Page 2 of His Curvy Mate

Knowing he had done all he could do, Andreas felt the cold of the curse begin to encase what remained of his beating heart. Closing his eyes, he succumbed at last to the spell, praying that someday, his fated mate would arrive to free him.

CHAPTER 2

CAYE

Lundy Island, England

Present Day, Six Months Previous

Cayetana South leaned down, her eyes glinting with a mix of determination and something far darker. Abraham Strode, or Apophis, as he was known amongst the dragons, lay motionless at her feet, his face pale and drained of life. With a fluid, almost ethereal motion, she extended her hand, fingers elongating unnaturally. She appeared to reach into Strode’s body, her hand disappearing into his chest as if his flesh were nothing but a thin veil.

The others watched in horrified fascination as Caye's reach delved deeper, her face contorted with concentration. Moments later, she jerked back, and a flimsy, pale shadow of what had once been one of the most powerful creatures on earth was ripped from his mortal and corporeal remains. The shadow twisted and writhed in her grip, a ghostly semblance of Strode's former self, eyes wide with an unearthly terror.

Without hesitation, Caye called forth her hellhound and began to shift. With a savage growl, she clamped down on the shadowy form of Strode, tearing it apart with brutal efficiency. The death of Strode’s soul was a mix of ethereal wailing and the sickening rip of fabric. Caye tore Strode's soul into four, then five pieces, planning to allow it to dissipate and vanish into nothingness. Instead, the banshees had been summoned to take him to the Shadowlands, where he would be doomed to wander forever. The banshees retrieved their prize, and Strode was carried away, his wailing lost on the wind, leaving nothing but an eerie silence in their wake.

As they vanished, Caye shifted back to her human form, her breathing heavy but her eyes alight with a fierce triumph. She stood over Strode's lifeless body, the echo of her transformation still lingering in the air. Those who witnessed his destruction could only guess at the true nature of what they had witnessed, and what it had cost Caye to ensure Strode had been vanquished forever.

Copper Glacier, Mt. Wrangell

Wrangell-St. Elias National Park & Preserve

Southeastern Alaska, USA

Caye had never cared for dragons. They were far too arrogant for her taste. She made exceptions for the Phantom Fire and some of the dragon lords she’d met who lived along the Ring of Fire, but for the most part, she liked dragons best when they’d been killed, skinned, and made into something useful like a good pair of boots.

She supposed that then begged the question, why was she standing on the icy peak of Mt. Wrangell as its biting, bitter winds swept all around her? The howling ice storm echoed from the highest peaks to the deep and treacherous glaciers below. Caye stood on the edge of a jagged cliff, her keen eyes scanning the horizon.

What the hell was she doing here? Didn’t she have enough danger, legend, and intrigue in her life? Hadn’t she told anyone who cared to listen that she wanted to leave the ice, snow, and cold behind and live someplace warm and dry—someplace only slightly less hot than Hell itself? What then, was she doing here amid the freezing cold and ice of the Copper Glacier on Mt. Wrangell? She was a hellhound, for god’s sake.

And therein lay the problem. She didn’t really belong any place. She was an outcast from her own kind, having chosen to leave the Hollow and the clan of hellhounds led by her brother Hayden. She’d wanted to strike out on her own, but more importantly, she’d wanted to help female shifters who’d found themselves in circumstances not of their making—those who had been forced into pair bondings not of their choosing.

Hellhounds had evolved over time to accept women as warriors, and it was said the fabled Valkyries had once been female hellhounds who had married mortal, non-shifting men. Caye didn’t know that she believed that, but it made for a great story.

The unforgiving landscape of the mountain and the treacherous climb snapped her back to reality. The altitude at which she traveled was her hunting ground, a place where the unprepared met their end, and she thrived in its hostility. Normally altitude didn’t bother her, but Mt. Wrangell’s was playing havoc with her sense of balance, although it had yet to affect her breathing. Mostly, she just felt dizzy and a bit disoriented.

Hellhounds were a rarity among shifters, and even more rare among the elite group of female shifters known as the Shadow Sisters. Caye, with her ability to move between the worlds and her skills as a formidable warrior, was one of the Shadow Sisters’ two betas who not only coordinated but led operations that freed women—shifter and human alike.

Caye had used her abilities as a hellhound to shred Apophis’ soul to ensure he could never rise again. The other dragons she knew swore that the only remaining immortal dragons were the unmated ones of the Phantom Fire. The problem for Caye was that she didn’t believe them. It wasn’t that she thought they were lying per se, but the hellhounds had legends that said differently, and Caye put a lot of store in the legends of her people. When she’d proposed trying to hunt down some of those legends, her concerns had been shouted down by her comrades.

In her mind, dragons were a problem to begin with. Dragons and hellhounds had always been mortal enemies, each vying for the top spot on the food chain. Her fear, as someone who knew intimately the evil of which the Shadow League was capable was that either an immortal dragon would rise up to lead the League or the League would find one and be able to harness their ancient power. Hadn’t they tried that in Seattle with Warrick? Ultimately the League had failed, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t try again.

Then again, the Phantom Fire had proved to be strong, reliable and more than capable allies in the fight with the Shadow League. If the League was determined to use the power of the dragons against those who opposed them, maybe—just maybe—it might be worth seeing if they could convert more dragons to their cause.

It was while basking in the sun on the island of Crete that she’d heard the whispers of a cursed dragon that had once flown the skies above the Minoan civilization—a dragon known as Santorini. It was said that he had been cursed by a coven of powerful wizards to sleep beneath the Aegean Sea for all time, his body forming the volcanic caldera that formed the rugged landscape of the island.

But Caye questioned if that was the whole truth. It had the feeling of a story concocted to placate the locals and give the dragon time to flee. In her opinion, wizards were on the same level as dragons—not to be trusted unless proven otherwise. It made more sense to her that it was a convenient fairytale that allowed the dragon to escape.

In her mind, these formidable creatures, corrupted by a malevolent magic that disappeared long ago, posed a threat to the fragile balance between the realms of the living, the dead and the one in between. She was a denizen of the living and the In-Between. She had a stake in ensuring the dead, or those who posed a significant threat to the two realms in which she lived, remained dead or lost in the Shadowlands. Caye saw herself as a warrior for the light who now prowled the shadows and darkness—a hunter of the most fearsome prey.

Thus, she found herself standing alone on an icy ledge of the Copper Glacier on Mt. Wrangell, chasing a legend that seemed to link the dragon Santorini with the story of a Greek gold prospector who had made a rich strike and then vanished into the snowy wilderness to the north. The man was known as Andreas Pyr. Caye hadn’t failed to notice that “Pyr” was Greek for fire, which, if he had once been a dragon seemed appropriate. Pyr was said to have traveled north from the gold fields of the Yukon and disappeared somewhere within the Wrangell Mountain Range in southeastern Alaska.

Believing she was on the trail of a dragon, one who had worked with evil wizards, Caye had followed what she believed to have been the trail he had taken. She’d asked both those in the Phantom Fire and amongst the dragon clans in the Ring of Fire if they knew anything. Everyone she’d asked had assured her that if Pyr had once been Santorini, he had long ago been put to rest. She found it curious that regardless of whoever she asked, she was told the same thing, which always included the phrase ‘put to rest.’ Caye didn’t believe any of them—either they didn’t know the truth, or they did know and didn’t want her to find out.

But Caye was not one to be put off. Whispers she’d overheard in the shadowy corners of the world where information was as valuable as gold and twice as deadly, spoke of Pyr being feared and pursued by wizards who wanted to bend him to their will. The dragon had been defeated in battle and cursed to sleep forever in an ice cave within the Copper Glacier. The fact that the same tale had been repeated by a diverse group of shifters who lived within the mountains and had nothing in common other than a single shared story gave gravitas to the veracity of the legend.

The curse that held Andreas Pyr was ancient and potent—a magic that few dared to meddle with. But Caye was not deterred. The thought of finding Pyr, unlocking the secrets that bound him so he could wake, and she could destroy him once and for all filled her with a fire that rivaled the icy wind. Some within the Shadow Sisters had argued that it was best to let sleeping dragons—if he existed—lie, but she didn’t believe that. Better to wake him and destroy him once and for all.

The journey to the Copper Glacier was perilous. It lay amid unknown paths and was hidden within the heart of Mt. Wrangell’s most desolate and treacherous regions. Caye had managed to obtain a pair of Max Renner’s fabulous ice axes and she had used them and her crampons to make her way up the steep side of the mountain. Caye's keen senses and unmatched agility allowed her to navigate the perilous terrain, leaping from one icy outcrop to another, her breath visible in the frigid air.

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