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  Paranormal Dating Agency

  HOT WINGS

  Ophelia Bell

  Acknowledgements

  Cover by Willsin Rowe

  Edited by Wyrmwood Editing and Publishing

  Formatted by Animus Press

  Thanks to Nora Ash and T.L. Rossatti for being kick-ass beta readers. You guys are my barometers for hotness in the sex scenes. Thanks to Claire DeWolf for being a fantastic writing buddy and daily sounding board and to Scout for being the best fuzzy lap-warmer in the world.

  And last, but not least, thanks to Milly for inviting me to be a part of her world!

  Chocolate is the answer.

  Who cares what the question is.

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Books by Ophelia Bell

  About Ophelia Bell

  Chapter One

  Gerri Wilder sat in her regular booth at her favorite restaurant for a Friday night meal. She’d only been coming here for a few months. There was something about the desserts that kept her coming back, and the menu was constantly in flux, which kept things interesting.

  The chocolate mousse she’d just been served was to die for, a perfect blend of rich chocolate and a touch of cayenne pepper to give it kick. Unfortunately, it seemed like the most delicious things on the menu tended to disappear within a week. It could be disappointing, but it ensured diners would come regularly to make sure they didn’t miss something great. There was nothing worse than coming to the restaurant to hear about the fantastic dish they were serving last week, only to find it was no longer available.

  She closed her eyes and savored this dessert as though it were the last time she’d ever taste it. When she swallowed the last bite, a clang from the kitchen shocked her eyes open. From behind the doors, a woman was spewing a barrage of colorful epithets, and not entirely in English. Gerri raised an eyebrow, impressed by the female’s creativity, whoever she was.

  A booming male voice replied with not nearly as much imagination—the word “bitch” was the least creative insult to throw at a woman, after all—and then yelled, “Oh, yeah? Well, you’re fired!”

  The kitchen door swung halfway open, and every head in the restaurant craned around to watch as a voluptuous woman in chef’s whites pushed through. She yanked her toque off her head, releasing a tangled blond mane. Turning around, she viciously tossed the hat back through the door, yelling, “Oh, no you don’t! Because I fucking quit!”

  She spun on her heel and stalked through the restaurant, red-faced and fuming, oblivious to all the heads that turned to follow her exodus with mouths agape.

  Once at the hostess’s stand, the woman suddenly made a sharp turn, directly into the ladies room, the door swinging shut behind her.

  Gerri sighed and looked longingly at the empty dish that had once contained the best chocolate mousse she’d ever tasted. Time to find a new favorite restaurant, she thought, and stood to make her way into the restroom.

  * * *

  “That bastard,” Pomona muttered for the hundredth time in five minutes. She’d run out of steam after her confrontation with Charles, the executive chef at Joie. Getting hired as a sous-chef for the exclusive, five-star restaurant had been the opportunity of a lifetime, and another box to tick off on her list of career goals.

  At least, it had been until she’d gotten to know her tyrant of a boss.

  She swiped angrily at her tears, hating herself for not … not what? Kissing his ass and sticking to his uninspired recipes? The man’s menu was stifling, to say the least. She supposed it might appeal to some people who had no sense of adventure. The dishes he served were technically perfect, but every damn one had to be exactly like his recipe—right down to the number of leaves on the parsley sprigs that garnished each plate.

  The bathroom door creaked open behind her, and a petite woman with a perfectly coiffed, platinum-blonde bob stepped in.

  Pomona turned on the faucet and hurriedly splashed water on her tear-streaked face, then grabbed a wad of paper towels and wiped, blowing her nose on them before tossing them in the wastebasket.

  “Sorry about the scene,” she said, turning an apologetic gaze to the woman who had paused just behind her, and now met her eyes in the mirror.

  The woman waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve seen worse, darling. You certainly did liven up the place tonight. You’ve got fire in your belly, I’ll give you that.”

  Pomona snorted. “More like heartburn. I guess I’m technically unemployed now.” She sighed. “And good fucking luck finding another gig like this one. Charles will lambaste me all over town after those names I called him. Nobody will hire me. Oh, why, why, why did I have to channel my grandmother in there?” She tilted her face to the ceiling, picturing her Italian grandmother tutting at her lack of self-control, but secretly praising her for standing up for herself.

  The woman moved to lean one hip against the counter and grabbed several tissues from the box in the corner, handing them to Pomona. A fresh bout of tears were already leaking from her eyes at the memory of her beloved grandmother. This sweet little woman looked like her Nonna, even. She wondered if the woman had the same spark in her.

  “You’ll find another one,” the woman said. “You know what they say: one door closes and another one opens. I have no doubt you are meant for greater things in your life, darling.”

  Pomona snuffled into her tissues and regarded the woman.

  “Hey, I’ve seen you in here before. You’re a regular, aren’t you?” She smiled, finally recalling all the Fridays Charles had grudgingly requested she make her signature dessert. “I think you’re the only reason my chocolate mousse stayed on the menu for so long. Charles hated that stuff, but we kept serving it because ‘someone important’ kept ordering it. I think he mostly hated it because it was so much more popular than his crème brûlée. I wondered—hoped, really—that you might be a food critic. You aren’t, are you?”

  The woman shook her head. “Sorry to disappoint you. My name is Gerri Wilder. I run a dating agency. If you’re single and looking
for a match, I can help.”

  “Oh?” Pomona raised her eyebrows. “Tempting, but unless the guy wants to hire me as a personal chef, I’m afraid I have more important things to worry about right now. And until I’ve found that dream job to beat all dream jobs, my career has to come first.”

  “Of course,” Gerri said with a nod. “Is that something you would enjoy? Being a personal chef, I mean.”

  “Oh, you have no idea,” Pomona said, smiling and tilting her head back, letting the dream fill her mind. “This job was a compromise, really.” She waved her hand back over her shoulder in the direction of the restaurant. “Just a rung in my career ladder. Sous-chef at a five-star restaurant looks good on the résumé. That’s the only way for a nobody like me to catch the eye of celebrities who want a personal chef. My real dream job is cooking full-time for the rich and famous.”

  “I see,” Gerri said. Her blue eyes seemed to glint with yellow light. She tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail on the granite counter top, regarding Pomona thoughtfully. “I do have several connections in the shifter world, if you’re willing to branch out. Shifters are well known for their appetites, and I’m sure they would love your cooking. I’d be willing to ask around, if you would settle for something like that in the interim. Some of the men I work with are very well-off.”

  Pomona’s eyes widened. “Seriously? You would do that for me? I am honestly not going to be picky at this stage.”

  Gerri reached into her handbag and drew out a card and a pen. “Give me your number, dear. I’ll ask around and give you a call if I find anything.”

  “Oh, absolutely!” Pomona said, grabbing the proffered items and hurriedly jotting down her information.

  “And if you change your mind about dating, you can always call me,” Gerri said, trading her for a fresh card and stowing Pomona’s number in her purse with her pen.

  “Lady, if you can match me with a boss I don’t want to strangle, you’ll have made me the happiest woman in the world. I would gladly let you set me up on a date. I just have this thing about not dating when I’m threatened with homelessness, you know.”

  “I completely understand. You’ll hear from me.”

  Gerri patted Pomona on the arm and gracefully exited the restroom, leaving her staring dazedly at the door as it closed.

  Shaking herself out of the trance of that strange encounter, she finally peeked at the business card the woman had handed her.

  Gerri Wilder

  Matchmaker

  Paranormal Dating Agency

  Paranormal dating … a personal chef for shifters …

  Holy shit, what was she getting herself into?

  Chapter Two

  Ignazio stared at the unconscious shape in the hospital bed. His best friend and arena league partner might be dying, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  He replayed the pivotal moment of their championship match over and over in his head. The moment when both he and Bryer had looked at each other and known with utter certainty that they were the victors.

  Their dragons had been amped to that perfect razor’s-edge threshold of shifting, allowing them to manifest whatever anatomical parts would supply them with a tactical advantage, whether it be wings, talons, or armored scales. They were used to competing with this level of synchronicity, from man to dragon and even dragon to dragon, as his and Bryer’s animals linked in that special way only the animals of highly trained arena partners could.

  They’d been on the verge of continuing an unbroken winning streak. They were on their way to having another Nova Aurora Arena League championship under their belts. The golden boys of Nova Aurora would continue to own that coveted spot in the limelight and in the public’s hearts.

  Then it was gone in the blink of an eye when their opponent, a hyena shifter, manifested his claws and swiped, mere moments after the referees had declared the winners.

  Ignazio replayed that moment in his mind in slow motion, his gut a tangled mess trying to work out how the hell it had gone wrong so fast. He and Bryer had both reacted, his partner spinning and deflecting the blow, but he’d been caught off guard—the opponent swung his other set of claws, their sharp, gleaming tips wet with some substance that Ignazio could still smell. That scent would always be an acrid reminder of the worst moment in his entire life.

  The opponent had thrown out restraint along with adherence to any and all arena combat rules. He was going for blood. Whatever he’d had on his claws was enough to eat straight through Bryer’s mesh combat suit and into his hip. He hadn’t even had time to manifest his scales.

  Bryer’s agonized cry still rang in Ignazio’s ears, even though it had been three days since the incident.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face and rubbed at gritty eyes. He hadn’t slept a wink in those three days. The entire time, he’d been parked by Bryer’s bed, hoping—praying—that the doctors would come back with better news than they’d had thus far. Poisoned, they’d said. Apparently, their opponent had used enough of the noxious substance to prevent a dragon shifter from healing. A normal wound, even this grave, wouldn’t have kept any shifter as fit and healthy as the Hot Wings team members down for more than a day or two.

  Ignazio was staring out the window at the distant yellow mountains and the twin suns setting behind them when a knock sounded at the door. He turned to see a pair of figures—one wore a sharp suit and stunk of shark, and another who he recognized instantly as the second champion from the pair they’d fought in the finals. The partner of the cheating fuck who’d tried to kill his friend.

  “You can just get the fuck out right now,” he growled, jumping out of his seat.

  The shark smiled a toothy grin and held up his hands. “Now hang on, Mr. Karsten. You’ll want to hear what Simon has to say. As his attorney, I fully support his decision to come to you now.”

  “What the fuck good could he do?” Ignazio snapped. “His cheating partner single-handedly ruined Bryer’s career. The doctors don’t even know if he’s going to wake up, much less compete again. His life is fucking over, and you want to do what? Offer your condolences? Well, fuck you!”

  The other man rested a large hand on the shark’s shoulder, physically moving him back out the doorway. “Man, I’ve got this,” he murmured, giving Ignazio an apologetic look.

  The attorney left, and Ignazio scowled at the burly hyena. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave, too.”

  Simon raised his hands and nodded. “If I’d known what was good for me, I’d never have partnered with Herrick. I should’ve seen the signs … felt them. We worked well together, in spite of our only common goal being the championship, but I never wanted to win this way. I’m just here to tell you that I’ve testified against him to the League Council. He’s going away for a long time and he’ll never compete again. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  He glanced at Bryer. His face tightened with what looked like pain, though Ignazio didn’t want to believe it.

  “Apology not fucking accepted,” Bryer snapped and pushed Simon out the door, shutting it hard behind him.

  He collapsed back into the chair with a huff and a curse. Another knock sounded in reply.

  “I said, fuck off!” he yelled just as an attractive woman in a white coat stepped through the door.

  The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry,” Ignazio grumbled. “Do you have news?”

  “Good news and bad news,” the doctor said. “The good news is that the poison in Bryer’s system isn’t fatal. His metabolism is very good and his dragon has been working hard to heal him, but the poison is unfortunately slowing his healing factor to such a degree that some of the damage to his body may be permanent.”

  Ignazio nodded, letting out a long breath he’d been holding. He looked at his friend. Bryer would live, but for what? His entire life r
evolved around being one of the two best arena champions in the world. To be permanently handicapped … Fuck.

  Ignazio turned back to the doctor, latching onto the one hopeful word she’d said.

  “You said ‘may’ be permanent. So it’s possible it isn’t, right? What do we have to do to make sure he recovers completely?”

  The doctor nodded. “There’s a small chance with a strict recovery regimen, including a very specific diet and regular physical therapy, he would recover fully. Beyond that, it will depend on his link to his animal.” She pursed her lips and scrutinized him as though she had more to say.

  “Spit it out,” he said. “What needs to happen? Whatever he needs to do, I’ll make sure he does it.”

  “I’ll be frank with you, Mr. Karsten. You arena champions may be fit and health-conscious, but your … extracurricular habits … leave something to be desired. You’re both at the age where your performance will start to deteriorate, if you keep this up.”

  Ignazio’s eyebrows shot up and he bit out a laugh. “Our fucking extracurricular habits? You mean the fact that we love fucking females, right?” He took a menacing step toward the doctor. She blinked and leaned back slightly, but stood her ground.

  She cleared her throat. “If you want to put it that way, yes. It may be a good way to let off steam, especially for younger shifters, but the fact remains that mated shifters have an advantage. As a League-certified physician, I’ve observed your career … all the arena champions’ careers, for that matter. You guys are celebrities, so I understand that it’s difficult to let go of that. You lose that allure when you settle down, but I won’t lie, finding your friend his mate is probably the only thing that will guarantee Bryer can continue competing.” She paused, studying him for a beat, then said in a gentle tone, “You should do the same.”

  Ignazio jerked his head back. Find a mate? He and Bryer had lived the life of stars for years, ever since the first championship they’d won together when their proverbial ships had come in. They were two of the most famous shifters on Nova Aurora, could bed any woman they wanted—and had taken advantage of that fact on numerous occasions. They loved the lack of emotional commitment required. Their lives were all about training and winning, not about settling down.