Dragon's Rebel

by Anastasia Wilde

She feels sorry for us, he said. Even if I were human, the best we could hope for would be a pity fuck.

  his dragon said complacently.

  Thorne snorted, twin puffs of smoke coming from his nostrils.

  “What?” Rebel asked. He shook his head.

  His dragon was hoping for something that wasn’t going to happen. None of that Destined Mate crap was real. At least, not for Thorne. He did believe Rebel was the Keeper of the Seal. He even believed that there might be some magic that would reveal the Seal if the Keeper had sex with a dragon. Sex was very potent, magically speaking.

  But the whole ‘falling in love forever’ thing was a crock.

  Zane was different—he was part bear shifter, and everyone knew how they were about their mates. The fact that he and Blaze had bonded was no surprise. And Tyr was a raging romantic, with way more human blood in him than Thorne had.

  He saw Tempest as a princess out of a fairy tale—one where the dragon was the hero.

  Thorne was a grumpy-ass Wild Dragon whose Draken father had mated with a human woman and instantly regretted it. He’d raised Thorne and done his duty by him, but love had never been part of the equation. Thorne wasn’t sure he even knew what it meant.

  They reached Thorne’s lair, near the end of the hall. The huge wooden doors were carved with battle scenes—strange creatures fighting one another in a landscape he didn’t recognize. He believed it showed his father’s birthplace in the Dragonlands—a place Thorne had never been.

  This had been his father’s lair, and after his death Thorne moved into it, caring for his father’s hoard in his honor, tending it meticulously along with his own.

  When he opened the door the gold hummed faintly, recognizing him as its caretaker.

  His own hoard, carefully separated, was piled more haphazardly to one side. It still made a large pile, arranged to fit the contours of his dragon and cradle him when he slept.

  Which wasn’t much, lately.

  He turned himself around and faced Rebel. She was looking at the hoard with the same amazed half-smile she’d worn the first couple of times he’d allowed her inside his lair.

  “I’m never going to get used to seeing enough gold to stock Fort Knox all piled up in a cave under Vista Ridge,” she said.

  The gold in Fort Knox is probably lonely. It needs a dragon to care for it properly. It probably hasn’t sung in years.

  That got a mischievous grin from Rebel. “I would kill to see the look on the faces of the security detail at Fort Knox if the gold in the vault suddenly up and started singing the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’”

  One day you can steal it, and we’ll make it sing.

  “Damn,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “That would be epic.”

  And he would do it, too, to see her eyes light up like that again.

  He crouched down and wrapped his tail around his forepaws.

  Tell me, he said.

  “Okay,” Rebel began. “Hear me out before you freak. There’s this genetic research company just outside of Tacoma. It’s called BioGen, and was supposedly formed out of a merger between—well, never mind, because it’s a lie.” She took a deep breath.

  “I’d heard rumors about it before—that it’s a reincarnation of a group called Gen-X. They were a super-secret organization doing illegal, off-the-books experiments on shifters. Studying their DNA, figuring out how their shifting abilities work, isolating other related abilities: visions, telepathic speech, immunity to magic, stuff like that.” There was another pause. “Some people even say they did experiments on unwilling shifters.”

  Thorne felt the fire in his dragon belly start to churn. One of the reasons shifters kept themselves a secret was the fear of being exploited by humans—being used as lab rats in experiments to see how they could be useful.

  There were a few government agencies that knew of their existence and who even used them in military special ops, but it was a secret known only to a few.

  This was why.

  I’ve heard of Gen-X. What could they possibly have that we would want?

  “A serum,” Rebel said. “It’s called…” she glanced at her phone. “UN-8825.”

  Catchy name. They might want to get their marketing department on that.

  “Yeah. According to my intel, it’s an experimental drug developed to help shifters who can’t shift.”

  Or to force them to shift against their will, Thorne said. He had first-hand experience of how much that sucked.

  “Or that,” Rebel said. “Look, I know it sucks. And they suck. The point is, I used my contacts to get some inside info on this stuff. According to what they found out, it does what it’s supposed to do. And if we could get our hands on it, it might be able to turn you human again.”

  Thorne’s heart thudded in his chest. A drug that might turn him human, when all magic had failed. Are you sure?

  She shook her head. “They weren’t able to get all the files on it—or at least, not without going in there and stealing them. Which I can do myself. What they were willing to do was get me the security codes and building plans—and an access code to the main computers. With that, I can break into their vault and get this stuff out.”

  He shouldn’t get his hopes up. It probably wouldn’t work. But in spite of himself, hope bubbled up inside Thorne.

  “There’s only one catch,” she said.

  Of course there was.

  “They want a crap-ton of money for the intel. There was a lot of risk involved in getting it.”

  He sighed. How much?

  “A hundred grand.”

  For plans and computer codes?

  “For plans and computer codes that can get us a magic potion to turn the dragon back into a prince. Not to mention get me in and out of there without getting arrested or killed. So yay for that.”

  his dragon said.

  Fine. I’m in. He was starting to get excited, and pushed the feelings down. Hope was dangerous. When can we do it?

  “As soon as we can wire them the money. Tonight, if we can. The longer we wait, the more chance someone detects the breach and changes the codes.”

  Won’t you need time to study the intel?

  “I can do it on the way. How long will it take you to fly us to Tacoma?”

  Two and a half hours, give or take, depending on the headwinds.

  She nodded. “I’ll give you the information for the wire transfer. Half up front, half when we get the intel. As soon as we have it, we can go.”

  They headed back to the Batcave, both of them busy with their thoughts. When they got inside, Zane said, “That was the longest pee ever on record. Hurry up, Thief Girl, and show us your losing hand. We all call.”

  “Except me. I folded,” Blaze said, mouth full of cake. “You should try this double chocolate. It’s awesome.”

  “And we had to wait, because you were rude enough not to leave your hand here,” Tyr added.

  “Because you cheat, Librarian Dragon.”

  Rebel laid her phone with the wire transfer info on Thorne’s work station and left him to empty his bank account. She went over to the table and slapped her cards down, face up.

  “Four jacks. I win, suckers!”

  Thorne smiled to himself. She was the luckiest gambler on the face of the planet.

  He just hoped some of that luck would rub off on him.

  Chapter 3

  The intel came through on schedule.

  Leaving Thorne to explain their mission to the others, Rebel went up to her room to ready her breaking-and-entering gear, which she’d made Thorne take her back to her house to get a couple of weeks ago.

  You never knew when you’d have to break in somewhere. Or break out.

  She took the fancy brass and velvet-lined elevator up to the living quarters in the mansion, and headed down the hall to Tyr’s wing.

  Because yes, the place was so huge and the dragons were so rich and so sol
itary that they each had their own wing. Bedrooms, libraries, gyms, entertainment rooms… it was insane.

  Rebel’s room was in Tyr’s wing, adjoining her sister’s. Thorne had wanted her in his wing, but she turned him down. There was no way she was leaving Tempest alone in this mausoleum.

  And Thorne’s wing would seem cold and empty with no one else in it.

  Tyr’s wing was like living in a fancy, old-fashioned hotel. Four-poster beds and heavy mahogany furniture juxtaposed with all the latest amenities, like showers with multiple jets and steam, giant flat-screen TVs, and invisible servants to bring you food and clean up after you.

  And gold. The room already had priceless gold ornaments scattered around when she moved in, but now every surface was crowded. Apparently, if you were a dragon trying to court a mate, showering her with golden trinkets was a Thing.

  And Thorne did everything by the book. At least, everything dragon-related. Gifts showed up at her door at least once a day, if not more often.

  It was enough to make even a thief claustrophobic. She ended up using half of them to stake her poker games. And then she won, giving her more gold. Some of the overflow was now on the display tables by the elevators.

  She had her gear spread out on the enormous bed, double-checking everything, when she heard soft knock on her door. The one-two-three one-two-three pattern that Tempest always used.

  “Come in,” she called.

  Her sister walked in, clutching her sketchbook to her chest. She never went anywhere without a sketchbook or a notebook, to contain her ‘stories.’

  The psychiatrists said Tempest had an acute anxiety disorder, where she fixated on bad things that might happen and obsessed over them. A therapist had seen her love of drawing and writing and taught her to write or draw all the versions of an event that she could think of, until she made one where it came out okay.

  They believed that the ‘bad things’ Tempest feared would never have happened anyway, and they were just teaching her not to be scared.

  Rebel wasn’t so sure.

  Sometimes she thought Tempest really could see the future. Maybe even change it. Because all the years they’d been living on the streets, nothing good ever happened when she ignored Tempest’s warnings.

  And nothing bad ever happened when she listened.

  Now Tempest came in and sat on her bed, her cobalt-blue dragon-print caftan billowing around her. Her frizzy brown hair was clipped back with a dragon-shaped hair clip.

  Tempest had always been fascinated by dragons. She drew them, painted them, read about them, wore them—even owned a shop where she sold everything that could possibly be made in the shape of a dragon, or have a dragon printed on it.

  Bringing her to a real live dragon lair was beyond kid in a candy store. Not only did she follow Tyr around pestering him with questions about dragons, she borrowed his books on dragon lore, and painted flattering pictures of his dragon that made him more egotistical than he already was.

  Now, though, Tempest looked troubled. “Thorne told us about your job tonight.” She glanced at Rebel’s gear. “You can’t go.”

  Rebel put her combat vest aside and took Tempest’s hand. “I have to,” she said. “He told you we can get a drug that will turn him human, right? You know how important that is.”

  Tempest nodded, but Rebel could see she was still upset. She usually didn’t worry about Rebel’s jobs, no matter how potentially dangerous. But she was clenching her fingers around her sketchbook, and she wouldn’t look Rebel in the eye.

  Oh, hell. Had she seen something about Rebel? “What is it?” she asked. She rubbed the back of Tempest’s hand. It was cold. “Tell me.”

  Slowly, Tempest opened the sketchbook and laid it on the bed.

  It wasn’t about Rebel. It was a picture of three blue dragons, all lying dead in the atrium outside the Batcave.

  No. Please, no. “Are there more?” she asked. Tempest nodded again.

  Rebel began turning the pages. Picture after picture of dead dragons. Sometimes in dragon form, sometimes in human form. Rebel stared at her. “Jesus fuck, Tempe!”

  “I can’t help it,” her sister said helplessly. “It’s what I see.”

  Rebel wanted to kill whatever fate had decreed that her sister should live with these kinds of visions—this kind of fear.

  And the belief she could change them—which meant the constant responsibility to try.

  “Do you see how it happens?” she asked.

  “Not yet.”

  Rebel studied the pictures again, one after the other. There were never any wounds—just dead dragons. “Some kind of magic, maybe?”

  Tempest nodded. “I keep thinking Corwyn is going to come back.”

  “He can’t get in here,” Rebel said. “This lair has the best wards in the world.”

  Tempest said simply, “He got in before.”

  “That evil motherfucker Silas got in,” Rebel reminded her. “Because he disguised himself as Jack Harper and we brought him in. Corwyn was just connected through the idol.”

  That still infuriated Rebel. Sure, Jack was an addict and a petty criminal and kind of an asshole, but he and Rebel had once had a relationship, and she cared about him.

  She wondered sometimes what had happened to him. Silas had used him as a human puppet and avatar, with a spell that literally ate away his body, before finally taking on Jack’s form. It didn’t seem like he could possibly still be alive, but she liked to hope he was.

  Somewhere far, far away from here.

  She squeezed Tempest’s hand. “We’re not going to make that mistake again.”

  But Tempest didn’t seem to be listening. Her fingers moved over the last drawing, lingering on Tyr. Rebel wondered what was going on there.

  Tyr was all in on the Destined Mate thing, but Tempest was playing it close to the vest. Rebel was keeping a close eye on Tyr, but as far as she could see, the most pervy and dirty-mouthed of the dragons was being a perfect gentleman.

  Or maybe Tempest was only interested in him as a science experiment.

  Her sister said, “I’m scared, Rebel. I can’t find a way to make it different.”

  Rebel looked at the picture again, and felt cold in the pit of her stomach. All the dragons. Zane with his cake obsession and adoration of Blaze. Tyr, with his love of stories and legends and dick jokes.

  And Thorne.

  She said to Tempest, “I have to do this job. We have to turn him human—finding the Seals might depend on it.”

  It also might depend on her being his mate, but she shoved that thought away.

  There was always an exit.

  “But tonight, Thorne’s coming with me. So whenever this is going to happen—if it’s going to happen—it’s not going to be tonight. Because there have to be three dragons here for it to come true.”

  Tempest tried to smile, but she only managed to make one corner of her mouth turn up. Rebel moved over and pulled her into a hug.

  “It’ll be okay,” she said, as she had hundreds of times before. Worse times than this. “We can beat anything, you and me. And after this job is done, we’ll figure this out.”

  Tempest hugged her hard. “Be careful, Reb.”

  “Always. You know I’m indestructible. And I’ll have a dragon with me.”

  But she held onto her sister a little longer. Tempest was grown up now—twenty-two—but Rebel still felt sometimes like she was a little girl. She’d been protecting her sister for so long.

  Nothing would ever hurt Tempest again.

  Not evil sorcerers. Not dragons. Not anything.

  Chapter 4

  Three hours later, Rebel was suspended from a cable ten stories above the ground, hovering just outside the tinted plate glass windows of BioGen’s office building on the outskirts of Tacoma. Ready to break in and steal the serum that would hopefully turn Thorne back into a human.

  Find the Seal. Save the world. Go back to real life.

  She counted the windows again, con
firming her position. Two floors down, check. Third window from the left, south side. Check.

  She sent a mental thought out to Thorne, who was circling overhead. I’m set. Going in.

  His reply came immediately. Be careful.

  Stop hovering, Lizard. I’m always careful.

  Technically I’m gliding, not hovering. And it’s a long way to the ground for someone with no wings.

  I got this. Now stop distracting me.

  He went silent. Rebel immediately missed the sense of his presence, which was disturbing. Like she was getting dependent on him—and getting dependent on a guy was the last thing she needed. Especially if it was a broody, difficult, magic-wielding guy.

  That would just lead to frustration and heartache. And thinking about it was a direct road to fucking up and getting caught. She had to focus.

  From her combat vest, she pulled a heavy-duty suction cup with a handle, and her glass cutter. Attaching the suction cup to the glass, she cut a wide circle around it.

  Now for the tricky part.

  She could feel the electric current of the security system that covered the windows. Rebel concentrated, pulling the electrical field over herself like a blanket, until the system was fooled into thinking she was part of the window.

  This was her own secret superpower, the reason she was such a successful thief. She could manipulate any energetic field, magical or electronic, and either escape it at will, or become part of it.

  Like now.

  She pushed the circle of glass though the hole, laying it on the credenza someone had conveniently placed under the window. Then she carefully swung herself through, feet first, avoiding the glass.

  She crouched on top of the credenza, automatically checking out her surroundings.

  The office was dark and empty. According to their intel this was an executive office, with no security cameras or audio.

  Too many illegal deals going down that they didn’t want recorded, probably.

  Not her problem. She was here for one thing, and one thing only.

  She disengaged her harness from the cable and headed for the computer on the desk. She fired it up and inserted the thumb drive with the codes Thorne’s hundred grand had bought her. Life was so much easier when you were bankrolled by someone who was literally rolling in gold.