The Dragon Berserker’s Mate: A Fated Mates Shifter Romance (Bad Dragon’s Bride Book 2) Read online

  THE DRAGON BERSERKER’S MATE

  A FATED MATES SHIFTER ROMANCE

  HARLOW BLAZE

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  The Dragon Doctor’s Mate

  CHAPTER 1

  HAZEL

  A car pulled into the driveway with its headlights off.

  Hazel’s fingers tightened on her windowsill. Freezing wind blew the rain against her damp face, and each drop felt like cold needles piercing her wet skin. But she barely noticed the discomfort. The adrenaline thumping through her veins blocked out every other sensation.

  They’d waited for bad weather for a reason.

  Water pattering off the roof deadened any sound. Hazel strained her ears, but she didn’t hear the engine as the car stopped beneath her bedroom.

  Good. They couldn’t wake him up.

  The door cracked open, and a woman got out. Even in the darkness, the grim slash of her mouth stood out against her pale face.

  Hazel waved and gave Starla a thumbs up. Her friend and savior nodded, then jogged to the back of the car. She popped the trunk, eased it open, then pulled out a ladder.

  This was really happening. Starla would get her out of here. She would finally be free of this place.

  Hazel left the window and rushed to her bed. A nearby streetlamp shone through the open window, letting in enough light to navigate her dark room. The orange glow glinted off a deadbolt. She’d installed it six months ago after coming home from college in disgrace. When things started to go wrong.

  She moved too quickly. Her foot hit a dodgy floorboard, and an echoey creak reverberated through the quiet house. Hazel froze, and her eyes shot to the door.

  Had the noise woken him? A night of drinking in front of the TV normally left her stepfather dead to the world. But knowing her luck, he’d develop insomnia on the night of her escape.

  Hazel held her breath and tried to listen. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out any other sound. If someone was moving around downstairs, their footsteps didn’t reach her. But she couldn’t stand here forever. She needed to get out.

  After a moment, Hazel licked her dry lips and crept over to her bed. She knelt down, then reached under it. Rough carpet met her fingertips as she groped around blindly, then her palm brushed a canvas backpack.

  Bag packed? Check. Wearing a hundred layers of clothing, so she could bring as much with her as possible? Check. Next stop—freedom.

  Hazel dragged her bag out from under the bed and turned to the window. As she did, her bookshelf caught the corner of her eye. The glossy spines of brick-thick textbooks, creased with years of use, glinted in the faint light.

  Hazel grabbed one and started to pull it off the shelf. Even if it had left her with a mountain of debt and a useless qualification, her therapy studies had once been her entire life. She’d given up on that dream, but couldn’t she bring a small reminder?

  Starla’s warning floated back into her head, and Hazel hesitated with her finger resting on the book.

  It was their last secret meeting. They’d been standing by the frozen aisle, pretending to shop for groceries. The memory was so vivid Hazel heard a faulty cash register beeping in the background and smelled the air freshener used to conceal the scent of freezer-burned food.

  “Pack light. I want us in and out in less than five minutes. The clothes on your back and essentials only,” Starla said, pretending to examine the ingredients on the side of a cardboard box. A strange expression passed over her face. For the first time that day, Starla looked directly at her, and her purple eyes flicked to Hazel’s cleavage, hidden beneath a baggy sweater. “Make sure you cover that mark.”

  Heat flared between Hazel’s breasts as if her strange new tattoo reacted to the memory. Her hand flew to the spot, abandoning the expensive textbook. She rubbed the thick fabric of her sweater, tugging it away from her chest to peek down the neckline. Even in the dark, the black symbol stood out against her pale skin—the quarter-sized silhouette of a coiled dragon.

  With a sigh, Hazel turned away from her bookshelf and hurried back to the window. Her instructions were clear, and she couldn’t argue with the steely tone in Starla’s voice. Message received. No flashing the mysterious mark that appeared two months ago and no lugging around a three-pound textbook.

  The ladder rested against her windowsill. Starla waited at the bottom and gestured up at her. Without making a sound, Hazel tossed her backpack out into the night, and Starla caught it. She slung it into the backseat of the car, then took a firm grip on the ladder to hold it steady.

  Only one thing left.

  Hazel placed her hands on the sill and stuck her head out of the window. The rain had picked up while she was grabbing her things, and a wave of icy water slapped her across the face. Hazel rubbed her sleeve across her eyes and blinked until her vision cleared.

  When it did, her stomach lurched.

  Her room was a mere ten feet above the concrete driveway, but the ground seemed to warp below her window. The metal ladder stretched into something impossibly long and flimsy, leaving her more stranded than Rapunzel at the top of her tower.

  The edges of her vision blurred and darkened, and Hazel stumbled back with a gasp. Trembles wracked her body as she fought back the bile flooding her mouth. Mike might have slept through a creaking floorboard, but sound traveled oddly through the small, old house. If she hurled, it might rouse him.

  Hazel wiped her sweaty forehead and dug her phone from her pocket.

  Hazel: I can’t. I’m sorry. He’s asleep, I can sneak out the front.

  I’ll meet you at the car in one minute.

  As she hit send, Hazel pictured Starla’s mouth pinching into a thin line. She cringed. After Starla had orchestrated her prison break, messing with the plan felt like the shittiest thing ever. For someone who wanted to be a therapist, she’d never quite mastered her own people-pleasing tendencies.

  The image of clambering down that death trap flashed into her head. She could feel the flimsy metal, slick with rain, shuddering beneath her frozen hands. Hazel’s stomach churned, and a wave of dizziness hit her.

  Starla: Hurry

  She didn’t need to be told twice. Hazel crept to her bedroom door, then pressed her ear to the wood. The faint sound of some infomercials filtered up from below. Nobody conscious could listen to that faux-cheerful presenter, right?

  Hazel steeled herself and slid back the deadbolt. The well-oiled metal slotted soundlessly into place, and her door clicked open. Before she chickened out, she crept into the dark hallway.

  She could do it. In less than sixty seconds, she’d never have to see this place again.

  Stale beer permeated the air. Hazel slunk down the corridor, and the scent grew stronger
as she reached the top of the stairs. The stench of garbage bags due to go out weeks ago mingled with the smell.

  Neglect already tarnished the place that had once been her cherished home. Since her career aspirations fell through, and she’d moved back, Hazel handled most of the chores. But Mike had been more… erratic recently. Leaving her room stopped being an option.

  The dusty carpet softened her footsteps as she crept downstairs. The open sitting room door appeared in front of her, and Hazel held her breath as she drew level with it. Blue light flickered on the white paint, and she strained to hear anything other than the cheerful sound of someone selling a life-changing kitchen appliance. After a moment, she caught a faint snore.

  Asleep. Nothing stood between her and the front door.

  Hazel stuck to the wall, avoiding the wooden floorboards down the middle of the hallway. They bowed in the middle from years of use and creaked like hell underfoot.

  A pang of sorrow broke through the adrenaline rush. Her eyes suddenly swam with tears. Twenty more steps, and she’d never set foot in her childhood home again. Somewhere so familiar, she could pick out every creaky board. Would there ever be another place that she’d know so well?

  As she passed the kitchen, something glinted. Hazel hesitated and stood on her tiptoes to see. A shiny object sat on the counter.

  The tears overflowed and dripped down her cheeks. Before she knew what she was doing, she went inside. Hazel’s fingers shook as she picked up the photo frame. She touched the picture, and mist fogged the glass around her fingertip.

  Her mom’s blinding smile radiated from the small photograph. As if it had been taken yesterday, the celebration in the park came rushing back. The three of them had gone together. The rain gave way to brilliant sunshine in time for her mom’s birthday, and the smell of freshly cut grass lingered on the warm breeze.

  It had been their last normal day before the diagnosis.

  Hazel’s mouth tugged down sharply, and she dashed her hand across her eyes. Had Mike been looking at a picture of her mom? He hadn’t always been like this. Once upon a time, he’d been a part of their little family.

  Now, it was just the two of them. And the drinking that started when her mom died grew worse with every passing day. Hazel had a sick feeling that the man she grew up with didn’t exist anymore. And she didn’t trust the stranger who’d taken his place.

  Taking a deep breath, Hazel hurried to the entrance, holding the photo frame to her chest. This was an essential.

  Emotion made her careless.

  She took a step into the dark corridor, and a floorboard groaned underfoot. Hazel’s eyes darted back to the living room, where the flicker of the TV still played across the open door.

  Something heavy moved behind her.

  “Where are you going?”

  Hazel whirled around. The windows of the front door outlined a hulking silhouette.

  Mike flicked the light switch. The bulb spluttered, and yellow light flooded the narrow hallway. He seemed to fill the corridor, looming over her like a giant. He’d always been a tall man, but over the past two years, drink had expanded his waistline to match.

  An awful silence descended. He blinked, his bloodshot eyes bleary with sleep as they dropped to the photo frame clutched to her chest. A flash of recognition passed across his face, cutting through some of the drunken confusion.

  “You turned into a bitch after she died,” Mike said.

  His voice sounded distant as if he were talking to a stranger. That scared her more than a tantrum. Hazel’s chest heaved, but the air felt too thin to fill her lungs. If someone had put a gun to her head, she couldn’t have forced out a single word.

  Mike took a step toward her. Then another. “Heading straight off to college like you were hot shit. Well, look at you now. Back home. Leeching off me.”

  He touched her. He put a finger under her chin and tilted up her face. Hazel froze like a frightened rabbit. Her feet rooted to the ground, keeping her still even as his clammy skin against hers made her want to scream.

  He studied her for a moment, and sick hunger rose in his eyes. “Until I saw that photo, I forgot how much you look like her. How you gonna pay me back for putting a roof over your head, huh?”

  The front door flew open.

  Starla stood in the entrance. Despite the oppressive rain, her black hair fluttered in the air, like a whirlpool spun around her. She threw out her hand and shouted. The alien syllable boomed down the hallway, layered with whispering and deep, discordant notes.

  Hazel’s brain revolted. Her vision blurred as the sound rattled her bones and chattered her teeth together. Mike stumbled back, clutching his stomach like he was about to vomit.

  The word took shape. Darkness erupted from Starla’s command, smothering the light from the bare bulb. Hazel stumbled in the unnatural shroud. She could have been standing in the void of space. Nothing penetrated the suffocating darkness. Except for a strange thudding. A rhythmic, hollow beat. Almost like the hooves clacking over the wooden floor.

  Someone grabbed Hazel’s hand and dragged her forward. Her body unfroze, and she charged through the pitch-black shadows to freedom.

  She burst into the night. The orange light of the streetlamp returned. Starla dragged her by the hand to the car, and Hazel dove into the open passenger door. Without waiting for it to close, Starla threw it into reverse. They screeched around the driveway, pointing the bumper toward the street.

  Mike stumbled outside, his eyes wide with stark animal terror. Sweat dripped from his pasty face, and he reached out to the car.

  Starla stomped on the accelerator. Missing Mike by an inch, they soared out of the driveway and onto the road.

  Every hair on Hazel’s body stood on end. She clung to her seat so hard, her knuckles turned white. She stared out onto the road, too shaken to string two thoughts together.

  Only one explanation offered itself for what she’d just seen. Magic.

  Since the shifters came out a few decades ago, magic wasn’t impossible anymore. But Starla was human—she didn’t have the animalistic edge of the shifters Hazel had seen on TV.

  “Are you a witch?” Hazel forced out through numb lips.

  Starla didn’t answer for a long moment. She stared straight ahead, and the flashes of streetlights revealed glimpses of her hard expression. “Don’t tell people,” she finally said. “We’re still human. More vulnerable than the shifters. We don’t advertise.”

  Hazel touched her chest. A thump came from the strange mark hidden beneath her sweater. When she realized she’d never graduate, she’d gone out and partied hard. One morning, the inky silhouette of a dragon lay nestled between her breasts. All this time, she’d assumed she’d blacked out and wandered into a tattoo parlor with bad business practices.

  But the first time Starla saw it, she’d gone white.

  Hazel swallowed hard, and her fingers tightened on the fabric. “Is this… magic?”

  The sound of the engine changed. Starla shifted gears, and they passed into a long tunnel. She didn’t answer. They sat in silence until they broke through on the other side. The residential areas lay behind them, and the architecture turned into a strange jumble of sleek skyscrapers and department stores mixed with squat, red-brick buildings.

  They pulled into a small car park. Starla leaned out of the window and tapped a fob on a plastic receiver. With a metallic groan, the barrier creaked upward.

  They’d reached Starla’s place.

  Across the road, a neon sign turned the night pink. It traced the outline of a scantily clad dancer and spelled out a name. The Succubus Club.

  Starla turned to look at her. “You asked me to do anything to get out of this mess, right?”

  Hazel stared at her friend, trying to glean answers from the worry pinching her pale face.

  Mess was the only word for it. A mountain of student loans, a degree she didn’t have the license to use, and a stepfather whose interest had shifted from disengaged to stoma
ch-churningly focused. She sure as hell couldn’t see a way out. If Starla knew how to change things, Hazel would seize the opportunity with both hands.

  “Yeah,” Hazel managed. “Anything.”

  Starla didn’t look relieved. She leaned forward and rested her weight on the steering wheel, then gazed up at the cloudy sky. “Honey, I sure hope you mean that.”

  CHAPTER 2

  JAY

  A knight in shining fucking armor sat opposite him.

  Jay’s skin crawled. Being in the same room as a dragon king from another eyrie put his teeth on edge. Even if they were here for business.

  Sunset settled over the Seattle skyline and streamed in through the wall of glass lining the boardroom. Lance shifted in his seat, and blinding light flashed off his breastplate. Black metal armor had been crafted to contour his muscular body, and it gleamed like the exoskeleton of a hideous beetle. Gold plating decorated the metal over his joints, adding a layer of wealth to the design.

  All the traditionalists dressed like morons, but the King of the Steens Mountain dragon shifters took the cake. Sure, they were from Oregon, but not even being rural hicks excused the armor. This was what Seattle had been reduced to. Forging alliances with a bunch of assholes wearing tin cans.

  Jay put his feet up on the black conference table and leaned back in his chair. He popped open a window, then rummaged in his suit pants for a cigarette and his lighter.

  Sticking one in his mouth, he cupped his hand around the light and raised an eyebrow at Lance. “You mind?”