Page 18 of Liar For Hire (For Hire 1)

He groaned. Why after almost twenty years of being free of them? Twenty years of pretending to be human and not thinking about the day his world changed for the worst.

He walked into the bathroom and stripped off the T-shirt he had worn to bed. The material clung to his damp skin, and he pealed it away and threw it on the floor. At the same time, he flexed the muscles in his back, the ones responsible for controlling his wings.

With a subtle yet familiar sound, they slid out. Cracking bone and achy unused muscles produced his wings. They hung long, touching the floor, spiny leathery appendages that were just as easily manipulated as his arms. Well, one was. The other…

He stared at the ugly wing. Just looking at it offended him and tore him apart inside. He could no longer fly, and he missed it with everything he had. While it had been almost two decades, he recalled the sensation like it was yesterday. The wind on his face and beneath his wings, the freedom, the ecstasy, flying was what he and his kind were born to do.

Now and forever he was broken.

Dragon shifters were supposed to be healers, full of magic and mystery. Not him. Not now.

A scent he recognized alerted him to his visitor just before he heard the key in the lock and the doorknob turn. His stomach dropped. Not only didn’t he close his bedroom door, he left the bathroom door open as well. If he didn’t get his wings hidden quickly, she would see. The last thing he needed was for her to see and panic—or worse to draw back in disgust.

He bit off a sound of agony as he tucked his wings away and shut his eyes as he leaned over the sink. Moisture beaded his top lip, and he sighed. Her soft steps on the carpet let him know she didn’t think twice about entering his place unannounced.

Everything about her seemed amplified at that moment—her scent, the sound of her breathing, even her heartbeat drummed in his ears. He tried mentally to drive it all away and failed.

“Good mor

ning,” she said. “You look great. Been drinking?”

“Unfortunately, no.” He dared to peek at her. Dressed in hip-hugging slacks and a delicate blouse that accentuated her breasts, she looked beautiful as usual, desirable. The word mate ran through his mind. He swore at it.

“Wow, still in a mood. I guess you’re mad at me for daring to ask about the connection between you and Patrick.”

“That wasn’t toward you.” He couldn’t explain the language.

“Who are you cussing at then because I’m the only one here. You know what? Never mind. I came because I’m not letting you push me away, Declan. We haven’t shared so much of our lives just to throw it away in one day.”

“I apologize for how I spoke to you.” He couldn’t believe she’d come and that she wanted to stay friends. The flood of relief was unreal, especially since he didn’t deserve her.

“I’ve said worse to you in my time.”

“No, you haven’t.”

He laughed. “Maybe not that bad. I’ve always been willing to share—too much, I guess.”

“It’s never too much.” He turned around and leaned against the sink. Her gaze slid down from his face to his chest, and he noted the interest there. She liked what she saw. He’d known since the beginning she was attracted to him, but he had never let it go any further. If he were someone different, sure. She deserved better.

She studied his form a bit longer and then spun away, calling over her shoulder, “Good because I’m here to give you fair warning.”

“Warning?” Alarm bells went off in his head. Janessa was a stubborn woman and very confident. She took every challenge head-on. “What are you planning, Nessa?”

“Oh nothing much.”

She strolled down the hall into the living room, and he followed, feeling like a disobedient little boy. Janessa always knew how to get the upper hand with him. He could be stubborn and secretive, but she had a skillset of her own to be reckoned with.

In the fridge, she found eggs and bacon plus a few slices of bread. With easy familiarity, she began cooking him breakfast. With the last of the coffee beans ground, which she had brought over to the apartment some time ago, she made coffee for the two of them in the French Press. He watched her expert hand movements as she performed what she called the “wibble” to make the most delicious brew.

“I’m going to conduct my own investigation,” she announced.

His gut clenched. “Into?”

“You. I looked your hometown up when you mentioned it before, but there wasn’t anything to go on. It’s like the place didn’t exist, except this weird story. I’m going to assume that ‘story’ is the real deal.”

“Janessa.”

“And since we aren’t busy, I’m going to contact the writer of that particular article on your hometown. If he agrees, I’ll visit him to talk about it. After I’m done with him, I’m going to start looking into Patrick a little more. There’s a connection there, and all I have to do is find it. Maybe he won’t talk to me, but someone he knows will.”

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