Dragon's Tears (City Dragons Book 3)

by Lisa Oliver

  Ice’s jaw tightened and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Damn it all, to fucking hell. It wasn’t just Byron’s voice that touched his soul and ignited his animal sides’; it was the utter simplicity, the sheer honesty in Byron’s confession. He wasn’t playing games; he wasn’t making himself out to be better than he was. In fact, Byron spoke as though expecting to be ridiculed. But that didn’t stop him - the dragon just put it out there – a simple and totally honest reason why his stalker couldn’t be a disgruntled ex.

  No sexual contact in five years – ten, if Petrov was the only man the dragon has approached since catching a glimpse of me. Ice did remember that night, although his memory of it had nothing to do with the dragon. He’d been working, as he always was, and hadn’t had a problem with letting his mark suck his cock before he killed him. It saved him the messy necessity to go out afterwards and let off some steam. And it was a pattern of behavior Ice had repeated hundreds of times since then.

  Because I didn’t know I had a mate until five years ago, and even when I did know, I didn’t let that stop me. I really am a fully-fledged bastard.

  But, in typical Ice fashion, there was nothing he could do about that, so he stopped worrying about it. Even though Ice had seen and scented his mate, all from a distance, he had a distinct advantage over Byron – he was only half dragon. His mother, the one he shared with Petrov, was a wolf shifter and Ice was born with two animal spirits that dueled constantly, giving him edges other shifters didn’t have, but also meaning they didn’t put a stop to behavior one or the other thought unfair – like screwing around on a future mate. Either the wolf, or the dragon, would have rebelled at him having sex with others once his mate was scented, but their disagreements with each other all worked in his favor.

  It was all very complicated, inside of Ice’s body, which is why he maintained the utmost control over it. When he was first hit with the dragon’s scent, both his animals came together, desperate to find the one who would complete them. Ice retained control, urging stealth, not the find and fuck mindset of his wolf.

  When they saw the one the Fates deemed perfect for them. Ice was smart. He made sure they only viewed him from a distance – enough to retain a clear picture of his mate and make an assessment of his character. But not close enough to cause his animal sides to go nuclear. His reasoning made sense to his dragon – his being seen was a danger to everyone, including his intended mate. The wolf was appeased by the idea staying away kept their mate safe, and he could handle that even though he didn’t like it.

  And after that, Ice stayed away from Byron completely, using his animals’ competitive natures to get his own way whenever his balls got too full to ignore. Having two animal spirits meant he wasn’t fully in tune with either one of them, and as they hadn’t learned yet to team up and override him, he’d been able to do his job (which suited his wolf side), amass fortune, power, and a fearsome reputation (which appeased his dragon), and get laid on a semi-regular basis when the need got too great to ignore.

  Am I doing the right thing? Ice’s hand hovered over the pilot call button. If Byron caught a load of his scent, and saw him, the dragon would be focused on being claimed and nothing else. Ice had only heard the story about Dirk’s heat secondhand, but he knew it to be a very real thing. Sending Byron’s body into a similar scenario would be unfair.

  But then Ice remembered the panic in Petrov’s voice, and the fact that none of the Hollingsworth clan dragons could reach Byron’s spirit animal. There were only two reasons for that – his dragon mate was either drugged or dead.

  “I’ll go,” he muttered to himself, putting his phone away. “I will find the young dragon, and then let Petrov save him. Yes, that is the best idea. Petrov will be richly rewarded, the stalker will be dead,” Ice would make sure of that, “and then I will fly out of the country once more and…”

  Yeah, Ice wasn’t sure why he couldn’t summon the enthusiasm for the business takeovers he had going on, the multitude of jobs he had waiting for him, or the money he planned on making. Must be tired, he told himself. I’ll get Petrov to take me for a meal before I go and find the dragon that’s gone and got himself taken.

  Chapter Eight

  “Why am I here again?” Byron sat up and looked around in a panic. “Am I sleeping? I don’t remember going to bed.” He was in Dancer’s glade, the dragon watching him glumly.

  “We have been kidnapped.” A burst of flame leaped from Dancer’s mouth along with a growl. “Some person, and no, I don’t know who, drugged you and… and… I think they might have meant to kill us; I don’t know. But regardless, your body is still unconscious and believe me that’s a blessing. You don’t want to wake up where you’re being held.”

  “Where?” Byron looked around, which was a silly thing to do. He was dream walking with his dragon, not in a dungeon somewhere being cackled over by some evil doer. “Have you alerted the others? Are they coming?”

  “I can’t.” Dancer swished his long tail. “I don’t know what was in that concoction you were injected with, but they drugged you with something else when your body got to… you know, where it is now. I couldn’t force a shift. I barely had enough time to grab you and pull your spirit here, so at least we wouldn’t be without each other.”

  “We’re stuck in the dream world?”

  Dancer nodded.

  “And none of the other dragons know where this place is?”

  Dancer shook his head.

  “Will they look for it?”

  All Byron got was a shrug this time. “They may try, but the dreamworld is made of multiple levels, across hundreds of realms. It’s not like any of them can just fly around and come across us here.”

  “Hmm.” Byron clasped his knees to his chest. “They won’t think we’re dead, will they?”

  Another shake of Dancer’s big head. “All dragons will feel it in the clan if we pass. No drugs or mumbo-jumbo magic can break that connection.”

  “It’s a shame that intensity of connection doesn’t work while we’re living.” Byron rocked on his butt a bit, and then said, “It’s not so bad, though, is it? I mean, the drugs will have to wear off eventually, and you are clearly still connected to my body or you wouldn’t know where that is. So, when I leave here, you can follow and force the shift then.”

  Dancer tilted his head to one side. “There’s not enough room for me to shift where your body is.”

  “We’ve been kidnapped. Now is not the time to worry about a bit of broken furniture. I mean, shit. Where are they holding me? Some coffin buried ten feet underground or something?”

  “Not underground, no. Not yet anyway.” Dancer scratched the end of his nose with his claw. “You’re in a glass coffin, though, and the coffin is in a room too small to hold my form. They did supply air holes.”

  “I’ve been put in a glass coffin?” Byron jumped to his feet. “What the fuck am I to this person? I’m not Snow White. I’m not some fucking museum piece for someone to gloat over and dust once a week.”

  “I don’t know the motives of this person.” Dancer looked upset. “And I can’t change what is. I’m only telling you, that in our current situation, shifting is not an option even after the drugs wear off.”

  Byron let out a long huff. He knew he was being unfair. Striding over, he wrapped his arms around Dancer’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into warm scales, “I shouldn’t have yelled. But you and me, we’re smart. We’ll work this out. Now, is there anything else you can tell me about who took us and where our body might be? If we can work out the who, maybe that will tell us the why and where.”

  “Ooh, like those whodunnit shows you like to watch?” Dancer smiled, showing all his teeth.

  “Exactly like that.” Byron patted Dancer’s neck and stepped back, then imagined himself a chair. One appeared. Okay, this is good. Byron thought longingly of his favorite coffee blend served in the cup only he was allowed to use. Suddenly, he was holding it and sipping at the brew, the coffee w
as as tasty as Byron remembered. “Right,” he said, sitting down and making sure he didn’t drop his cup. “What can you remember? The last thing I remember is getting into the elevator. It stopped before it got to the penthouse. A man got in; I know it was a man because of the suit jacket sleeve. I have one similar. And the voice when he said, ‘excuse me’. I could have sworn I’d heard it somewhere before, but I can’t think where from.”

  “So, we have clues.” A huge whiteboard appeared in front of Dancer and he scrawled on it with his claw. Block letters appeared – Jacket, male, familiar voice.

  “That is a pretty cool trick. I didn’t know dragons could write.”

  Dancer preened under Byron’s praise. “More thought projection than actual writing,” the dragon admitted, “but I think it looks impressive and we can’t have a whodunnit without a whiteboard.”

  “You’re quite right.” Byron looked at the board. “Maybe on the other side you could put up glass coffin, tiny room… I assume there are no windows?”

  Dancer went almost cross-eyed thinking about it. “No,” he said at last, and more words appeared on the board.

  “What about a door to the room? I know you couldn’t force a shift because of the drugs, but you saw the coffin I was in.”

  The words “Big thick steel door” appeared on the whiteboard.

  “This is good. This is good.” Byron took another sip of his dream coffee. “Okay, okay, but let’s go back. What do you remember seeing or being aware of, after I was hit with that syringe in the elevator?”

  “Syringe is another clue, yes?” Dancer’s claw hovered by the whiteboard.

  Byron nodded. “And access to shifter drugs, because you can’t buy them at your local pharmacist.”

  The words ‘syringe’ and ‘special drugs’ appeared on the whiteboard.

  “I was trying to sense our stalker,” Dancer said, as he studied the board, tapping his chin with a long black claw. “Well, not the stalker exactly, because we don’t know who that is, but I was trying to see if anyone was watching us more closely than is normal. You didn’t look at the person when they walked in, so I didn’t see them.”

  “It’s not polite to look at strangers when they share a space with you,” Byron explained. “It’s called elevator etiquette. When someone steps into the elevator, you move back slightly to allow them access to the call buttons, and you stare straight ahead, so you don’t make people uncomfortable in a confined space.”

  Dancer rolled his huge eyes. “Well, that’s just silly. What if someone got on the elevator with you and they had a knife or a gun, and wanted to rob you, or beat you up where no one could see them do it?”

  Byron smirked. “Have you ever worried about that before? I use an elevator just about every day.”

  “Hmm…” Dancer grumbled. “Well, you can be sure I’ll be worrying about that in the future.” He sighed. “But none of that is helpful for our clue search.” He waved at the board. “This voice, vaguely familiar. Can you think where you might have heard it before?”

  Sipping his coffee, Byron thought about it. The man who stabbed him with a syringe only said two words - “Excuse me.” He remembered the jacket… the hand… “He’s white,” Byron said quickly. “Pale white skin, no tan at all.”

  “No freckles, tattoos, or a distinguishing watch?” Dancer added pale skin, no tan to the whiteboard.

  Byron shook his head. “No. He had a very clean hand, manicured nails. There’s something… something… a cufflink. I saw a cufflink. Dark blue with a gold edging, and something on the face of the cufflink itself also in gold, but I couldn’t see what it was.”

  “The guy’s got money then,” Dancer said, adding the details along with the others. “Very few people wear cufflinks anymore. Or, he could be an older paranormal who prefers a more classic style of dressing.”

  “True.” Byron thought some more. “The jacket screamed smart business person with money, but many men still wear regular shirts with those. The guy wasn’t dressed for a formal affair. So, if he wears cufflinks regularly…” Byron tried to think of anyone in the company who wore cuffs on a regular basis and came up blank.

  “The cufflinks could be a link to a family, clan, pack or coven,” Dancer said. “If you saw an insignia on it, then maybe the person wears the cuffs for every day use because they have significance to him.”

  “But that doesn’t help, because we don’t know what the design on the cufflink was, and I can’t think of anyone in the company that wears them at all. And I was figuring the voice had to come from someone in the company, because I basically don’t go anywhere else, at least not lately.”

  “We did go to Europe, for your father’s funeral.” Dancer abandoned the whiteboard and flopped on the grass. “It wasn’t only the clan there. Your mother invited a heap of dignitaries, heads of governments no one has heard of, and paranormal leaders. There had to have been five hundred people there.”

  Abandoning his now empty cup, Byron got up from his chair, and flopped down on the grass next to his dragon. “I’m glad you brought me here,” he said, resting his head on Dancer’s front leg. “If the drugs they gave me are designed to separate us, I’d be shit scared waking up and finding myself in a freaking coffin – glass or no glass.”

  “We don’t know what’s going to happen when the drugs wear off,” Dancer said softly. “But if you disappear from here, then it should mean the drug has worn off me enough to contact the others. As soon as I’m signaling again, one of the other dragons should be able to get a fix on our location.”

  “Signaling?” Turning his head slightly, Byron eyed Dancer’s face. “Is that like a dragon form of GPS?”

  “Pouf.” A plume of smoke came out with the scoff. “Far more reliable.”

  Byron chuckled as he settled in to rest. He wasn’t sure if sleep was even possible in a dream world, but he knew his brain would have to be razor sharp when he did get his body back. Worrying about things he couldn’t change wouldn’t help with that.

  Chapter Nine

  Ice eyed the apartment building Byron owned. Of course, the dragon only occupied the top floor, but Ice looked at the glass and metal fixtures and shuddered. The whole place screamed of modern money with no class.

  “Why are we here?” Petrov scowled. “The dragon wasn’t even living here when he got taken. He was staying in his brother’s apartment which is on the other side of town.”

  “The package was left here.” Ice opened the window of the car and sniffed. “If the stalker took the time to follow the dragon from his place of work, to find out his home address, it’s logical that he spent time here, around this building.” It’s what I’d do. “You stay here.”

  “That would be a no.” Petrov opened his side of the car door and made to get out. “You might not care about your mate and probably see this as some personal vendetta thing against you, but I’ve worked with him for five years. I’m coming with you.”

  Ice pulled him back into the car again, grabbing Petrov by the arm and forcing him to meet his eyes. “I never said anything to suggest this was a personal vendetta against me. Where would you get that idea? The only person who knows about my tenuous connection to the dragon, is you. The stalker is a local. You said yourself, the notes, messages and package were all hand delivered which means the person who’s doing this has been around for weeks. This has nothing to do with me or what I do.”

  “You keep telling yourself that,” Petrov scoffed as he wrestled his arm out of Ice’s grip. “Byron doesn’t go out. He doesn’t date. He only ever sees people on business or for family matters. That’s why I told you about the notes. Because none of this made sense. This whole situation was made to look as though a heartbroken suitor was struggling with rejection.”

  Ice’s eyes widened a fraction. “So, if the police did investigate the notes, they wouldn’t devote many resources to it, because they’d naturally assume that the dragon led someone on and was reaping the typical issues of a playboy lifestyl
e. The dragon hasn’t been physically hurt, and the police can’t intervene until he has been.”

  “Now, you’re getting it.” Petrov hadn’t lost his attitude. “Dirk told me, the only reason the police came to Byron’s apartment after he got the package, was because of the family name, and the importance of the clan in this town. The police were just going through the motions. They didn’t even think about doing anything after that, until after Byron did his spiel about finding his mate to the detectives when he met with them the next day. Which was the same day he was taken.”

  “The notes were a teaser,” Ice said thoughtfully. “A means to frighten the dragon and mentally torment him. But the dragon didn’t change his behavior, because he doesn’t know those notes and messages existed. And because of that, the person, whoever this is, upped the stakes by sending a threatening package to his private home. Which means, whoever this is, they probably know about your hand in all this, as well.”

  “I don’t see how you came to that conclusion.” Petrov stared out of the windscreen. “I go through all the incoming paper or letter messages on the reception desk as part of my duties, but it’s not as though I deliver those messages to the offices. The receptionist puts the mail aside for me to check over, and I pop it in the slot for that person, after ensuring it doesn’t contain any foreign substances like drugs or explosives. With Byron’s mail, from the stalker at least, I pocketed the envelopes when the receptionist wasn’t looking, but no one else was watching either.”

  “The stalker couldn’t have been the only person who handwrote messages that come into the company reception desk. How did you know the first note to the dragon was a threat if it was in an envelope?” Ice was still worried his brother had something to do with the whole scheme. Petrov was a huge fan of the idea that true mates came before all else, and they’d quarreled bitterly over the past five years once Petrov realized Ice saw no immediate need to claim the dragon, and in fact didn’t intend to until after he retired.