Dragon's Rebel

by Anastasia Wilde

  Thorne just shook his head and started dialing.

  While Thorne was calling the lawyers, Rebel went a little ways down the street and managed to get Tempest on Skype.

  “Hey sis,” she said. “How are you doing?”

  Tempest didn’t look good. She was in her room lying on her bed, and she was still pale.

  “I still feel sick.”

  Rebel bit her lip. She should be there with her sister. “You still don’t see anything?” she asked.

  Tempest shook her head. “Did you find anything? At the trailer?”

  “No. The Seal wasn’t there.”

  Tempest said softly, “What was it like?”

  Rebel sighed. “Quiet,” she said. “Empty. It didn’t feel like—like it did when we lived there.” She didn’t mention the hellhounds. There was no point in upsetting Tempest any more than she already was.

  “And you didn’t find anything else?”

  Rebel frowned. “Like what?” There were probably bits and pieces of their possessions in the wreckage, but she hadn’t looked. Didn’t want to look. It would be like digging up a grave.

  Tempest looked away. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d find the angel.”

  “The what?”

  “My angel doll,” Tempest said. “The one I lost. It was important.”

  Rebel felt her heart thud in her chest. Tempest’s angel doll. That’s what she was out looking for when they came.

  “I thought you didn’t remember anything before the foster home.

  “I don’t. But I wrote a story about my angel. It was my first story, and I had it with me when they found us. In my pocket.”

  Rebel remembered her telling Johnson it was a story she had to write for school.

  “Daddy gave me the angel,” Tempest said. “He said to take good care of it, but I didn’t. I wrote the story and then it went away.”

  “It didn’t go away. It was a doll. You lost it, is all. In the woods.”

  Tempest paid no attention. “I kept the story because it was all I had. I read it so many times the paper fell apart, but it didn’t matter. By then I knew it by heart, so when I got my first book I wrote it down again.”

  Why had she never heard about this before? Was it something to do with the Seal?

  “I’m sorry, Tempe. We didn’t find it. There was nothing left.”

  “It’s okay,” Tempest said. “We’ll find it later.”

  No way. Rebel was never going back there. But all she said was, “We’ll try. I have to go now. Love you.”

  “Me too,” Tempest said. “Be safe.”

  “Always.”

  She went back to Thorne, who was just hanging up the phone, a strange expression on his face.

  “How’d it go?” she asked. “Did the vampire lawyers tell you anything?” She tried to push down the excitement and dread buzzing inside her. This might be the clue to unlocking her past—and she suddenly didn’t know if she wanted it.

  “I’m not sure,” he said slowly.

  Disappointment warred with relief inside her. As usual, she deflected to cover it. “What? Did they sound dark and cryptic and mysterious? Did they offer us an appointment in the dead of night, and warn us not to eat any garlic for dinner?”

  “No,” Thorne said, still with that odd look on his face. “They told me that your mother’s real name was Evelyn Wilder, and if you’re her eldest daughter, then your name is Rebecca Wilder. They also said that your great-grandmother left a multimillion-dollar trust fund to the oldest living female in direct descent from her, along with an estate of twenty-five acres and a mansion. Which is currently unoccupied, just waiting for the lucky heir to come along and claim it. So if I bring you to their offices as soon as possible, they’ll hand over the keys and all this can be yours.”

  “Whoa,” Zane said. “Is it just me, or does that sound like a Nigerian email scam come to life?”

  “Right?” Blaze said. “It has to be a trap. What are you going to do?”

  “Go there,” Rebel said. “But not for their appointment. Tonight. Break in, hack in—whatever we can do. If any of what they said is true, then we have to find out where this estate is. The Seal is part of my family legacy. It could be hidden there.”

  “You think?” Zane said. “It seems like a long shot.”

  “Why?” Rebel asked. “I think it makes sense. What if my mother never had the Seal? What if it hadn’t been passed down to her yet, when she died? What if my grandmother—or my great-grandmother, still had it? And died before they could find me?”

  Thorne said, “We have to check it out. We’ll stick to the plan—we’ll do the law office while you two go back to Portland and talk to Jean-Claude, and see if you can get a line on Corwyn. In light of the hellhounds, it’s even more important now that we find out what he’s up to. Bribe Jean-Claude with something really nice. A priceless statue or something.”

  “Cool,” Zane said. “Can I take it from your hoard?”

  “Fuck that,” Thorne said. “Take it from Tyr’s hoard.” Zane grinned.

  Blaze smacked him on the shoulder. “We’ll take it from the vault. No raiding people’s hoards.”

  “You never let me have any fun,” Zane grumbled.

  Blaze squeezed is ass. “Bullshit,” she said. “You never had so much fun.”

  They drove a little ways out of town so Zane could Change, and he and Blaze flew off.

  It was just Rebel and Thorne. And a very, very suspicious offer they couldn’t refuse.

  Chapter 38

  At eight p.m., Blaze and Zane arrived at Jean-Claude’s penthouse in downtown Portland. The door was opened by his very proper and very mercenary butler, Blaylock.

  “Ms. McKenna.” He bowed to Blaze, looking unhappy. Was it supposed to be his day off or something?

  “And Mr. Greystone.” That greeting was less unhappy, more frosty. Blaze bit back a smile. According to Zane, the last time he’d been here Blaylock had decided Zane was a boorish idiot. His opinion didn’t seem to have changed.

  “Hi, Blaylock,” Zane said cheerfully. “How’s it hangin’?” Blaylock’s mouth looked like he’d sucked a lemon. This time Blaze couldn’t totally suppress the giggle.

  “This way, please,” the butler said, frostier than ever. He ushered them down several shallow steps into the sunken living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the city, with a view of Mount Hood in the distance.

  Blaze shook her head. She used to love having a view of Mount Hood. Not any more. She had no desire to look at that mountain every day, knowing what was under it.

  Blaylock offered them seats on a modern, not-very-comfortable sofa, then went to the sideboard and began pouring drinks. “Mr. D’Amboise will be with you momentarily.”

  Of course. Jean-Claude D’Amboise would never be waiting for them. People waited for him.

  Not for long, though. Jean-Claude swept into the room, very French and urbane. He kissed Blaze on both cheeks, and shook Zane’s hand as Zane rose to greet him.

  Blaylock brought Blaze and Zane glasses of expensive red wine. Jean-Claude already had a highball glass in his hand.

  He seated himself across from them. “Mes amies, what a delightful treat. What is it that brings you to visit me, so soon after the last time we met?”

  Blaze started in. She was the one with the relationship with Jean-Claude, so they’d decided she would do most of the talking.

  “I wish this was just a social call,” Blaze said insincerely. She’d never wished to meet Jean-Claude socially; it always felt like playing with a rattlesnake.

  But it was worse now. His energy made the hairs on her arms stand up, and just like at his party a few weeks ago, she could swear she saw a black hole in his chest where his heart should be.

  She pushed on. “We came out of friendship and professional courtesy, to warn you that an ancient power has recently surfaced. A necromancer named Corwyn, who’s known to have stolen bodies of the innocent and used them to house
his foul spirit. He’s attacked both my stronghold, and that of the Greystones. We have reason to believe he’s trying to set up Portland as his base of power, and that, of course, concerns you.”

  Blaze pulled the gift they’d chosen for Jean-Claude out of her bag and took it out of its velvet wrappings.

  “If you do hear anything of his whereabouts, we’d appreciate it if you’d let us know. To that end, we’d hope you’ll accept this gift, as a token of our appreciation for any time and effort you may have to expend on our behalf.”

  She rose and handed the gift to Jean-Claude. It was a superbly wrought statuette of Draken origin, made of pure gold, showing a jungle cat peering out from a tangle of vines.

  It was exquisite—and priceless.

  He turned it over in his hands, his expression inscrutable. “Magnificent,” he said softly. Blaze frowned. There was something… off… in his tone.

  He put the statuette on the coffee table and looked at Zane. “You must have many wonderful pieces if you can give away something as precious as this for a small favor. Perhaps I will be able to see them one day.”

  “Perhaps,” Zane said noncommittally.

  Jean-Claude turned to Blaze. “So this necromancer you claim is such a threat. He must be quite powerful, to concern you so.”

  “He is,” Blaze said.

  Jean-Claude sat back. “Powerful enough to threaten dragons. That is powerful indeed.”

  Zane’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Jean-Claude waved his hand negligently. “Yes, I know you and your brothers are Draken shifters. I’ve always suspected as much, though I stayed silent out of respect. However, recent events have confirmed my suspicions.”

  Zane narrowed his eyes. “And now there’s no longer a need to stay silent?”

  Jean-Claude smiled. “No, mon ami. Now there is no longer a need for respect.”

  Zane, who’d been about to take a sip of his wine, looked at his drink and then slowly put it down again.

  “Oh, there’s nothing in the wine,” Jean-Claude said. “I wouldn’t taint good wine like that.”

  But there was a trap somewhere. Blaze rose to her feet, Zane half a second behind her. “What the hell are you up to, D’Amboise?” he demanded.

  Jean-Claude leaned forward, all pretense of friendliness gone. “You think you can just waltz in here, offer me a cast-off trinket from your hoard, and expect me to do whatever you want and come begging for more? I have powerful allies now. I don’t need to tiptoe around you and your arrogant brother. Why should I, when I can have everything you have, and more?”

  Magical wards sprang up around them, great sheets of light like a cage. Behind Jean-Claude, Corwyn walked into the room.

  Blaze couldn’t help a shudder of revulsion. He still had the body of her former friend, enemy and surrogate brother, Silas Turner. Most of that body was mercifully concealed under a long black robe, though the sickening stench of decay emanated from him. But the face that had been so grotesquely misshapen was now rotting away, strips of skin peeling from the skull.

  Only the eyes seemed alive, glowing red.

  Blaze touched the wards. She couldn’t penetrate them, and they stung her fingers. Zane threw himself against them, and they burned through his clothes to his skin.

  They had miscalculated so very, very badly.

  “What do you want?” Zane snarled, panting and holding his burned arm.

  It was Corwyn who answered, his voice low and gravelly. “You know what I want. I need the last two Seals to Vyrkos’ tomb, before the Keepers release their power. And I need your lair.” He cocked his head, as if thinking. “And oh, yes. Once I have the Seals, I need the Keepers dead.”

  Only everything they had. No damned way.

  Zane said, “And what did this half-dead loser promise you, D’Amboise? Wealth? Magic?”

  “Power,” Jean-Claude said. “After all, that’s what all the other things are for, non? Otherwise, why bother?”

  His face grew avid, and Blaze could see the lines of dissipation, the black hole where his heart and humanity were being eaten away.

  “But unknowingly, you have offered us both so much more,” he said. “Like many, I’ve been searching for years for the heir to the Coven of the Waves. But even I didn’t know she was the key to power beyond imagining. More power than I’d ever dreamed of.” He looked at Corwyn. “Immortality.”

  Seriously? He was looking at a walking corpse as something to aspire to?

  “You’ve got it wrong,” Zane said. “Blaze isn’t from the Coven of the Waves.”

  “Not her,” Jean-Claude said. “Your dirty little thief from St. Johns.”

  Rebel? Rebel was the sought-after heir to a coven? Then the lawyers’ story must be true. And it was probably also a trap.

  Corwyn stepped forward, his ravaged face alight with excitement. “You are going to tell us how to find her. And then, you’ll give us the keys to the new wards on our lair.”

  “Over my dead body,” Zane snarled.

  Corwyn laughed—a chilling, nerve-grating laugh. “Oh, no, my little blue friend. I plan to keep you alive for some time. These wards will keep any Draken trapped—unless you’re a Draken Lord in disguise? No. So I have plenty of time to persuade you. I think you will find pain to be extremely… motivating. Especially when I’m causing it to your mate.”

  He turned to Blaze. “And you are trapped too—by your bond to him. As long as he’s in there, so are you.”

  Blaze met Zane’s eyes, silent communication flowing between them. Draken, she realized. He’d said Draken. He knew all about Draken.

  But some dragons were wild. And despite what had happened in their lair a few weeks ago, Corwyn still didn’t seem to understand what that meant.

  Especially for Zane.

  Zane gave her a nod, and Blaze shouted a word of power.

  Vines shot out of the statuette on the coffee table, encircling Jean-Claude and Corwyn until they were nearly lost in tangle of green leaves and thick brown stems. The vines grew and proliferated—and then they started squeezing.

  Blaze smiled grimly. Jean-Claude wasn’t the only one who’d set up a trap for this meeting.

  She felt the magical bonds around them begin to weaken as Corwyn’s power and concentration was diverted to fight the vines. She started battering at the cage with her own magic.

  But they still wouldn’t give. And Zane’s dragon magic was having no effect.

  Corwyn was burning the vines with magical fire, clawing his way out. Blaze threw a stasis spell at him, buying them a little time.

  It wasn’t going to be enough.

  Jean-Claude was withering the vines around him with an acid spell. The stench of burned, rotting leaves filled the air.

  Blaze doubled down on the wards, pouring everything she had into weakening them. A little more…

  There. “Now!” she shouted.

  A huge grizzly bear burst out of Zane’s skin, shredding the wards. He roared.

  Blaze felt the bonds around her melting away. They were keyed to Draken—pure Draken—not bears.

  Corwyn knew about Draken, but he didn’t know shit about Wild Dragons.

  Blaze and Zane ran for the terrace doors. They didn’t wait to open them—Zane’s bear just crashed right through the glass, and she followed in his wake. At the edge of the terrace he wrapped her in his huge furry forelegs, and jumped.

  He Changed to dragon on the way down, cloaking himself and snapping his wings out to slow their descent.

  Blaze, still cradled in his arms, tried to quiet her breathing. “Beary nice work there, partner.”

  “Back atcha,” Zane said.

  They were safe for the moment. But the danger was just beginning.

  Chapter 39

  Rebel and Thorne were driving along a two-lane highway in southern Oregon when Thorne’s phone rang. He answered it with his Bluetooth.

  “What’s going on?”

  It was Zane. “Let’s see,” he said. “Jean-Claude is worki
ng with Corwyn. They tried to capture Blaze and me to torture information out of us. And they especially want to capture Rebel. Because of the Seal, and something about her being the heir to the Coven of the Waves.” He paused. “Other than that, not much.”

  Thorne swore loudly in what sounded like Draken. “Fuck it all. Are you okay?”

  “Yep. A couple of scratches from smashing through his terrace doors on the way out, is all. So what the hell is this Coven of the Waves?”

  Thorne looked expectantly at Rebel.

  “Why are you asking the person raised in hiding while people tried to wipe her memories? As far as I know, I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Well, let’s hope the email scammers at Farnham & Peabody know. And you better wake them up, because Corwyn said he wants the Seal, and he needs to get to you before you activate it. So the sooner you grab it and get back here, the better.”

  “Okay,” Thorne said. “We’ll get the info from the law firm tonight, one way or the other. If this estate is real, we’ll go there and look for the Seal. Hopefully, we can find it before Jean-Claude and Corwyn have a chance to catch up to us.”

  Rebel broke in. “How’s Tempest?” she asked. “Is she okay now?”

  In response, Tyr got on the phone. “No,” he said. “I don’t know what the hell to do. She says she’s still sick, but she’s been scribbling in her notebook ever since you talked to her this afternoon. And she keeps locking me out of the room.”

  “How can she lock you out more than once?”

  “I might have picked the lock a couple of times.”

  “Bad move.”

  “No shit.”

  Rebel bit her lip. Tempest was seeing something, and it seemed like it was coming soon. “You have to see what she’s writing,” Rebel said. “It’s important.”

  “Oh, sure. Why didn’t I think of that?” Tyr’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “She just yells at me to go away, and says it doesn’t work when I’m there.”

  Comprehension hit Rebel like a thunderclap. That was why Tempest had been keeping Tyr at arm’s length. Whatever allowed her to see the future, his presence somehow interfered.