Stranded with the Cajun (Captured by a Dragon-Shifter Book 3) (4 page)

The gods had been exact and cruel in his punishment. He had left home, defied the royals’ plan, and now he was paying the ultimate price—never to be fully mated and banished forever from his childhood home world.

L
ori was torn
between her photo-journalistic instincts to lift her camera and take pictures of the police and emergency workers as they took possession of Big Daddy’s remains, and her need to respect the privacy of the man who’d lost his life while taking her around the swamps. In the end, she only took a few tasteful shots of the event. The idea to write a human-interest piece paying homage to Big Daddy’s life on the swamp was already swirling in her head. It was the least she could do, given the circumstances.

Drake did not speak to her, but she did catch him watching her intently. Sheriff Jackson had arrived alone in his older sedan model police car. He took a few pictures on his cell phone, called someone and then ordered the paramedics—Chester and Jim—to take the body away.

“Don’t you need a medical examiner out here to…?” Lori’s words trailed off as the sheriff gave her a you’re-not-from-these-parts-are-you? look. The man spoke in low tones to Drake, gestured to the swamp a few times, gestured toward her a few times, wrote a few things down and then closed his notebook. Case closed, apparently.

“Excuse me,” Lori called, running after one of the paramedics. Chester, the younger paramedic, looked new to the field, but he and his partner had appeared competent in what they were doing… Well, as far as could be observed when the patient they were attending to had already passed away. She touched his arm and gently led him to where Drake stood by the sheriff. “Like I mentioned when you arrived, I need you look at Drake’s arm. He was bitten by an alligator trying to save me.”

“He said it’s fine,” Chester stated. “I can’t—”

“Listen, ah—” Lori paused and glanced around at the men who now all focused their attention on her, “—Chester, you can either look at it and make me happy, or I can follow you around nagging until you give in.”

“I…” Chester looked at Drake. “Please show me your arm.”

The sheriff chuckled. He was a salt-’n-pepper type with the kind of weathered face seen in cowboy movies. His gravelly voice and thick almost hard-to-understand Southern accent would have been intimidating if not for his easy smile. “Go on, Drake. You better do what she says. I have what I need from you.”

Drake nodded once. Without speaking, he lifted his arm to the paramedic and met Lori’s gaze.

Chester arched a brow as he untied the socks of her makeshift bandage.

“I wrapped it,” she said, “but I’m worried about an infection. He won’t go to a doctor. Maybe if you tell him, he’ll listen.”

Drake’s eyes stayed focused on her. There was a possessiveness in them that caused a small shiver to wash over her. She hadn’t liked where they’d left their conversation, but she wasn’t sure what else she could say. He apparently wanted the ultimate commitment. She wasn’t going to marry him and have a baby after one night. To even consider it would be insane.

Still, she couldn’t explain the ache inside her when she thought of leaving his home and never seeing him again. There was something between them, potent and real. Just looking at him made her heart beat faster. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to hear his strange stories about landing in New Orleans and misunderstanding the French Quarter, stories of what he called his home world, where there were royals and man-eating cats and a low female population.

The paramedic dropped the bandage on the ground and examined the wounded arm. It doesn’t look that bad to me.” He moved the wrist and elbow. “Any tenderness?”

Drake shook his head in denial.

“Follow up with the doctor if you want, but—” Chester began.

“Not bad?” Lori made a small sound of surprise. Was the man an idiot? She stepped closer to look for herself. “Are you looking at the right arm? The man clearly needs stitches and medical…” Her words trailed off as she looked at Drake’s arm. The deep gashes had disappeared. “But, no, I saw…” She reached for his other arm and lifted it to check that they’d examined the right one. “But there was blood and…”

“Doesn’t look like it broke the skin, but you can use antibiotic ointment on it if you want. I think you’ll survive,” Chester told Drake a little sarcastically before glancing at Lori. He looked as if he wished to say a great many things but held back.

“Drake, are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” the sheriff asked.

“No, I’m not injured,” Drake stated.

Lori kept staring at Drake’s arm, studying the pink scratches as if the gashes would somehow come back.

With a curt nod to the sheriff, Chester said, “Jackson,” by way of a parting acknowledgment, and left.

“Drake, I saw your arm. There’s blood on the towel. That came from—” Lori realized she still gripped Drake’s arm, and she let him go. “I’m not crazy. You were hurt. I saw—.”

“I understand you had a difficult night, Miss Johnston,” Sheriff Jackson interrupted. “I’ll give you a ride to the station. We’ll take your statement there and then get you back to your hotel just as quickly as possible. I’m sure you’ll want to put this entire experience behind you.” He turned to Drake. “Can I trust you’ll get the airboat back to where it needs to go? Big Daddy is a fixture several miles upstream at Gator Boat Rides. The Beauchamps are good people. If you bring it back, they’ll give you a ride home. Or do you want me to have the owners send someone out?”

“I’ll take care of it. They will have enough duties to attend to with the passing of their loved one,” Drake said.

“Always liked that about you,” the sheriff drawled. “Might not have been born in the swamp like the rest of us, but you understand the way things should be.” Then, to Lori he said, “Come on, miss.”

“Drake,” Lori began, unsure what to say. She looked at his lips, wanting to rewind time to when they were alone in his room before she had a mini responsibility freak-out. But that was impossible. He was some good ole boy living in the swamp, who swam with alligators, and she was from civilization. As much as she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him, she knew it was best she didn’t linger. There was so much she wanted to say, but the sheriff was staring at her expectantly. Instead, she said, “Thank you for saving me. I can never repay you for that.” She started to leave but then stopped. “I’m at the Plantation Inn for the next few days. If you come by, I’d like to buy you dinner—” she glanced at Sheriff Jackson, who continued to watch her intently, “—as a thank you. I know it’s not much, but…”

Drake nodded. “If it is what the gods will, I will see you again.”

Right. The gods. It wasn’t exactly the enthusiastic answer she’d been hoping for.

Lori felt the sheriff leading her by the arm to his car. He opened the passenger-side door and let her sit in the front seat. She turned to stare at Drake out of the window. He didn’t move, merely stood, watching her go.

“Don’t be offended if he doesn’t come to dinner, miss,” the sheriff said as he started the engine. “These swamp boys tend to stick to their own.”

The man didn’t outright say she didn’t fit in, but he didn’t have to. She already knew. Any kind of relationship would be impossible. Drake didn’t have a phone, so a long-distance relationship was out of the question, and she wasn’t about to move into gator village. The best she could hope for was that his gods willed them to meet again in a different reality.

As the car moved through the thick trees, Drake’s cabin was instantly hidden. The roads twisted and turned until she was sure she’d never be able to find it again. Lori turned her attention to the camera in her lap. The battery was nearly dead, so she slowly placed it in her bag.

Considering where she’d been last night, she should be happy to be on her way back to civilization. Yet, as the car put miles between herself and Drake, she couldn’t help feeling an immense loss. It knotted her stomach and caused an actual pain to linger in her chest near her heart. There had been something between them, an undeniable connection, and their brief moment together had been cut too short.

T
he police station
secretary typed with two fingers—two very slow henpecking fingers. The sheriff hadn’t lied when he’d said taking Lori’s statement would be quick and painless. What he’d failed to point out was Darla was very fond of her manicure, and Lori couldn’t leave until she’d signed the finished document.

“Unlike the stuff in most stations, our coffee’s not bad,” Sheriff Jackson said, handing her a disposable coffee cup and a donut on a napkin. He’d let her wait in his office on a brown leather couch. “And no cop-donut jokes. My brother owns a bakery.”

“Thank you,” Lori answered, grateful. She gave him a small smile. “And I don’t joke about a good donut.”

The sheriff glanced to where her camera battery was charging in the plugin. He took a small sip of his own coffee before setting it on his desk. “Photographer, eh?”

He knew as much. She’d said so in her statement. But Lori appreciated his efforts at small talk and nodded. “Yes.” She went to retrieve her battery and began setting up her camera to look at the photos. “Originally, I came to write a travel piece on Plantation Inn. I wanted to get a few shots of the swamps in the evening light. I still owe that review to my editor, but after everything that has happened, I feel I need to do something for Big Daddy…and for Drake.”

“Drake?” The sheriff arched a brow and moved to shut his office door. It was a strange gesture considering the officers outside were not being loud.

“He saved me.” Lori turned on the camera and began flipping through her shots. There were several of the inn and the owners.

“But why would you want to do a story on him?”

“Because he saved me,” Lori repeated, looking up from the digital display of a breakfast buffet. “And he’s a rather unique character. I think people will be interested in his story.”

“Did you discuss this idea with him?”

Lori shook her head. “No, but I think good deeds deserve some kind of recognition, don’t you? And it’s a great story—the writer’s personal experience, the fear of the swamps at night, the joy Big Daddy had in life right up until the end, hungry alligators and then the lizard man.”

“Lizard man?” Sheriff Jackson crossed his arms and sat on his desk. He glanced out the office window to where three officers leaned over a file before turning back to study her.

“That’s what I’ll call it, ‘Lizard Man of the Bayou’,” Lori said. Next, she could write the story of how Drake had come to be in America. She’d first have to figure out where Qurilixen was, and who the Var and Draig were. They were probably a foreign language pronunciation for some Scandinavian village. When people heard royal families were taking away commoner land like it was still the medieval period, they’d be angry. Lori would bring notice to the cause.

She flipped faster through her pictures. There were several of Big Daddy and the swamps. A photographer teacher had once told her to shoot everything and plenty of it because film is cheap compared to a lost moment, and that’s what Lori did.

“I’m not sure a story is a very good idea.”

“Does the title need something more? Maybe I’ll call it, ‘Lizard Man of the Bayou: Stranded with a Cajun’,” Lori mused.

“You were there one night. That’s hardly stranded,” the sheriff said.

“It sounds more dramatic that way,” Lori answered. “And I was stranded in the swamps when he saved me.”

“And Drake is not Cajun,” the sheriff continued.

“He said he is,” Lori defended. “Big Daddy was. Never mind. Simply, ‘Lizard Man of the Bayou’ it is.”

“Listen, Drake is…” The sheriff paused as if measuring his words. “Well, he’s a private person.”

“I’m not going to print his home address,” Lori said. She’d finally found a shot of alligator eyes lit up by her camera flash. The fear came over her once more, and also the immense relief that her trials in the swamp were over.

“We don’t need people roaming the swamps looking for—”

“Lizard man,” Lori whispered.

“Exactly,” the sheriff agreed.

She blinked hard, staring at the camera. A lizard-like creature leaned over Big Daddy’s dead body. Yellow reptilian eyes glared in annoyance as if her flash had interrupted him. His skin appeared to be armor plated like a dinosaur, with a line pushing up the center of his forehead to create a plate over his brow and nose. Talons replaced fingertips. She flipped the frame forward. He was still there. This time, she saw the glint of fanged teeth. She flipped again, and again the lizard man was there. The unmistakable line of a scar drew over his face, just like… “Drake.”

“What?”

“Drake,” she said, stunned. She blinked hard as if doing so would adjust her eyesight. He’d touched her. That mouth had kissed her. That body had been…inside her. “Drake is the lizard man.”

“Let me see that,” the sheriff said. The hard, authoritative tone made her stunned brain automatically obey. As he looked at her camera, he cursed lightly under his breath.

“He’s…he’s…” Lori stood and moved to look over the sheriff’s shoulder.

Sheriff Jackson stepped away from her as he looked at her pictures. She tried to move behind him once more, and he again shifted positions. After a long moment, he handed the camera back. “You must be tired. I don’t see anything.”

“What…wait,” Lori flipped through her pictures. The ones of Drake leaning over Big Daddy were gone. “No, I saw them. They were here. They were…” Her words trailed off as realization dawned. “You erased them. Why?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sheriff Jackson stated. “You must be tired from your ordeal. City girl like you in the swamps at night. It’s understandable.”

But that was a lie. She saw it in his expression. Lori knew what she’d seen on her camera. “Why would you do that? There was proof of—”

“All I saw was proof of a woman stranded and scared in a place she doesn’t belong,” the sheriff interrupted. Gone was his friendly smile.

“What is this? Is this some kind of lizard town? Are you…?” She eyed the man, trying to see if his face would change, or his eyes would glow. She’d seen Drake’s eyes glow. She’d thought it was a trick of the light, but until a minute ago, she hadn’t had any proof he wasn’t human. He was a lizard shape-shifter. That meant…shape-shifters existed. Supernaturals existed. And she was the first person to photograph one.

The sheriff smiled tightly as if putting on a show for anyone who’d glance into his office. He took her by the arm and squeezed in warning. “Listen very carefully. Drake is a good man. He saved your life. He’s saved a lot of lives around here. You said thank you to him for his help, and that’s the end of it. You’re going to go home, write your travel article about the inn, and Drake won’t so much as get a mention.”

“You can’t do this. You can’t tell me what to write. This isn’t Nazi Germany.” She lifted her chin, hoping she sounded brave. “I have freedom of the press.”

“And I have a badge.” He tightened his grip. “I also have the number of the local mental health director at the hospital. If you keep talking about this, I’ll have you locked up for observation due to exposure to the elements and psychological distress. I’ll make a notation of it in my official report. So if you get any ideas, I’ll say you’re crazy, and we feared a mental breakdown, but that I let you go because you promised to seek medical help from your doctor when you returned home. Who do you think the public will believe? A travel reporter ranting about lizard men or a decorated man of the law? And if you think I’m bad, you should see the other folk Drake has helped. People here know the price of a life debt, and they’re willing to pay it.”

“But—”

“There is no such thing as a lizard man,” the sheriff stated.

“But—”

“Say it. There is no such thing as a lizard man.”

“There is no such thing as a lizard man,” Lori whispered, shaking with fear.

“Good girl.” He let her go. “Now sign your statement, and I’ll have one of my officers bring you back to the inn. Your car is being picked up from the airboat rental parking lot and will be waiting for you when you get there.”

Lori rubbed her arm and backed out of the man’s way. She didn’t appreciate being bullied. This might be the swamp, and they might have their weird swamp-people culture here, but she was a journalist. Sure, she was a travel journalist, but still, she had the right to publish what truths she wanted. Plus, she had one thing these backwater people clearly hadn’t heard of—GPS metadata and automatic cloud backup for her photos.