Wyvern Protection Unit - Chapter 25: Chapter 25

The sound of high heels clacking down the marble hallway reached Larimar’s sensitive ears as he worked on polishing his recently recovered Harley.
Fucking Conny had tried to claim it after their last World Cup bet, but he’d won it back from his brother. All it took was one race around the continental United States in their Wyvern forms.
Conny was still pissed at him for using his talents, but all was fair in a wyvern race, or some shit. Alright, so maybe Larimar shouldn’t have summoned that flock of angry seagulls to slow his brother down once they’d hit their home state again, but it was too late for regrets now.
Conny had cheated in the first place. Anyway, Larimar was not giving his annoying brother his new custom ride. The Dire Wolf MC had just settled down in Blue Valley, and with them was the best mechanic known in the Shifter world.
Weylin Scott had charged him a small fortune for the upgrades and modifications he’d required. Looking at the end results, he had to admit it was worth it. Wyverns were a more compact draconian Shifter than the average Dragon, but that just meant they packed more punch in a smaller size. In his human skin, Larimar was a fucking giant.
Almost seven-feet tall with huge rippling muscles that earned him plenty of stares from most normals, especially the females, he knew physically he was something to behold. He and his brothers had been told by many females how attractive they were. Larimar wasn’t conceited or anything. It was what it was. Personally, he thought Conny looked like a possum’s asshole, but whatever.
The point was, the bike was a passion of his. After breaking three of them in a row, Larimar was aware he’d have to make some adjustments. He’d needed an extra strong machine to hold his undeniable bulk. Wyverns were heavy even in their human forms. Something about mass and density and metaphysical mumbo jumbo was the reason behind it.
Whatever.
He just wanted to ride his fucking bike. So, yeah, he paid the Dire Wolf to fix the damn thing. The newly titanium reinforced struts and shocks made it easier on the machine to keep its integrity. He’d also had them update the exhaust system, replace the mufflers, and wrap the pipes to ensure a quiet ride.
Larimar’s job meant stealth was a necessity. He might not be able to hide his size, but he could avoid drawing attention to himself. Being vigilant, alert, and physically able to assess and eliminate danger were all part of his job.
He and his brothers called themselves the , though, to normals, they were known as the Wessex Protection Unit. A group of highly skilled and expertly trained bodyguards called on to provide security when other units could not do the job.
Their adoptive father, Arthur Wessex, former Army General, had instructed them in all areas of combat, self-defense, weaponry, and warfare—he also changed their diapers and wiped their noses.
Larimar had certainly had an unusual education, but he could not complain about his upbringing. Arthur Wessex had given him and his brothers a home. They had been protected, nurtured, and loved—no doubt about the last bit.
His father was recovering from a recent cancer scare. It would have proven fatal if not for a certain damned annoying Egyptian Demon. The brothers had Medjed to thank for their father’s cancer going into remission.
They’d only met the man when Jasper had been assigned to protect Carolina Moore from the threat of a mate-hungry psychopathic Demon. But Medjed was not what he’d appeared to be at first. Now, he’d become a valued friend, having been seduced to the good side of the force, er, ugh, whatever.
He was working for their handler, Jennifer Dylluan. The very female Larimar could thank for getting that ridiculous old sci-fi flick stuck in his brain. Larimar totally appreciated George Lucas’ innovative nature and sheer genius. He’d watched the movie marathons meant to make the Unit stronger with relaxed team bonding exercises—but he drew the line at cosplay.
The last time they’d done a Star Wars marathon, Heliodore had insisted they come as their favorite character and Conny, that fuck, showed up in the Princess Leia bikini. And yet, Larimar was the one everyone got pissed at for refusing to dress up.
Unbelievable.
Larimar had stormed out of the theater room and had refused to take part in any more bonding time until the image of Conny in a fucking thong could be scrubbed from his mind. How could anyone think that was okay? Even his Wyvern was permanently scarred.
Grrr.
This was why Larimar preferred animals to people, even Shifters. He’d been practicing using his talent—communicating with beasts—and trying to expand his reach and control.
Each brother had something, Jasper was an honest to gods fire-breather. Larimar’s ability was not physical. It was more cerebral. He could communicate with creatures through a telepathic link. He could even control those forms with little free will to do his bidding.
Hell of a feat. Sometimes, he was even impressed with himself sometimes. He’d heard rumors of supernaturals with the same gift communicating with the dead, but they were just that—rumors.
Though, when he was younger, he might have led his brothers to believe he could talk to ghosts just to get them to leave him alone. But that was just a youthful prank. Brother shit. It wasn’t real.
What he wouldn’t give for something real!
He’d been off assignment for weeks now, and truth was, he was bored, as in losing his freaking mind bored. Larimar waited impatiently for the clacking of heels to grow closer, but still maintained his position even as she entered his space.
“Larimar,” called Jennifer, and he made a show of sighing heavily.
It wouldn’t do any good to show her he wanted to go out on assignment. No, he had to act as if being found was the last thing he wanted. Not that he didn’t like the Great-Horned Owl Shifter, who was also the brothers’ Wessex’s handler, a sort of liaison between them and the secret government agency known as the DPCA, but she could be a bit of a pain in the ass.
“I’m about to take a weekend road trip,” he began, not even looking up as she walked into the garage, “so whatever you want, ask Conny.”
“I’ve already seen Zircon,” she said through tight lips, and he knew his idiot brother had pissed off the woman once again, “and he has his own assignment. You’re up, Lari. Think you can handle it?”
“What about Dor?” he commented.
Lari knew his eldest brother, Jasper, had taken a leave of absence from active duty until his mate delivered their baby. It was surreal to think he was going to be an uncle, but Carolina was all he could ever want in a sister-in-law. Witty and funny, and she kept Jasper on his toes with her antics, which was a bonus.
The woman was a renowned artist, too. Larimar appreciated beauty in all forms, even if he preferred the chrome and rubber of his Harley above all else. Carolina’s recent pieces included studies of Jasper and his brothers, in Wyvern form, of course. She called them a tribute to fantasy art. His older brother had drawn the line at any of them posing in the nude for his mate.
Of course, not having read that text, Conny had shown up to Caro’s brand new art studio the brothers had built on their property as a mating present for their new sister in the buff. That, of course, led to a boxing match between Conny and Jas. Poor Caro had nearly peed her pants laughing at them. She was perfect for Jasper. The brothers were used to settling things with their fists or claws, but who knew pregnant women had weak bladders?
Lari had been only too happy to break up the fight, after they’d walloped each other good and bloody first. He couldn’t imagine it was good for his sister-in-law to laugh that hard in her delicate condition, anyway.
Her pregnancy was something they were all deeply invested in. The brothers all spoiled Caro with gifts for the baby. They personally saw to it she had everything she could ever want.
Jasper was the first brother to find a mate, and though he was new to it, Larimar could tell he was devoted to Carolina. He respected the shit out of his brother for the way he was with his mate. Hell, Larimar even envied the fucker. Not that he would ever admit that out loud.
Even their father was counting the days until he became a grandpa. Arthur Wessex was spending more time researching Shifter-human pregnancies than anything else. Truth was, they were all a little bit scared.
The thing about keeping the supernatural world secret was there were no official records kept anywhere. Sure, he could use Ghoulgle—a search engine invented by Nostradamus, an underground Ghoul, and his super fly girlfriend, Emily, specifically for supernaturals. But even that only revealed a small fraction of data on the subject.
From what Dad had shared with them, Shifter and human unions resulted in viable offspring, but no one seemed to know what happened when a Wyvern mated with a human. In fact, little was known about the species, and Larimar and his brothers had never even heard of others.
The fact he and his brothers had not been born in the traditional sense was worrisome. They’d been hatched in a lab from centuries old eggs. They’d been traded amongst governments and civilizations for hundreds of years as sources of wealth and power.
No, theirs was no common birthing.
Of course not, we’re Wyverns. A more unique and awesome creature has never been born, er, hatched. Not unsightly like those six-appendaged monsters everyone seems to love. Dragon Shifters—how boring. Who needs an extra set of legs with this wingspan?
Larimar bit back his chuckle. His beast’s conceit knew no bounds. But the Wyvern inside him was not wrong. They were unique in the supernatural world.