The reclusive Ian barely participates in life, only doing so when his powers demand that he use them or pay the consequences. It seems that there"s not a single person on this planet who doesn"t want something from him, but the pain and suffering of others is nearly unbearable at times, leaving him no choice but to act.
That is until Wink unwittingly walks into his life, completely unaware that she"s stepped straight into the dragon"s den.
Wink is just trying to get home after a long day of work. Her plans for the evening do not include stumbling upon a man with blood on his hands hovering over a dead woman in her hallway.
There are three things that someone in Wink"s position should"ve done in that instance.
1. Slowly back away from the hot, bearded killer and run the other way.
2. Call the cops.
3. Not come back until the scene was safe.
Instead, she stops, takes a picture"drawing the man"s attention to her"and then takes off at the speed of a fat, blind and possibly intoxicated penguin.
Ian tries to let her go, but the moment that she runs, every single one of his predatory instincts surge to the surface and the hunt is on. Ian always catches his prey, this time is no different. What is different is that, for the first time in his life, he is consumed with the need to keep his catch.Books in Series:I Like Big Dragons Series by Lani Lynn ValeBooks by Author:Lani Lynn Vale Books
Some girls watched Beauty and the Beast and wanted the prince. I want the library.
The stairs screamed in protest as I made my way back down the ladder.
I hated my job.
Well and truly hated it; I had no clue why I continued to do it when I hated it so much.
In fact, if I"d just quit already, I would be free to do my photography full time.
But that was the thing about me. I hated quitting. Anything.
It didn"t matter what it was.
A sport. A novel. A job.
They were all the same in my book.
Not to mention that I had no guarantee that next month would be as good as this month.
Christmas was now over, and I"d realized that if I managed to get at least six clients a month, I could make enough to carry me through until next month.
I also sold my photography as well. Anything I was able to sell was an added bonus that gave me a tiny cushion and made everything a little bit easier.
But my brain was still stuck in "poor" mode. Meaning that I couldn"t quit. Not when my mind still had me eating Ramen noodles when my bank account clearly could accommodate Velveeta mac and cheese.
My brain just couldn"t process that I was in the black on the balance sheet, not the red.
So, until I was confident in that, it meant I had to stick it out at my day job.
Once I had enough in my savings to hold me for a year, then I"d know it was time to stop my day job and pursue my passion, but not until then.
Not after the last four years.
Which was why I was currently crawling down the steps of the upstairs loft in my client"s house.
I was a professional cleaner.
Or maid, if you wanted to get all technical and shit.
I worked for a man who I never saw, yet he always managed to make a huge fucking mess.
My guess was that he only came out at night, after I was gone.
That would certainly explain why I never saw him.
It would also explain why his house was such a freakin" pigsty every other morning when I came back.
Last night, it appeared, he"d had another party, because there were dishes and cups everywhere, as well as questionable things on his sheets.
My boss owned a large house on the outskirts of Dallas, right on the lake.
It was a three story monstrosity that was the bane of my existence.
But, alas, I had it clean.
For today, at least.
Now it was time to go home.
Which I did not five minutes later, being sure to lock up so I didn"t get another threatening letter from my boss for forgetting.
Which I never did.
I was a freak about locks.
I had six of them on my door at home, as well as a reinforced door, a security chain, and a half-assed security system I"d bought off of Amazon.
So yes, I understood all too well the importance of locking doors.
Something I"d found out the hard way.
Meaning I didn"t screw up when it came to locking a door, especially not someone"s that I had to go into where there were so many freakin" places to hide.
After locking up, I made my way home, thankful that the day"s traffic was over with. Mostly.
The interstate was always busy, but it was nothing like the five o"clock rush hour.
Today, as I drove by Taco Bell and decided to get myself a burrito that I ate in the car on the way home, I was told myself that tomorrow I would start my diet.
Tomorrow I would lose the ten pounds I"d been promising to do for the last half a year.
But would it even matter if I did"
It was highly unlikely that I would find anyone.
Not unless I could meet them in traffic, at my boss"s shitty big house, or at the houses where I painted my murals.
Speaking of murals, my best friend and brother from another mother, Shane, chose that moment to call.
"Hello"" I answered, pulling into my driveway.
"Why, oh why, do I not know how to paint yet"" he asked me.
"Because you like to work with metal," I said amusingly. "And you don"t paint well."
"You like to sculpt with metal, but you can paint, too," he countered.
"That"s true," I said, getting out of my car, being sure to grab the trash from my devoured burrito out of the cup holder.
I sighed and started up the front path that led to my apartment, then even further inside the building.
"What are you doing tonight"" I asked him.
"Working at the bar," he said almost distractedly. "Hey, can I call you back" I think someone"s here."
He hung up before I could reply, and I sighed, dropping my phone into my purse and hitching the handles back over my shoulder.
I had no life.