Valentine for the Bad Dragon (Arrhythmia Texas Hearts #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“So, you’re really going through with this?”

“Yes.”

“But…”

“But nothing.” Spinning on the balls of my feet, I tried– and got about halfway–to keep from giving my much younger, incredibly petulant, really lovable, and extremely intuitive sister an arched eyebrow and pointed look. We’d had this discussion over and over.

“And you…”

“I do not need your help, Lydia,” I stopped my inner Necromancer.

“Well, ya’ damn sure need something.”

And with that, she was gone, slamming the mental shields that separated her psyche from my mind with a resounding BAM! If this train stayed on this track– the one heading for an inevitable crash– I was going to need a whole bottle of ibuprofen and a couple of margaritas.

I needed to head this shit off at the pass. There was no time for any of this crap. Iona was trying to stare a hole through my forehead, and I was burning daylight. Time to put up or shut up– and I had never shut up a day in my life.

Maybe Lydia was right. Maybe I hadn’t completely explained all the intricate details of my plan of attack to my little sister. I mean, I tried. I think I tried. Yes, I tried. I just… I mean… Well, okay… I thought about it. And thought about it… And…

Well, it wasn’t because I didn’t think she could handle it.

Hell, she’d handled things as a little girl that had damn near killed me as an adult.

It damned sure wasn’t because I doubted her abilities.

My baby sister was stronger, smarter, and had the quickest wit in the whole great state of Texas.

Not to mention, she had a damn good head on her shoulders.

I had to face the hard facts… The problem wasn’t her. The fly in the ointment was me.

Sadly, I was flummoxed, gobsmacked, and had been rode hard and put away wet over the last month or so. I had no frikkin’ idea what my problem was. All I knew, for the first time ever, I simply couldn’t find the words to tell Iona what I was about to do.

Well, that shit had sailed. It was time to put on my big girl panties, get over myself, and just let the words flow.

Inhaling deeply through my nose, the index finger of my left hand snapped up in the ‘hush’ position when Iona, the aforementioned little sister, opened her mouth to speak.

Counting to three, I pointedly exhaled to let her know that I was trying with all my might not to be a screaming, crazy person while I summoned all my hard-fought control and the gumption to fake what I couldn’t muster.

Finally able to speak without sounding like a total bitch, I forced a little bit of something that I hoped resembled a smile onto my face and explained, “Look, I know none of this makes sense to you.” Roughly brushing a stray red curl off my cheek, I held back the grumble that was trying to work its way out of my throat and motioned to the bed. “And that’s my fault.”

“Mhm…”

“Alright, Miss Missy,” I teased. “Enough of the attitude. Come on. Sit down. Let me try to explain.”

Watching as Iona, the little sister I had raised from the very young age of five, plopped down on the edge of my bed with an audible harrumph, I winked and let the words flow. “I know you don’t remember much about momma.”

“Not as much as you, but some.” She nodded, sadness darkening her bright green eyes.

“I remember that she always smelled like roses and fresh-baked bread, hummed her own little tunes when she rocked me to sleep, and without fail, kissed me on the forehead and whispered, I love you, every time I was anywhere near her.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. I felt my smile turning into a strange but wonderful mixture of sad and happy, as wistful images of the past, the happy times with my mom, floated through my mind. “She was an awesome mother, and an even better person.”

“I know,” Iona breathed, her right hand unconsciously rubbing the spot on her chest right over her heart. Looking up through her thick, dark lashes, she quietly added, “I still dream about her almost every night.”

“Me too.” I nodded. “I wish you’d had more time with her. If not for that decree that says when two Necromancers Mate, they can only have one child every hundred years, the three of us would’ve had so much more time together.”

“Stupid Necromancer rules,” Iona huffed, rolling her eyes as the toe of her black with red hearts high-top Converse worried with the edge of the throw rug in the middle of my room.

“Yeah, something like that,” I wholeheartedly agreed with an emphatic nod.

Damn straight, I agreed. No, sadly, I did not have time for a philosophical conversation about the inner workings of The Powers That Be and thus, the Supernatural world.

I also had not one iota of energy for a discussion about Fogarty T.

Petersen, the Grand Poobah of all assholes I referenced before, and the fact that I was somehow sure his nasty bloodline was why the rules had been made.

“Well, I’m not Mating another Necromancer,” my little sis grumped. “All the fucked-up rules drive me crazy. If I wanna have a child with the man I love, then I’m gonna have a child with the man I love. Point blank. Period.”

It was time to be the voice of reason, a job I hated almost as much as cleaning toilets. “Well, the rules were necessary back…”

“… in the day because there were so many stupid, power-hungry Necromancers creating so many problems, raising people from the dead, opening Hellmouths, digging up dead horses–figuratively– and the like, that The Powers That Be said, ‘fuck this shit’, snapped Their collective fingers, and bingo-bongo, a whole new set of rules were etched into the Fabric of the universe.” Cocking her hip, she pushed her left foot out to the side and loudly tapped the toe on the hardwood floor before sassily grunting, “Heard it a million times. Still don’t agree.

Why not just snap those same all-powerful fingers and poof the idiots who can’t seem to play nice out of existence? ”

Trying with all my might not to laugh, because it was not the time for laughter, I lost the battle and snort-chuckled, “Well, they don’t usually ‘poof’ people out of existence. It’s not their groove. Ya’ know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” she huffed with an incredibly serious roll of her eyes.

“And like I’ve said before, implementing the Rules of Necromancy was a little more complicated than a snap of Their fingers, but ya’ know what?”

“What?”

Giving her a wink, I kept right on going, “You’ve got the gist, and that’s good enough.”

“Thank the Goddess!” Throwing her hands up in what she called her ‘hallelujah move’, Ione dropped into a dramatic bow and added, “Cause I love you more than a quad-shot, crème Brulé latte with extra whipped cream and oatmeal Scotchy cookies, but I would shove sharp pencils into both my ears if I had to listen to the History of Necromancer one more time.”

“Alright, Sweetpea. I got you.”

At the use of her childhood nickname, Iona raised her head. Eyes twinkling and a grin on her face, she chirped, “You haven’t called me that in forever.”

“Yeah,” I snickered with a nod. “Remember when I called you that in front of Missy and the other girls?”

Eyes instantly wide, her lips pursed in a perfect circle, and she breathed, “Oh, shit.”

“Mhm, oh shit is right,” I chuckled. “You lost your ever-lovin’ mind. You came bustin’ through that front door like a runaway freight train and told me that I was never ever never to call you that again. You said that I had embarrassed you, and…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I remember.” Waving her hand like she was shooing away gnats at a picnic, Iona’s shoulders bounced as she silently chuckled, “It wasn’t my finest hour. Can I claim temporary insanity?”

“Sure!” Bursting out laughing right along with her, the best tension reliever I knew of, I just had to tease, “Puberty is a bitch during the best of times, but with Magic like ours, it’s a bastard with a hemorrhoid.”

“A bastard with a hemorrhoid?” Iona was laughing so hard that her words were little more than a wheeze. “Th-That’s a-a new one.”

“Girl, I just call ‘em as I see ‘em.”

The chime of Momma’s antique grandfather clock out in the hall told me that time was quickly ticking by, and I needed to get on the road, but I couldn’t do that until I was sure Iona was okay.

I couldn’t leave until I heard her say she understood I had to do what I had to do, that it was incredibly dangerous, and that I needed her to stay home and be safe.

“Look, here it is,” I matter-of-factly stated. “This is the speech I have been rehearsing in my head since the moment I figured out what I had to do.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Drawing an imaginary X on my chest, I swung my right arm up with my palm facing my little sister. “Cross my heart and hope to die. I solemnly swear, I have literally been practicing what to say to you for at least a month.”

“Holy shit!” She gasped. “For the first time in his-to-ry, the great Bernadette Elizabeth Fogarty didn’t have all the answers? She didn’t instantly have a three-pronged approach with a slide show and handouts with ready-made notes for future reference?”

“I am not that bad.”

Doing her best Scarlett O’Hare imitation, complete with the back of her hand on her forehead, she added extra oomph to her Southern accent and teased, “With the Goddess as my witness, I never thought I’d see the day.

My sister, the Princess and Heir apparent of the Heatherton Legacy, fumblin’ through life like the rest of us poor unfortunate souls. ”

Swatting her outstretched elbow, I tried not to chuckle as I shot right back, “Alright, Miss Southern Bell, that’s about enough outta you.”

Dropping her arm and looking at me with a gleam in her eye, my little sister went on, “Come on then.” Clasping her hand with a clap and letting them fall to her lap, she sat up tall and added, “Get on with the speech. It’s sure to be a doozie! Let’s hear it. I’m not gettin’ any younger here.”

Snickering despite the situation, I sighed, “You are such a brat.”

“Yep, that’s the way you raised me.”