beau Tremere is the son of the renowned paleontologist Dr. Jason Tremere. He was traveling with a dino shifter he called Killian. The man had lost his memory. Not only forgetting his past and his name but also that he was a dino shifter. Someone had tried to control him, and it wasn’t clear if it was a secret government agency or the Jacobs’s dino Mafia.
Tate gasps when Victor Jacobs’s estate comes into view. The place is massive, with a mansion, several outbuildings, an armory, a farm, and an expensive stretch of land perfectly suited for his purposes. Not that Tate can see any of that. Huge walls and several gates surround the property, ensuring privacy. As we make it through the gate and more of the complex comes into view, the color drains from Tate’s face.
I squeeze his hand, glad that I’m here with him. What if Jacobs had tried to do this without me? Oh God. Maybe he had. Bastard.
No one, and nothing, will hurt Tate. I’ll keep him safe at all costs.
But what about Tate? He stepped in to protect me from Walter. Which is concerning but also amazing. My freaking heart. Has anyone ever tried to defend me before?
Walter herds us into the mansion, and Tate’s head swivels as he tries to take in his surroundings. No matter how many times I’ve been here, I never get used to the sheer beauty of the place.
Or the absolute waste.
I love beautiful things, but this isn’t about that. Jacobs is metaphorically flexing his muscles, and it makes me sick every time I see it. Jacobs doesn’t represent the beauty and fierceness of being a million-year-old creature. He relies on his human thirst for power and greed.
The man himself isn’t intimidating, not on the surface. He’s grandfatherly with ruddy cheeks and a short white beard. But his eyes are cold—not like steel but brutal like the ragged cliffs of the Lemhi Range, promising to shred you without a thought.
“Mr. Burkes.” He rises from his seat behind his large desk as we enter. “It’s a delight to see you again.”
The desk is mostly bare. A few papers, a tablet, and several framed pictures of a young girl with red hair. She’s ten years old. I already know this. But the pictures show her at different ages, ranging from a few months old until now. She’s the only person Jacobs seems to care about. His granddaughter, Abigail.
“Mr. Jacobs.” I nod, my gaze darting to Frank Petroni, Jacobs’s top goon, as he stands guard in the corner of the room. “Why are we here?”
“Always straight to the point. Our mutual friend, Tate, needs assistance.”
“I was taking care of it.”
He puffs on the cigar in his hand, the tendrils of smoke drifting over to us. I wave it away. I don’t mind a good cigar, but the stuff he smokes is foul. And another power play. “Now it will be easier. I have everything you need.” He gives me a pointed stare that I understand all too clearly. Play nice, or someone will get hurt. And that someone is Tate. Many wouldn’t care. But I do. And he knows it. I hope to hell he doesn’t know how much I care.
Oh fuck. Tate transmits his feelings like a beacon. Maybe we can work on that first. No use in fighting Jacobs on this. He has the resources I need. Meanwhile, I’ll protect Tate with everything I have.
“I appreciate your generosity.” Do I sound sincere and not like I want to shift and tear his throat out? Tate coughs, so maybe not. “Can we see our rooms? It’s been a long day.”
Jacobs grins. It’s slimy and predatory, and my stomach threatens to revolt. “Of course. Walter, can you show Mr. Goodman and Mr. Burkes to their room? Make sure they’re comfortable.”
There’s something in his voice I don’t like. A hidden meaning behind his words. But before I have a chance to examine it, Tate sways. His eyes are half closed with dark circles under them. This isn’t his normal clumsiness. The poor guy is exhausted. When he sways again, I grab his arm and steady him, aware that Jacobs is watching our every move.
“Let’s go, lads.” Walter leads us up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway. I hold on to Tate so he doesn’t stumble. He keeps his head down. “Here we are.” Walter waves us in with a flourish of his hand.
The room is beautiful. The walls are a soft eggshell color. Is that to highlight the rest of the furnishings? The elegant window dressings complement the rich red and gold colors of the bedspread. I want to run my fingers over the gorgeous damask fabric.
“Is this my room or Tate’s?”
“Ye get to share.”
My skin tingles with something. Excitement? Or dread? I gape at Walter. “What? Why?”
But the answer is clear. Tate is unstable. What if he shifts before he’s ready? Someone needs to stay with him.
“Um…Aus?” Tate’s voice goes higher than I’ve ever heard it. “There’s only one bed.”
“Well, would you look at that?” Walter strokes the stubble on his face like he has a full-grown beard. “Only one bed.” Then he cackles again and leaves us alone.
Fuck.
“What’s going on, Austyn? I don’t understand any of this.”
Anxiety radiates off Tate, and I mentally reset. Keeping him calm is my number one priority. “No need to worry. It’s going to be fine.”
“There’s only one bed,” he says again but louder. He waves his hand at the bed as if I somehow missed it. “And I’m…” He gestures at himself. “I’m a big guy. I could crush you.”
Heat rushes through me as images pop into my head. Tate crushing me against his large body. His thick thighs—I swallow my lust and push back the wild beast inside me, wanting to play. I have to be the calm one.
“It’s fine, Tate. I’m tougher than I look.” I hesitate. Am I really going to use his sweet nature against him? I ignore the guilt stabbing my chest. “But I can sleep on the floor if you want.”
“No. No way. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Well, that backfired. “The bed is big enough for both of us, Tate. Please don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.” It takes a bit to convince him, but he finally agrees, scrubbing his face with his big hands.
After joining Walter in the large dining area for dinner, we return to our room. Tate avoids looking at me as we take turns in the bathroom and climb into bed. It isn’t big enough. Tension radiates from Tate as he lies frozen in place.
I can’t get comfortable. I’m too aware of Tate. My body aches with the need to touch him. To close the gap between us and claim him. But he’s not mine. And I don’t want to confuse or frighten him. My breaths are shallow. I can’t seem to draw in any air. I turn on my side, facing away from Tate, so I can breathe again. My foot brushes against the silky hair of his leg—oh fuck. Lust shoots through me as I imagine his entire body covered with dark hair.
What is wrong with me? I’ve spent hundreds of years helping others, and the first step in helping someone relax is being relaxed.
But the little things keep me on edge. The scent of honeysuckle and green apple candy. A strange combination. And the heat this man generates. My other senses want a chance to play. Touch his strong biceps and thick thighs. Taste his skin. Breathe in the sweat under his arms. My Troodon wants to spar with him. Dominate him.
The bed shifts, and Tate feels closer. “Aus?” His breath teases the back of my neck.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”
Oh God. This sweet man is too much. I turn and reach for him because now touching is necessary. The hair on his arm tickles my palm. His skin is hot. “I want to be here. You shouldn’t go through this alone.”
“I don’t even know what this is.” He sighs. “I mean, I have an idea.”
Even in the dim light, his eyes are bright against the shadows of his face. I scoot over until our bodies are closer but still not touching. “Tell me.”
“It’s too weird—I can’t.”
“Weird isn’t weird to me. I’ve seen a lot.” I grab his hand, not focusing on how right it feels.
He lets out a breath. “It started with the dizziness.”
Tonight isn’t the best time to start this. But I’m not going to stop him. This is the first step. Well, the first step is admitting something is wrong. Different. So, the second step. “And it started six months ago?”
“More like seven months.” He shrugs. “I tried to ignore it. I’d stumble. A lot. And I wasn’t the most graceful person to begin with.”
I chuckle and squeeze his hand. “What did you do?”
“I went to the doctor. They ran all kinds of tests. They couldn’t find anything except…”
“Low iron levels?”
“Yeah.” His breathing evens out, and he seems less anxious the more he talks. “They said I was anemic. They gave me vitamins, which didn’t help. I was also feeling anxious—no, restless. And then… This is the weird part.”
I squeeze his hand. “I’m ready. Give me the weird.”
Tate’s deep laugh is the kind that reaches in and grabs you. I swallow my conflicting emotions and will my body to stand down. “I was blacking out. I’d wake up in strange places and not know how I got there. And I’d be…naked. I’d find my clothes…pieces of my clothes. I went through so many I started buying them at the thrift store, knowing they wouldn’t last anyway. Then Mrs. Callihan suggested you could help me.”
Usually, Jacobs refers people to me. Walter acted as if they hadn’t known Tate was visiting my shop for months. Obviously, that wasn’t true. “What else?” I ask.
He’s quiet. Too quiet.
Tate leans closer, never letting go of my hand. “I’d have bruises and cuts. Nothing major, but like I’d been fighting. It feels like there’s something inside me trying to get out. And so much—” He turns his head into the pillow, hiding his face.
I squeeze his hand. “You said you had a theory?”
Tate laughs and tries to pull away. “Aus…”
“Nope.” I hold on to him with both hands. “I’m right here. Tell me.”
“It’s stupid…but it adds up. All my injuries and the shredded clothes. I had no memory of any of it. I think I’m…” He swallows hard. “The Incredible Hulk.”
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. “From the Avengers ?”
He flops onto his back and tries to pull out of my grip, but I don’t let go. He huffs. “I know I’m not really the Hulk. I’m not an idiot.”
“I don’t think you’re an idiot, Tate. And it makes sense when you lay it all out.”
“You don’t have to be so nice, Aus. I can take the truth.”
I clear my throat, trying to focus on the hurt in his voice and not the brush of his leg against mine every time he moves. “Look at me, Tate.”
It takes a minute, but I wait patiently for him to move his big body. When he’s facing me again, I release his hand. Brushing my thumb over his cheek, I push back on the inappropriate need to take care of this man. To touch him. Kiss him. Rub my body all over his, like an animal in heat. Is the dino part or the human part driving this need? Not that it matters. We’re one and the same.
Lying to myself never works. I accept that I want Tate more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. But this isn’t about what I need. This is about helping Tate through a confusing time. Helping him accept his dinosaur.
Leaning my forehead against his, I let out a shaky breath. “I can explain everything, I promise. I’m here to help you through this.”
His words are low and soft. “So I’m not a green monster with rage issues?”
How to answer that truthfully? The odds of his dino being some shade of green and angry are pretty high. I chuckle. “Don’t worry. You’re not the Hulk.” I kiss his forehead and linger for a few precious seconds. It’s all I can allow myself. “Sleep now, Tate. Tomorrow will be a big day.”
He snuggles into the blanket like he’s seeking comfort, and I fight the urge to wrap my arms around him. His lips are so close. Does he taste as sweet as he looks?
His breathing changes and the air around us fills with something needy. “Aus?”
“Shh. Let’s just get through tomorrow, sweetness.” I kiss his cheek, hoping that will be enough.
Before I can pull away, Tate grabs my face and crushes our lips together. My body roars to life, and I gasp, clinging to him. His kisses are demanding as he plunges my mouth, bold and assertive, taking what he wants. It’s hot as fuck. And my body is desperate for more.
But it ends as quickly as it began. Tate’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open. “Oh God, Aus, I’m sorry. It’s just, I’ve dreamed of this…and I thought you wanted me to kiss you.”
I cup his face in my hands before he can move to the floor or beat himself up any further. “I did—do—want you to kiss me. More, if I’m being honest. But we shouldn’t. Not while I’m helping you through this.”
He gives a half-nod, half-shake of his head. “Right. You’re right.”
I tip his chin and hold his gaze. “But I don’t regret it, Tate. Not at all.” Even though I should.
We agree to sleep after that. I wait until Tate is calm and snoring, then I let myself drift off to sleep.
Sometime later, I’m jerked out of a sweet dream by the jostling of the bed. Tate thrashes around, grunting and making exasperated high-pitched noises.
Shit. I should have asked more questions. When do his blackouts occur? At night? When he’s hungry or tired or angry? Then maybe I’d be more prepared.
No matter. This is the reason I’m here. Not so I can take advantage of his vulnerable state. I touch his wrist, pushing on the radial artery. Any pulse point will do, but the carotid artery in his neck would be hard to reach with his head thrashing. And the femoral artery in his thigh—I suck in a breath. You’re a damn professional, Austyn. Act like it.
“Tate. Sweetness, come back,” I say, keeping my voice low and gentle. “I need you here with me.”
His body thrashes a few more times, but the movements slowly stop and his breathing evens out.
I check the time on my phone. A few more hours until we need to be up, but I’m not sure I can sleep. I want to take this slow, but Jacobs is impatient and isn’t going to wait. Tomorrow, Tate will find out the truth about what he is.
What I am.
And I have no idea how he will react.