Last Immortal Dragon (Gray Back Bears #6)(35)

Clara stared down at the long, sharp blade of the knife in her open palms. He’d etched her tattoo into the silver near the handle and had carved D + C along the curve of the dragon’s spine.

“Damon and Clara?” she whispered.

Beaston nodded and ran his thumb under her eye. He frowned at the drop of moisture on the pad. “Soft bear. Soft and full of tears. So soft you’ll bring our dragon to his knees.” He lifted that inhuman gaze back to her. “Save him.”

Beaston stood and strode for a tree where a shiny, feathered raven sat on the lowest branch.

“Save him?” she called.

Beaston didn’t turn around or answer. He simply held his forearm out for his Aviana to wrap her small talons around, and then he disappeared into the woods with his mate.

How could she save Damon from Marcus? How could she save anyone? She was a sometimes-defective clairvoyant grizzly shifter—not a fire-breathing dragon.

Clara felt completely helpless to fight against the force that was coming, but Beaston had given her a twelve-inch blade and told her to do just that.

She wiped her still damp lashes on her shoulder and picked up the fine leather sheath that sat in the exact place Beaston had. After sliding the blade safely inside, she clutched it to her chest and stared at the place the half-wild bear shifter had disappeared.

She’d felt a connection to the man from the first time she’d met him at the barbecue with the Gray Backs, but maybe her intuition of his brokenness didn’t lie.

Perhaps Beaston really was crazy.





Chapter Fourteen




“Have you seen him?” Clara asked Mason, who sat at the kitchen island, sipping a mug of steaming coffee.

Damon hadn’t been in bed when she’d woken up an hour ago, and he hadn’t shown up while she was readying for the day. And after searching all his favorite haunts in the house, he was still a no show.

“He’s out on the terrace.”

“There’s a terrace?”

Mason chuckled and stood. He made a second cup of coffee and handed it to her. “I wanted to say something to you.”

“Oh God, what did I do now?”

He laughed, and a blanket of relief slid over her shoulders. She wasn’t in trouble then.

“You’ve done nothing but good. Listen, I know you didn’t like me much for bringing you up here on false pretenses, and I wish I had a good excuse why I did it. All I can say is that you felt important. I went back to your file over and over for the last year, and I got chills every time I read it. And I want to say I’m sorry, but I also want to say I don’t regret what I did.” Mason canted his head and murmured, “You brought him back to life, Clara.”

She took the offered mug of fragrant coffee from his hands and leaned onto the island. “I was really mad at you at first, but I already forgave you days ago. You brought me to Damon. You brought me to these mountains.” She shrugged. “I get chills here a lot, too. The good kind. The kind where I feel like I am right where I’m supposed to be. So I guess what I’m saying is I’m glad you brought me here, and I’m glad you’ve been there for Damon. He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

“We should come up with a crew name,” Mason teased.

Clara snorted. “It needs to be badass.”

“I’ll get right on that.”

“A pig, a bear, and a dragon walk into a bar…”

“Don’t finish that joke,” Mason said, stifling a smile.

“The Pork Rind Crew.”

“I’ll take you to the terrace now.”

And he did. Mason led her down past Damon’s bedroom, down the dark halls with the old fashioned lanterns, down a narrow walkway surrounded by rock walls, and through a set of dark double doors to an opening in the cliffs. There were no windows separating the smooth rock floor from the woods below. And standing on the edge was Damon, a striking silhouette in his dark suit with his hands on his hips as he looked over his domain. He’d removed the bandages from his right hand, and from here, it already looked half healed, though scarred. More scars, and how many would his body bear before this was through?

Mason squeezed her shoulder and left her there.

The wind whistled through the opening, hard enough that it would likely blow her over if she got too close to the ledge, but Damon stood as if the wind did not affect him. As if he was part of the stone here. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up.”

“Were you worried?” he asked softly, though his voice sounded like gravel and was punctuated with a long rumble.

“A little,” she admitted. He’d drawn into himself over the last week, and she hated that he was pushing her away. “I worry about losing you.”

“You won’t.”

“No, I mean, I’m worried you’ll push me away.”

Damon turned slowly, his eyes glowing silver in the shadows of the cave terrace. “I…” He blinked slowly and turned his back on her again. “I think you should leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s not safe for you here—”

“It’s not safe for me out there! Damon, you tried hiding your people before and it didn’t save them. It didn’t protect them. I’m staying here, with you.” Clara touched the knife on her belt just to reassure herself. She wore it everywhere now. “I understand why you sent the crews away. I do. But I’m not part of their crews, Damon. I’m part of yours. Don’t send me away.”