Last Immortal Dragon (Gray Back Bears #6)(4)

“Do you ever stop talking?”

Clara stifled the urge to trip him by his polished shoes, but just barely. “Not when I’m nervous.”

“A dominant grizzly like yourself? Nervous? I don’t believe that.”

“I’ve never met a sea cucumber shifter before. You intimidate me, Mason.”

The dark-haired man shook his head in annoyance, but didn’t respond. This place felt like a mausoleum, and not only that, but there was a weight here she didn’t understand. And the deeper she followed Mason into the home, the more it pressed upon her shoulders and made it hard to breathe. Maybe it was because she was traveling deeper into the side of the cliff. Even with a bear inside of her, she’d never been a fan of caves or tight places.

Mason reached a set of twenty-foot tall mahogany double doors and inhaled deeply before he pushed them open. Not wanting to be left alone, Clara looked back down the long, cold corridor from which they’d come and scurried in after Mason.

“Mr. Daye, I’d like to introduce you to Ms. Clara Sutterfield.”

Clara locked eyes on the man behind the desk and jerked to a stop. His raven-black hair was short on the sides and longer on top. Right at his temples, he’d gone slightly silver, but his maturity there didn’t match his smooth, wrinkle-less face. His sharp jaw clenched, and a muscle twitched there. His eyes went from the color of pitch to the silver of a knife blade in an instant. A spark of recognition in his gaze matched hers, though she couldn’t put her finger on where she’d seen him before.

He sat there behind the desk with a stack of papers in front of him and his pen tip resting on one like he’d been in the middle of signing. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t draw a single breath trapped in his gaze like this, and the hairs on the back of her neck lifted. A soft rumble filled the room, but it wasn’t the growl of a fellow grizzly. He was something bigger. Only something truly terrifying would make a warning sound like that. Inside, her bear screamed to run—run away from this place and never look back.

The man blinked slowly, and his pupils dilated and lengthened in that churning silver color to look like a snake’s. Holy shit. He was beautiful. Lethal, deadly, but with an angelic face.

When the man ripped his gaze away from her, she stumbled backward and gasped air. Mason was watching her with a confused expression, but dragged his attention to Mr. Daye as she took another step back. Her shoulder blades hit the wall, and she clenched her hands against the urge to flee.

She knew this man. Right? She knew him from somewhere. The first shooting pain of one of her debilitating headaches slashed through her mind, making her wince.

“Damon,” Mason said low.

“Damon,” she whispered. Something about that name…

The man’s reptilian eyes tightened, and he stood slowly, arms locked on the desk, muscles flexing against his white oxford shirt. “Please tell me she’s not who I think she is.”

All around him, the air wavered and darkened. Three shadows, no four, stood behind his desk, about the same height as Mr. Daye. She couldn’t tell if the apparitions were men or women. Only that he was, in fact, being haunted. The veil that stood between this world and the next made them look like nothing more than gray mist.

“You have,” she said, pointing a shaking finger, “g-g-g…” She tried again, digging deep to find her bravery that seemed to have left the freaking building. “You have…”

Mr. Daye gritted his teeth and leveled her with a brutal glare. “Spit it out.”

“G-g-ghosts.”

Damon looked behind him with a slit-eyed glare, and the rumble in his chest grew stronger. Now, the terrifying sound vibrated off her skin and made her wish she could disappear into the wall.

When he returned his inhuman gaze to her, he said, “Tell me, Mrs. Sutterfield. What is your occupation?”

This was usually where she embellished to hook customers, but with Mr. Daye, she couldn’t seem to fib. “I’m a shite psychic. Tarot cards and palm readings. And apparently ghosts, as of just now. I’m not very good. Terrible at it, in fact.”

“A psychic?”

“Mmm hmmm.”

“A seer?” Mr. Daye dragged his pissed attention to Mason, who had the good sense to be cowering against the other wall right along with her.

Mason dipped his chin once, his lightened gaze on the carpet. “She is of Feyadine’s line, ancestor to her brother, Nall, and a grizzly shifter.”

Mr. Daye’s eyes tightened at the corners as he sat slowly into his chair. “Leave us.”

Okie dokie then. Clara went to high-knee her ass out of the office, but Mason beat her to the door. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking regretful as he pulled the door closed. From the other side, the click of a lock sound. She gave the handles a stout yank to no avail. “Son of mother-fluffin’—”

“Ms. Sutterfield, please have a seat.”

“Polite decline,” she said in a mousey voice, afraid to turn around and face him. His furious expression was so much worse than the ghosts standing patiently behind him.

“I won’t hurt you.”

She exhaled a shaky breath and turned around with her eyes squeezed closed. When she popped one open, Mr. Daye was studying her with his head cocked and a frown marring his features.

Somehow he’d grown even more handsome in the time she’d tried to escape.