He was surprised to see her expression had brightened. “I hated that house. I wasn’t allowed to have a room for my workshop.”
“You don’t seem the tool type.”
“Not that kind of workshop. I had a small business designing knitting patterns and selling crafts before I married Mark. But we needed something to survive on while he got his diplomas. So I found a steady job. We decided that after he established his practice, I could quit work and go back to creating all day long. I should have realized that was never the long-term plan when the basement became a man cave and my spinning wheel didn’t fit.”
“Well, now you can fly over his house and take a dump on his lawn.”
Viola laughed, which surprised a smile out of him. He could get used to that sound. Against his better judgment, he was enchanted by her dimples. He wondered if she would moan if he kissed her. Taking a step forward, he realized she wasn't even on the same page. Her eyes were far away and sad.
“Tempting.” She sighed. “But I’d rather pretend he doesn’t exist. Let’s go to dinner. I’m starving.”
It was another half hour on the road before he led her to the all-night diner that featured steaks the size of platters. It looked like every other roadside diner he'd ever been in. They slid into a booth that had seen better days. Colored, frayed duct tape covered the rips in the seat. The Formica table had initials carved into it. Viola stared out the bullet-proof glass window and yawned so widely, he heard her jaw crack. He was wondering how she managed to keep the bike upright. She looked like the walking dead.
His phone buzzed as they were flipping through the menu.
“Yeah?” Sergei said, motioning the waitress to pour them some coffee.
“Where are you guys?” It was Reed.
“We stopped for dinner.” He drank the cup down in one swallow and snagged the waitress for a refill before she left the table.
“Don’t tell me where. We’re on an unsecured cell phone.” Reed’s tinny voice still had a weight of arrogance that put Sergei’s back up.
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Are you sure you weren’t followed?”
“Yep,” Sergei said. “Why?”
“Because Carolyn got ambushed by the Cult of Humanity.”
Sergei snarled a curse that had Viola staring at him wide eyed. “Is she all right?” he asked.
“Yes. Luckily, I was flying in the clouds above the car at the time. I lifted it up with her in it and flew off.”
“What did those dickheads do?”
“They shot at me, but they weren’t expecting a dragon in full battle mode. Little weasels were hoping for a panicked Queen.”
“Well, we’ve been clear so far.”
“Keep off the roads until morning. I’m afraid they’re going to double back and catch you.”
“There’s no way they can pick us out of a crowd.”
“Some genius ran all the plates in the Talon Industries parking lot and your bike lit up as belonging to a dragon. The press will be looking for it. It’s not exactly discreet.”
“If I wanted discreet, I would have bought a cruiser.” Viola’s bike was a cruiser.
She stuck her tongue out at him.
He returned the favor and shocked her into a blush. Sergei stopped listening to Reed as
he droned on about statistics and probabilities. Viola was combing her fingers to fluff up her helmet head. Her hair, a darker shade of blonde, fell down to her shoulders in soft waves.
She crinkled up her brow as she frowned at a few split ends. Sergei was mesmerized by her cute nose and full lips that were twisted into a small pout. Her V-neck sweater was stretched tight over a generous rack, and he was distracted by the deep cleavage.
Shifting in the booth because his jeans went tight, Sergei rubbed the back of his neck and tried to remember she was a Queen.
He breathed in her scent, hoping it would make his body react like he'd plunged into a cold shower. But instead of the rancid perfume he recalled from Cassandra, Viola was scented like a wood stove and autumn leaves. For a moment, he pictured the two of them curled up in front of the fire in his cabin in Vermont. Her hair would be splayed across the bearskin rug and she’d be gazing up at him with those wide, brown eyes. He’d lose himself in her lush curves and bury his face between her juicy—
“Are you still there? Did the connection drop?”
Sergei blew out an exasperated breath. “No, I’m here. The connection is a little sketchy. Repeat what you said.” He took a large swallow of black coffee, letting the heat burn down his throat.
“I said, I still think it would be best if you two ditch those bikes and take to the air.”
“She can’t fly,” Sergei bit out.
There was a pause on the line. “Damn,” Reed said softly. “You’re going to have to show her how.”
“I’m not a good teacher. I don’t have any patience.”
“No kidding,” Viola said in a sotto voice.
He flipped her off.
“Well, the only other alternative is to pick her up and carry her.”
Revulsion shook the last of the horny thoughts out of his mind. “Never,” he growled.
“Well, she can’t ride on your back. She’ll slide off.”
“I need my arms free to fight.”
“It’s your choice. I can send some troops out to you now, but I think it will cause a media ruckus that we don’t want.”
“No,” Sergei said. “Let’s keep this as low key as possible. We’ll be at the safe house in another four hours if we drive through the night. We’re stopping for a meal right now.”
“I don’t think I have another four hours in me,” Viola said.
“Have her ride on the back of your bike,” Reed suggested.
“No.” No Queen was going to wrap her arms around him. He knew that didn’t make any sense when less than five minutes ago he was fantasizing about making love to her on the floor of his cabin. But that was different. She was on the bottom. He was in control. On the back of his bike, she could cause them to crash or she could attack him.
He scratched the stubble on his chin and willed the paranoia back. Her scent calmed him, reminded him of the out-of-doors instead of being locked up or trapped. He couldn’t be in the same hotel room with her, not closed up overnight. With his nerves the way they were, it could go either way with him either banging her or stinging her to death. And with the Cult of Humanity clowns wandering around, he didn’t dare leave her unguarded.
“You can do it,” Sergei told her. “You have to try.”
Viola sighed. “Okay, I’ll try.”
He felt like a heel.
Chapter Six
Stuffed on steak and home fries, all Viola wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep in the booth, but Sergei wouldn’t hear of it. He encouraged her to finish another large mug of coffee, even though being overtired, overfed, and over-caffeinated was a recipe for disaster. Walking back to the bikes, Viola hugged herself against the chill. As they pulled back on the highway, she wished Carolyn had left the car because Viola’s attention wandered from the road in front of her to the muscles on Sergei’s back. And while you were driving sixty miles per hour down the Interstate with only a denim jacket to stave off the road rash, having an erotic fantasy about a dragon wasn’t a good idea.
“Get off my ass,” she said to the Jeep that was coming up fast on her tail. She'd already switched to the right-hand lane, and it switched over with her.
A black Porsche Cayenne whizzed by both of them and cut off Sergei so abruptly, she could hear him curse over the wind and the road. A Humvee rolled up in the left-hand lane, blocking them both between the Jeep and the Porsche.
“Pull over,” a man in the Humvee said. He waved a pistol toward the side of the road.
Viola gunned the engine and raced past him, coming neck and neck with Sergei. But the car in front swerved to keep them from passing.
“What should I do?” she yelled.
“Don�
�t let them catch you,” he said.
Shots rang out. “Pull over, or the next one goes through your tires,” someone yelled.
In a swift movement, Sergei pulled his feet off the pedals and tucked them up on the seat. He exploded upwards, shifting into his dragon form above them. Viola turned to see his fifteen-thousand-dollar bike get crunched under the Jeep’s tires. Sergei roared a battle cry and shoulder-slammed his entire dragon bulk into the Cayenne. Heart in her throat, Viola leaned down and darted through the opening.
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.
Adrenaline shot through her, waking her up more than the coffee. The Humvee and the Jeep were still in hot pursuit and gunfire had her scrunching down lower. A shot to her tire at this speed would probably cause a crash that would kill her. Viola had to bank on the fact that they didn’t want her dead.
Who were these idiots, anyway? Were they the Order of the Dragon Slayers? Had her mother ratted her out to them after all? They couldn’t be dragons, otherwise they’d be in the sky instead of in cars.
She took the next exit, hoping to lose the two bigger vehicles in rural traffic, where she could zip in and out of the lanes and duck down streets. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a GPS and was playing this by ear. From the way the Jeep and Humvee kept on her tail, this wasn’t the first time that they’d done this. Turning down an industrial park, she slowed enough to jump the curb and speed along a nicely manicured storefront.
The Humvee followed, its big tires tearing up the lawn. The Jeep entered the parking lot to head her off. They raced in parallel, with the Humvee gaining ground on her. Decelerating, she pulled the bike back into the parking lot, just missing the back of the Jeep’s bumper. The Humvee narrowly avoided crashing into the Jeep as it did a 360, brakes screaming.
She took the curves of the business park low, almost scratching her knee on the pavement. It slowed her down enough that when the punch of the bullet in her shoulder pushed her forward, she didn’t lose control of the bike.
However, she blanked for a moment as the shock warred with the adrenaline and she exited the business park, running a red light. Horns blared and she risked a glance behind her to see the Humvee slam into a pickup truck and the Jeep maneuver around them.
The pain came next. She had been shot.
She wondered if she was going to bleed to death. Her arm was numbing and it was getting harder to think about controlling the bike. If she didn’t get off the road, she was going to kill herself—or someone else.
She rode the yellow line, blowing by the few cars still on the road at this hour and giving herself a decent lead away from the Jeep. Even though it was agony, she peered over her shoulder. She could see headlights, but they didn’t look like the Jeep’s. Putting on a last burst of speed, she pulled farther ahead and started to look for someplace to hide.
She passed a Ymca on her left, but she figured that would be the first place they looked if they decided they lost her. Plus, all the blood would attract attention, and she might not be able to stop the bad guys from taking her away from the Emts.
Someone could get hurt.
There was a baseball field at the next corner and, taking a risk, she pulled off into the field. She cut her lights and drove to the dugout. Laying the bike down so it couldn’t be easily seen, she staggered to the bleachers and hid under them in a position where she could watch the road.
Shrugging out of her denim jacket, she cried out in pain, but she had to see how bad the damage was. Fumbling with her cell phone to give her some light, she was amazed there wasn’t any holes or blood.
But reaching around was agony. Her shirt was soaked, but when she drew her hand away, the wetness was clear. Sweat. What had did they used? Rubber bullets?
Viola let out several shaky breaths. She tried to be quiet, but that made her nose run twice as hard. She had to blow it on a crumpled-up napkin under the bleachers. If she ever got out of this, she was going to soak in a hot, soapy tub for hours. She could almost feel bugs crawling on her.
As she waited in the dark and minutes passed, she realized she’d given her pursuers the slip. Scurrying out from under the bleachers, she attempted to pick up her bike. But the pain in her back and shoulder was too much. She couldn’t lift the heavy thing back up.
“Great. This is perfect,” Viola said, shaking. She walked into the dugout and sat on the bench, gazing out at the field in the moonlight. What she wouldn’t give to see a dragon shadow on the moon. But she'd not only lost her pursuers, she’d lost her back up as well.
She hoped Sergei took them all out. Or at the very least, got away uninjured. Under his tough guy exterior, he was a good guy. Hot as the desert sun at noon time, too. Viola wished he was here right now to scowl at her or something. Maybe she could sneak in a pity hug?
She glared down at her phone. Of course, none of them thought to exchange their numbers. The only dragon she had on speed dial was Smythe—not that she’d call him. And to make matters worse, she had no idea where the hell she was.
Viola folded her jacket into a makeshift pillow and turned so her good shoulder was on the wood bench. She could call her mother, but that would end in disaster, and Viola wasn’t a hundred percent sure her mother wouldn’t call the Order of the Dragon Slayers on her.
Thumbing through her phone, she considered and discarded names. Her ex-boyfriend, Turk? He owed her something for the bike. But she wasn’t sure she could trust him not to sell her out. Her ex-husband Mark was a possibility. If she'd been bleeding, she would have called him to patch her up, and to hell what his new wife thought. She still might, but he might sell her down the river, too.
And what was she going to say to them? “Hi, I’m in a baseball dugout somewhere in New York State and I think I’m lying on gum. I hope it’s gum, anyway.” Why were their numbers even still in her phone? She deleted them with a pleasure. Jerks.
For all Viola knew, her phone calls were tapped. Didn’t Reed say he was with the government? Maybe they could get a lock on her cell phone signal and trace her? If her battery held out.
She texted Fml into her Facebook status and hoped someone would care to ask what was wrong.
Chapter Seven
Sergei watched the room of controlled chaos while his guts churned. Viola hadn’t checked in. After he’d finished taking out the members of the Porsche Cayenne, he'd hoped the Jeep and the Humvee had retreated instead of going after her. He flew around with his prisoner clenched in his mouth, but he didn’t see any trace of them. So he went to the safe house.
Hope was for suckers. He, of all people, should have known that. It bothered him that her sweet, sassy ass wasn’t here. He almost missed her babbling nonsense about yarn. If she suddenly walked in the door, he’d gladly listen to how she knit her way out of this jam. He sighed. She wasn’t his concern. Still, the thought that right now she might be hurt made him want to smash things.
Reed was on the phone trying to get protection for the fifty or so Queens that had descended on the American dragon embassies in the past week seeking sanctuary. Jack was “questioning” the prisoner Sergei had hauled out of the destroyed Cayenne. Carolyn was typing furiously on her computer. Sergei paced and occasionally searched out the window to see if Viola was in the sky. Not that she would have known where to go. They were in Reed’s research facility in upper state New York. It was an old college campus the dragons had bought to use for their affairs. Reed ran it like a fiefdom.
“We can’t just sit here,” Sergei said, hitting the wall with the palm of his hand. They were in a high-tech boardroom, and it felt like a prison. He couldn’t tamp down the rage that was coursing through him. It had happened on his watch. It should have been a cake run. “They knew what we were driving and where we were going.”
From the head of the conference table, Reed hung up the phone. “We have no leads. We don’t even know if she was captured.”
“Of course she was. She has no experience dealing with terrorists. She’s probably already de
ad.”
“She’s not dead,” Carolyn said. She was sitting at the table with her back to the door, tapping away on her laptop. She didn't look up as she spoke, just bit her lip and frowned at the screen.
“How do you know?” Sergei asked, keeping a firm grip on his tone. Carolyn was Reed's mate and this was Reed's domain. As much as Sergei could use a good fight, Reed would have the upper hand.
“She updated her status.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Sergei gritted his teeth.
“She’s not dead. But she's in trouble.” Carolyn tilted the screen so Sergei could see the social media post.
“That status was over five hours ago.”
“Sergei, this isn’t your fight,” Reed said. “You’ve made it very clear you want no part in associating with a Queen. We appreciate that you even contacted our office to let us know about Viola. And your help in rescuing her. We’ll take it from here. Go on back to your lair.”
“She’s not rescued,” Sergei said. “I’ll finish the job. It’s my fault she got taken.”
Reed nodded. “All right. You should see this, then.” He turned on the television and started the DVR. “This was broadcast about an hour ago.”
Sergei flinched when Cassandra’s human features filled the screen. She resembled a delicate Irish rose, red curls falling artfully around her face, wide blue eyes over a freckled nose. Her dragon form was far more sinister, an emerald Chinese dragon with brutal fangs and claws the size of scythes. It was an interview, set in her keep on top of Carrauntoohil in County Kerry.
“I want to grant my sisters sanctuary. The emerging Queens are in danger of being exploited for their innocence and are at the mercy of some nefarious studs who would harm them for their own purposes.”
“Bullshit. What’s her angle?” Sergei said.
“Every Queen she recruits is one less stud she has to lay eggs for,” Carolyn said.
“Fuck,” he said and dented the table with his fist. Beating up on inanimate objects wasn’t doing anything to quell the helplessness.
The Queen's Flight: The Emerging Queens Book 2 Page 5