Heart 0f The Dragon (Atlantis Book 1)

by Gena Showalter

  Oookay. Sore topic. And one she wouldn’t bring up again. “I’m sure you weren’t, big guy,” she said, hoping to placate him.

  “We do not attempt to conquer the surface. We do nothing to earn ourselves punishment.”

  “Well, now, that’s not exactly true.” Even though she’d just promised herself she wouldn’t bring this up again, she found herself saying, “You obviously did something. Your entire city was cast into the sea.”

  “We existed. That is why we were hidden in the sea. The way I understand it is we were never meant to be created, yet Zeus cut off his father’s—” he paused “—manhood, causing Cronus’s blood to splatter upon the earth. He meant to create man, but we were the first to form. Though he was—is—our brother, Zeus feared what we could do, so he banished us from the land he viewed as his playground. We were not unfaithful.”

  “You were created by the blood of a mythical god?” she asked, beyond curious about him.

  “No,” he answered. “My parents conceived me through the more traditional manner. My ancestors were the ones created by a god’s blood.” His lips pressed together firmly, stubbornly, and she knew he’d say no more on the subject.

  His parents were dead, she remembered from her vision, and she ached for him. Ached because he’d been the one to find them. Ached because they’d been murdered in ways so cruel she cringed from the thoughts. She knew how devastating losing a loved one was. He’d lost everyone close to him in one fatal swoop.

  “Your brother,” Darius said, effectively changing the subject. “You said he’s been missing for several weeks.”

  The mention of Alex served as a cold reminder of why she was here. “He hasn’t been home, hasn’t called, and that isn’t like him.”

  “And there were men chasing him through the jungle, trying to obtain the medallion from him?”

  “There could have been, yes. The theft attempt I mentioned was from before.”

  “Perhaps you should tell me everything that happened before and after you escaped me.”

  She told him what she knew, leaving out no detail.

  “These men,” he said, “the Argonauts who found you in the jungle. Would they harm your brother if they knew of the medallion?”

  “I would hope not, but…”

  Darius pursed his lips as he wondered just how many were involved in this tangled web of mystery—which was becoming more complicated every time Grace opened her mouth. “I wish to find and speak with them.” He pushed to his feet. “The medallion is not here,” he growled. “I have searched every inch of the cave.”

  “I didn’t lie to you,” she assured him. “I lost it in the mist.”

  He jerked a hand through his hair. Once again he was left unsure whether to believe Grace. Her motives seemed pure, the protection of her brother; yet her claim of losing the medallion seemed too convenient.

  As he stood there, warring within himself, his heated tattoos illuminated a dark object, glinting in the corner of his eye. He’d seen the object during his search, but had ignored it. Now he bent down and studied it. Grace’s weapon, he realized. The same sort of weapon the human guards carried at Javar’s palace. He must have tossed it through the mist.

  “Why did you carry this?” he asked her. His fingers drifted through the metal.

  “The gun?” She closed the distance between them and knelt beside him. Her heady essence wrapped around him.

  “A gun,” he echoed. “Why did you carry this?” he asked again.

  “To protect myself. I bought it from a peddler in Manaus.”

  “What does it do?” His voice was solemn, deep. “As I recall, you tried to wound me with it, but nothing happened.”

  “The cylinder wasn’t loaded. If the cylinder had been loaded, bullets would have shot out when I pulled the trigger and slammed into you, causing injury. Maybe even death.”

  Intrigued, he eyed the gun with new expectations. A complicated piece of weaponry, to be sure. The coil, the thin shaft. “I would like to see this in action.”

  “I just bet you would,” she muttered.

  He flicked her a glance. “If I make it so that you can hold this weapon, will you show me how to work it?”

  “I don’t have any bullets,” she said.

  “Get some.”

  “Where? We’re not exactly in the bustling heart of a city, with eager merchants hawking their wares.”

  “Later, then. When we return to your home. You can obtain these bullets and show me how this weapon works.”

  “All right,” she said. Though Grace wasn’t sure she wanted him to handle a loaded gun. Nor was she sure she wanted to take him to a gun range. “But how are we going to get it home? We can’t even pick it up.”

  He turned back to the gun, letting his hands hover over the top, and closed his eyes. One minute melted into another. Lines of strain bracketed his mouth, and his bronze skin paled. Grace didn’t utter a sound, didn’t move. She didn’t know what he was doing, but she was loath to interrupt.

  Finally, he let out a breath and opened his eyes. He scooped his hand under the gun and lifted. Instead of sinking past an immaterial palm, the gun remained cradled.

  “How did you do that?” Awe laced her voice. She took the weapon and tucked it in the drawstring waist of her sweats.

  He ignored her question. “Come,” he said, stalking to the entrance. “I wish to find these Argonauts.”

  “They have guns of their own,” she warned him. “I saw them.”

  The dire warning didn’t cause him a moment’s concern, though his gaze gleamed with a tiny flicker of pleasure that she sought to offer it. “They will not even know we are here. We are like ghosts, remember?”

  They were forced to crawl on their hands and knees until they reached the cave’s entrance. Grace loved the way her knees glided through every rock and twig, but wondered why Darius didn’t do his instant transfer thingy. They reached the end, and she eased to her feet. The heat and humidity of the Amazon threatened to roast her, and she was no longer so thankful for her sweats. Familiar scents drifted to her nostrils: dewy foliage, orchids, and recent rain.

  “How does one protect oneself from a gun?” Darius asked, ushering her beyond a flourishing green bush.

  “Kevlar vests. That’s what the police use, anyway.”

  His expression turned pensive. “I would like some of these vests.”

  “Maybe we can order you some on the internet. I’ll do a search—”

  Her body tingled in strange rippling waves, and she gasped. A piece of fruit had sailed through her and smashed into a tree. Laughter drifted to her ears, not human, but amused all the same. Two more missiles sailed through her as Darius whipped around. He launched himself at her, tossing her to the ground. His weight crushed her.

  “How have you been spotted, woman?” he demanded.

  “Those damn monkeys!” She glared up at him, blaming him for her trials, slowly becoming aware of the perfect fit of their bodies and the warm, seductive scent of him. “You said no one would know we were here.”

  “Monkeys are responsible?” His lips compressed, and if she weren’t mistaken, amusement twinkled in his golden eyes. She paused. Golden again? The only time they’d been golden like this was right after he kissed her. What made them change? “Animals can see what the human eye cannot,” he said.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “What I want to know is why he didn’t throw anything at you.”

  “My guess is that he knew I would have him for my next meal if he did so.”

  She liked this side of Darius, playful and teasing.

  Grace smiled.

  His gaze veered to her lips, and heat suddenly seared his eyes. All traces of merriment fled from his expression. Her own smile faded. Memories of the last time he’d lain on top of her licked through her mind. And just like that, she wanted him again. The knowledge angered her. How could she desire this man?

  She must
have moved, must have arched her hips, because Darius hissed a torrent of air between his teeth. His muscles were tense, and he was leaning toward her. Closer, closer still.

  In one swift motion, he jerked to his feet.

  “Up,” he commanded, his tone inexorable. “You’re wasting time.”

  Wasting time? Wasting time! Her? Irritated, Grace stood and anchored her hands on her hips. “It’s going to be nothing but good times with you. I can tell.”

  Darius led her around for the next hour. The heat obviously agreed with him. While he looked as refreshed and vibrant as if he’d just stepped from a yoga class, dirt glued itself to her clothes and body. Even her hair was weighted down and wilted. She was a ghost. Wasn’t she supposed to stay clean and untouched by the elements?

  “I hate this place,” she muttered. Already she was tired and thirsty. And cranky. “I need a coconut smoothie.”

  The man responsible for her distress finally halted. “There are no Argonauts here.”

  No shit, Sherlock. Yes, definitely cranky. “I’m telling you, they were here.”

  “I believe you,” he assured her, as if that had never been in question. “Their footprints are everywhere.” He scanned the trees. “Do you know the names of the men who helped you?”

  “Yes. Jason and Mitch. And Patrick,” she added.

  “I need their surnames, too.”

  “Sorry.” She shook her head. “They didn’t offer, and at the time I didn’t care to ask.”

  Darius fought a wave of disappointment. He’d hoped to find the men, question them and finally gain at least some of the answers he sought. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could reclaim Javar’s palace—and the sooner his life returned to normal. No more chaos. No more unquenchable desires.

  No more Grace.

  His lips lifted in a scowl. She was quickly propelling him to the brink of madness. The way she moved, sultry, swaying. The way she spoke, challenging, lilting. The way she watched him with hunger in her eyes—hunger she couldn’t quite hide.

  She didn’t want to want him, but want him she did. Very much.

  And he wanted her right back—alarmingly so.

  After he’d uttered the binding spell, he’d seen inside her mind and knew she ran from her own desires. Knew her brother, Alex, did the same. They’d watched their father slowly deteriorate, then quickly die. Grace had loved her father for the kind, gentle man he’d been, but watching him fade had been so painful she’d retreated to fantasy, imagining herself anywhere but home. Imagining herself in all kinds of exhilarating situations. A crime fighter of unequalled strength. A lady pirate who sailed the high seas. A siren who lured men to her bed and pleasured them into unconsciousness. The last intrigued him most.

  She craved excitement and passion and all the things she’d created in her dreams, but so far life had offered her none of those things. Nothing managed to live up to her expectations. She’d known one disappointing adventure after another…until she stumbled through the mist. Then she’d finally found the exhilaration she had always craved.

  How could he consider ending her life, when she was only just now beginning to experience her dreams? The question plagued him because he knew the answer; he simply could not accept it. Though he might want her to live, he would fulfill his oath.

  Darius sighed. He was wasting time here, time that he didn’t have to spare. His powers were already weakening. He wasn’t sure how much longer he had before he weakened completely.

  “Let us journey back to your home,” he told Grace. He didn’t wait for her response, he simply wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

  “Wait. I want to head into town and ask around about Alex,” she said. “That’s why I brought his pic—” Before she could finish her sentence, he pictured her home and those very walls materialized around them.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE NEW YORK morning announced its presence by shooting rays of sunlight through Grace’s living room windows. Cars honked outside; the people above her stomped across their apartment, shaking her ceiling.

  “You have got to stop popping me in and out of places. I’m this close—” she told Darius, pinching her thumb and finger together “—to having a heart attack. And besides that, I wasn’t ready to leave,” she snapped. “I wanted you to take me into town so I could show Alex’s picture around and ask if anyone had seen him.”

  “I did not deem it necessary,” he said, releasing her. His face was pale and those lines of tension were back.

  He did not deem it necessary, she silently mimicked. What about what she deemed necessary? Scowling, she padded to the kitchen, placed her gun inside a drawer and poured herself a tall glass of ice water. She drained every drop. Only after she’d consumed three more glasses did she offer Darius a drink.

  “Have you anything other than water? Something with flavor?”

  “I could make lemonade.” Not that he deserved it.

  “That will suffice.”

  She withdrew several lemons from the refrigerator, beat them against the counter to release the most juice, then sliced a hole in the top of each. She squeezed the tangy liquid into a glass and added sugar substitute—she did not keep real sugar anywhere near her—and water. She slid the drink across the counter.

  Having watched her mix the contents with a leery eye, he lifted the glass and sipped tentatively. She knew the exact moment the sweet-and-sour flavors blended into his taste buds, knew the exact moment he wanted to howl with pleasure. His strong fingers gripped the cup, curling around the glass with surprising gentleness; his eyelids grew heavy, causing his inky lashes to dip over the sensuous planes of his cheekbones.

  As he swallowed, his throat moved. A wicked shiver dripped along her spine, and she had the sudden urge to lick him there. I’m turned on by a man’s trachea. How pathetic am I?

  “Surely that is ambrosia,” he said. Thankfully his color had returned. He reluctantly set his empty glass on the countertop.

  “I don’t mind making more if you’re—”

  “I would like more,” he rushed out.

  If he reacted like this to lemonade, how would he react to chocolate? Spontaneous orgasm? Maybe she had a Hershey bar hidden somewhere…

  He consumed two more glasses of lemonade in quick succession. He requested a third, but she’d run out of lemons. His disappointment was palpable, but he shrugged it off.

  Watching her with heated eyes, he licked the last drop from the cup rim. “You asked me earlier what power my medallion possessed. I will show you now,” he said. “First I will need your brother’s surname.”

  “Carlyle. Like mine.”

  He arched a brow. “Is that common here? To share names?”

  “Yes. You didn’t share the same name as your family members?”

  “No. Why should we have? We are each individuals and our names are our own.”

  “How do you show your family relationship, then?”

  “House affiliation. My family was House of Py.” Darius removed his medallion, and as he held it in his open palm, it glowed a brighter, eerier red. “Show me Alex Carlyle,” he said to the dragon heads.

  Four beams of crimson sprayed from both sets of eyes. They formed a circle in the air, and the beams grew wider by the second. Grace watched with fascination as the air began to crystallize.

  “What’s happening?” she whispered.

  Alex’s image appeared in the center of the circle, and all questions were forgotten. Her jaw dropped open in shock. Dirt, sweat and bruises covered her brother from head to toe, and as she took in his appearance, her blood ran cold. He was pallid, his skin so pale she could see the faint tracings of his veins. He wore only a pair of ripped, stained jeans. His eyes were closed, and he huddled on a muddy floor. Tremors raked him. From cold? From fever? Or fear? The room was sparsely furnished with a small bed and a chipped wooden nightstand.

  With one hand she covered her mouth and with the other she reached out, hoping to smooth his brow, h
oping to reassure him that she was here. Just like in the cave, her fingers drifted through like a mirage. Feeling helpless, she dropped her hands to her sides. “Alex,” she said shakily. “Where are you?”

  “He cannot hear you,” Darius said.

  “Alex,” she said again, determined to gain his attention in any way necessary. How long since he’d last eaten? What had put those bruises on his skin? What had made him so pale? She bit back a deep moan of distress.

  “Do you recognize this place?” Darius asked.

  “No.” Lips trembling, gaze never straying, she shook her head. “Do you?”

  “No,” he sighed.

  “It’s a motel room, I think. Find him,” she beseeched, watching in horror as her brother rolled to his side, revealing two bloody puncture wounds on his neck. Vampire? From Atlantis? Had he made it inside? “You said you would.”

  “I only wish it were that easy, Grace.”

  At last she switched her attention, flashing Darius an accusing glare. “You found me.”

  “We were connected through the spell of understanding. I simply followed my own magic. I have had no contact with your brother, nor does anything bind me to him.”

  Alex’s image began to waver just as a woman approached him. She was the most beautiful woman Grace had ever seen. Where Alex was long and lean, the woman was small and delicate with flowing silvery-blond hair. Pixie features, porcelain skin. She crouched beside him and gently shook his shoulders.

  “Who is that?” Grace demanded sharply.

  Darius narrowed his focus. “That is Teira,” he said, an undercurrent of incredulity in his tone. “Javar’s wife.”

  “I don’t care whose wife she is, as long as she leaves my brother alone. Is she cruel? Will she hurt him? What’s she doing to him?”

  Just as quickly as it appeared, the image faded completely.

  “Bring them back,” Grace commanded.

  “The medallion shows me a vision for only a small period of time, and never the same person more than once.”

  No. No! She controlled the urge to stomp her foot, to whimper. To cry. “Take me to Alex.”