Twiceborn (7 page)

Neither of us spoke for a long time. I had a lot to think about.

He took the Gosford exit and we cruised down quiet streets. Gosford was the hub of a loose collection of beachside towns known as the Central Coast, prized for their proximity to Sydney as much as their prettiness. But even the “big smoke” of Gosford was pretty dead at night. Still, Ben kept closer to the speed limit here. The last thing we needed was having to explain my blood-soaked appearance to a curious highway patrolman.

After about ten minutes we turned off the main road, following the signs to Avoca. Once a seaside tourist haven, it was now increasingly settled by commuters who had to work in Sydney but didn’t like the big-city lifestyle. Despite the encroachment of apartment blocks, it still kept a lot of its old-style charm, with old beach shacks nestled among the newer developments. Lachie and I had visited its grand old cinema once on holidays and paddled canoes on the lagoon behind the beach. Or rather, I’d paddled and he’d yelled excited commands as the captain of our little vessel.

No one moved on the streets now as Avoca lived up to its sleepy reputation.

Ben turned left and slowed the car to a crawl. “It’s along here somewhere. Ah—there.”

He pulled up in the carport of a tiny little box of a house, with a front door in the middle and a window each side, like something a child might draw. I got out and gulped big lungfuls of the salty air as Ben disappeared around the back. I could hear the faint shush of the surf; the beach must be close—probably at the end of the street—but it was too dark now to see.

Ben came back brandishing the key and let us in. The door opened straight into the main room, with lounge and dining table at the front and a primitive kitchen along the back wall. Inside was hot and stuffy; Ben went around opening windows while I yawned fit to crack my jaw, barely able to keep my eyelids open.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty, let’s get you cleaned up and into bed.”

I followed him into the tiny bathroom, forcing myself to hold it together. “Best offer I’ve had all day.”

CHAPTER SIX

The little bathroom was too cramped to fit a chair, so Ben boosted me on to the small sink, where I perched with my feet resting on the edge of the bath. It was an ugly shade of pink that matched the pink and caramel wall tiles. Probably the height of fashion in whatever long-ago decade the house had been built. I wondered how long Ben’s friend had been coming here. Maybe the house had been built by his dad, or even his grandfather. Bet they’d never had any werewolf victims here before.

Today was turning out to be a real day for firsts.

The house seemed like the kind of basic, homey place a family would come to year after year. On one side of the main living area two doors opened into the bathroom and a bedroom boasting a lumpy double bed. On the other was a small bedroom with two double bunks for the kids. Nothing flashy, but what kid would care? They probably spent their days at the beach, sunburnt and carefree, while mum and dad enjoyed the quiet. In the evenings dad would cook a barbeque, and after dinner they’d sit around playing cards or some noisy board game. Dad would probably cheat or pretend to be hilariously bad at it.

I sighed as Ben peeled the bandage from my arm. Why torture myself imagining happy families? Didn’t I have enough to worry about?

Red and inflamed, the wound looked nasty. The skin all around it felt hot and itchy. Was that a sign I was turning into a werewolf? Anxiety opened a pit in my stomach.

Gently Ben cleaned away the dried blood. He pressed against me in the small space, warm and solid and reassuring.

When he’d finished he produced a bottle of Dettol from the first aid kit. Right. Disinfectant—for werewolf germs. Bet the manufacturers hadn’t planned for that one.

“This might sting a bit.”

I snorted. “Yeah, I used to say that to Lachie. He didn’t believe me either.”

In fact he usually made more of a fuss about the Dettol than he did over the original scrape. I sucked in a breath at the bite of the disinfectant. Poor kid. No wonder he’d cried.

“Sorry.” Ben’s hands were gentle. I studied his face, so close to mine. Stubble shadowed his cheeks. It had been a long day. A single vertical line down the middle of his forehead spoke of concentration as he bent to his task. Or maybe worry. I had the feeling there was a lot Mr Stevens wasn’t telling me about our current situation. It was typical of him to try to shield me, but it only made my imaginings worse. And right now
worse
was pretty bad. The idea of being taken over by a monster, of changing into that nightmare thing in my kitchen, was doing my head in. I was barely holding it together. When would this guy Trevor ring back?

“So, tell me more about these dragons the werewolf mentioned.” Anything for a distraction. I winced as Ben dabbed carefully down the length of my arm. “Elizabeth’s what? Queen of Australia? And who are Alicia and Valeria?”

“Elizabeth’s queen of Oceania, which covers most of the south Pacific. She’s been queen a long time, and she’s old even by dragon standards. About twenty-five years ago she laid a queen clutch, which is a sign she knows she doesn’t have a lot of time left.”

“What’s a queen clutch?” I wriggled a little and steadied myself with a hand on Ben’s shoulder. The tiny pink sink didn’t make the most comfortable seat.

“Dragon queens are the only fertile females, and for most of their lives they lay only male eggs, with a few infertile females thrown in. Apparently when they get to an advanced age it triggers their reproductive system to produce a queen clutch—anything from three to a dozen eggs, all fertile females.”

“So how come dragons haven’t died out? Seems a dodgy way of doing things. How many queens are there?”

“Eight usually, depending on territory wars and inheritance fights.”

“Ouch! Careful!”

“Sorry.” He began rebandaging my shoulder with practised movements. The antiseptic reek of Dettol filled the little bathroom.

“Eight fertile females doesn’t seem much.”

He grimaced. “Trust me, that’s plenty. With their long lifespans, the world would be overrun with dragons otherwise. Not a world I’d like to live in.”

“But what happens to the poor males who don’t get to do the deed with one of the queens?”

“You wouldn’t want to let a dragon hear you say it, but it’s certainly been suggested they’re all crazy because they’re so inbred. But you needn’t worry about their sex lives. Dragons have very healthy appetites, and if there aren’t enough females to go around, they’ll settle for something else. Human playthings, mostly.”

“Okay, so Elizabeth lays some queen eggs. That’s Valeria and Alicia?”

“Among others.”

“And then what?”

“They fight to see who gets to be queen after Elizabeth dies. It’s called the proving. Not a good time to be a shifter. Lift your shirt and let me see that scratch on your belly.”

I held the shirt with my good arm and tried to sit straighter so he could see what he was doing. Everything hurt. I was a mass of stings and throbs and aches. I laid my injured arm across his shoulders, grateful for somewhere to rest it.

“Hope you’ve got some painkillers in that little box of tricks.” I inhaled the smell of him, warm and woodsy. I had to get close to make it out over the sharp scent of Dettol. He smelled like home. I could easily lay my head on his shoulder and drift off to sleep. The edges of the room were starting to blur.

A massive ballroom, with French doors all down one side, opening on to an even larger terrace. The golden sands of Palm Beach curving away just below. Daylight fading, the sky shot with pinks and oranges as the sun nears the horizon.

Pretty as a picture. On this night, even the weather didn’t dare interfere with the plans of Her Most Mighty Majesty, Elizabeth of Oceania.

I stood in the doorway, posing between the huge double doors. My first time in the palace. My first time anywhere other than the estate where I’d been raised, sequestered from my sisters.

“The fourth candidate,” the herald boomed. “The Lady Leandra.”

I stalked down the aisle, the chiffon clouds of my dress whispering about my legs. Other whispers followed my progress too. Some were hostile, others thoughtful. The whole shifter community of Sydney was here tonight for the Presentation of the Candidates, as well as many from around Australia and other parts of Oceania.

The crowd shimmered on the edges of my vision, a rainbow of colour. A huge range of shifters were here tonight, their auras glowing in every imaginable hue. Werewolf orange was well represented—Sydney had a large and thriving pack—though most looked uncomfortable in their tuxedos. Dragon red featured heavily too, of course, along with a large goblin contingent, though not all who glowed brown were goblins. Several taller shifters were clearly leshies. All watched me, but I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead.

My three older sisters already waited at the dais, one step below our mother the queen, having walked the red carpet before me. As the oldest, Valeria stood closest to the throne, with Alicia in stark black and white beside her, looking as though she’d just stepped off the catwalk. Ingrid, next in line, was not so chic, her makeup a little overdone, but she filled out her green ball gown so well that most would be prepared to forgive her.

We had never met, my sisters and I. The queen’s heirs were raised separately, ostensibly to protect them from each other till they were all of an age for the proving to begin. In reality I suspected it was to keep them safe from the manoeuvrings of the court.

We had never met, but already I knew them more intimately than anyone else in the world. They were more real to me than my teachers and all the servants who’d raised me. These last few weeks, since the date of the Presentation had been announced, I’d studied every scrap of information I could get my hands on, pored over every photo. I knew what Ingrid ate for breakfast, I knew Alicia’s fondness for designer fashions and Monique’s small cruelties to her servants. And I knew that Valeria, the oldest, considered the proving a mere formality standing between her and our mother’s crown.

Tonight she was channelling her inner ice maiden in a pale blue satin the exact colour of her eyes, blonde hair piled atop her head to give her extra height. The expression in those eyes was frosty.

I’d already decided Valeria was my chief rival, but I was surprised at the fury I felt as those eyes raked me up and down, then turned away to watch the entrance of our last sister as if I was of no more interest. Clearly she’d dismissed me as a threat. I had to force my hands not to clench into fists at my side as the herald called out again.

“The fifth and final candidate, the Lady Monique.”

I took my place next to Ingrid and watched Monique approach. She was a delicate little thing, with dark hair and big brown eyes. Her dress boasted a very grown-up plunging neckline, but those eyes, coupled with her tiny size, made her look more like a hopeful puppy than a potential dragon queen.

I let my attention wander across the crowd, searching out possible allies, noting any who refused to meet my gaze or returned it with animosity. Tonight would see the tentative beginnings of alliances that would make or break fortunes. For the lucky few who threw their support behind the successful candidate, riches and privileged positions at the court of a grateful dragon queen awaited. For the rest, the picture was not so rosy.

Many shifters lacked the necessary appetite for risk. Those were the ones who looked away, hoping to stay out of the whole bloody business. I didn’t like their chances. It was fortunate provings were so rare, because once one got started, it threw the whole shifter world into turmoil.

I jumped when his phone rang. My headache had started to fade, thank God, but it had left me so muddle-headed I hardly knew where I was. The pink wall tiles had begun a flickering dance unless I stared directly at them.

“Ben Stevens. Oh, hi, Trevor.”

The werewolf guy. I tried to focus on the conversation, but I felt strangely detached, as if I hovered near the bathroom ceiling watching a battered auburn-haired girl lean back against an old-fashioned mirror. Wow, she looked tired. A gorgeous guy on a phone crowded up against her bare legs in the tiny room, sandwiched between the bath and the toilet.

“Shit,” said Ben. “This afternoon? What time?”

That caught my attention for a moment, then I lost the thread again as I stared at his eyelashes. They really were preposterous. He was looking at the floor, and they lay so thick against his tanned cheek I wanted to touch them, to see if they felt as velvety as they looked.

His lips moved, but somehow the words that came out didn’t connect to my brain. I watched his mouth as if I’d never seen it before.

“… attacked … don’t know … at a friend’s place …”

He laid a warm hand on my leg, starting an unexpected tingle in my skin. His brown eyes were distant, preoccupied with other things. This close, I could see every pore in his tanned skin. He had a tiny scar on his chin I’d never noticed before. It made him look even sexier, if that were possible.

“Kate? Kate!”

It took me a moment to realise he was off the phone. How long had he been talking to me?

He frowned. “How are you feeling? Everything okay?”

“Why? Am I turning into a werewolf?” Fear jolted me back to alertness. That’s right, he’d been talking to the werewolf guy.

“No. You’re fine. Trevor says there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Thank God.” In a rush of relief, I seized his face with my good hand and planted a kiss right on his lips.

He blinked, the strangest look on his face—almost
guilty
. “What was that for?”

“Just celebrating.” The hard knot of terror in my gut unwound. Suddenly all the rest of it felt manageable. “What’s wrong? If there’s nothing to worry about, why do you look so worried?”