Last Immortal Dragon (Gray Back Bears #6)(3)

“And I saw how much my plane ticket cost you. Six hundred bucks! That’s not chump change for someone who has mediocre psychic skills and zero background in ghosts.”

“Money isn’t an issue, so don’t worry at all about your travel costs.”

“So you’re just rolling in the dough.”

“I hired you for my boss.”

“Wait, I thought I was dealing with you.”

“Ms. Sutterfield—”

“Mason, I swear to God I’m going to scream if you keep talking to me like I’m a grandma. I’m thirty, not seventy. Please, call me Clara.”

“Thirty,” he murmured.

Clara narrowed her eyes at the back of his head and sank into the back seat. The car was spotless and smelled of new leather. Black on black. Nice. Mr. Sea Cucumber’s boss had taste.

“I could’ve hired other psychics, but I want to deal with you. You’re a registered shifter, and this is a sensitive…job. Even if you aren’t able to do anything for my boss, it will be worth the money”—he pitched his voice low—“just to see the look on his face.”

“I can hear you. Bear ears.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so dominant.”

“Why, because I’m a woman?”

“No.” He lifted his dark eyes to the rearview mirror and then back to the road in front of him. “Maybe.”

Clara rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her bag. Figured. If she had a penny for every time someone underestimated her on the basis of gender, she could probably pay the late rent on her tarot card business. Clara’s Tarot was going under, and fast. She wouldn’t have even considered a job like this if Mason, or whoever Mason was working for, hadn’t offered her two thousand dollars plus travel expenses just to come out. Sounded too good to be true, but she’d already been paid half upfront, so the job seemed legit enough.

And now her curiosity was piqued about Mason’s boss. What kind of trouble were ghosts causing that could make a rich man hire a second-rate palm reader? Sounded like desperation to her. She pitied him already. Ghosts were no joke and could make life miserable. She should know. Her grandmother went mad with the sight. Clara had accepted long ago that her fate would be the same—madness if she couldn’t find a way to control the dreams and headaches.

She might not be a great psychic, but she saw things. Awful things that had nothing to do with this world. Teeth and wings and fire, and even though she didn’t have a ghost problem, she pitied anyone who was being haunted.

And as the scenery outside her window turned from the cityscape around the Cheyenne Regional Airport to the lush Wyoming evergreen wilderness, she promised herself she would do her best to help Mason and his boss.





Chapter Two




Clara stared up to the towering mansion built into the side of a stark cliff face. The walls were covered in windows, and sleek modern lines said someone had paid an architect a lot of money to design this place. She’d never seen anything like it. To the side of the structure was a waterfall tumbling straight down over the cliff’s edge and into a rushing river that snaked off into the forest.

“Whoa,” she murmured on a stunned breath.

“Impressed?” Mason asked through an amused smile. He would be very handsome if he didn’t ruffle her feathers so easily.

“Your boss is a billionaire, isn’t he?”

“Does that bother you?”

“A little. I can’t even pay my rent on time, and my body would revolt if I ate anything other than freeze-dried noodle bowls. I’m feeling a little prejudiced right now, but it’ll probably pass.”

Mason snorted. “Well, at least you’re honest. This way.”

He snatched her bag out of her hands before she could resist and led her up a winding stone pathway to the front porch. The double doors alone looked as though they belonged to some ancient castle. Scuffed wood, scratched, and stained a deep red color. Giant serpent head door knockers made her want to try one just to see what kind of noise it would make. When she reached for one of the heavy metal knockers, however, Mason gave her a grumpy look, so she clenched her hand and abstained.

Mason hesitated in the sprawling, white marble entryway. “Whatever happens now,” he whispered, “I’d ask that you refrain from sharing what you experience here.”

What the hell kind of ghosts required secrecy? She held up three fingers and swore, “Werebear’s honor.”

Mason didn’t look amused. “Follow me.”

Why was he whispering like this place was a library and not a modern day fortress. Her flip flops clacked loudly across the slippery marble floors, and she cleared her throat nervously. “I thought I would have a chance to change my clothes before I got here.”

Mason didn’t answer.

“I would’ve worn a dress…” She sidled away from a statue of a Grecian man with a water fountain coming out of his tiny penis and splashing into a marble bowl below him. “Or something.”

“Lie.”

Gah, he was so annoying. “Perhaps dresses aren’t my thing, but I would’ve worn pants.” Probably. She tugged at the short hem of her cutoff shorts and pulled up the scoop neck of her tank top to cover her cleavage a little better. “These are my traveling clothes.” Another lie but Mason didn’t point it out. She lived on the coast of Florida, and beachwear was all the rage. “Or a shirt with sleeves.” Because this one was definitely not covering the dragon tattoo she had on her shoulder. And was that an actual metal suit of arms? “It feels like Antarctica in here.”