Dragon's Curvy Doctor (Dragon's Curvy Mate Series Book 4) Read online

  DRAGON’S CURVY DOCTOR

  by

  ANNABELLE WINTERS

  1

  DORRIE

  Protecting what’s his.

  His.

  Hissssss!

  The tea-kettle whistles like a freight-train coming down the mountain, and I almost fall off my meditation stool. I rush over to the stove, hastily pulling my robe closed so my freewheeling boobies don’t hit me in the face. I reach for the tea-kettle, and then I scream in pain when I accidentally touch the hot metal with the back of my hand.

  I jump back, my heart pounding, my head spinning, my eyes wide as I stare at the teapot and rub my hand. I feel totally messed up after what happened in the hospital garage last night. I thought some meditation and tea would work well, but instead I’m hyperventilating and my hand hurts.

  I sigh and turn off the stove, not wanting to touch that treacherous teapot again. “You burned me!” I say, scolding the silent red metal and frowning in disapproval. “You do that again and I’ll get an electric kettle. Don’t believe me? Just try me, you pudgy little piece of—”

  But I don’t finish my sentence. I just stand there dumbstruck, my mouth hanging open like an oxygen-deprived fish. I look at the knob on the stove. It’s still in the OFF position.

  So why did the burner just turn back on?

  I rub my eyes and back away from the flame, swallowing hard as I try to shake off the memory of Doctor Dick’s body. The security guards weren’t kidding: Doctor Dick had been burned to a crisp. No point calling the medics. Hell, no point in calling anyone! They coulda just swept him up with a broom and dustpan!

  I yelp with laughter, covering my mouth as I wonder what’s going on in my head. Maybe I didn’t sleep well last night?

  “Actually I slept like a baby last night,” I mutter, absentmindedly staring at the flame on my burner that’s clearly supposed to be off. “Slept like all was right with the world. Warm and cozy. Safe and snuggly.”

  The words calm me down immediately, and I exhale slowly as the images of Doctor Dick’s barbecued remains float away like ashes on the breeze. Seamlessly another image takes its place, and I let out a trembling breath when I picture that shadowy figure watching me in the parking lot.

  The man was massive: Wide like a windmill, tall like a tower, thick like a tree trunk. He seriously looked like he wouldn’t even fit into most of the cars in that lot! I’d walked a little faster when I first spied him, but I don’t remember feeling threatened. I was jumpy, yes. But not scared.

  Because he wasn’t watching you. He was watching out for you. Watching over you.

  Now I finally face the thought that’s been lurking in the shadows of my psyche ever since the incident. A question I don’t want to answer even though at some level I’ve already answered it. After all, I did sleep like a li’l lamb . . . a lamb that wasn’t worried about no big bad wolf lurking in the shadowy forest.

  “Stop it, Dorrie,” I say out loud, pulling my robe closed again. What’s with this robe, anyway? Did my boobs get bigger overnight? Maybe I need to start wearing a bra to bed.

  I’m about to keep talking to myself, but then I hear a noise near the window. I turn and cock my head at the canary-yellow curtain. I’m not scared: It’s bright daylight and my condo’s on the top floor of a downtown highrise. There’s traffic and street noise all day. Not to mention the birds that poop all over my window sills.

  But I’m distracted by what I heard. It wasn’t traffic, and it certainly wasn’t a fat little pigeon (those things made hella noise . . .). Also, that window just happens to be the one with the fire escape . . .

  Now I feel the chills rise up, and I turn to the stove. The flame is off now, and suddenly that chill is turning into panic as all these coincidences keep piling up like a freaky horror movie:

  Doctor Dick is burned.

  I burn myself.

  The burner turns itself on.

  And now there’s a weird noise from the fire escape.

  Interesting common thread here, I tell myself as I turn to face the yellow curtain that’s gently moving even though I’m pretty darned sure I haven’t opened that window in like a year.

  “Fire, fire, everywhere, not a spark to spare,” I whisper in a singsong voice as I creep to the window. Then I clear my throat and try to sound like a badass. “I have a gun,” I growl, holding my hand out and making a pistol shape with my fingers like a kid playing with imaginary friends in the attic. My antics lighten my mood, and I confidently reach for the curtain to prove there’s no one hiding on my fire escape twenty stories above the sidewalk. Besides, this isn’t even a working fire escape! They built fireproof stairwells inside the building years ago. This old fire escape is from like the early 1900s, and most of it was removed in the 80s! These stairs only start at the fifteenth floor! A psycho stalker would have to fly up here to stalk my ass!

  Now I’m at the curtain, and I grab it and yank it back from the window. I’m totally prepared to scream like the dumb bimbo in a serial killer movie who does exactly what she shouldn’t be doing. But instead I just start laughing.

  Because there’s nothing there.

  Not even a bird.

  I’m tittering like a toucan when I pull the window up all the way and stick my head out into the warm sunshine. I look left. I look right. I look up. I look down. All clear.

  “Why not,” I say, taking a breath and then taking a step . . . right out the window.

  The rusted metal platform of the fire-escape creaks from my weight, but it feels stable enough, I decide. Gingerly I let go of the window and take a step. Then I wince when I realize I’m barefoot on rust old metal.

  “Hello tetanus,” I mutter, lifting up my bare foot and frowning when I see a speck of red. I hop around like an idiot, trying to catch my balance so I can wipe off the blood. But my robe opens up again, and this time my boobs totally pop out from my nightgown. So I reach up to cover myself so the weather satellites don’t explode from the sight of my Level 5 bazookas, and of course I lose my balance because my Level 9 ass wants to go the other way.

  I reach out and grab onto the metal railing to stop myself from going legs up like a chicken on a grill, but that rusty old railing clearly wants no part of it. With a creak and a groan it slowly bends, and I blink in disbelief when I realize I’m bending too . . .

  Bending along with the railing.

  Bending out over the sidewalk.

  Staring down at my death.

  I cock my head as I stare down at the sidewalk. My toes are the only part of me still on the platform. My fingers are wrapped tight around the strained railing, and my body is arched out over the sidewalk. Most of my weight is pushing against the creaking, groaning railing, and I dare not apply a jerking force to propel myself backwards onto the platform.

  So I’m kinda . . . stuck!

  I look down toward the sidewalk, figuring I’ll just scream for someone to call 911 or maybe a helicopter. But I’m twenty stories up and it’s windy. I try shouting, but no one looks up. I shout again, and still nobody seems to give a shit.

  “Maybe I’ll land on your fucking face!” I scream to some dude in a suit on a cell phone who looks left and right like maybe he thought he heard something but it’s not worth his time.

  The railing bends a little more, and I gasp as beads of perspiration break on my forehead. It’s still windy, but the sun feels really hot. And my arms hurt. My toes hurt. My back hurts.

  I close my eyes and take a breath. This is bad, but I’m not going to lose my shit. I’ve handled emergencies so often in my work that I know how to deal with stress, k
now that I can keep it together even in a hopeless situation.

  For some reason I think back to that woman we’d saved in the ER last night. No one would have second guessed me if I’d called it and let her slip away into the great beyond. But I didn’t give up even though it seemed hopeless. I pulled her back even though she was already over the edge. I did it with the strength of my will, not the strength of my arms or even my mind.

  And now I feel my heartrate slow down even as the railing starts to bend a little faster, like it’s getting ready to head to the great beyond. Just then the wind dies down, and I prepare myself to scream so loud it’ll scare the dead out of their cozy graves.

  But instead I hear screams!

  “Ohmygod!” comes the faint shriek of what I think is a woman but is actually a freaked-out dude with green hair. “Somebody call 911!”

  “Finally,” I mutter, almost crying in relief. “Someone sees me! The cavalry will arrive just in time!” I glance down at myself and sigh. “And the press will arrive just in time for my boobs to make the evening news,” I mutter, frowning at my open robe.

  After glaring at my cleavage, I turn my attention back to the group of folk gathered on the sidewalk below.

  And to my horror I realize they aren’t looking up.

  They aren’t looking at me.

  They’re all pointing to a smoldering heap of something on the sidewalk.

  “What the . . .” I mutter, squinting as I try to figure out what’s going on. “Is that a . . . a body?!”

  And now I almost do lose my grip—both mental and physical—when I realize that the smoky pile of something is actually the freshly char-broiled remains of that asshole in the suit! Somebody burned that bastard’s ass!

  Just like somebody cooked Doctor Dick on the back stairs last night.

  Just like somebody turned on my burner this morning.

  Somebody who’s been following me.

  Watching me.

  Protecting me?

  And as that last thought flutters through my head, the wind picks up again. Picks up with a fury that almost blows my clothes off.

  Then a shadow falls over me.

  A shadow so big I can see it reflected on the sidewalk twenty stories down.

  A shadow with wings the size of a passenger jet.

  A tail the size of the Loch-Ness Monster.

  A head the size of a locomotive.

  Talons curved like the claws of an enormous bird of prey.

  Talons that are reaching down.

  Reaching for me.

  2

  DIESEL

  “Can you reach it?” the guy says, peering underneath the car I’m working on. “Can you fix it?”

  I don’t even look at the dude. I barely looked at his car either—though it’s a sweet machine that I’d have loved to take for a spin, open her up, hear that throaty roar echo off the abandoned buildings of the warehouse district where I live among the other outcasts, the other misfits, the other freaks.

  The other monsters.

  With a grunt I roll out from under the car. My shop has a lift, but I don’t use it because I’m actually too damned tall to comfortably work under a jacked-up car. Hell, even in human form I’m a freak! What chance do I have with that curvy angel that’s been invading my dreams like a demon toying with my soul?

  Shoulda brought her home yesterday, I think as I wipe the grease off my big paws and ignore my customer who seems convinced that I’m gonna overcharge him like every other mechanic in town. I glance at the sleek black Cobra that’s clearly not been treated right. Then I look back (or down, really—fucker is like three feet shorter than me . . .) at the guy and shake my head.

  “You’re gonna have to leave her here overnight,” I say as he instinctively takes a step back because I’m a big greasy animal with biceps bigger than his peanut-sized head. Fuck, my balls are probably bigger than this guy’s head!

  “But I have a big date tonight!” whines the dude. “I need my car. How about I just bring it back tomorrow. It should be good for one night, right?”

  “You shoulda brought her in a month ago,” I growl, my green eyes burning as I feel my Dragon twist inside me like it’s hoping we can burn this guy to ashes and claim his Cobra as our bounty. “The clutch is worn down to nothing. You even know how to drive a stick-shift, buddy?”

  That pisses off this guy, and I almost wish he takes a swing at me. Would love to have an excuse to throw a few punches, release some of the wild energy that’s been fucking with my head ever since I saw that delicious doctor.

  Ever since I saw what’s mine.

  My fate.

  My destiny.

  My mate.

  My vision blurs as the guy mumbles something, and I just grunt and toss him his keys. Don’t wanna argue right now—not when I’m this close to snapping. I’ve killed two men in the past two days. Probably not a good idea to go for the hat-trick in my own damned shop.

  I wince as the guy grinds the clutch and spins his wheels before hightailing it out of my lot. Then I rub my eyes and groan, wondering what the fuck to do about that doctor. I know she’s mine, but I also know she’s human. There’s no way she’s ready to understand what I am.

  And there’s no way she’s ready to understand what she is.

  Maybe she’ll understand when you show her your cock, whispers my idiot Dragon.

  “Of all the Dragons in the Netherworld, fate had to pick a bad comedian as my animal,” I growl.

  That was not a joke, deadpans my Dragon.

  “You’re a fucking joke,” I mutter even though a smile is breaking on my grizzled face. I run my fingers through my long, dark hair and exhale into the wind. “And so is the situation I’m in. Fuck, we haven’t killed in almost a hundred years, and now we turn two men into bacon just this week!”

  All this talk of bacon is making me hungry, says my Dragon like it’s thinking of breakfast. Can we please feed? There! How about that guy near the hot-dog stand? Please! Pretty-please! We’ll just gulp him down in a flash! No one will notice!

  I laugh and then look at my watch. It’s a nineteen-jewel Omega that’s worth more than most of the cars that come in here. I probably shouldn’t wear it in the shop—sooner or later someone’s gonna notice how odd it is for a greasy mechanic to wear a seventy-thousand dollar watch while changing oil. But although Dragons love to hide loot in our vaults, we like shiny things too. Gotta have some bling, am I right?

  “All right, Bacon-brain. I guess we can grab a late breakfast,” I say, scanning the streets to see if any of my regulars are heading over. Slow day today. Which isn’t bad after the excitement of the last two. “Just let the cook do the frying, yeah?”

  If you insist, whispers my Dragon.

  “I do insist,” I reply, pulling open the office door and flipping the sign to “Back in a Flash—Hold Your Horsepower!”

  I look down at myself. I’m in a cutoff shirt that’s got grease-stains from like the 1970s still on it. My jeans are no better. I look like a bum, I think with a grin. A bum with a watch worth more than most of the houses on this block.

  Soon I’m digging into a triple-order of thick-cut bacon with a side of chicken-fried steak topped with gravy. My Dragon is enjoying itself like the simple-minded beast it is. But my mind is elsewhere. I’m still thinking about Dorrie, about what it felt like to hold her in my talons yesterday, to fly with her through the open skies.

  Of course, our romantic flight didn’t last long. I dropped her off on the roof of her building so she could take the stairs back to her condo. Releasing her from my clutches was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and the memory of her looking up like she could see me is so vivid I almost choke on my bacon.

  “But she couldn’t have seen me,” I mutter, looking down at my big hands and frowning. “We have the power to refract light, deflect light, bend light around us to create the illusion of empty space. It makes us look invisible from most angles. Yeah, she woulda felt my talons against her body,
heard my wings push against the wind. Maybe she even smelled the Dragonsmoke. Not sure what she thinks happened, but no way she thinks a mythical beast saved her ass from a face-plant on the sidewalk. Hopefully she’s convinced herself that it was a gust of wind. Maybe a miracle or some shit. Dammit, maybe I should’ve just brought her home, sat her down, and fucking explained that she’s mine and there’s nothing to be afraid of, that she’ll always be safe with me. Maybe I shoulda just—”

  Suddenly I hear an urgent whisper and I stop talking to myself and look up. It’s an older couple in a the booth across the aisle. They’re staring at me like I’m either Elvis or Satan. They freeze as I meet their gaze. Then they hurriedly glance at each other like they’re wondering if they should move a few tables away. I offer what I think is a sweet smile, but I’ve got ketchup and gravy and bacon-grease all over my stubble and lips, and it probably makes me look even more like a crazy bum.

  “You’re the guy from the news!” says the old man just as I turn back to my breakfast.

  A chill goes through me, and I drop my fork and lean back so hard I almost break the booth partition. Fuck. They must have got some video of me from the hospital garage. Thought I was using my light-bending power, but maybe I lost track after the pleasure of sending Doctor Dickhead to hell.

  “I guess we’re leaving town again,” I mutter under my breath. I’m used to it by now. In my two centuries of existence I’ve bounced all over the globe. The moment someone notices something weird about me, I’m gone. In the days before electronics I could stay decades in one place before people started noticing strange things happening when I was around. Hell, back then people were more accepting of strange things in a way, more likely to shrug and assume an evil spirit or something was messing around.

  “Are you gonna pay for our breakfast too?” says the woman as I dig through my crumpled jeans and pull out a roll of greasy hundreds.

  I frown as my money-grubbing hoarder instincts rise up from the Dragon in my soul. “If I pay for your meal, will you give me a head start before calling the cops?” I finally say with a raised eyebrow. My Dragon’s heat is rising as I wonder if the cops are already here, a SWAT team hiding behind parked cars outside, waiting for me to stroll outta here so they can unload into me. What do I do then? Burn a bunch of cops alive? Fuck, no. I’m a monster, but not that kind of monster. I’ve killed more men than I can count. But they’ve all been monsters themselves.