Manhattan Dragon

by Genevieve Jack

  “What message? What’s so important that you risked traveling in daylight?”

  Calvin frowned. “Haven’t you been checking the coven’s messages?”

  She held up her phone. “Only like every five minutes. Ask Tobias.”

  “I think her phone is permanently attached to her left hand,” he confirmed.

  “Not those messages. The old system. The official system?”

  “The tubes? No. We haven’t gotten anything that way in ages.”

  At the look on her father’s face, Sabrina stood and rushed toward the room that used to be his office. Tobias followed after her. They’d been renovating the apartment, and Calvin’s old desk had been removed, but they were still waiting on furniture. The room felt empty and cold in its current state. Tobias hadn’t spent any time in there since he’d moved in with Sabrina.

  “What are the tubes?” Tobias asked.

  Approaching the one bookshelf that was still crammed with books, Sabrina lifted one leather-bound volume and patted the wall behind it. Tobias’s eyebrows lifted when he saw her open a small metal door, perfectly hidden. He would have never guessed it was there. Chewing her lip, Sabrina pulled a canister from a pneumatic tube inside.

  “Just like the bank,” Tobias said, trying to lighten the mood.

  Her expression turned grim. Tobias knew that look. Sabrina only made that face when she was deeply worried about something.

  “Only one group of vampires still uses this system of communication—the Forebears.”

  Tobias swallowed. The Forebears were the vampire rulers, the most ancient and dangerous of their kind. He waited while she twisted the top and read what was on the roll of parchment inside.

  To all coven masters in all world territories,

  It has come to our attention that a reliable dragon sighting has occurred in the Midwestern United States. Dragons are extremely dangerous and pose a significant threat to the future of our race. By royal decree, any vampire who delivers the dragon(s) to the Forebears, either dead or alive, will be rewarded.

  She lowered the parchment and looked at her father. “It’s signed Turgun. I didn’t even know he was awake.”

  “I have a feeling Aldrich woke him up after your coronation. He must have seen more than we thought he did,” Calvin said.

  “But if he saw, wouldn’t he—”

  “Contact us about the incident? He did. Yesterday. He called me. The paperwork to transition you as master of Chicago hasn’t been processed yet by Forebear administration, so I am still acting master according to their records. Despite Aldrich having attended your coronation, he followed protocol. You know how they do things there.”

  “I take it the Forebears are old-school?” Tobias asked.

  “The oldest school there is,” Sabrina said. “What did you tell him?”

  Calvin cleared his throat. “I told him I thought the dragon was a complex work of magic created by a local witch who was loyal to the coven. Unfortunately, he was quick to point out the body count. A simple illusion couldn’t take anyone’s head off, he suggested. I was able to convince him that if the dragon existed, it must have been injured during the altercation with the wolves and disappeared, because it hasn’t been seen since. It is the truth, yes?”

  It was true in the sense that Tobias had been injured in his dragon form defending the coven. And he did leave to go home and shower and sleep and hadn’t transformed into his dragon since. But there was a huge lie of omission there too. Tobias was the dragon, and he had become Sabrina’s consort and was helping her lead the coven. That ceremony had not included Aldrich or any of the Forebears. But that didn’t change that Sabrina’s coven had seen him shift and knew exactly what he was.

  “Oh, Dad, the entire coven knows about Tobias. What do we do?”

  The older vampire scowled in a way that showed his canines, as if his teeth were too large for his mouth. He turned his full attention on Tobias.

  “You and your brethren need to disappear. This will blow over. Turgun will become bored and go to sleep again, but only if there is no trace of anything draconic when they come here. Under the right circumstances, we might be able to convince them there was never any dragon at all. That it was all a magical hoax. But only if there is no trace of you or your siblings.”

  “Father, no!” Sabrina shook her head desperately.

  Tobias didn’t like the idea either. They were newlyweds. They couldn’t be apart, and she couldn’t leave the coven.

  But her father pressed on. “You, Sabrina, must order your coven to remain silent. Insist they forget they ever saw a dragon. As master, you have that power. Compel them one at a time if you have to.”

  “That could take days,” she said.

  “I will help you.”

  Tobias held up a hand. “Can we go back to the part where I need to not exist? I live here. Where exactly am I supposed to go?”

  Calvin gave him a stern look. “Wherever our people won’t find you.”

  Once he saw Sabrina’s reaction, he knew what she was thinking. There was a place. His brother and his mate had a safe house in New Orleans and they owed him a favor, but it would mean he’d have to live apart from Sabrina. It would also mean crawling to his brother for help. The notion filled him with dread.

  He groaned. “Please tell me there’s another option.”

  “I’m sorry, Tobias,” Sabrina said. “It’s the only way.”

  Chapter Four

  Rowan woke in her treasure room, feeling refreshed, and shifted back into her human form. After a quick shower in the bathroom she’d had built outside the vault, she dressed quickly in a skirt and blouse she kept on hand for such occasions. Keeping her treasure room at the gallery made sense; no one would question a giant vault in the basement of a business that specialized in priceless works of art. However, it would be risky to keep such a thing in any of her many residences. Due to its sheer size, a residential vault would be distinctive and a tempting piece of gossip for the workers who installed it. Not to mention, it might elicit questions when she had intimate guests. Not that she had guests often. Her love life had been embarrassingly anemic the past several years.

  Still, while it made sense for her treasure room to be at the gallery, it wasn’t exactly convenient. Her preferred residence was on the Upper West Side and she needed to stop there before her 3:00 p.m. appointment at Sunrise House. She had a meeting with her lawyer to discuss what they could do concerning the building situation, and she needed to remember to call the hospital in Chicago to try to connect with her brother Tobias.

  “Do you want to see Alexander’s painting before you go?” Harriet asked when she reached the main floor of the gallery. The older woman was already behind her desk, exquisitely manicured and dressed in a lightweight, robin’s-egg-blue cashmere suit that popped divinely next to her gray hair and classic pearls.

  “Of course.” Rowan couldn’t hide the sad tone of her voice. Her brother Alexander was a talented artist, but his work always depressed her. The gallery bought it, of course. Rowan’s money was what had kept a roof over his head all these years. It wasn’t a horrible investment. His work sold on occasion for respectable sums, although not what she sent to him. She overpaid on purpose. It was her way of caring for Alexander when she couldn’t physically tend to him.

  Harriet led the way into the back room where they processed incoming shipments of art and supplies. The painting was six by eight feet and wrapped in brown paper, although one corner was pulled back. Clearly Harriet had taken a peek.

  Rowan peeled back the wrappings. “That damned bird again.”

  “Every painting this last year. And the native woman.” Harriet held her elbows.

  “She was his mate. It was her death that broke him. He never fully recovered.”

  “Hundreds of years and he still pines for her.”

  “Over three hundred now.”

  “To be loved like that.” Harriet laughed, her eyes flicking toward the ceiling as if th
e idea was enviable.

  “Don’t say that. When dragons mate, they mate for life. Their immortal life. Not the other person’s. When Alexander’s mate died, he lost half of himself. His mind couldn’t handle it. His mate, Maiara, has been dead and buried for hundreds of years and he’s still obsessed. It’s a fate worse than death. I plan to avoid it like the plague.”

  Harriet raised a sculpted eyebrow. “With your love life, you have nothing to worry about.”

  Rowan feigned offense. “Says the woman who hasn’t been laid since Eisenhower was President.”

  Harriet pursed her lips to suppress a smile. “You don’t know everything about me.”

  Studying the painting, Rowan said, “Is it just me or are the colors getting darker?”

  “It’s not just you. I compared this to pictures of the ones we’ve sold. Not only are the colors darker, he’s aging the native woman. It’s subtle, but I can see it. She’s fading.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  Harriet rubbed her knuckle along her jaw. “It means your brother has lost his marbles.”

  Rowan snorted. “Yes. A long time ago.” Tears burned along her eyelids. He was getting worse, and there was absolutely nothing Rowan could do about it. She taped the paper back into place, covering the painting.

  “I better go.”

  “Should I call Djorji?”

  “Yeah, but tell him to pick me up at Friedman’s. I’m starving. Going to have a late breakfast.”

  Harriet kissed her on both cheeks, then picked up her phone to call her driver. Rowan’s stomach growled. She strode out the door and walked the few blocks to Friedman’s, relieved to see there was a spot open at the counter. She ordered a coffee and blueberry pancakes before calling the last phone number she had for Tobias.

  We’re sorry, the number you have reached has been disconnected.

  She’d expected as much. No one used a landline anymore. She hung up and called his work number. “Can I speak with Dr. Tobias Winthrop please?” she asked the woman who answered. “He’s in pediatric cardiology.”

  There was a moment of instrumental music and then a voice response unit answered. “You’ve reached the office of Dr. Elizabeth Allen. Press One for the appointment desk.”

  She tapped the button. Another woman answered. “I’m looking for Tobias Winthrop,” Rowan said.

  “Dr. Winthrop closed his practice a few weeks ago. Dr. Allen is taking his patients. Can I make an appointment for you?”

  “I really need to reach Dr. Winthrop. Did he leave a forwarding number or address?”

  There was a long pause. “I’m sorry, ma’am. No, he did not. As far as I know, he isn’t practicing anymore.”

  “Thank you.” Rowan hung up and tapped the phone against her forehead. Tobias would never find her. The box Harriet had given him was meant to let him know she was okay, but there was nothing in it that would give away her location. And it appeared he’d gone underground as well, likely recycling his identity just like she had. She sighed. Whatever reason he and Gabriel had for trying to reach her would have to stay a mystery.

  She pulled up the latest book she was reading on her phone while she waited for breakfast. It was a romance about a vampire who falls in love with a human. Silly stuff. Immortals and humans didn’t mix. It never ended well. But she couldn’t put the thing down.

  “Excuse me, miss?”

  Rowan turned her head to find an NYPD badge in front of her face and a man staring at her from a considerable height. Her stomach did a strange little flip. Detective Nick Grandstaff’s steely gaze burned into her with the intensity of a thousand blazing suns. She white-knuckled the edge of the counter. It wasn’t the badge that sent a wave of shock with an anxiety chaser through her chest. It was Harriet’s warning. What if his strong mind resisted the serum?

  Admit nothing. “Can I help you?” she asked through a tight throat.

  “Did you notice a man in here earlier, about five foot six inches tall, white-blond hair, slight build?”

  “No.” It was hard to speak. Her tongue had swollen in her mouth and grown uncomfortably dry. The light from the window shone directly on his face, turning his eyes the color of sterling silver. Pale, heavenly eyes that stole her breath. And his scent, it hit her as it had the night before, in through her nose and straight to her crotch. She uncrossed and crossed her legs against the building tension between her thighs and forced herself to blink. She ended up fluttering her eyelashes. Fuck, she had, hadn’t she? She’d fluttered her eyelashes at the detective like a draconic Betty Boop.

  “Okay. Thanks.” He continued to watch her, his eyes narrowing. “Have we met before? You seem familiar.”

  “No,” she answered quickly. Too quickly. She shook her head. By the Mountain, she sounded guilty. She reined it in and smiled. Too many teeth. She stopped smiling.

  “You’ve never been by the twenty-fourth precinct for anything, have you?”

  “No.” She inhaled sharply. She’d been to the nineteenth precinct when she was arrested, but that was another identity, another name, another face. “No, I don’t think we’ve ever met before.” She forced herself to drink some ice water. “I’d remember you,” she added under her breath.

  “Oh.” Nick nodded.

  There was a clunk and scrape as the server slid Rowan’s pancakes in front of her and focused on Nick. “Can I get you something, Detective?”

  “Coffee. Black. To go.” Nick’s eyes never left Rowan’s face.

  “So, uh, what did this blond guy you’re looking for do?”

  He shook his head, a crooked grin revealing a chipped molar she found positively endearing. “Just need to ask him some questions.”

  She wondered what had caused that chip and how he’d gotten the scar that cut through his left eyebrow. There was one along his jaw too that caused an insanely sexy break in his stubble, hardly visible. She hadn’t noticed either the night before.

  “In other words, it’s none of my business,” she said, resting her chin on her fist.

  That crooked grin flashed again, and Rowan almost fell off her stool. She took another sip of ice water.

  “What are you reading there?”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear, her cheeks heating. “Nothing that would likely appeal to you. It’s a vampire romance. Love’s Last Breath.”

  “Never heard of it. But I like vampires. Dracula. My favorite book of all time is Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Truly?”

  “Yes. Someone important to me had a copy in their hands the last time I saw them. I like the story well enough, but it’s the memory of it, you know?” His voice was soft. Between that and his furrowed brow, she got the feeling he was sharing something deeply intimate with her.

  “It’s an incredible tale about the importance of family and personal connections, don’t you agree? It’s not Frankenstein’s nature that turns him evil but his abandonment and isolation.” She loved the book. Had loved it since its release.

  “Are you sure we haven’t met?” He scratched the side of his neck.

  Rowan gulped and had to look down at her pancakes to break the power of the twin tractor beams pulling her toward him. The man emitted his own gravity. How could he be human? He had to be human, didn’t he?

  “Do you make it a habit to approach women in diners and ask them if you’ve met before? It seems like a line better suited for a bar.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve told you we haven’t met, twice now.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “What’s your name?”

  “Rowan,” she said softly.

  “Nick.” He leaned a hand against the counter beside her plate, and she wanted to sit on her hands to keep from touching him. Instead, she played with her knife beside his fingers, never touching but close enough to set her heart racing.

  The server returned with a to-go cup and dropped it in front of Nick, who pulled out his wallet and paid the man.
>
  “Now that we’ve met, maybe we should get to know each other better. Have dinner or coffee.”

  “You already have coffee.”

  “Dinner then.”

  She looked down at her ring, the ruby a blood-red reminder of why she needed to stop flirting with this man and eat her breakfast. She was a dragon, and she’d wiped his memories last night. Spending time with him could only lead to disaster.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said, meeting his gaze again.

  He lifted his cup and gave her a little nod. “Okay then. Enjoy your pancakes.”

  She watched him leave, holding her breath until his scent faded from the air.

  Chapter Five

  There was no blond guy. Nick wasn’t proud to admit he’d invented a reason to talk to the dark-haired beauty he’d seen in the window of Friedman’s, but the truth was, he’d been walking back to his car after questioning a neighbor about a case when he’d seen her at the counter and hadn’t been able to resist speaking with her. Yes, he was attracted to her, but Nick was a disciplined man and simple attraction wouldn’t be enough to draw him inside or cause him to lie. What he found irresistible was the familiarity. She was the memory of a song he could almost hear and couldn’t quite remember.

  He was sure he’d met her before. The way she brushed her hair back from her face, the angle of her wrists when she rested them on the counter, the crease in her brow as she stared at her phone, the way her full lips pressed against the rim of her coffee mug. Her perfume. Oh God, her scent. Orange peels and smoke with a dash of spicy cinnamon. It was distinctive and he’d smelled it before, he was sure, but he couldn’t remember.

  Part of him expected that he’d known her as a child, maybe gone to elementary school with her. He’d grown up in an abusive household, and some of those years had been lost to him. He’d met a lot of people during that time, faces that were a blur because nothing stood out in his mind but hunger and the damned belt his guardian used to beat him with. But she’d denied recognizing him at all. Goddamn, his brain hurt thinking about it, and the weirdness last night wasn’t helping the feeling that all was not right in his head.