Not His Dragon
Not This Series
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Annie Nicholas
Date of Publication: 7/2016
Number of pages: 224
Word Count: 75,000
Cover Artist: Janet Holmes
Tagline: Here be dragons.
Eoin Grant hasnât encountered a female of his race in decades, and this crazy personâs scent declares her unmated. Fate set her in his path, and he wonât let this opportunity slip through his claws. No matter how wary she is of him. After all, how many chances does a dragon have at finding love? But fate can be a crueler mistress than his perfect mate. Of all things, she thinks sheâs human.
Business is taking off for Angie Weldon. She put her freakishly sharp nails to good use when she opened her back-scratching spa in downtown New Port. The local shifter community pounced on her skills and sheâs knee-deep in shed fur. By the end of the year, if lucky, she could afford to move out of her crappy apartment.
Dollar signs flash before Angieâs eyes when a dark, brooding stranger books her solid for a week but she notices the possessive fury in his glare. Sheâs been around enough shifters to know the look, and she wonât go down that road again. Angie is literally swept off her feet by the intense shifter and he wants more from her than sheâs willing to give. She figures itâs best to avoid eye contact and back away slowly. Until he changes her life by insisting sheâs a dragon.
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Only one block separated Angie from her workplace. Her lungs burned. No matter how much air she sucked in, there didnât seem to be enough oxygen.
A tall, slim man smoking a cigarette watched her from half a block away.
How did she notice him in her state of asphyxiation? Because his pale, blue gaze cut across the distance and met hers with such intense fury that it scorched her retinas.
She slowed her pace, glancing over her shoulder, but saw no one. Why was she the focus of his death glare? Maybe he was friends with the jackass in the truck whoâd cat-called her and didnât appreciate her attempt at sign language? If so, he could take a number and get in line with all the other things wanting to destroy her life today.
As Angie jogged closer, she couldnât help but notice the brightly colored tats peeking out from under his long-sleeved dress shirt. His business attire looked out of place with his shaved head and a cigarette hanging from his lips. Heâd never be the poster boy for GQ Magazine, but he sure fit her bad boy fantasies.
He strode into her path, blocking her way. âWhat are you doing here?â
She tried to brake, but flip-flops werenât made to stop on a dime. The front ends folded under and she scraped the tips of her toes along the concrete sidewalk. âMother fucker, son of a bitchâ¦â She hopped on one foot to rub her bloody toes, then repeated the process on the other foot. âWhatâs wrong with you?â She planted her hands on his chest and shoved, propelling herself backward.
Pinwheeling her arms, she caught her balance. Great, a supernatural. She had a better chance of pushing the Hanover Tower.
He grabbed her upper arm and yanked her kissing-close. âDonât do that again.â
Her blood smeared across his white shirt where sheâd laid her dirty hands. She couldnât help but notice a small blue symbol tattooed by his left eye. From this angle, she couldnât see the design completely.
Try as she might, she couldnât jerk her arms free. Her heart hammered. âLet go.â She glanced around for help, but no one seemed to want to meet her desperate stare. They crossed the street, gazes glued to the ground. The pedestrian population thinned out quickly as many of them found stores they just had to enter. The scent of fear filled the air and only some of it was hers.
âWhat are you doing in my city?â His whispered question sent chills down her spine.
âYour city? No one owns New Port.â Oh God, she couldnât stop her mouth. All she had to do was apologize profusely for whatever imagined transgressions and heâd most likely let her go. Angie stared at the shaved dark stubble on his head, since she couldnât take his penetrating glare. He kept his hair cropped real close. Almost like velvet. She caught her hand before she reached to touch him. Her senses said he was some sort of shifter, but she couldnât tell what. She suspected she had a little supernatural blood in her lineage, so her skills were limited. Definitely not werewolf. Her ties to the pack were close enough that she knew them at least by sight.
Unfortunately, humans didnât hold the monopoly on criminals. Supernaturals had them too and Ryota had shown her how to best defend herself. She slid her free hand into her front pocket. âI said, let me go.â She gave her arm another jerk.
He gave her a condescending smile that would have frozen the Eastern Ocean. âOr what?â
She withdrew her hand, aimed at his face, and pulled the trigger on her pepper spray, remembering at the last moment to close her own eyes and mouth.
He let go and roared an inhuman sound. The noise rattled the windows. She thanked God that sheâd emptied her bladder before setting the kitchen on fire.
Shit, shit, shit.
She geared her ass to holy-shit-it's-going-to-eat-me speed and didnât think the soles of her flip-flops hit the ground until she reached the door to her own little business.
About the Author:
Annie Nicholas writes paranormal romance with bite. She has courted vampires, hunted with shifters, and slain a dragonâs ego all with the might of her pen. Riding the wind of her imagination, she travels beyond the restraints of reality and shares them with anyone wanting to read her stories. Mother, daughter, and wife are some of the other hats she wears while hiking through the hills and dales of her adopted state of Vermont.