Tempting the Tiger (Soldati Security #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

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I stride out of Wargate Supernatural Prison and breathe free air for the first time in three long years.

Four armed fae guards escort me to the edge of the ward, where we stop just inside the glimmering boundary.

I’m itching to cross it—this ward has kept my dragon side constantly suppressed, leaving a jagged, harrowing chasm inside me throughout my incarceration.

Milo grins at me from a few feet away, his black curls plastered to his head, his jacket and jeans soaked and clinging to him. Fuck, it’s good to see him.

‘It’s finally happening,’ my brother signs, his hand movements excited despite the torrential downpour.

I can’t reply due to the shifter-level handcuffs locking my hands behind my back, but I manage something resembling a smile, more than ready to get the hell away from this nightmare.

Milo and I look a lot alike. We have the same black hair—although mine is buzzed short—the same sharp cheekbones and tawny skin, and the same pale blue eyes that turn red when we shift.

I used to be the more well-built of the two of us, but years in a cramped cell without my dragon have taken their toll, and the well-fitting clothes I was arrested in now hang loosely.

Unfortunately, Milo’s alone. Last time I emailed him, he said Zara wanted to be here. The fact that my seventeen-year-old sister isn’t next to him right now has to mean our parents prevented her from coming.

It’s fine. I’ll see her soon enough, and then we can celebrate.

Milo’s eyes move to the fae behind me and his grin vanishes, his hand movements becoming more businesslike. ‘Milo Draig, brother of Bryn Draig.’

Since it’s protocol that prisoners are only released to a friend or family member who can help them control the unpredictable aftereffects of having their supernatural side returned to them, the fae wouldn’t actually let me go today if Milo weren’t here.

The fae on my left turns me away from him so that he can remove my handcuffs. The fae on my right, now facing me, sneers. ‘See you back in a few months, lizard brain,’ he signs dismissively.

I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response, even though my hands are free now. There have been many times when I’ve wished the fae couldn’t communicate with me, but the irritating species has been around so long that most of them know multiple earth languages, including mine.

It doesn’t matter anymore. The guard is wrong about my likelihood of re-offending—I’ll never return here.

The moment I turn back to Milo, the two guards behind me shove me across the ward before all four beat a hasty retreat back inside.

I expect my dragon to come rushing back, all fire and fury, but instead there’s just a low vibration and a steady presence returning to fill the gaping emptiness in my soul.

My clothes are instantly soaked as the constant agony I’ve been living with diminishes to a dull ache.

I clutch my chest, frowning at the lack of reaction from my dragon.

When I don’t instinctively shift—which we were warned was a possibility—Milo rushes over. ‘Is he back?’

‘I think something’s wrong with him,’ I sign, my hand movements stiff.

Milo glances at the massive red brick prison looming behind me. ‘Let’s move out of sight, then we’ll see if you can shift.’

I nod, then grab my brother in a hug and inhale the scent of him. He grips me back just as tightly. It’s been a really long few years.

When we eventually let each other go, we walk around the side of the huge prison complex to an empty field.

There are no windows facing this way—at least, none that are visible past the enormous brick wall that surrounds the place—so we have some semblance of privacy.

There are other types of security spells as well as the ward, so the guards can likely see us, but it’ll be easier if I pretend they can’t.

‘Did you even bring a car?’ I frown, already suspecting the answer.

Milo grimaces. ‘Figured you’d want to fly.’

‘I do. Just not sure if it’ll happen.’ All that time in Wargate without my dragon has been challenging enough. Being unable to even shift into the form I was born in now that I’m finally out? I don’t want to face that future.

He gets a determined look on his face. ‘It’ll happen. We’ll stand in this field as long as we need to.’

To be fair, the thought of being stuck here, outside the ward but unable to leave the prison, is really fucking strong motivation. I want to go home.

I nudge my dragon. Nothing.

I focus all my energy inward, every ounce of the magic that has returned to me, and send a pulse to the other half of my soul. My dragon picks himself up slowly, reluctant and unhappy, but a minute later my shift steals over me.

It’s nothing like the rapid shift I used to experience.

This is a slow, lazy stretch as crimson scales erupt over my skin before my body grows, my wings and tail sprout, and my head changes shape to form my snout and two enormous curved horns.

I stand in the muddy field, breathing heavily, finally feeling like myself again.

I puff my chest out and spread my wings, ignoring the stiffness in my limbs and relishing the sensation of rain hitting my scales. I swish my tail experimentally, relieved that it responds exactly how I want it to, even if it does ache.

Milo jumps up and down, punching his fist in the air and grinning from ear to ear.

He moves away a few paces, then shifts at his usual swift speed into a dark cherry-red dragon, with the same double row of spikes down the length of his body and along his tail that I have.

He bumps my nose with his then rubs his snout along my neck.

I do the same to him, this form of scenting so achingly familiar.

Then he turns and breathes flames across the field, keeping them high enough to avoid setting anything on fire. When he stops, he eyes me expectantly.

He’s right that it’s an obvious next step. I was burping flames when I was six months old, so this shouldn’t be a challenge.

Unfortunately, it’s not as instinctive as I would like.

When I try simply breathing fire, nothing happens.

I focus on contracting the muscles in my throat to move the fuel inside me into the right area, then, when I eventually have enough in place that I won’t look like I’m trying to light a candle, I use my magic to ignite it.

I breathe out the resulting flames; a simultaneous exhalation of relief that it’s worked and frustration at being denied this for so long.

The rain, which hasn’t let up, extinguishes my fire far too quickly.

For a brief moment, I’m glad Milo’s the only one seeing me like this. My sister already feels unnecessarily guilty that I got locked up. The last thing I want is for her to see how pathetic my dragon is now.

Time to get the fuck out of here. If I can shift and breathe fire, I can fly.

My first attempt to launch by pushing off with my legs results in an embarrassing little jump and not much else.

I spread my wings wider, changing the direction I’m facing to better catch the wind, and try again.

This time I actually manage to take off, but a sudden drop in the wind twenty feet up catches me off guard and I land in the next field with a heavy thud. Fuck.

I eye Milo, who moves closer and nods encouragingly.

Two more attempts later, I’m convincingly in the air. It takes longer than I’d like to achieve a decent height, but once I do, the feel of the wind and rain buffeting my scales gives me a kind of peace I haven’t felt in forever.

Milo catches up to me quickly, flying on my left and slightly behind as an indication that he’s letting me lead the way.

We level out below the dark cloud cover; it’s lower than we prefer to fly, but I want to be able to see the ground beneath us.

I need visual proof that this is real and not simply another dream.

Dragon magic is such that we’re camouflaged from humans and their technology, so as long as we avoid aircraft it’s safe to fly wherever we want.

Since Wargate is in the middle of a rural part of Derbyshire, we’re almost immediately flying over rolling green hills and lakes turned grey by the bleak weather.

The feeling of freedom is immense. There are a few tiny cars below us, crawling like ants along the narrow, winding roads, but other than that, it’s just us.

I swoop low over a lake to skim my talons across the water’s surface. There’s no one out on the water in this weather, so I work my throat muscles in preparation, then breathe out a long burst of flame and fly through it. Buoyed by my success, I tuck my wings in and attempt a barrel roll.

My left wingtip clips the lake’s surface, causing me to spin out of control and land in the water with a massive splash.

Fuck.

Milo swoops back around to me as I struggle, trying not to sink to the bottom.

I can’t take off like this, and Welsh dragons can’t swim due to our density, so I reluctantly shift back.

My clothes are literally dripping as my brother grips me in his talons and carries me to the shore where he drops me carefully on the rocky ground.

I sit with my shoulders curled forwards and my face hot. I might feel marginally less pathetic if I could use my dragon heat to dry my sodden blue jeans and black T-shirt, but there’s no point when the bitterly cold rain hasn’t let up.

Milo lands next to me and shifts to his biped form as well. He sits opposite me, and when I refuse to look at him, nudges me with his boot. ‘We’ll do some training. Get your flying skills back.’

I scowl at the stupid lake with its stupid water, getting in the way. ‘I’m worse than a teenager. I wouldn’t even pass the Independence Exam right now.’

‘No one is going to make you take it again,’ he signs gently, his eyes full of sympathy.