The Stone Warriors: Dragan

by D. B. Reynolds

  Nick froze. “When was this?”

  “A few nights ago, I think. Christian just mentioned it to Raphael last night. Why? You know something about it?”

  “I might. Does Gabriel know about it?”

  “Gabriel? No, I haven’t seen him. Why?”

  “I need him here,” he said absently, his thoughts racing ahead of his words. “Tell Raphael to expect Gabriel’s request to travel here. Tell him to think of it as payback for stealing my warrior.”

  “He didn’t steal—”

  “I know. Sorry.”

  “Hell, now I know something’s up. You never apologize when it comes to Raphael. So does it have to with bat boy?”

  “Don’t call him that,” he snapped. “He’s Dragan.”

  “He’s a dragon? I didn’t think they were real.”

  “Not a dragon. His name is Dragan, and he’s one of mine.”

  “One of. . . . Christ, Nick, are you telling me he’s one of your warriors?”

  “Yeah. That’s four, Cyn. If it really is Dragan . . . they’re all free. But I have to find him before Sotiris does. That’s why I need Gabriel.”

  “Raphael won’t object. He understands loyalty.”

  “Thanks. I’ve got to go, babe.” He hung up while Cyn was still talking, but he had calls to make, and he didn’t know what else he’d say to her anyway. Dragan was free. He dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward, his arms propped on his thighs, head in his hands. He felt . . . lightheaded, as if the world had just tilted somehow, and then put back where it belonged after all this time. This, the fact that his last warrior had been freed from Sotiris’s curse, had shaken him to his core. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, blew it out slowly, then picked up his cell phone and called Damian.

  “Yo, Nico,” Damian answered.

  Nick blinked. “Yo?”

  “Casey’s influence. What’s up?”

  “Dragan’s on his way.”

  “Shit. Why didn’t you start with that? How far? Where from?”

  “I don’t know, but close. Fuck! I should have known. I’ve been thinking about him for days, and couldn’t figure out why. Damn it. Listen, call Kato, get him out here. You and Casey—”

  “Got back into town last night. We’ll be there as soon as you hang up. Gabriel?”

  “I’m calling him next. I just got off the phone with Cyn. She’s giving Raphael the heads-up.”

  “Will the bloodsucker let him go?”

  “According to her, Raphael understands loyalty, so yeah.”

  “See you soon.”

  Nick didn’t respond, just disconnected and called Gabriel.

  “Nico,” Gabriel answered. “Cyn just told me.”

  “Of course, she did. I told her I would.”

  “Hana and I are practically out the door. We’re leaving tonight, taking one of Raphael’s jets.”

  Nick chided himself for forgetting about Gabriel’s need to travel at night, then cut himself some slack. This was hardly a typical night. “Good of Raphael,” he said tonelessly, because it was, and because he didn’t want Gabriel getting stuck between the two of them.

  “I doubt we’ll make it to Florida before morning, but we’ll come to the house first thing after sunset. Do you know where Dragan is?”

  Nick could tell Gabriel was moving while he asked the question, so he kept the answer simple. “Not yet, but I will. I have to find him before that fucker does.”

  “Damn right. See you tomorrow night.”

  Manhattan, New York, NY

  SOTIRIS COMPLETED the final diagnostic and deactivated his device. He was a fucking genius. He couldn’t fully test it without blowing up himself and half of Manhattan, which would be a waste. And his talent was far too important to waste.

  But he’d tested every aspect of it. The damn thing was going to perform well beyond what he’d hoped for. And in keeping with the times, it was even energy-efficient. He laughed out loud, as he exited his lab, testing the door behind him to be sure it was locked. He lived alone, but there was a housekeeper/cook who came in on a daily basis when he was in town. She was a good woman who’d been with him for several years and never asked questions. And according to the very discreet security cameras throughout the penthouse, she’d never gone where she wasn’t wanted.

  Unlike that stupid girl who’d fucked up his plans by somehow finding the right words to free Dragan from his curse, and then stolen his property on top of it.

  Fuck. He drew a calming breath and swept away his anger at Dragan’s loss, reminding himself that he now had a completed device that was fully powered and tested. He didn’t need the ancient warrior, after all. But he did need the hexagon, he reminded himself relentlessly.

  He’d walked into the main room of his penthouse by then, with its spectacular view, trying to calm his anger so he could think. When his phone rang, he nearly threw it across the room instead of answering, but upon checking the caller ID, he answered immediately.

  “What is it?”

  “Mr. Sotiris?” It was his investigator.

  “Of course, you called me. What do you know?”

  “Yes sir.” The man paused for a long time, before finally saying. “We found them and made contact.”

  “Made contact? What the fuck does that mean? Are they dead?”

  “Uh, no, sir. They killed my man, and got away.”

  “Why are you calling me then? Did you get my message about the stolen object?”

  The investigator’s silence was heavier somehow, no longer hesitant, but some other emotion. Sotiris rolled his eyes. He had no time for such theatrics. Yes, yes, a man had died, but there were risks to the job, which was why he paid them so damn much money.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “Florida,” the man said tightly. “They’re in Orlando, or at least they were. Any idea where they’d go next?”

  “No,” he lied slowly. “That’s why I’ve hired you.”

  “You still want them dead?”

  “Yes. And I want the damn box with the rock-like object intact. Call me when you have it.” He disconnected, and then he did throw the phone across the room. Florida. How the hell had they known where to find Katsaros? And why the hell hadn’t his man managed to stop them before they got there? He considered not bothering with a full public test of the device to avoid using up energy he’d only have to resupply. But the stakes of doing that were too high. He’d promised a spectacular demonstration, and his buyers wanted to see for themselves if it was as deadly as promised.

  If only he’d destroyed that fucking hexagon when he’d had the chance. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again. And the girl had to die. She never should have stolen from him.

  MAEVE AND DRAGAN ended up taking a shower together, but there was no room in the tiny cubicle to do anything other than take turns under the hot water while they washed off the blood and dirt from the attack in the garage. Maeve’s skinned palms stung like hell, but she wasn’t going to be wussy enough to whine about it. Dragan, on the other hand, seemed to have been blessed by the goddess with miraculous healing powers as well as wings, because he didn’t have a scratch on him. Not even a bruise marred the dark gold of his skin. She would have bitched about that, but then she rather liked it when he ran those beautiful hands over her pale, sunless skin. Okay, so call her shallow. She still liked it.

  There’d been plenty of teasing strokes and touches when they’d stripped off before the shower, but once they were clean and dried off, neither one of them seemed to have the energy to do anything but fall into bed and sleep.

  For a few hours anyway.

  Sometime during the night—she didn’t know exactly the hour—Dragan turned her in his arms and made love to her. It wasn’t fucking, not like before when they�
�d been so eager to touch each other that the sex had been hard and fast, over and over again. And nothing like the lust-filled celebration of survival that she’d expected after the angry violence of battle. No, this was something else. Something that brought tears to Maeve’s eyes. Because it was gentle and tender and . . . grateful.

  He was saying good-bye. Because once they made it to Katsaros’s place, once Dragan had been reclaimed into the fold, there’d be no place for her in his life.

  When they finished, when her orgasm rolled in a slow powerful wave over her body, just as the heat of Dragan’s climax filled her womb, she turned her face into his shoulder to hide the tears burning behind her closed eyelids.

  “Mae,” he whispered, smoothing his hand down her back as he hugged her close. “It’s all right. We’re here. We made it.”

  She nodded against his skin, letting him think what he wanted. And she didn’t let the tears flow until he was sound asleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  IT WAS AFTERNOON when they finally made it out of the motel. Dragan stuffed the clothes—his and hers—which had been irretrievably stained or destroyed during the gun battle, into a bag, and walking down the parking lot to the big green dumpster, tossed it inside. After loading the back of the SUV one more time, he took her hand and led her to the restaurant for what she said would be a quick bite.

  And quick it was, too. Because they barely spoke. Maeve seemed distracted, as if she was worrying at some thought or other. He didn’t push her to tell him whatever it was, because he had his own worries about what would come next.

  Nico. He’d tried for their entire trip here not to get his hopes up. After all this time and worlds apart, the odds of them finding each other so quickly had to be astronomical. Add magic into the mix and it seemed even less likely, especially when Sotiris was the source of all this misery. That bastard would have done his best to ensure that none of them ended up in the same time and place. His thoughts circled round and round, worrying as the two of them ate a silent meal, then walked back to the SUV.

  Maeve glanced at him once, but when he didn’t object, she took the driver’s seat. They’d be back on city streets before long, with the nav system telling them where to turn in a pleasant woman’s voice. Dragan’s thoughts were too chaotic to focus on following directions, which would only turn Maeve’s distraction into irritation. It was better all-around to let her take the wheel. After all, they didn’t want to knock on a stranger’s door with both of them in a bad mood.

  “This is it,” she said, jerking him out of his dismal thoughts. He scanned the surroundings, moving only his eyes, as he had when scouting the enemy after hearing unexpected voices.

  “It’s dark,” he said in surprise.

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Uh, yeah? There’s still some light over the horizon, but the sun pretty much set, I don’t know, twenty minutes ago?”

  He nodded, eyeing the neighborhood. They were on a narrow street, with limited traffic lanes in both directions, although theirs seemed to be the only vehicle in sight. Widely spaced houses—big houses—lined both sides of the street, with dark green foliage providing shade, as well as concealment for whoever lived there. As they drove, he caught glimpses of water between the properties, with a number of boats tied up at docks. Some of those boats weren’t all that different from the ones used by invaders to challenge his goddess’s rule, with tall masts and sturdy sails. Others were low-slung, elegant things that looked more like something to be admired, rather than sailed across the sea. But then, he reminded himself, the sea here—or the ocean, as Mae would have corrected him—was an enormous expanse of water called the Atlantic. She’d shown him pictures of the ships that traveled that ocean—giant vessels as big as his father’s castle.

  He glanced over when she began whispering numbers under her breath, her gaze riveted to the houses on their right. So, whoever this Nick Katsaros was, his home was on the water. They’d reached the rounded end of the street before she pulled to the side and pointed at the house sitting right in the middle of that curve, taking up twice as much space as its neighbors. The house wasn’t as ornate as some they’d passed, but it was still grand, with two stories of white stone, shuttered windows and a wide portico sheltering a pair of glass inlaid doors. The same dark green plants surrounded the house, with the ones edging the doorway sporting brightly colored flowers.

  He grimaced, seeing those flowers. They didn’t seem like the sort of thing Nico would have cultivated. But then, maybe he had a woman who did it for him.

  “That’s the house,” Maeve said, confirming his assumption. “There’s a lot of cars,” she added thoughtfully, and Dragan noticed for the first time, that there were, in fact, four separate vehicles parked behind the open wrought-iron gates. As they watched, a fifth vehicle—a black SUV much bigger than theirs—passed them and drove through those gates to park next to the others.

  A woman opened the passenger door and hopped to the ground. “She’s wearing a shoulder holster,” Mae observed. “That’s interesting.”

  But Dragan barely heard her over the noise in his head as the driver opened his door and stepped out. He was a huge man, as big as Dragan himself, with a deep chest and broad shoulders. The man laughed and called something over the top of the vehicle to the woman, giving Dragan his first good look at the man’s face. . . . The noise in his head exploded, leaving his thoughts clear and focused as he shoved open the door and strode down the street, his long legs eating up the distance as the man turned to stare at the stranger coming their way with such startling intent. And then he shouted incoherently and began running.

  MAEVE HAD HER door open, and was fumbling to turn off the engine, as she shouted Dragan’s name. He hadn’t seemed to hear her when he charged down the street, his boots pounding with every step as he stormed toward the house that she thought belonged to Nicodemus Katsaros. But it might not, and Dragan’s determined march upon seeing the new couple arrive didn’t do anything to reassure her. For all she knew, they were some ancient enemy in cahoots with Sotiris. Or maybe they were innocent strangers who just happened to resemble that past enemy. All she knew was that she had to catch up with him before the shit hit the fan, because the woman with the shoulder holster had now pulled her weapon and was aiming it at Dragan, her head moving as she kept looking from her companion to Dragan and back again, as if waiting for instructions.

  Maeve grabbed her own weapon from the console where she’d stowed it, because carrying it on her hip was too uncomfortable and she hadn’t expected any violence at this point. Maybe a wrong house, a quick apology to a stranger answering the door. But this? What was this?

  She raced after Dragan, still calling his name, but he was too fast for her, and now the other man was striding forward with just as much determination, shouting in a language she didn’t understand. The two were only feet apart. Her heart pounded. She was too late. But then . . . the two men embraced with a thunderous clap of massive chests and pounding fists, and she realized . . . they were happy. Dragan’s grin was bigger than any she’d seen from him, the joy on his face so huge that her heart ached just looking at it. Was this big man Nico? And who was the woman?

  She slowed her approach, coming within a few feet of Dragan, who seemed utterly unaware of her. She glanced at the other woman, and saw she was putting her gun away. She was beautiful, Maeve noted in passing. Japanese, with gorgeous eyes and long, straight black hair that Maeve would have killed for when she was younger. But she wasn’t about to kill over it now, and since the guys seemed happy enough with each other, she put her gun away, too, clipping the paddle holster, with the gun still inside, to the belt on her jeans. The woman stared at her for a minute or two, then shrugged and turned her attention back to the two men who were going on rapidly and, as far as she could tell, happily in the same unknown language they’d been shouting earlier.

  The beautiful wom
an inched closer to Maeve, clearly wanting to communicate, but not yet certain of her reception.

  “Hey,” Maeve said, figuring she was the uninvited stranger and therefore required to begin the conversation. “I’m Maeve, and that’s Dragan. But I guess you know that.”

  “Hana,” the woman replied. “And, no, I don’t know Dragan, but Gabriel obviously does. That’s Gabriel,” she added belatedly. “We should probably go inside. Judging by the cars, the others are already here, and it’d be better if this reunion was out of sight.” She walked over to Gabriel, put a hand on his back, and said his name.

  He spun at the touch and put an arm around her, pulling her to his side. “This is Hana,” he said just as happily. “Elskling,” he said, with such a strong accent that Maeve knew it was a foreign word, “this is Dragan. He’s the reason we’re here tonight. We were supposed to find him, but instead, he’s come to us!”

  Maeve couldn’t help smiling at the joy in those words, and she knew this had to be one of Dragan’s brothers, the warriors who’d fought side-by-side with him. Hana had said the others were inside, which she figured meant that Nico was, too. She’d been right about that much at least. She’d succeeded in helping Dragan find his people, which made it worth all the stress, the vampires attacking her, the guy trying to kill them . . . all of it was worthwhile to see the elation on his face.

  Even the pain as her heart broke into tiny pieces.

  DRAGAN REACHED back to pull Maeve to his side and slide his arm around her shoulders. “Mae, this is my brother Gabriel. You did it, sweet. You found them!” He hugged her tightly, his heart so full of love and joy that he thought he might explode. “The others?” he asked, meeting Gabriel’s gold-touched gaze, almost afraid to ask the question.

  But Gabriel grabbed his shoulder in a comforting grip. “All free, brother. You’re the last one. Nico called us here tonight, because he was certain you’d been freed, too, but didn’t know where. We were setting out to look for you.”