Lucas stared at the ceiling and listened to Winnipeg’s nighttime traffic.
From his apartment, he could hear the major thoroughfare less than a block away. Humans were active creatures. Even at this hour, they had places to go and things to do.
Lucas had been collecting intel for the last five days, dozing on street corners and in sleezy hotels in another realm. His body ached with exhaustion, but rest continued to elude him.
He was often like this before a hunt. Keyed up, his mind buzzing with possible scenarios and solutions. This one promised to be the most difficult of any he’d ever attempted, with the potential to take his life in an entirely new, and desperately needed, direction. So it was no surprise he couldn’t sleep.
He sighed, rolled to his back, and slid a hand beneath the opposite arm. His fingertips searched for the groove, and for the set of short, stiff hairs that resided within.
The moment they made contact, electric tingles shot from them to every cell in his body. Several intense strokes later, he gasped and arched up off the mattress.
His fingers slid back and forth over the hairs, winding his body ever tighter. White static filled his mind. He panted, his heart racing as his body clenched...
And with a final shudder, it released.
Breathing hard, Lucas lay in damp bliss and contemplated the few benefits of being a Morph. The hairs provided near-instant gratification. No visualization or alternative warm body required. And afterward, they offered him a few precious minutes of relaxation. But they could also be a liability, as had been proved to him, time and again.
His people were rare, although not as much so as others might think. They were experts at hiding in plain sight. A particularly useful skill when one was a thief.
He sighed and rolled away from the soiled covers. His body still vibrated, but at a much lower ebb. He closed his eyes and focused on deep breathing...
Lucas climbed a set of steps carved into stone. Up and up and up. They carried him far above the winds that drove the sifting dirt into dunes, and toward the moon that beckoned far above.
He might be a shapeshifter, but his kind was not linked to the cycles of the glowing orb in the sky. So the Morph admired the silver circle hanging among the sparkling stars, but experienced no urge to pay homage.
Why was he here? Courtesy of his active imagination, his dreams were often vivid. But they were usually linked to his daily experiences. His recent intel had taken him to a city in a region decimated by drought. Beyond the buildings, the wind often drove the exposed dirt into these dunes, but he’d never gone there. His more usual haunts featured mountains of concrete, stone, and steel rather than rock.
Something swept by overhead.
It glided so low that Lucas ducked, his hands rising to protect his head. He caught a flash of red, and a rapid impression of golden wings. Whatever it was, it was far too large to be any bird natural to the human realm. Heart pounding, he considered retreat. But his feet continued to carry him upward. As though his destiny lay ahead, not behind.
The steps ended as the rock flattened out on to a plateau. He’d climbed so high that he seemed enveloped by the stars, and the moon lit the stone bright as day. .
Where the ground dropped off to a sheer cliff, stood a woman.
Her gaze met his, and his feet stopped moving. Her eyes gleamed at him from her heart-shaped face. Her skin shone alabaster in the moonlight; she was clad—barely—in a scarlet bustier and matching form-fitting shorts, revealing a figure so luscious that his breathing hitched. When she smiled, his heart leaped like a startled deer, and then froze. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She stalked toward him, and the hint of scorn in her expression had his heart doing gymnastics.
She moved as lightly on her feet as a dancer, and it set many things in motion. Her breasts swayed in opposition to her hips, and her long red hair, streaked with blonde, lifted in the strong breeze.
Lucas lost the ability to breathe. A part of him that he’d recently satisfied now stirred, making him glad this dream had permitted him clothing.
They didn’t, always.
She wove her way up to him, her eyes only a few inches lower than his own. This close, he noted that they were almost all iris—very little white showed around them. They did, indeed, gleam.
The gold highlights sparkled in a bed of deep russet. Amber. They were the color of amber.
With a sense of desperation, he attempted to keep his focus on them, and not on the breasts only inches from his torso, so close he sensed her heat. His body ached to close the gap between them.
She raised a hand to stroke his jaw with graceful fingers, and he trembled. Sparkles of red and gold on her wrist drew his eye—dots of color drifted along the soft skin around her wrists and partway up her arm.
Recognition hit him hard. Scales. They were scales. His eyes flashed again to hers—and he read in her smile, acknowledgment.
Dragon. She was a Dragon shifter.
She laughed and pulled away from him, the wings bursting from behind her shoulders as she did so. He reached out a hand to touch her, but she was already half-beast, her size expanding as she embraced her Dragon form. In seconds, the creature itself crouched on the rock before him.
She’d been beautiful as a woman, but as a Dragon, she was magnificent. Not nearly as large as some he’d seen—the warriors of the Emperor’s Legion were massive. She was much smaller than them, but still impressive, with gleaming scales and wicked talons.
