Kiernan Read online

  KiernaN

  By

  CJ Matthew

  DEDICATION

  Kiernan, Sea Dragon Shifters Book 4

  is dedicated to a dear friend,

  Barbara Tenbroek.

  We’ve been friends for a long time,

  I treasure you and all the memories.

  Chapter 1

  Kiernan

  March 16

  Kiernan hurriedly buttoned up his green wool blazer and as he tossed one end of a long, knit scarf, emblazoned with Irish shamrocks and green sea dragons, over one shoulder. He shivered. It wasn’t the air temperature, which was crisp for mid-March. His sea dragon ran hot enough to handle much colder weather. What was making him edgy? He carefully scanned the familiar faces of the Irish heritage group standing in the long shadows cast by the sun rising over Savannah.

  Surrounded by friends, waiting for the Saint Patrick’s Day parade to begin, he’d been relaxed and happy until a moment ago. It was his favorite time of year. Per tradition, when the saint’s feast day fell on a Sunday, the parade through the historic port city of Savannah took place on Saturday. Which gave him an extra day to entertain and socialize. He hosted not only business acquaintances from Ireland but welcomed the onslaught of visitors and friends from all over the US who chose this time of year to visit southern Georgia.

  A beautiful woman stepped in front of him holding a steaming carafe. This year’s parade refreshment coordinator. He blinked at her bright hazel eyes set in a lovely oval face and struggled to remember her name. Cathy? Callie?

  “Good morning,” she said with a smile. “Heat up your coffee?”

  Last Monday evening he’d arrived late to the club’s final parade planning session and missed the introductions. He definitely recalled her curvy body and all that luxurious auburn hair which this morning was subdued into a thick French braid down the back of her neck. A few rebellious tendrils had escaped and brushed her rosy cheeks.

  Wait, he did remember something about her last name…not Irish. It was the same as one of the confederate generals buried in Laurel Grove cemetery.

  Got it. “Thanks, Ms. Sorrel,” he said with a return smile.

  Twin dimples blossomed on her face. “No relation,” she said, “It’s Cordelia. Please call me Delia.”

  Kiernan removed the lid of his travel mug and accepted the refill. “Thank you, Delia. I did hear your name during the last meeting but then you were gone before I could introduce myself.”

  Deep inside, his sea dragon lifted its head.

  She’s nice, his beast said. Talk more.

  Weird. The sea dragon didn’t usually chime in on his social life. Happily, the unsettled feeling was gone.

  “I’m Kiernan Rudraige.”

  “Oh, hi. Um, good to meet you,” Delia said. The smile disappeared and her cheeks paled slightly. “See you later,” she murmured and abruptly turned away. Forcing Kiernan to swallow his next words.

  What the hell just happened? Puzzled, he watched the woman work her way through the crowd. The sound of his name didn’t normally send women running. Now he was curious as well as attracted. He sidestepped to get another look at her retreat. Her jacket had been tailored to fit and her waist looked amazing above gently swaying hips.

  Okay. During the long parade, he’d definitely ‘talk more’ to Delia. Find out what about him bothered her. Once the misunderstanding was cleared up, he’d invite her to his post-parade buffet and after-party at the Muirdris Shipping offices. Four years ago, the growing number of guests had necessitated moving the party from his condo to the offices in the Port of Savannah. Last year it had been a tight squeeze. If this kept up, they’d be searching for an empty warehouse to paint green and party in.

  Kiernan choked on a swallow of coffee. Wouldn’t that drive his cousin Murphy batshit crazy? Corporate headquarters for Muirdris Shipping, the Sea Dragon clan’s family business, was Boston. A gem of a historic city, with a massive Irish heritage and a well-deserved reputation as a party town. Yet each year, Kiernan got a call from his ultra-competitive clan chieftain, Murphy, asking how many people had chosen to travel to Savannah, Georgia to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.

  Gotta love the fact that Savannah’s month-long celebrations culminating in the huge parade drew people from Boston, Ireland, and all over the world.

  Another spectator tradition he enjoyed: the local ladies applied lipstick, darted into the marchers, and bestowed kisses on the cheeks of lucky men. Over the years, he’d received a respectable number of lipstick marks. Nothing like the students from Benedictine Military Academy, many of whom arrived at Madison Square, the end of the parade route, with their faces covered in lipstick kisses.

  At a signal from the staging coordinator, Delia and her two teen assistants hurried around collecting the one hundred or so coffee travel mugs. Excitement rippled through the marchers as the group slowly started forward, heading toward the parade’s starting point near the corner of East Gwinnett Lane and Abercorn.

  Kiernan glanced around and made a last-minute decision. Instead of marching in his usual place right behind the banner, today he’d begin the parade in approximately the middle of the group and over to one side. That way he could split his time between watching Delia and waving to all the curbside spectators he recognized. After shaking hands with the participants around him, he joined in the applause as the marching band two units ahead struck up an Irish tune.

  Chapter 2

  Cordelia

  March 16

  As soon as Delia and her helpers, her neighbor’s daughter Lily, and Lily’s high school boyfriend Beau, finished boxing up all the coffee mugs, they each wheeled a stack of the cartons to Beau’s waiting van.

  “Thanks again,” Delia called over her shoulder as she hurried back to rejoin the marchers. “See you at the water stop.”

  Slowing when she spotted Kiernan, Delia ducked behind two spectators and waited for him to pass. Then she inserted herself into a clump of laughing women near the back of the group. Whew.

  After her mother’s last three, well-publicized marriages, each one to a significantly wealthier groom, Delia had honed her skills at avoiding notice. The truth was, she’d spent much of her adult life in classrooms and libraries, successfully avoiding the spotlight. Choosing instead to ‘hide out’ in academia, buffered from the world in a comfort zone of her making.

  When her mother and the latest step-father died suddenly in a plane crash, public interest in the family increased, and she’d been even more grateful for her student lifestyle.

  After the dual memorial service, in a haze of grief and shock, she sat through a reading of the wills. A morbid event she’d only read about. She’d been overwhelmed by the angry reaction of her stepbrother, Leopold Watson, and the legal team he brought with him. The man was every bit as ruthless as her late mother warned her about. Before his father’s will had been completely read, Leopold and his two attorneys had shouted objections, citing the prenuptial agreement, and threatening lawsuits.

  Shaking, Delia had headed for the door. An older man in a dark suit offered her his card. “It appears you have an ugly legal battle facing you, Ms. Sorrel. Allow me to represent you.” She’d gratefully accepted his offer, hurriedly signed paperwork, and caught the next flight back home.

  Right before finals, she’d received a call from her lawyer, actually his assistant, informing her Leopold had filed suit, and was claiming the entire estate. That call had been followed by a late-night visit from a huge man who’d threatened her. In a harsh voice he’d warned Delia not to oppose the lawsuit. In a panic, she’d left the university and moved into the cottage in Savannah left to her by her grandmother.

  Now, after months of ‘hiding out’ in Savannah, with no more visits from Leopold’s bullies, only a colle
ction of harassing phone calls, she’d decided to fulfill a dream and participate in the St. Patrick’s Day march.

  It would only take one picture of her in the Savannah parade to appear on statewide or national media and she’d be forced to relocate. So, attractive as Kiernan was, she needed to stay away from him until the parade was over.

  The sun was well up by the time they approached the turn onto East Broughton along the end of the Colonial cemetery. Delia began scanning the spectators, searching for Lily. It had been before dawn this morning when the three of them followed each other to park the supply cars. Not easy considering the road closures on either side of the route. They’d left Delia’s vehicle parked near Madison Square, the end point of the four-hour parade. The coffee and travel mugs, they’d brought to the staging area were in Beau’s car. Lily’s mom’s car contained the water for the group’s midway break and was parked off Lincoln Street past the colonial cemetery.

  The plan was for Beau and Lily to be waiting by the curb with the hundred individual containers of water.

  Delia sped up her pace trying to get closer to the middle of the group. Her gaze darted between the people gathered on the sidewalk and the back of Kiernan’s head. As she neared the center of the marchers, something made Kiernan turn and look toward her. Damn.

  He gave her a warm smile. Double damn.

  Ducking behind the couple next to him, he made a beeline for her. The man already sported more than his share of lipstick stains on his cheeks. Her heart pounding, she finally spotted Beau. Giving Kiernan a dismissive wave, she darted across to the curb. Before they could ease the first cart down to street level, Kiernan arrived and took charge of the second cart.

  “Thanks,” she said, giving him a nod. “Beau, this is Kiernan.” She glanced up to see Lily racing toward them.

  “Sorry, potty break,” Lily said.

  “If you’ll help distribute water,” Delia said, “I could use a break too.”

  “Go ahead, we’ve got this,” Lily said. “Try to get back to us before we turn onto Broad. It’s always a hot mess from there on.”

  Lily hurried to join Kiernan and Beau as both carts worked their way through the thirsty group. Delia turned and sprinted down the block toward the small cluster of portable toilets. As she reached for one of the doors, a burly man stepped beside her. And grabbed her arm.

  “What—?”

  “Don’t make a sound, bitch.” His long, meaty fingers squeezed her arm. Hard. The pain brought tears to her eyes. Dragging her to the sidewalk, he propelled her out of view of the crowds.

  “I’m here to make sure you cooperate,” he muttered. “Don’t cry out for help or cause trouble.”

  His words sent a cold stab of terror to her chest. She tried jerking her arm back. No good. She tried to dig her heels in, slow him down. Instead, she stumbled along beside him. He gripped her arm tighter. New, worse pain shot down her arm.

  Through tears, she did manage to get a look at the man. He was big, standing a full head taller than her. The black cap covering his head was pulled down low to meet large sunglasses. Combined with dark jeans and a black t-shirt, his look screamed: ‘thug.’ Whatever his intentions, the brute seriously outweighed and out muscled her.

  So much for worrying if a photo with Kiernan Rudraige would give away her location. It seemed Leopold’s men already knew where to find her. The pain and fear dominated her thinking and her self-taught, self-defense training fled. She sucked in a breath to scream. His free hand swung around, smacked her squarely on the jaw. She saw black dots. Blinding pain exploded across her face and radiated down her neck.

  He dragged her up two shallow steps and shoved her into the alcove of a doorway. The street appeared deserted. His face loomed over hers.

  “I left papers for you. Just sign, call the number on the top, and we’ll pick ‘em up. If those papers aren’t signed and back to Mr. Watson’s lawyer by Monday, 5 p.m. I’ll be back. And I promise, next time, I’ll mess you up good. Permanent. Understand?”

  She swallowed the blood pooling in her mouth. Tried to speak. When no words came out, she breathed through her nose.

  “Monday,” he growled. “Do I need to make myself any clearer?” He gripped both her arms and shook until her teeth rattled. And her stomach pitched. The splitting headache, throbbing jaw and aching arm were now joined by nausea. Bile rose in her throat.

  “Do. You. Understand?”

  Gagging and swallowing, she didn’t dare speak or even nod her head. She mouthed, “Don’t—”

  “Don’t force me to return. I’ll make you sign, and then hurt you bad.”

  “No…please...”

  He released her arms with a shove. Her head banged against the door as he turned away, hurried down the street and vanished. Knees wobbly, Delia began to crumble. Grabbing for a potted Azalea on a plantstand, she steadied herself.

  No falling down.

  Despite her precautions, Leopold’s goon had found her. And succeeded once again in intimidating her. She’d never wanted her stepfather’s money or his company. Why didn’t Leopold believe her lawyer when he passed that information along? Was her stepbrother so greedy he wanted her few pieces of family jewelry and the small trust fund her mother intended for her?

  If she wanted to live long enough to hear the judge’s decision on the disposition of the estate, she’d better get the hell out of Savannah. Change her appearance, again. Go into deep hiding.

  It was her worst nightmare.

  Chapter 3

  Kiernan

  March 16

  Kiernan’s brows drew together with worry as they got closer to the turn onto Bay Street and still no sign of Delia returning from her bathroom break. While she’d been gone, the parade had stopped twice, briefly, so they hadn’t gotten too far from her. Lily and Beau had most of the empty water containers collected and boxes stacked.

  “What’s the plan?” he asked Lily.

  “Thanks to the short delays, most folks are finished with the water. We’re ready to wheel the empties back to my Mom’s car. Then Cordelia got permission for Beau and me to march the rest of the route with y’all.”

  “Good. Need any help?”

  “No, thanks. But I’m starting to worry about Delia. She should be back by now.”

  Beau signaled Kiernan to follow as he wheeled his stack of empties over to the curb and through the spectators on the sidewalk. “Hey Mr. Rudraige, Lil and I’ll watch for her, on the way to the car and on our return trip.”

  “Take my phone number,” Kiernan insisted as Lily hurried to join Beau. As expected, both teens had their phones in hand by the time he started to recite his personal cell number.

  “Text me back so I have your numbers?” As Kiernan pulled out his iPhone, it beeped with the incoming texts.

  “Great,” Kiernan said. “Keep me updated.”

  Ten long minutes later, he spotted Lily leading Delia along Broad Street until they reached the Irish heritage group. After thanking a lovely spectator who’d just kissed his cheek, Kiernan hurried toward Delia. He needed to see for himself that she was all right.

  One look at her jaw and his heart froze. Someone had assaulted her. His dragon roared in anger. Rampaged to get out.

  Someone hurt her. Find the villains. Tear their heads off.

  I agree. Be patient. We’ll make them pay for hurting her. Meanwhile we need to take care of her. His sea dragon flexed sharp, curved claws while snapping a set of huge teeth that any monster would be proud of.

  Delia was obviously in pain. When he arrived at her side, one of the parade medics, a young man in uniform was already there, offering her an ice pack and saying. “Here you go.”

  “What happened?” Kiernan asked at the same time. “How badly are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?”

  “Thank you,” she told the medic in a firmly dismissive tone. Then she turned the same tone on him. “I’m fine.”

  “Remember to watch for symptoms,” the young man warned as he turned
away. At that point Delia transferred her look of disapproval to Kiernan. Looking closely, he thought he saw residual fear in her hazel eyes.

  “No need to interrogate me, too,” she snapped. “I bumped into a light-post and bruised my jaw. That’s all.”

  She expected him to believe that? He waited.

  “I answered all his questions,” Delia huffed. “Let him shine his little light into my eyes, just to get some lousy ice.” She waved the pack. “I’ve done some reading on concussions; I’m fine.”

  “Okay,” Kiernan said. It was obviously not the time for an argument. He squeezed the instant ice pack and when he handed it back to her, she placed it gingerly on her jaw. Wincing, he got a closer look at a very big, very nasty bruise. He was swamped with an overwhelming urge to bundle her up, carry her straight to his hoard in the condo, where he could keep her safe.

  Since it was obvious to him the woman wasn’t receptive to any observable help right now, maybe the most effective plan for him was to prioritize what he could offer versus what she’d go along with.

  Med-evac by helicopter? Or bring in a level 1 trauma team? That wasn’t about to happen. After knowing her for only a couple of hours he could easily visualize her reaction to those suggestions.

  Scale down. If she needed a brain scan, the medic who examined her would have mentioned it, right? So, scale down even more. Hell, that bruise was a doozy. Red and swollen. She was in pain. How about an analgesic? An over the counter pain reliever? And where was her hat? He could replace that. And fluids.

  Most important, a way for her to stay with the group to the end of the parade route without having to walk the rest of the way. Behind Delia’s back he signaled to Beau.

  “Several of our marchers,” he said casually, “are beginning to look like lobsters. Could you grab one of the street vendors and buy a few shade hats?” He eased a money clip from his pocket and slipped it into Beau’s hand, ignoring the astonished look on the young man’s face.