Dangerous Decisions (Obsidian Flame Book 3)

by J. C. McKenzie

  And this time? Misha gulped. Today, their gazes locked and the power behind the connection almost physically knocked her on her ass. She’d never had a vision about Hank before.

  Or herself.

  Why would the vision show up now?

  Why did her useless ispolini talent decide now, of all times, to flex its pathetic muscle?

  She’d never controlled her visions like Nathalie, another young ispolini seer who was everything Misha wasn’t, but the visions didn’t ambush her unannounced either. Generally, she called for the power and the fickle energy decided whether or not it wanted to show up. She often thought of her abilities like a stubborn cat. Now she had to re-evaluate.

  Cold shivers rippled over her skin. Father could never know. If he found out her mate was a dragon…

  Misha closed her eyes and focused on breathing slowly and deeply. She didn’t know for sure. She had to scry the mystical waters and ask the Great Mother for confirmation. Imaging a rectangular box, Misha mentally traced each vertical line with a deep breath in and each horizontal line with an exhale.

  And the vision returned—hot, intense, their bodies entwined in a lovers’ embrace, magic merging, bond setting in, fast-forwarding to the tiny, healthy heartbeat.

  Misha thumped her head against the door.

  She never wanted a mate. Or a baby.

  Serial dating provided enough entertainment and companionship without the risk of her dates discovering her deepest, ugliest truth.

  Frankly, none of them cared enough to look into her hastily strung together stories anyway. They saw her pretty face, long legs, and welcoming smile and knew enough to go along with whatever she said.

  Knuckles rapped against the door. “Misha?”

  She tensed, then relaxed. Marian. Her father’s general and one of the largest, most powerful ispolini males.

  She wiped her face as she stood, shook out her limbs and unlocked the door.

  A traditionally handsome Bulgarian man greeted her with a gentle smile. With Greek, Slavic, Ottoman and Persian influences, the Balkan nation their families both came from was a melting pot of ethnicities, leaving Marian with the best features from the genetic pool—jet-black hair, smooth creamy skin and piercing blue eyes framed with dark lashes.

  The dichotomy of ispolini men always surprised her. Attractive humans who shifted into large, grotesque giants. The prettiest men transformed into the most hideous of beasts.

  “Hi, Marian.” She leaned against the door frame and waited for the bad news. At least Father sent his general. Despite his position of power and brutal fighting prowess, Marian had always shown her kindness.

  “Misha.” His smile widened, flashing perfect teeth. He could’ve been a model, but he was too big and muscular for the job. Instead, he led the ispolini into battle. An angry red scar peeked out from the top of his shirt. It ran from the base of his neck and down his torso. He’d barely escaped the dragon retaliation for abducting the Astarot, his Secundo and Lara, with his life.

  “What does he want this time?” she asked.

  Marian hesitated. His friendly expression faltered for a second. “I’m not here for your father.”

  She straightened. That was new. “Oh? Who are you here for?”

  “Myself.”

  Misha frowned. She wasn’t one of his soldiers to command.

  “May I come in?” He shoved both his hands in his pockets.

  She pulled the door fully open and stepped to the side. Please, please, please, don’t ask me to talk sense into Father. That man cared little of her opinion. “Of course.”

  Marian walked past her, and into her apartment, a trail of subtle cologne in his wake.

  She shut the door and turned to one of the most feared fighters in Father’s army.

  He wasn’t looking at her. He studied her apartment, instead—from the expensive Persian rugs to the old, heavy couches, to the gold framed paintings from her mother. He’d seen her apartment before, but generally from the doorway and only long enough to relay Father’s orders.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked. He’d only ventured into her apartment once before. When he delivered the news of mother’s death, she’d collapsed at the entrance. He’d carried her into her home and settled her on the couch. Marian never spoke of the incident, but she knew he disagreed with being the one to tell her the news. Father should’ve told her. Father should’ve been there for her.

  But Misha learned long ago that “Father” was only a label. Louis Granger, feared leader of the ispolini, viewed her—and all women for that matter—as investments or property. She gave up on the idea of him caring for her outside of her usefulness, long ago.

  “I’m seeing if we’re actually alone,” his gravelly voice broke the memory for her.

  “Why wouldn’t we be?” She glanced around the room. Did he know something she didn’t?

  “You’ve been known for seeking a lot of company.” He smiled.

  Misha winced. Not from shame—a woman had needs—but from the directness of his statement. She took pains to be subtle and keep her private business private, but apparently not enough. Marian wasn’t wrong. She sought companionship often, moving from one relationship to the next—a perfect example of a serial monogamist. “I never bring them here.”

  He nodded and finally turned to her. “Are you tired of it?”

  “Of what?”

  “The string of men.”

  Hank’s face above hers as he pumped into her flashed in her mind. No! She couldn’t have those thoughts. Not here. Not now. She clamped down the vision and met Marian’s waiting gaze. Why was the general here? Did he somehow know about her vision? Ispolini men held the ability to shift into giants when they hit puberty, but the women were gifted magic-users and seers. Well. Most women.

  “Why are you here, Marian?” Though exhaustion pulled at her limbs and her bed beckoned, the need to use her scrying mirror to figure out the true meaning of her vision with Hank tickled her nerves.

  Marian pulled back his impressive shoulders. His smouldering gaze remained fixated on her. “I wanted to see if you’re done.”

  “Done?”

  “With the men.”

  “And if I’m not?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I’ll be on my way.”

  She held her breath while her brain scrambled. “And if I am?”

  “Then I’d ask you out for dinner.”

  Chapter Six

  The double doors to Raf’s office flung open and a red hurricane in compact form stalked toward him. Vincent Li, the leader of the Sapphire Dragon Clan continued to drone on and on about some new stock on the other end of the phone, completely oblivious to the imminent threat to Raf’s life.

  “I’ll have to call you back.” Raf hung up on Vincent’s barking voice.

  His mate simmered on the other side of the desk, the double doors to his office clicked shut and left them alone to the sound of Lara breathing through clenched teeth. In jeans and a flowing blouse, she appeared trendy, and if she wasn’t scowling, approachable. Her outer appearance hid the lethal abilities she possessed and the fire-breathing dragon she harbored inside.

  God she was hot when she got angry.

  Probably not a good idea to tell her that. His dragon snorted. And our mate is always hot.

  Good point.

  Raf placed the phone down on the desk’s flat surface, but kept his vision trained on the one thing in the room that could undo him. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you’re not happy with me?”

  “You’re correct,” she spoke through clenched teeth.

  Hmmm. If he flipped her on his desk and took her, would that help?

  I’d like to see you try. His dragon cackled. Our hellion would tear you apart.

  It would only take three steps to maneuver around this monstrosity of a desk. His brain continued to make calculations.

  “I can see you scheming, Raf,” Lara said, eyes narrowing. “Don’t even think about
it.”

  He held his hands up in mock surrender before pushing away from the desk.

  “There are some things even your dick can’t fix,” she warned.

  His dragon howled and fell over laughing.

  “That’s not what you said last night.”

  She crossed her arms. “That was different.”

  “Or this morning.” He stood and buttoned his jacket, never taking his attention off the angry dragon. “I believe you referred to me as a god. Certainly a god’s dick could fix anything.”

  She blew her curly red hair from her face. “Even the gods can’t save you now.”

  He walked around the desk and she turned toward him, face bunched in pain, lips flattened and shoulders tense.

  Fuck. He really messed up this time. What the hell did he do? He ran his hands up her arms, his fingers sliding over the soft thin material of the blouse.

  She flinched.

  “What did I do?”

  Her lips pinched together.

  “Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.”

  “It’s more what you didn’t do,” she said. “How could you keep such a big secret from me?”

  Oh, that. Fuck. He rocked back on his heels. No wonder she looked devastated. She’d lived her entire life believing one thing only to be told another. Finding out she’d lost a childhood with a brother wouldn’t have been an easy thing to hear. His heart ached for his mate’s pain. If only he could take it away from her and bear it himself.

  She wouldn’t let him. Right now, she vibrated with anger. He knew it was merely a smoke screen for the grief and bewilderment lurking beneath, but she didn’t need to feel this betrayal as well. His Secundo was supposed to tell Lara why Raf kept silent. Annoyance bubbled up. He kept Hank’s secret. Why was he punished for being a good friend and a thoughtful mate? He’d have to have a little talk with Hank, but first, he needed to ease his mate’s hurt and assuage her anger. “I thought it best that you hear the truth from your brother.”

  Her glower remained in place.

  “Not telling you has been one of the hardest things I’ve had to do.” Letting her go, months ago, when he thought she was a mage instead of a dragon placed higher on the list.

  Ice flowed in his veins and his dragon nature pulsed.

  Easy, big guy. She’s here. She’s ours.

  Lara sighed, blowing another lock of red hair from her face.

  He opened his arms and she stepped in to hug him. Her small body wrapped around his and he held her close. His anger simmered and the tension in his shoulders eased away. The nagging voice of his dragon silenced.

  “I have a brother,” she murmured into his chest. Tears soaked through his shirt where her face pressed against him. “I’ve always had a brother. We’ll never get to go back in time and relive our childhoods, but he’s here now. I don’t know what to do or how to feel.”

  “Yes, you do. You know how to feel.”

  “I’m sad,” she said. “And angry.”

  He nodded and held her, waiting for else she needed to say.

  “But I’m also happy. So incredibly happy.”

  “Then that’s what you need to focus on. You have a brother and you have the rest of your life to get to know him and get annoyed by him.” He squeezed her and kissed the top of her head. She had more than a brother. She had a family. She had a place. And Raf would do everything in his power to keep her here and safe. He held her close and whispered into her ear. “This is a good thing. Good things happen to good people sometimes. Nothing is going to take this away from you and everything is going to be okay. No more objections, Miss Stone.”

  She chuckled into his shirt. “That’s the future Mrs. Dragoi to you, mister.”

  “Damn right it is.”

  Chapter Seven

  Hank pulled the large sheet of metal out of his way and threw it over his shoulder. Flies buzzed around in the hot air and the sun bore down on his head. Redheads in direct sunlight never yielded good results. His fire nature did little to help that matter. He burned on the inside and outside.

  “Whoa!” Rowen barked. “Watch it.”

  “If you can’t dodge a piece of metal, you shouldn’t be on Raf’s team,” Hank snapped.

  Silence responded.

  You’re a dick, his dragon piped up.

  Okay, that was a bit harsh. He shouldn’t take out his frustration or confusion on the team. It wasn’t their fault a missing piece to a puzzle kept poking his brain and dancing away before he could grab it. It wasn’t their fault he was emotionally drained from speaking with Lara and lacked the life skills to deal with all these…feelings.

  Hank scowled.

  Nor was it the dragons’ fault he kept thinking about Misha. His sister’s best friend should be off-limits, but he kept dreaming about those toned legs and soft skin.

  Rowen muttered something about fires.

  Hank spun around and glared at his team. “What was that?”

  The other obsidian clan dragon shifters suddenly had more important things to look at. Like their boots, and sheets of metal. The large hulking men shifted their weight from side to side. Tension held their postures rigid as if they anticipated a fight. Well, the way Hank felt right now, he was ready to give them one.

  Probably not one of your best ideas, his dragon cautioned. Save it for the ispolini.

  Hank snarled again and turned back to the warehouse wreckage. They’d demolished the site in retaliation for the ispolini kidnapping Hank, Raf and Lara. If they’d known Lara’s true nature and chained her accordingly, all three of them would’ve died that day. But they underestimated the petite redhead. His sister. His best friend’s mate. The instant she transformed in front of them, he knew things had changed for the better. And yet the ispolini had been so close to taking it all.

  Raf’s vengeance had been swift and brutal. Nothing but shattered framing and warped metal remained. Only a few ispolini escaped with their lives and they were so badly injured, Hank hoped they died from their festering wounds.

  “What are we looking for?” Rowen asked. “We’ve been through this site countless of times.”

  Someone shushed him.

  “I don’t know,” Hank muttered. He flung a broken support beam to the side and used his foot to push the rubble from the office floor. Dust and ash billowed up.

  Misha.

  The striking brunette’s face popped into his mind. Not the first time and if his rampant dreams were any indication, not the last, either. With long toned legs, a lean body, thick hair and piercing brown eyes, Misha would attract his attention across a room with her looks alone. But…

  There was something about Misha. Something about his sister’s bestie. Something off. He’d seen her before, but when he met her gaze yesterday, the connection almost zapped him. And from her weird behavior afterward and hasty exit, she must’ve felt something, too.

  “Did you find anything more on Misha Tilev?” Hank barked over his shoulder. They’d run the normal background checks on her before hiring Lara and again, more thoroughly, when Raf revealed Lara was his mate. But something always nagged Hank and after he ran into Misha at the gym, he asked Rowen, their new tech expert, to look again.

  “Not yet…” Rowen’s voice trailed off.

  His teammate’s tone prickled his senses. “What is it?”

  Rowan hesitated.

  “Spit it out.”

  “It’s too clean,” Rowen said. “Someone with that clean a record doesn’t magically show up with combat skills to work as a bodyguard. They have secrets. They have a tragic past. Or at the very least, they have a record of training or accomplishments. Some sort of history. She’s a blank sheet.”

  “You think it’s fake?”

  “Yes, and good. It will take some time to unearth the truth,” Rowen said.

  Hank nodded. He needed to know more about her—maybe get a closer look.

  Mmmm. Closer. His dragon stretched and grumbled. I wouldn’t mind looking at her closer.<
br />
  Hank clenched his teeth. Shut up, horn dog.

  I am not a dog. His dragon flashed his teeth. I’m a dragon.

  You’re always horny. Hank kicked over a scorched chair. And that’s not why I want to look into Misha. Something about her reminded him about this battle. What was the connection? She wasn’t here. He would’ve caught her scent.

  No matter how much Misha inspired all sorts of dirty thoughts, he needed to find out why and how a regular human made his dragon senses tingle.

  Chapter Eight

  Misha shut the door after Marian left and rested her head against the cold solid wood. He’d asked her out. Her father’s general. He’d said all sorts of sweet things, including how he’d always admired her, had always been interested but didn’t want a fleeting thing. He’d wanted her for years and waited.

  And now he was too late.

  She would’ve relished his attention years ago. Hell, weeks ago. Maybe even a day ago…

  But now?

  Nothing stirred inside her in response to his confessions. Now, all she could think about was that dark red mop of hair and the striking man in a business suit. She almost choked. A business suit. She’d never gone for the corporate kind, but then again, Hank’s smooth exterior was a cover. Even the fiercest ispolini warrior feared the Astarot and his Secundo. The men still whispered about the viciousness Hank demonstrated on the battlefield, his brutality only matched by the Astarot himself. The very idea of the fire-breathing dragon shifter should instill a sense of fear in her.

  Except it didn’t. Something else stirred.

  What was wrong with her? Why was she so defective? Maybe going to dinner with Marian would fix whatever had broken inside her.

  Misha pushed away from the door. First, she needed to figure out what the vision truly meant and to do that, she had to access her questionable power and scrying mirror. She dragged her feet to her bedroom and shut the door. A large, flat-bottomed bowl sat on a pedestal beneath the window overlooking the ispolini estate. Sun danced through the stained glass and along the calm surface of the water. Her scrying bowl looked like a fancy bird bath, but it was hers and it worked.