by Denise Lynn
Nathan nodded toward the woman, giving his permission for her to withdraw, before turning his attention on the baron. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” If the uninvited guest in his castle couldn’t read the annoyance beneath his words, the man was denser than what he’d first thought.
“Why is that...thing...still alive?”
It was all Nathan could do not to laugh at the man’s obvious distaste. “It is good to see you, too, Baron Hoffel.” He shrugged at the baron’s lack of response and then moved away from the window. “Had you fulfilled your end of our deal, Derek, all of this would be over, and the child would no longer be here.”
“And you know I tried.”
A little too hard as far as Nathan was concerned. The idea had not been for Hoffel to kill the child or the mother. That pleasure belonged solely to him. No, the dimwit was supposed to have freed the woman from her cell and brought her here.
“I don’t know what else you wanted me to do.”
Hoffel’s whine threatened to crack the tenuous hold Nathan had forced on his temper. As much as he wanted to relieve the man’s head from his body, he might come in handy for a time.
“How was I supposed to know she could poison her own blood?”
Another point of disagreement. Nathan didn’t think for one minute that St. George’s daughter possessed that type of magic. It was more likely that the unborn dragonette had instinctively protected his own life by turning his mother’s blood vile in response to the vampire’s attack.
“Besides, what difference does it make? You still have the child.”
Yes, but he’d wanted the mother and the child—before the birth.
It had all seemed so simple. Yet every action in his quest to gain supreme power had gone so wrong of late.
The gypsy mage’s forced assistance with the curse had worked—the youngest Drake had fully transformed into a dragon, the birth of his offspring was proof of that. However, the beast had failed to follow his master’s orders. Nathan had repeatedly ordered him to kill his family, but somehow the Drake had found the strength of will to fight those commands.
When the beast had run away from Dragon’s Lair, Nathan had been tempted to kill him for his disobedience. But he’d stopped himself, knowing that the young one’s death would serve no purpose. He’d guessed that eventually Drake would return to his family, and he had.
Unfortunately, he’d returned with stronger control over his urges. Nathan knew he’d have to excise more power over the beast to get him to do as ordered, but the strengthening ritual required him to have the beast chained to his altar. The chaining would be the easy part. Getting the man to his castle would be tricky.
He was still trying to devise a plan when he’d learned from his spy on the vampires’ sacred High Council that Baron St. George was looking for a family to adopt his daughter’s bastard half-breed child. Nathan knew he’d found a way to draw the Drake he’d cursed to his castle.
His plan had been to simply kidnap St. George’s daughter and bring her here as bait. However, the High Council in all their wisdom—or lack thereof as far as he was concerned—had ordered the baron to lock his daughter away in a cell. He still wondered at that decision. Were they hoping to starve her to death for her betrayal in mating with a dragon?
Nathan gritted his teeth. Violence was one thing and it was oft times required, and while he had no qualms about torture, starvation was the action of someone weak and depraved.
When he achieved supreme power as the Hierophant, the first thing he would do was dissolve the vampires’ council. The idea that a sitting group of old vampires should act as an all-powerful judge and jury over their kind was outdated and would be useless under his reign.
That was when he’d decided to use Hoffel. He glanced in the man’s direction and bit back a curse at the ineffectiveness of that idea. Nathan had thought that since the Hoffels and St. Georges were working on a betrothal between their two heirs, it would be easy enough for the man to whisk the woman out of her spell-proof cell.
Obviously, while both sets of parents agreed the betrothal was a good thing, the participants didn’t. It seemed to Nathan that they hated each other more than anything else.
When that plan fell through, Nathan took matters into his own hands and waited until the baby was born. He didn’t need the woman, not when the child would be enough to draw the beast to its aid. No dragon, pure born or curse created, would be able to ignore the need to protect its offspring.
It had taken him a while to come up with a solid plan. He’d had to discover the guards’ timetable and then wait for the baron and his wife to be gone from the residence. Finally, once he’d learned the council had called a meeting of the families, Nathan had slipped into the vampire’s mansion.
His research had paid off. True to form, the guard waited until the baby and its mother fell asleep for an afternoon nap and then left his post to spend a good twenty minutes in the restroom. Everything had fallen into place exactly as planned. Knocking the fool out and swiping the key to the cell was child’s play.
Quietly, Nathan had unlocked the cell and took great pains to give the appearance of Drake’s misty dragon when he’d entered. The woman was easy to deal with since he’d caught her off guard, and when she thought to protect her son, he’d slammed her across the room, scooped up the child and issued his demands before he’d left.
Since the baby was in his possession, the only thing he needed to do for now was wait. He knew Drake wouldn’t permit St. George to bring the grimoire, pendants and puzzle box. The items were too important to entrust to a nonfamily member. No, he would bring them in person.
Which was the whole idea. Once Drake was here, in Nathan’s fortress, he would be powerless to stop what would happen.
And when Nathan finished strengthening his curse over the dragon, he would add one, compelling the beast to kill himself after his family was dead. The only thing Nathan would need to do was sit back and watch as the youngest Drake killed the others. He shivered with excitement at the thought of such a spectacle.
After that nothing would stand in his way of attaining the power he sought.
“What—”
Not willing to listen to the man’s whine any longer, Nathan waved a hand toward Hoffel, cutting off the vampire’s words and sending him into the cells in St. George’s dungeon. He might have some use for him later, but for now, Nathan had more important matters to attend. For now that the Drake was near, ensconced at Mirabilus, he had an altar to prepare.
* * *
Something cold like an ice-chilled finger stroked along Aelthed’s neck, startling him from his dreams. He shook off the lingering traces of his slumber and frowned. What had awakened him?
The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose. His breath quickened with the feeling of being watched. Why did it seem that he was no longer alone in his solitary cell?
He inspected his cube, with his eyes and his mind, to ensure that he was indeed still the only soul in residence. Certain that his odd sensation of not being alone was nothing more than his imagination, he closed his eyes and brought the grimoire into view.
A strangled gasp tore from his throat. No. It wasn’t possible. He and he alone had the power to bring pictures to life in the ancient tome. It mattered not if he was awake or sleeping, a part of his mind was always focused on the grimoire.
Creating the pictures was easy; he had only to get the book into the hands of a dragon and his mate, then he would harvest their thoughts, their fears, their memories, along with his own, to draw scenes that would help them understand what they needed to do, or what they must discover.
But this—he shook his head and once again stared at the picture of a gypsy mage in the throes of her final breath—he hadn’t drawn this. How could he? It wasn’t a memory from either the youngest dragon or his reluctant mate. And it certainly wasn’t any memory of his own making.
So who possessed this type of power?
He raised his ar
ms, spread his fingers and pulled the memory to him, drawing it in, making it a part of himself.
Aelthed trembled at the woman’s pain. He wept for the loss she suffered, the days she would never know, the years she would never see. Yet he steeled himself against the pain, hardened his heart to the near unbearable loss and breathed deeply, drawing in more and more of the memory until it was as clear as it had been on the day the event took place.
He opened his eyes and watched the scene unfold before him.
His nephew’s rage washed over him, cold and heartless, as he lashed the woman, tormented and threatened her until she spoke the words of the Romani curse that turned the youngest Drake into a changeling.
Even as mortal death closed upon her, she tried to give the changeling a way to save himself. Into the universe she’d whispered his salvation.
Aelthed waved the memory back to the mist from which it’d formed, and he wondered if it had been the gypsy’s soul, or the whispered words, that had had the power to add these scenes to the grimoire. Either way, her magic was strong. She’d spoken the words and created a changeling. Perhaps her final words could save the cursed beast.
* * *
Unable to stand the heavy silence that had fallen over Sean’s office, Caitlin asked, “What does that mean, St. George will set you free?”
He dropped down onto his chair. “I know as much as you do. Nothing more.”
She hated to ask, she really did; he looked terrible. Ashen would be a good description for the current color of his face. His eyes held a sadness in their depths that turned her cold with worry. But her son’s life was at stake, and she needed to know if she’d made a huge mistake in coming to him. Sitting on the edge of his desk facing him, she took a deep breath then in a rush asked, “Do you work for Nathan?”
The harsh stare he focused on her made her slide along the edge of the desk, out of his reach. “What you’re really asking is if I’m involved in this kidnapping. So instead of dancing around the subject, just ask.”
“Are you?” Why did that two-word question make her feel as if she was betraying him? She didn’t know him, not really. Outside of a three-night fling, a lingering thirst for each other and their son, they shared nothing.
“You saw the same thing I did.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No. I had nothing to do with the kidnapping. Hell, since you didn’t see fit to tell me about him, I didn’t even know the child existed.”
She flinched at his accusation, but said nothing.
“As for working with the Learned, what do you want me to say?” He leaned forward and spread his arms, palms up. “I don’t know.” He pushed out of the chair, shoving it back so hard that it bounced against the wall. Heading for the door, he added, “If I am, it’s not by choice.”
She blinked. Seriously? He’d disappeared on her after learning who she was. He’d walked out of the bedroom after the scene with her mother and his brother. Then he’d walked out of the kitchen when she’d changed her mind. So now he was walking away again? Was this his usual method of coping? “You’re just going to walk away again? Is that how you deal with everything?”
He froze in the doorway without turning around. She saw the bunching of muscles in his shoulders and arms and wondered if she’d made a mistake. Now seemed a prudent time to put his oversize desk to use, so she stood up and moved to the other side of it. As an inanimate object, it offered no protection, but at least it made her feel as if there was a solid barrier between them.
“Yes.” Slowly, he turned to face her. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” He clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. “Otherwise, I might do something we’ll both regret.”
Caitlin shot a quick glance toward the wall safe. “As we both know, I am more than capable of protecting myself from you.”
Before she could blink more than once, he was before her. He’d cleared the distance from the door, and around the desk she’d considered a barrier, in a blur of effortless ease. Wrapping his fingers around her arm, he dipped his head to nearly growl against her ear, “If you’re so intent on using that damn sword, do it.”
His voice was rough, gravelly, and so filled with unexpected anguish that it caught her off guard more than the speed with which he’d moved. Confusion and concern kept any anger or fear at bay.
Caitlin stared up at him and gasped. This was far more than just worry or rage. Without stepping into his mind, she had only her senses to go by and heightening them was easy enough to do. The coldness of his glare, the hard line of his mouth, tenseness of his body and the rapid beating of his heart screamed fear in her mind.
Fear of what? Or who?
She lifted her hand and placed it against his cheek. “Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”
Instead of jerking away from her touch as she’d expected, he pulled her roughly against his chest. “Talking is the last thing I want to do.”
She hadn’t intended to send out any seduction pheromones, but apparently controlling the level was completely out of her ability when it came to him. There was no denying that, yes, she wanted him as much as he seemed to want her right this second. But not like this, not when anger and unexplained fear permeated the air around them.
Caitlin knew that fighting him would only serve to intensify the dark emotions battling for release, so against all common sense, she relaxed in his hold to hesitantly ask, “Sean, does anything seem out of place or wrong to you?”
He wrapped a hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her head back. One eyebrow winged up as he answered, “Yes, you’re still talking.”
Caitlin forced herself not to hiss in frustration at his response. She slipped her hands between them and pushed as hard as possible against his chest. “Stop.”
A human would have been sent stumbling backward. But not only did her shove fail to set her free, it earned her a low, guttural growl, too. She looked up at him, and from the elongating pupils knew the sound had come more from the beast than the man it possessed.
Regardless of what she wanted, it was obvious she wasn’t going to get the chance to talk reason to the man—not with the beast in control.
After taking a deep breath, Caitlin reached up to stroke the side of his neck. She held his gaze, marveling at the sudden need flowing into her. How had he so easily flamed her desire for him against all of her better judgment?
A throaty rumble answered her unspoken question. The sound took her breath away with its deep intensity. The arm he held around her tightened, pulling her feet from the floor, and swung her onto the desk. He released her long enough to jerk the T-shirt over her head before pushing her down on the cold polished wood.
She gasped as his surging need enveloped her, setting her on fire. She wondered again what caused this unnatural heightened level of desire. But her wandering mind snapped back to focus when he wedged his body between her legs and leaned down to suck the cool tip of one breast into his hot, moist mouth.
Lost in the haze of lust, she grasped at his shoulders, wanting more. Sean caught her wrists and pinned her arms above her head, holding them there with one hand while tugging at the sweatpants she wore with the other.
Caitlin lifted her hips to make his task a little easier. “Let me—”
Her offer of help was met with teeth scraping against her nipple before he lifted his head enough to stare at her. “Stop.”
Her breath caught in her throat at his gruff tone, then kicked into short gasps of air as a thin rim of gold shimmered to life around the deep green of his eyes. A part of her mind warned that she should fear the beast. It was stronger than she was and could tear her to shreds with one sharp talon.
But another part, the side that was seriously in need of mental help, coaxed her to let him have his way.
Caitlin closed her eyes, unable to make sense of anything beyond the growing need to be possessed, to have him carry her over the edge of desire into satisfaction.
He came over her, whispering, “You are safe. Trust me.” A rush of warm breath against her neck, the tip of his tongue trailing her earlobe and his deep, rumbling voice in her ear promising her safety, made up her mind.
With a soft moan, she surrendered, more than willing to let him take control, to use sex to banish whatever devil seemed to be haunting him, certain she would come out of this encounter physically satiated and whole.
He turned her arms, placing her palms flat against the desk, and curled her fingers over the edge. Not interested in any slow, leisurely lovemaking, Caitlin sighed with relief when he didn’t waste time peeling off her sweatpants or his jeans. The instant their clothing vanished, she wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him closer.
He eased the hard length of his cock into her with agonizing slowness. She wanted to scream at his teasing, torturous motion. He released her hands and grasped her hips, holding her in place, preventing her from pushing up against him.
“Sean.” Uncurling her fingers from the edge of the desk, intent on reaching up to pull him closer, Caitlin gasped. Invisible bonds held her arms pinned to the slick smoothness of the desk.
She stared up at him. The gold rim around his emerald eyes shimmered. Yet the heartrending half smile on his lips was all human—and filled with pure male arrogance in his certainty of what he was doing to her.
Caitlin swallowed the whine threatening to escape. She didn’t understand what was happening to her. She’d been swept away with lust when they’d first met, but this—this near-unbearable need was unfamiliar, and far from normal in its intensity.
She didn’t want to need him like this, didn’t want him to have this much power over her. When her son was safely back in her arms, she’d never see this man again, and the last thing she wanted was to miss his touch, ache for his kiss as desperately as she had this last year.
He deepened his thrust, filling her, completing her in a way no one else could. A white light flickered in her mind, shimmering as it grew brighter, feeding her sorely depleted life force.