by Paula Quinn
She looked at Helena with a smile curling her red lips. “She should be glad you’re his sister and not her competition,” she said loud enough for the rest to hear.
Helena liked her. It took a strong mettle to step out of the crowd and stand strong against a nasty shrew. “She should be more worried about you.”
“I’m not competition,” the raven-haired beauty laughed and held up her hands. “I own the club. I know the regulars. Simone is here often. You intimidate her.”
“You bitch!” Simone strangled out. She moved forward but stopped almost immediately and looked about to faint at Jacob blocking her path.
“Simone, is it?” he asked, proving he’d been close by, listening. “Get me a drink and I’ll think about forgetting your insult to my sister and her friend.” He quirked his mouth at her. “I might even take your number.”
Simone didn’t speak but blushed as red as her hair, nodded, and then ran off, leaving Helena to shake her head. Was he that irresistible? He was her brother so, of course, she thought he was handsome. But women looked at him as if he were one of those sulky, bad-boy, Calvin Klein models. He loved the image and played it up to perfection.
“Ladies,” he said, turning to the rest, “give us a few minutes.” They dispersed into the crowd at his command. Without giving them a second glance, he set a much more meaningful smile on his sister.
“I think our hair is quite nice.” He came forward, his pale locks catching the light. “And so, I hear,” he said, turning his vivid, blue eyes on the club owner, “do you.”
“There’s certainly nothing wrong with it,” the woman said, keeping her composure quite admirably. Women tended to wilt into giggling, grinning puddles around him.
“Jacob White,” he greeted, the curl of his mouth was almost too effortless. “You’ve already met my sister.”
Helena dropped her gaze from heaven and offered the current benefactor of Jacob’s unfailing charm a gracious smile. “We weren’t introduced. Helena White.”
“El Montgomery.”
Helena blinked but that was the only reaction to hearing the name. Montgomery. It would probably have meant nothing if not for Ms. Montgomery’s striking gaze. Aqua, like a blend of sea and sky. Aqua, like Marcus Aquara’s eyes. She’d met Mr. Aquara once. It was a memory she would prefer to forget.
“Thank you for stepping forward before.” She offered her hand, maintaining her smile.
“It’s nothing anyone else couldn’t have done.”
Helena nodded. “But they didn’t.”
Could El Montgomery be related to the Gold? Could she be The Bane’s only lead in years? If she was Marcus Aquara’s daughter then the Gold was her foster brother.
“Do you play?” Miss Montgomery asked, looking at the small case dangling from Helena’s hand.
“She’s a classical violinist with the Philharmonic,” Jacob answered proudly.
Helena smiled, but she really needed to talk to her brother before she left. “It was lovely meeting you, El, but I just stopped by to wish my brother Happy Birthday.” She offered El her phone. “Enter your contact. Maybe we could have lunch.”
“Or dinner,” Jacob added with a quirk of his lips.
“But you, Mr. White,” Miss Montgomery looked up from handing Helena back her phone and set her glassy green eyes on him, “don’t have my number.”
Helena didn’t like the way Jacob was looking at Miss Montgomery. Like she was a breath of fresh air. He wasn’t prepared to fend off a Drakkon, should she be one of the Gold’s transformed. They could walk among men or fly among the stars.
“Allow me to remedy that oversight.” Jacob slipped his phone from his back pocket and tapped it on.
Damn it! Helena wanted to pinch him. But then she saw Simone approaching and couldn’t help but smile at the furious glare the redhead cast her when she realized what El was doing. The desire for peace might run strong in Helena’s veins, but she was human.
“She might be one of the Gold’s transformed Drakkons,” Helena told her brother when he swept her out of Simone’s sights.
“Simone?”
Helena stared at him until he smiled. “El…Montgomery.”
“You say that as if I’m supposed to know something I obviously don’t.”
“If you practiced and researched the way you’re supposed to be doing, you would know. When was the last time you used your bow, your dagger, a sword?”
“Helena, this is the twenty-first century. I have a gun.”
“With gold bullets, Jacob? The only way to kill a Drakkon is with gold.”
“I know,” he sighed. “But there hasn’t been a Drakkon in the sky in a long time. We don’t even know who the Gold is or if he’s still alive.”
“We don’t know he’s dead, either,” she countered. “We trained our whole lives for this. We’re Drakkon hunters, not playboys, or business sharks, or gamblers, or whatever else our half-siblings are doing. We have a duty to our father, to humankind. You saw what the Gold did to--”
“All right. All right,” he gave in. “Why might El Montgomery be a Drakkon? And I hope you’re wrong. I would hate to shoot her if she turns.”
“If your bullets aren’t gold they’ll bounce off her scales,” Helena drawled. Really, he knew better. “I think she might be an Aqua. Did you notice her eyes?”
He nodded. “But everyone with teal eyes isn’t an Aqua just like some people with pale blonde hair like ours isn’t a White.”
“I know, but they’re different, like ours, like Marcus Aquara’s. Her name is Montgomery and here’s where you would know what that could mean if you were working instead of partying all the time. Samantha Montgomery is Aquara’s wife.” Finally, the weight of what she was telling him sank in. The beautiful woman he’d met tonight could be the Gold’s sister.
“Why didn’t you ask her if Samantha was her mother?”
“And let her know I’m on to her? If she’s one of them, then she knows about the Whites and The Bane. I want to talk with her more.”
“It could be dangerous,” he warned her.
“I can handle myself.”
“Against a Drakkon?”
“If I need to, yes. Unlike you, I practice my skills every day.”
He laughed and drew her in for a tight embrace. “I’ll practice more, I promise.”
“Thank you,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Happy Birthday, and stay away from would-be Drakkon, please. Don’t call her. Promise?”
He nodded. “Thanks for coming. I know you hate these things.”
She watched him return to the club, throwing him a quick kiss when he called out over his shoulder, “Love you.” She loved him, too. But she wanted to smack better sense into his head. She was afraid for him. What if the Gold had already transformed many, like, possibly, El Montgomery? People who hid their scales, waiting for the right time to fill the sky? Jacob would never survive a Drakkon war. None of them would.
She bit her lip while she hailed a cab.
They had to find the Gold and stop him. But how? Neither the Elders nor The Bane knew the Gold’s name or his exact age, what he looked like, or where he lived…if he still did.
The ride to her apartment on West Twenty-first in Manhattan didn’t take long. She was excited. They’d had no leads, until now. Maybe.
She didn’t wait long once she got home to wriggle out of her coat, put away her violin, and hurry to her computer. There had to be something, somewhere on El Montgomery. Fifteen minutes later, she hadn’t found anything. She tried variations of the name. Elle, Elsie, Elise, Eleanor—Eleanor Montgomery! Owner of Gaels Nightclub on Fourteenth!
Helena clicked the first link and smiled when El’s picture popped up. She read, carrying her laptop with her to the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee. While she waited, she checked more links. Nothing important. She clicked the next one. The less she found of a personal content, the more convinced she was that El was related to Samantha Montgomery. What were they hiding? She r
eached for her cup and banged her knee on the cabinet. This kitchen was too small. Her apartment might be cute, but cooking in it was hell. Returning to her desk, she sipped her drink and clicked on an older article, an interview Ms. Montgomery had done when her club had first opened. What was this? One of the questions was what did the name Gaels mean? Her answer made Helena’s heart pound.
The club belongs to my brother, Garion, and me. I just put the first two letters of our names together.
Garion? Could that be him? Garion the Gold? She set the laptop down on the desk as if it burned her hands. Had she found him? Should she call Jacob? Jarakan? No, not yet, she told herself pulling out her chair. She didn’t know if she was right. This could all lead to nothing. Oh, but she’d searched too long to let go of even the slightest shred of hope.
Moving in closer to the screen, she read, her fingers trembling with anticipation.
There was nothing else.
She typed Garion Montgomery into her search engine. Nothing came up. She sighed and blew into her coffee. A thought came to her and she nearly flung away her cup. She’d been searching for what she didn’t know when she should be using what she did know. She typed Gaels Nightclub and the brother and sister’s first names. After another half-hour she discovered gold.
Garion Gold. Gold. It was him! It had to be!
Torn between calling her brother and looking for a picture, she picked up her phone and tapped Jacob’s name. She waited for it to ring and did a quick image search of Garion Gold.
Pictures of books and bikes came up. She scrolled down, looking for a man.
“Helena, what’s up?”
“Jacob, I found him!” She narrowed her eyes on an image of a tall, muscular man dressed in an Armani suit, his golden locks tied neatly at the back of his head. It was a paparazzi shot, taken at a distance. The caption read Garion Gold, reclusive philanthropist, leaves mystery behind at the opening of Gaels in New York.
“Found who? The Gold?”
Jacob’s voice tore her eyes off the image. Soon they returned. “Garion Gold.”
“How do you know it’s him?”
Topaz-colored eyes bore into her from the computer screen. It was like looking into twin furnaces and being consumed by fire. His nostrils appeared slightly flared in anger at the photographer. “Because he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. And because he’s El the Aqua’s rich brother.”
“You found this all out in an hour when The Bane has been searching for years?”
She smiled. “You have to know where to look. Listen, I have to go. Don’t call any of the Elders. Don’t tell anyone. Not yet. Do you swear?”
“I swear.”
“And stay away from Ms. Montgomery,” she added. “I have to call my ex, Michael. He’s one of the editors at The Voyeur. He owes me a favor.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to catch Garion the Gold.”
Chapter Two
He soared on wings, mighty and majestic, with scales dusted in the colors of the breaking dawn. He sliced through the bracing wind and set his course with a shift of his long, armored tail. The heavens were his home. He danced to ancient music, closing his wings and spearing the clouds, breaking the barrier of sound while he sped toward the stars. Exhilarated in flight and unrepentant in his endeavors, he loved feeling his giant heart beating hard and fast. He enjoyed his panoramic view of the world. The world he was born to rule.
Garion came awake from his dream and stared up through the glass ceiling separating him from the open sky and the stars just about to fade. For a moment, his heart sank at finding himself so far from them, grounded in his bed, cursed with two souls. Born both man and Drakkon, he possessed the ability to transform from either at will—if he didn’t mind landing naked. His clothes didn’t change with him. He’d never minded. He used to fly every day before everything changed.
He lay still and let the moment pass. It wasn’t the first time he’d dreamed of the days when he flew. He’d woken up a million times before, instinctually weighted with the choice he’d made fourteen years ago to never live another moment of his life as Drakkon—and to never transform another man into one.
But in these moments of the blue hour just before dawn, his Drakkon instincts were more difficult to ignore.
He sat up in his massive bed and glanced at his cat curled up beside him in the downy covers. Her tail was curled under her snowy white head. Denying even the briefest urge to taste her, he looked away and set his gaze on the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the eastern wall of his villa. He watched the stars disappear as light set fire to the sky, dousing indigo in seas of crimson. In another moment, the earth would rouse him from his beastly temptations. But here, in the time between, the sky beckoned.
Answering the call, he left his bed. When he reached the glass doors, he slid them open and stepped out onto his terrace. He walked to the edge, naked against the brisk wind that swept across the ridge of the breathtaking mountains. A meager man, though larger than most. But what was muscle compared to the wind? Nothing. He could be tossed from his perch by a strong enough gale. On some mornings, like this one, he came outside almost wishing he would be swept away. What would he do if the choice were forced upon him? Would he let himself die rather than give control over to the monster that had scorched even children to embers? Or would he betray his promise to himself and mankind and soar across the sky?
As the muted sun broke over the horizon, Garion cursed the choice. He didn’t know why he was born with the essence to restore any Elder back to Drakkon or transform any descendant. Why his blood, and his blood alone, was more powerful than even the Phoenix Amber. His essence gave the altered the power to change as often as they wished, from one to the other at will, like him. He also possessed the power to heal, though he wasn’t able to bring anyone back from the dead. He’d tried with Thomas. Oh, how he’d tried.
He could fill the sky with Drakkon and bring one of his races back from the brink of extinction. His foster father, Marcus, wasn’t entirely against it, nor was his sister, who took every opportunity to try to change his mind about sharing his blood with her.
But bringing Drakkon back meant extinction for mankind. Having lived as a fire-breather, Garion knew the power of the beast and how easy it had been to disregard rules of survival when that power turned blood to fire. Humans would never survive Drakkon’s fury. The night Thomas had been killed by The Bane had been the night Garion changed into something dreadful. He had memories of what he’d done at Hendrick White’s house—his rage made tangible in explosive bursts of fire. He hid from his past, but it followed him, taking root in his heart. He remained hidden from those who would beg or kill him for his blood, cut off by mountains and ice. He lived alone, trusting no one, turning no one while The Bane existed.
Though there had been no sign of them for years, Garion knew the hunters were still out there with their gold-tipped arrows, waiting for any sign of his, or anyone else’s great wings filling the sky. As long as the Council still existed, so would The Bane.
They could only kill him while he flew, so he didn’t. He was suspended in both worlds, belonging to neither, an outcast with a price on his head. A price that had cost others their lives.
Never again.
He was saving lives by refusing to alter anyone. But it meant a long, lonely existence for him. His Drakkon blood ensured his near immortality. He didn’t want to love a thousand women who lived and died in his arms. He wanted to love only one.
Most of the time, he didn’t mind being alone. Drakkon were a solitary race, known to live centuries before finding a life mate.
But Garion was also human. Denying his human desires was as difficult as denying Drakkon ones. But he had to. Once, a long time ago, he had brought a woman to his bed. When passion’s talons had gripped him, he’d almost transformed right then and there. Lost to his instinctual, more primal desire, he feared he would have eaten her. He never risked
it again. Living apart from the rest of the world as much as he could made it a little easier. But how long would he be able to resist the desire to mate? Both his instincts demanded it.
His heart demanded more. He didn’t want to spend eternity alone. Nor did he want to be married with the knowledge his wife would grow old and die while he continued to live. But anything more meant altering a woman, and he never would.
He stepped back inside and shut the door as the sun spread its light over him. Living life as a man wasn’t so terrible. Thomas had left him his hoard and Marcus had given him and his sister most of his extensive treasure. After transferring many of his large, rare gems into cash, Garion had made intelligent investments, doubling and tripling his fortune. He liked waking in the sublime luxury of Eiderdown pillows beneath his head and 800 count Supima cotton sheets against his skin. He liked skin. His hoard provided him with every earthly thing he wanted, including a 9,500 square foot villa overlooking Norway from the Børvasstindene Mountains. He loved his cave with its twenty-foot ceilings, a terrace suspended above the snow-capped ridge, and a heated pool beyond the enormous sliding doors. It was sparsely decorated with some of his most priceless treasures, including paintings and rare sculptures. He had everything he wanted and gave much away to charities—certainly not a Drakkon trait.
He looked down at the white Persian cat swirling around his feet like a cloud and smiled. Bending, he lifted her to his face and looked into her large, green eyes. “Good morning, Carina,” he greeted and kissed her forehead. She meowed in response and pawed at his shoulder. Giving in, he set her to rest around the back of his neck and made his way to the kitchen. She was one of the few he loved— Marcus and Sam, Ellie, and Aunt Tabitha.
“Are you hungry?”
He prepared her a breakfast of chopped tuna and fresh salmon. “I have to go to town today, but I won’t be gone too long,” he promised while he washed his hands and set about chopping greens and fruit for himself. “We need food and I want to check in with the family.”