by Mina Carter
Hunted by the Dragon Duke
Mina Carter
New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Also by Mina Carter
Other Books in the Howls Romance line
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 by Mina Carter
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1
“For heaven’s sake, girl, get it together!”
The sharp rebuke brought Saskia Evans out of her daze. She blinked and ducked her head, murmuring a soft apology as she fluffed the full skirts of the dress on the mannequin in front of her.
“I don’t know.” Her stepmother, Goranka, sighed dramatically, stopping just short of an eye roll as she spoke to the woman in front of her. “You just can’t get the help these days. If she weren’t such a neat stitcher… I’d have to let her go. She’s a bit… simple, shall we say? Took her in out of the goodness of my heart. Much thanks I’ve had for it.”
A blaze of color covered Saskia’s cheeks, and she tried her best to hide behind the ball gown. That was her life—always in the background, trying to stay out of sight and avoid her stepmother’s wrath. Not that anyone would know she and Goranka were related, albeit by marriage. Her stepmother didn’t like people to know that Saskia was the daughter of her late, third husband… instead passing her off as a hired-help charity case.
Unbidden, one hand lifted to her throat and touched the two chains around it. One was fae-wrought silver, imbued with magic to keep her unstable dragon under control. Saskia’s fingers skittered away from it, the strong magic making itself known at her touch. She concentrated on the other one instead.
Delicate rose-gold, it disappeared under the neckline of her dress and held the small locket set with amethyst hanging between her breasts. It had been her mother’s, one of the only things she had left to remember her by. The rest had been destroyed by Goranka when she’d married Saskia’s father years ago.
Her father had been dead five years now. Her beautiful room in the tower of their ancient home had been replaced with a corner of the cellar, a ratty pallet and a thin blanket.
Unstable. Can’t be trusted with anything nice, her stepmother’s voice rang in her ears. Can’t control the change. Can’t control her dragon… Useless.
The hot prickle of tears stabbed into the backs of Saskia’s eyes. It was a warning sign. Quickly, she shut that train of thought off and concentrated on what she was doing. Crying here, in the middle of the royal court in front of Cadeyra, the White Queen herself, was so unthinkable Saskia dared not even imagine what punishment would be doled out for such an infraction.
“You’re very good to take her in,” the queen commented, her expression distracted as she walked between the three mannequins Saskia had set up. Each bore a sumptuous ball gown, specially designed for the queen’s petite figure. For saying she was the most powerful weredragon on the planet, a rare white dragon, in human form she was tiny and delicate. If Saskia hadn’t known she was dragon, she’d have suspected Cadeyra was a pixie or fairy of some description.
“Well,” Goranka simpered, “we all have to do our part for the less fortunate. Don’t we?”
“Oh, yes. Indeed, we do.” Cadeyra paused at the middle gown, a confection of gold silk and lace with a fitted bodice and white skirts that would sweep the floor when she moved. “Now this I like.”
“So pleased that you do, Your Majesty.” Goranka was all smiles, motioning one of the girls by her side forward. “Floriana worked night and day for a week on that gown.”
“Really?” The queen reached out and smoothed a delicate hand over the lace of the bodice. “It’s simply beautiful. Good work. Well done, my dear.”
Floriana dipped into a curtsy, cheeks flushed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Saskia kept a straight face, standing to one side of the three mannequins, and bit her lip to keep her words inside. Not one of the gowns had been created by any of the three women in front of her. In fact, of the creations put out by the Blaise fashion line, none of them were created by Goranka nor her two daughters, Gloriana and Floriana. Every design, from conception to construction and final garment, was by Saskia herself. Not that her stepmother or stepsisters would ever admit that.
Nor would they. Saskia had been warned more than once, if she ever breathed a word of the truth, things would go very badly for her indeed. She dropped her gaze, kept her mouth shut, and tried very hard to not breathe. After all, she had no skills other than dressmaking. And in their world, who would ever employ an unstable dragon?
“I’ll definitely take the gold. You can deliver that next week,” Cadeyra decided. Lips pursed, she tapped them with her finger as she looked at the other two gowns. “Maybe the scarlet… but the purple is just not my color.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. Purple would not suit your complexion I don’t think,” Goranka murmured, shooting Saskia a hard look, as though she should have realized Cadeyra didn’t like purple. “Girl!” Goranka snapped her fingers at Saskia. “Show Her Majesty the accessories.”
“Of course, ma’am.” Quickly, she hurried to do her stepmother’s bidding, knowing any delay would incur a punishment later. Opening the bag she’d brought with her, she started to set out delicate sandals, gloves, and wraps in shades of scarlet and gold. The purple and silver items she left safely in the bag, not wanting to add to the punishments her stepmother no doubt already had lined up for her. Even breathing the wrong way could add hours to the lists of chores Goranka had for her each day, ensuring she fell to her pallet exhausted each night.
Keeping her gaze down, she laid the items out on the small table for the queen to peruse and stepped back to pack away the gowns. Goranka and her daughters hovered around the table, offering banal compliments and simpering. Saskia bit her lip at the outright lies that fell from their lips. Gloriana worked on this… Floriana sourced that in Europe especially…
“Cadie? Are you in here?”
The deep male voice made all the women in the room, apart from the queen, turn around. Cadeyra didn’t bat an eyelash, smoothing an elbow-length glove up over her arm as she called out, “In here!”
The door opened and the biggest man Saskia had ever seen filled it, his broad shoulders literally blotting out the light of the corridors behind him. His gaze swept over the little tableau, a wrinkle of distaste between his brows for a half second as he spotted the three Blaise women. By the time any of them focused on his face though, his expression was smooth and neutral.
“Shopping again, cousin dear?” he asked as he strode forward, sweeping past Saskia as she packed the last gown, the golden one, carefully away into the carriers she’d brought.
Fae-made and bigger on the inside, they allowed the dresses to be packed upright on their mannequins and transported without crushing or disturbing them, even if the bags wer
e slung over Saskia’s shoulders. Because one thing was for sure, none of her family would help her carry anything.
“Indeed. For the masquerade ball next week. You have remembered that, haven’t you, Calan? Ladies,” she said with a bright smile as she turned to the women around her. “Allow me to present my cousin, Calan, Duke of Vacossin.”
“Your Grace,” Goranka murmured, dropping into a deep curtsy flanked by her daughters. Off to the other side, Saskia did likewise, although she was under no illusion that anyone was looking at her. She was a part of the furniture, often ignored, which was just the way she liked it. Still, to not curtsy to a duke? She’d been brought up properly, so to offer such an insult just wasn’t in her.
“A pleasure to meet you, ladies,” the duke nodded in acknowledgment, an easy smile on his face.
He was handsome, with long, dark hair pulled back and strong features. Just looking at him made her knees quake and, worse, her dragon murmur in its slumber within her. Fear rolled through her, destroying any interest she had in the duke… a royal duke since the queen had called him cousin.
“The pleasure is all ours,” Goranka replied with a girlish giggle that didn’t suit her at all. “So nice to see the legendary blacks making sure we are all safe.”
“It is our duty, and our honor, to ensure such lovely ladies as yourself are looked after and safe.” He bowed low over Goranka’s hand and air-kissed her knuckles. Saskia turned away quickly as her stepmother practically fainted on the spot. The duke was a charmer, that was for sure.
“But,” Calan said as he straightened up, “I’m afraid I must steal my cousin away. Matters of state. You understand?”
“Oh, of course, of course!” Goranka snapped her fingers. “Girl! Pack these up, immediately… we must leave Her Majesty and His Grace to discuss important matters!”
Saskia hurried to do as she was told, scooping the accessories back into their carrying bag almost from under the queen’s nose. As she did, she cast a quick glance up at the big duke from under her lashes and squeaked, almost dropping everything when she met his green-gold gaze. He was watching her. No, not watching, he was studying her… like a bug under a microscope.
“Who are you?” he asked, taking a step forward as she scuttled around the table, reaching for a pair of gloves that had slid to the back. He picked them up before she could, holding them just out of reach.
“Oh, her?” Goranka stepped forward, her lip curling in disdain. “She’s no one. Hurry up, girl! You’re keeping the duke from his business.”
“I was asking her.” The duke didn’t snap, and the small smile remained on his lips, but there was definite steel in his tone as he slid Goranka a look.
Oh, god, please, stop talking. Saskia swallowed her little moan of distress before her stepmother could hear it, but from the way the duke’s eyes snapped back to hers, she knew he’d heard.
“Well?”
“I’m no one,” she replied softly, reaching out for the gloves. Wide eyed, she appealed to him mutely. “Please, Your Grace, the gloves? They’re not your color or size…”
He tore his gaze from her face and looked at the gloves. They were tiny, fitted for Cadeyra, and scarlet. Abruptly, he laughed, holding them out to her. “Indeed not. Here you go, no one…”
“Thank you,” she almost sighed in relief as she stuffed them in the bag and escaped backward. “Your Grace, Your Majesty,” she whispered and grabbed the other bags to scuttle to Goranka’s side. Her stepmother’s set expression told the tale of punishment to come, and Saskia shivered as she followed her “family” out of the room.
She should have just kept her fool mouth shut.
Calan, Duke of Vacossin, watched the small group leave the room, his expression thoughtful. He’d recognized the Blaise women instantly, of course. There wasn’t a bachelor at court who hadn’t run the gauntlet with Goranka Blaise.
The archetypal matchmaking mama, she’d tried every trick in the book, and several of her own invention, to hook, hoodwink or otherwise trap a high-ranking nobleman into marriage with one of her daughters. So much so, the men of the court had been forced to band together and watch each other’s backs, putting aside old feuds to ensure the gold-digging trio didn’t achieve their aims.
Calan was under no illusions. He was the biggest catch at court and he knew it. A royal duke, and one of the infamous black dragons who protected their society, he’d had a target on his back since he’d reached adulthood. It was no surprise that Goranka had her eye on him for one of her daughters.
The other woman with them, though, was not one he’d seen before and as far as he knew, Goranka had only two daughters.
“Who was that?” he asked, turning on his cousin to find her watching him. Deliberately, her gaze fell to his well-worn combat pants and a sigh escaped from her bee-stung pout. Again. He set his teeth, knowing what was coming.
“A waif Madam Blaise took in, I believe. Mouse of a thing really, not a dragon, so I’m not sure why the woman brought her. Poor thing must have been terrified to be surrounded by us.” She waved dismissively, the discussion obviously over as she glowered at his clothing. “Cal, would it kill you to dress properly in my presence?”
Sparing a glance down at himself, he shrugged. The pants were paired with heavy boots and a clean, white t-shirt. At least the shirt had been clean that morning when he’d put it on. After a morning’s hard training and sparring sessions with a couple of the other blacks, it was dirty, ripped and bloodstained.
“Your presence?” He smirked as he looked up at her, totally irreverent now that they were alone. Despite her high-ranking status within dragon society, Cadeyra would always be the snot-nosed brat who’d followed him around like a puppy when they were growing up. “Need I remind you that I dunked both you and your presence in the duck pond when you were eleven?”
“Yes, I remember, you damn bully!” she mock-growled at him and then laughed. “I also remember getting you back…”
“Frogs in my bed.” He nodded. “Lady Hessleton still shudders every time I walk past. You bloody well knew I’d been trying to get her into bed for months, brat.”
Cadeyra’s smile verged toward dangerous, her eyes flaring pale gold with her dragon. “Yeah… she was so in love with you, yet she went from your bed to Dalton Sommerton’s and was pregnant within the month. I’d say you had a lucky escape there, cousin mine.”
She was right. He knew she was, and so did she, but still Calan growled good-naturedly, letting a little of his own dragon out to play in the deep tones. No other dragon would dare to growl at the Queen, the only white to have been born in hundreds of years.
Male or female, only a white could rule their race, and whites were only born to the royal line, making Cadeyra a legend in her own lifetime. Some of their people held whites in such reverence that they practically kissed the ground she walked on. It was obviously the fates’ idea of irony that he’d been born the opposite.
“She was a dragon, you know,” he said suddenly, a frown reappearing between his brows.
“Who?” Cadeyra looked confused as he stalked around the table still set up in the middle of the room. “The mouse girl? No… she can’t have been. I’d have sensed it.”
He took a deep breath in, using his dragon’s superior sense of smell to pick up the faint traces of the woman still lingering in the room.
“Mouse girl?” She had been quiet and nervous but he hadn’t seen her as a mouse, not with the flare of fire in her eyes when he’d captured the gloves and kept them from her. It had been a swift flash, nothing more, but it had been there. “No, she’s definitely a dragon. It’s buried deep down and weak, but it’s there.”
The more he thought about it, the odder the feeling he’d gotten from her seemed. It was faint and he couldn’t really get a fix on it, like it was a ghost of a dragon rather than a real presence within her.
“Is it really important?” Cadeyra asked, her expression careful as she watched him. “She’s one of the Bl
aise household… do you really want to get involved with that pit of vipers?”
Calan shuddered. Vipers was one word for them. Even though they weren’t highly bred, their dragons browns and greens, the court was inclusive these days, the old prejudices stamped out. But some people didn’t help themselves with their behavior, and the Blaise women were known to be vicious and bullying. Look at the way his little mouse had reacted… the near-panic in her eyes when he’d held the gloves hostage.
It hadn’t been fear of him, even though as a black he was used to the instinctive flash of terror as soon as they scented what he was, but rather her gaze had flicked behind him to the oldest Blaise woman, the mother. No, he hadn’t scared the little mouse, but Goranka Blaise did.
“Besides, it would upset all of my plans for you if you managed to get caught in that witch’s trap.”
Calan’s head whipped around, his brow narrowing in suspicion. “Oh? Plans?”
That didn’t sound good. Cadeyra having “plans” always made him nervous, particularly when they involved him. Not that he didn’t trust her as queen, or that she made bad decisions… just that sometimes she was their monarch and was as ruthless as she needed to be to ensure the survival of their society. She also thought she knew best, especially when those closest to her were involved.
She nodded, lips set into a firm line. “Yes, plans. We’re the last of the D’Amnayels. At least one of us has to mate and have a child, preferably a white, to continue the line.” She sighed. “Since you and the other blacks growl at any male who so much as thinks about looking my way, it’s got to be you. I’ve invited a number of eligible young ladies to the ball next week. You’ll pick a mate from among them.”
Her words were flippant but he easily caught the note of loneliness behind them. Being royal was hard enough, but to be a white and a female to boot… that had to be hard. Not only would her coloring and position as queen put most males off, her power would as well. Only a black could come anywhere near her, power-wise. He could, but he wasn’t just any black, he was a D’Amnayel… usually D’Amnayel males were sapphires, dark iridescent blues, but he was the first Black in the family.