Guarded by the Dragon

by Sofia Stone

  Sleep didn’t come easily, and not just because of the uncomfortable position. Her presence was intoxicating, even though there was a wall between them. At night his thoughts roamed: from her sweet smiles and funny quips to her explosive stubbornness, everything about her was perfect.

  That wasn’t even getting into how beautiful she was, how much he wanted to run his hands over her luscious curves and feel every inch of her soft flesh beneath him . . .

  Things didn’t get easier during the daytime. They might have been sleeping in different rooms, but there was something about living together, eating together, just being together in the same space constantly that made little intimacies spring up between them.

  On the second day, he learned how she took her coffee, and that she wanted some before she met with Lady Nancy each morning but that she had trouble waking up in time—so he made it for her. When he fell asleep in an awkward position on the couch after they’d stayed up far too late talking about their families, he found himself covered with a blanket the next morning.

  More than lust, he was falling in love; each gesture was a little seed of love growing up between them. Being around her all day, every day—and every night—was torture; he only wanted her more and more as each moment passed.

  The only thing stopping him from kissing her as passionately as he wanted—from taking her and making her his—was Amelia herself. He would move mountains to respect her wishes.

  Fortunately—or unfortunately, according to his dragon—his job didn’t exactly require touching her. He wasn’t sure that he would be able to stop if he started, and his self-control was hanging on by a thread. A thread growing more frayed by the hour.

  He could tell it was the same for her, though perhaps for different reasons. Not so different, he hoped . . . but he didn’t have to contend with whatever Lady Nancy considered an appropriate crash course in Princess Studies. There was so much pressure on her, but he was proud that she was holding up under it.

  Then came the dancing.

  He hadn’t given a spare thought to it. Of course the royal family hosted all kinds of balls and formal events where dancing was expected, but that was all in the fuzzy future. Maybe some dancing tutor, he supposed. Back in the country.

  But no.

  “At least one waltz will be expected at the inauguration ball,” Lady Nancy said. Even when she was stating a fact, it still felt like a lecture.

  “Politics and history and etiquette aren’t enough? Now I have to dance?” Her voice rose. Amelia didn’t just sound irritated or alarmed, she sounded almost panicky.

  “At least one waltz,” Lady Nancy insisted.

  “You know what? I’m going to take a break,” announced Amelia, looking like she was about to spit fire or cry or maybe both, and walked out of the room without waiting for anyone’s leave.

  Gabriel and Lady Nancy exchanged glances. Gabriel couldn’t get his mate’s expression as she passed by out of his mind: the stony set of her face, trying to be strong but revealing the fragility underneath, and the red rims around her eyes.

  Go. Protect your mate, said his dragon. Gabriel’s dragon warred with himself, and the dragon won.

  “I’ll go to her,” he said, standing abruptly.

  There weren’t many places to go that were inside the hotel, and she hadn’t gone in the direction of outside. He checked their suite, but it was empty.

  She turned out to be downstairs at the hotel bar, fiddling with the umbrella on some neon drink.

  If they were lovers, he thought, he could sneak up behind her and cover her eyes. Guess who? But they weren’t, and he couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to.

  Instead, he took the stool next to her quietly.

  “Mai Tais are gross,” she said, apropos of nothing.

  “So why did you get one?” he asked.

  She twirled the umbrella between her fingers, not looking at him. “I’ve always wanted to try one,” she admitted and took another sip, her nose wrinkling cutely before she pushed the drink away. “These are way too sweet, though.”

  “I have an intuition,” Gabriel said, and waved the bartender over. “Two French gimlets, please.”

  “What the hell is that?” Amelia said, frowning. “A gimlet? What is this, the 70s?”

  “You’ll see,” he told her with a smile.

  The pale, almost colorless cocktail didn’t inspire much confidence, he could see when the drinks arrived with a flourish.

  “It looks plain on the outside, but once you get in . . .” Gabriel took a sip of his and waited for her to do the same.

  She took a tiny sip, and then a bigger one. Surprise was evident on her face. Then her eyebrows drew together—not in displeasure, but concentration.

  “Whoa,” she said.

  “Whoa,” he agreed. “A little fruity, a little flowery, a little sharp, and a lot sour.”

  Amelia turned to smile at him. It was a lovely, wide smile, one that hadn’t broken over her face fully in days. Then it vanished, and she looked down at her drink with a frown.

  “I guess you’re wondering about the dancing thing,” she said, swirling her drink a little.

  He wondered if she just didn’t want to dance with him.

  “Just personal stuff,” she said, drumming her fingernails on the bar. “I’m totally over it.”

  Gabriel wanted to raise an eyebrow at that. He settled for a mild, “Totally over it?”

  “Totally,” she said in a wry imitation of a valley girl accent. She took another sip of her drink, perfect lips pursed over the rim of her glass. “You can report back to Lady Nancy now, if you want.”

  “I didn’t come here for Lady Nancy,” he told her. “I came here for you. Are you okay?”

  He watched her throat bob as she swallowed. “I’m fine. Or as fine as I can be under the circumstances, anyway. I’ll come be a good girl now and do my lessons.”

  “Forget about the lessons,” he said bluntly. “Do you want to take a walk?”

  She was silent for a moment. “With you?” she asked hesitantly.

  “With me. We’ll get some fresh air. It’s tiring to be cooped up in here all the time.”

  “Tell me about it,” she said with a sigh.

  When they’d finished their drinks, Gabriel helped her down from her barstool. He only allowed himself the lightest of touches—nothing unseemly, only gentlemanly. Still, touching her, feeling her body against his, even if it was only for a moment, drove him to distraction. The man in the corner watched them go.

  Outside, it was a little chilly even though the sun was high; he offered her his arm instinctively and Amelia tucked herself against his side, and Gabriel’s dragon gave a contented rumble in response.

  That’s where our mate is supposed to be.

  For once, Gabriel could only agree.

  They didn’t have a destination in mind but went wherever their feet led them.

  “Do you like your job?” Amelia asked as they rounded a corner and dodged a wayward toddler.

  “It’s a good job.”

  “That’s not an answer,” she pointed out, bringing him up short.

  “I suppose it’s not,” he admitted. “It’s not what I expected I would be doing when I was studying at Oxford.”

  “Philosophy, Politics, and Economics,” she remembered. “Are you secretly more of a nerd than a bodyguard?” she teased lightly.

  “Maybe,” he allowed with a smile.

  “Did you rub elbows with British celebrities?”

  “Yep, on occasion. Actors go to pubs, it turns out. An American acquaintance walked into a pub once and Thom Yorke was nursing a pint. My acquaintance told me this later, tears streaming down his face. Best day of his life, he told me.”

  She laughed. “Sounds fun.”

  “It was, sometimes. But . . .” He hesitated. “Mostly it was a progression of young men from wealthy, aristocratic backgrounds for whom the program was just another stop on their way to living the life they always k
new was waiting for them.”

  There was a short pause, during which Gabriel began to regret his candor. Probably try not sounding like such an asshole next time, his dragon provided helpfully.

  “That sounded a little bitter,” observed Amelia, but there was a hint of kind-hearted amusement in her voice.

  “Sorry. It was a good program,” he added. “I do have a lot of fond memories of Oxford. What about you? Did you always want to be an event planner?”

  “Sure, I’ll just let that abrupt subject change fly right on by,” she said dryly. “And no, not really. It was more something I just . . . fell into, almost by accident. I threw themed birthday parties for my friends in college, and I loved doing it. It wasn’t that hard to start a website with all my photos, and I got hired by a company just after I graduated.”

  They had moved onto a less traveled street, quieter and more peaceful. As they walked, Amelia pointed out different spots in the city that she loved—an old-fashioned barber’s shop she liked to take pictures of, a small park where kids liked to come on the weekends, and the older buildings downtown. She loved the oldest places the most, though of course nothing in America could be that old.

  “They have history. Character,” she said contemplatively. “I always get sad when older buildings are torn down to make way for newer ones. Except for Brutalist buildings,” she added. “Turn ‘em all to rubble, I say.”

  “I can’t wait to show you Zavinia,” Gabriel said. “You’ll love it. In America, your oldest establishments are no more than a few hundred years at most. But in Zavinia, there is so much depth and history everywhere you go—buildings older than you can imagine, hundreds of years, sometimes thousands. Zavinia is an old country, and we preserve our history.” Sometimes too much, he thought, thinking of certain traditions.

  “Isn’t the oldest building in the world in Zavinia?” she asked. “I think I heard that once.”

  “It’s true. Many of them, in fact. Your modern architects have no idea how it was done.”

  “But you do?” Amelia intuited.

  Gabriel grinned. “Zavinia has resources that no other civilization in the world does.”

  Amelia leaned toward him raptly.

  “Dragonfire,” he whispered in her ear, leaning down to do so. As he did, his lips brushed the delicate shell of her ear. He felt her resulting shiver travel through her whole frame.

  “You’re kidding,” she breathed, her eyes alight.

  “I’m completely serious. When we get to Zavinia, I’ll show you.”

  But then he wondered, would he even be able to? The moment she was confirmed as the heir by the Council, she would be the Princess of Zavinia, with all the obligations and responsibilities that implied. Her time would no longer be hers alone, but instead it would belong to the Council and the commonfolk. Perhaps when she arrived, she might even forget all about him.

  No! his dragon said, surprising Gabriel with its fierceness. She’s our mate. She would never.

  They had wandered back to the hotel. It was almost night, the setting sun casting everything in rose and gold hues. When they stepped inside, they would be re-entering the world where she was a princess and he was just a bodyguard. So he paused.

  “Gabriel,” she whispered, turning to face him. He drew her closer with light fingertips on her elbows. “Ever since I met you, I’ve felt . . . drawn to you. It’s something I can’t explain.”

  Even though he was hearing words from her lips he’d dreamt of for days on end, a needle of anxiety pierced through his desire. It made his skin crawl, like there were eyes on the back of his neck. He desperately wanted to gather her into his arms, but something held him back.

  “I know,” he said. The feeling of dread came to a head, pushing everything else out of his mind. Her eyes widened at his response, but he didn’t wait for her to reply before pushing her behind his body on sudden, overwhelming instinct.

  It was just in time. There was a loud crack, and a nearby pedestrian shrieked at the sound.

  A gunshot.

  Gabriel stumbled, then recovered his footing. His analytical mind took over. He scanned the street. His dragon understood the threat to his mate, and it wanted to eliminate that threat. Quickly and brutally. Or slowly and brutally—that would work just as well.

  Sunlight glinted from one of the windows in the apartment building across the street. It glinted again—something moving.

  A face appeared and disappeared. A gun. A shooter.

  He located the window: two floors up, three from the west end of the building. His thoughts felt slow, like he was swimming through molasses.

  His dragon’s anger was like an inferno. They dared try to hurt OUR MATE.

  He turned to Amelia behind him. Her eyes were wide with fear. He vowed he would do everything he could so that she’d never have to feel that way again.

  “Get inside. To the rooms,” he ordered. “Have someone call 9-1-1. I’ll be back.”

  Then he took off running. The only thing he heard was the blood rushing in his ears and the rhythm of his feet pounding the pavement. Everything else faded away. There was only one thing he wanted: the man who’d tried to hurt his mate.

  He threw open the door to the complex, ignoring the elevator and heading straight for the stairwell. He couldn’t let the shooter get away. There weren’t many options for someone who was trying to get away; if Gabriel just moved fast enough . . . There was an ache in his shoulder, but it was distant, and he ignored it.

  He bounded up the stairs two or three at a time, startling a woman who gasped and moved to get out of his way. She wasn’t carrying anything, and she was going up the stairs, not down; it couldn’t be her.

  On the third floor, there were two people in the hallway. Neither looked hurried. One, a woman on her phone, was arguing with someone. That could be a good cover, Gabriel thought. Then again, she might just be having an argument.

  The other, a round-faced, forgettable-looking man, was carrying a cello case.

  Gabriel felt caught in a crossroads. He looked down the hallway. Third floor, third window from the west end. The shooter could still be in the room.

  The musician smiled amiably at Gabriel, looking completely casual as he passed. That decided it. Gabriel leaped past him, one hand already on his gun, and located the right door.

  He prepared himself to have to kick down the door, but to his surprise it was unlocked. He pushed it open.

  There was the window, still open. The curtain fluttered in a breeze. No one was here. It looked like no one lived here at all; an empty unit.

  The cello case. Adrian cursed himself. A gun could easily be hidden there, if it was broken down. He turned back. The cellist had already disappeared behind the stairwell door.

  His footfalls resounded in the quiet hall. He threw open the door to the stairwell with a loud crash, intent on his quarry. His dragon was bellowing at him, telling him to give chase.

  Not wanting to let the assassin gain any more of a lead than he had already, Gabriel flung himself over the railing to land at the foot of the steps below.

  The door down here was still swinging shut. He wasn’t too far behind.

  Gabriel followed him out the same way he’d come in, back onto the street. The bright light blinded him for a moment.

  Assassins didn’t usually choose such populated, public areas to carry out the deed, but Gabriel had to grudgingly admit there was some wisdom—or just pure good luck, if he didn’t know about dragons—in choosing a place where it would be impossible for him to transform, and easy to get lost in the crowd. People were milling and gawking about inconveniently, though the street was more deserted than it had been a few minutes before.

  He glanced around, trying to spot the cello case that would give the shooter away. Adrian was vaguely aware of a distant pain in his shoulder, like a gnat buzzing persistently around a horse. He had no time for that, though.

  There! As a figure turned a corner a block down, Gabriel caught a glimp
se of the black instrument case. He took off after the man at a sprint.

  When the shooter saw he’d been made, he took off too. But he was short and Gabriel was tall, and his longer stride would overtake the other man’s soon enough, he was sure.

  But it didn’t. The edges of Gabriel’s vision grew fuzzy and gray. The pain in his shoulder was back, and harsher this time. He glanced down at himself.

  A stain was spreading on his shirt, just above his heart. Dark. He touched it with a finger, and it came away red. Blood.

  His head was spinning. But he had to . . . he had to do something . . .

  Gabriel stumbled. He fell to one knee. The impact jarred his body and made him sway. Dimly he saw a car speeding away and knew he had failed his mate.

  Chapter Five: Amelia

  A melia felt like she’d made a mistake as soon as she entered the hotel and left Gabriel outside. On the other side of that door, he was facing down danger—danger with a gun, and he had jerked at one of the shots as if it hit home, or so she thought, but he seemed to think he was okay—who could possibly want to hurt him, Amelia wondered, and why? He was just a bodyguard.

  He’d put his body between her and the shooter, she thought with a chill. Somebody couldn’t want to shoot her, though, could they? There was no reason . . . she was an event planner, for crying out loud.

  But now I'm a princess, she remembered, and with that realization guilt made her heart hammer. What if this is because of me?

  Each second that passed seemed to spin out forever, as slow as molasses. Amelia felt frozen, waiting by the door, hoping for some glimpse of Gabriel, safe and sound.

  “Miss? Miss?”

  The hand that touched her shoulder jolted her out of her near-trance.

  “Are you okay? You haven’t been responding . . .” The girl trailed off uncertainly. Amelia looked at her, trying to focus. She was dressed in the uniform of the hotel.

  Amelia hadn’t realized. “I’m fine,” she said automatically, even though that was literally the opposite of how she felt.