She found herself seated back at the break room table in front of the cookies, except now the smell was sweetly repulsive. Mr. Fraser stayed with her. He got her a glass of water she hadn’t asked for, and then gave her space by leaning against the counter as he typed furiously on his phone. She wanted her sweater—she was bone cold now—but it was in her office. And she was never going in there again.
A man had just shot himself in front of her. A freeze-frame, millisecond by millisecond, replayed in her mind. The half untucked shirt. A gun in the pocket underneath. His agitation.
A friend sent me.
What friend?
If you want to get out of this alive…
A threat.
The remains belong to the Heolstors.
Which meant the remains probably actually belonged to crazy Thane Ryce Ealdian. Further, she could conclude, definitively, that Bloodkin were not only eccentric and controlling, but they could be extremely violent, too. They were dangerous. She had to get out, and now.
When the police came and asked all the same questions her colleagues had thrown at her, she was ready.
“I have no idea who he is,” she said. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.” Truth. “He told me if I didn’t get off the Kingman Hills mediation project, I would die.” A little bit of a lie but a necessary one. She turned her attention to her boss. “By the way, I quit.”
The dead man had told her not to repeat what he was telling her about the Heolstors and the remains, and until she felt safe—probably never again—she was staying silent. She’d learned survival early in life. She’d also learned to seize opportunities, and this was one of them.
Ealdian and Heolstor could argue all they wanted. She wasn’t about to die for six-hundred-year-old remains like the man in her office.
“I totally understand why you wouldn’t feel safe here,” Mr. Fraser said. “Bodyguards have already been hired. They’ll be here shortly.”
More Bloodkin-hired bodyguards. No, thank you.
One of the cops was persistent. “What is special about this Kingman Hills mediation?”
“You mean besides involving dragon shifters?” she said. “Nothing.”
***
Thane shuddered in the dark, so glad to be home after the recent, unsettling travel. His skin burned with the need to split and shed. His spine arched, shoulders hulking, and he fell to one knee. Braced on the floor, his hand blackened as if he’d been poisoned. His knuckles were forced upward by the claws extending from his fingertips. His hearing sharpened so not only could he hear Matthew’s heartbeat as he slept alone in his room above, but also the scratches of insects deep in the earth, and the ocean waves crashing against the Big Sur beach that the Ealdian stronghold overlooked.
And over it all was the Night Song, the strange music that called to dragons. Its melody was one of longing for the dark wind made by the rise and fall of wings. Of all desires, the ecstasy of flight tempted Thane. No gold rubbed between fingertips nor woman taking his weight could compare to the satisfaction the sky promised. Total and utter freedom.
His mind clouded with pain and want. These last months, he’d known the final shift was coming. He’d stopped fighting it. He and Matthew had prepared. The ship to Havyn stood ready in Monterey Harbor. A voyage on the water, and then at last, he would be what he was born to be once more, and go into the night, wind, and fire.
No. Carreen. Rinc. He had something to do for them. For the Ealdian bloodline, the black dragons that went back into the hazy murk of time.
The growl that ripped up his throat wasn’t human.
Carreen. Rinc. Heir.
Son.
He filled his mind with the memory of the boy. Just born, Rinc had been so vulnerable and small, lightly covered in a white paste and howling with all his might. The feeling that had burst in Thane’s chest—pride, yes, as well as a vast sense of accomplishment, though he knew Carreen deserved the credit—was beyond those simple and selfish emotions. It was soul-changing devotion.
One spellbinding look into his son’s enraged eyes and Thane had no longer lived for himself. He was nothing. Rinc was the future, and Thane had wanted nothing more than to give him, on bended knee, the spoils of the Ealdian legacy. He’d also given him his dignity because Rinc had urinated on him right away. A new emotion, painful in its sudden hugeness, had filled Thane. Where had it come from? Why had it filled him with such terror? Such joy?
The fire within Thane cooled slightly, his throat tightening with anguish. He’d thought that well of tears had dried.
Rinc had left such a vacuum of hopelessness behind.
And Carreen, what a warrior she’d been after all. He would’ve liked to have seen her dragon. Then maybe he might’ve understood her better.
The dragon within didn’t like regret, so Thane kept his heart and thoughts with his lost family to conquer the beast, discovering that the memory of his son’s infant cry could drown out the music of the Night Song. He chose his son over magic again and again, and the hours passed as he fought the shift, the night receding.
Until a faint hiss of movement behind him told him someone was near. Then pain bloomed, something cold and sharp jabbing into his back.
Roaring, Thane stood, taller than he’d been in over a century, his would-be assassin clutching onto him like a tick. Thane’s body was still armored with changing magic, so the weapon hadn’t been able to go deep, but the intent was clear.
The dragon hurtled into ascendancy again.
Thane reached over his shoulder, grabbed the man by the neck, and slammed him down on the floor. The weapon—a Drachentöter—clanged to the ground. Designed for maximum damage, the dragon slayer weapon’s reverse-facing barbs were still unsprung from the shaft. Few Bloodkin survived the catastrophic damage caused by the thing. Once embedded, it was near impossible to remove, and shifting into dragon form just opened the wounds still further.
His prey still twitching, Thane raked a claw over its belly. He leaned in to rip out the entrails with his teeth.
“My lord Thane?”
Thane spun to face a new attacker, but he found Matthew.
“My lord Thane, remember who you are.”
Bewildered, Thane looked back at the assassin, sent by the Heolstors, no doubt. He was still alive but wounded fatally, gore spread wide as he hiccupped, trying to breathe. Thane reached out to him and with an efficient twist broke his neck to end his suffering.
“They sent someone to kill me.” Which was no excuse for allowing the dragon to rule.
“You didn’t hear him?” Matthew asked with careful reserve.
Matthew would think he’d been listening to the Night Song. “I was remembering Rinc.”
He had a duty to Carreen and Rinc, and the Heolstors thought to rob him of it. They’d thought to awaken the dragon and, thereby, leave Carreen and Rinc helpless all over again.
No. This would not do.
Waiting for the DNA results was an absurd Bloodkin Assembly delay. All the Bloodkin knew who’d been found at Kingman Hills. And there wasn’t much time left for Thane to do something about it, not with the dragon attempting to wrest control.
“We travel tomorrow,” Thane said. “Gerard will answer for this.”
“I’ll make the arrangements,” Matthew told him. “And I’ll clean this up.”
Thane looked down at the bloody body. The blood intrigued him, and the man was already dead anyway. “I’ll—”
“No, my lord. Better I do it.”
***
Emerson paced the bedroom of her hotel suite that had been arranged for her not five miles from her own apartment. She resented how nice it was. Its luxury appointments—creamy white leather, chrome, and glass—had been designed to hold light. The bed was low, and the linens had a soft sheen. She bet it was crazy comfortable. It also reeked of money. Dragon money.
They hadn’t left her alone for a moment.
No matter how nice the bed was, she didn’t think she’d ev
er sleep again. If she weren’t still so shocked over what had happened, she’d be screaming.
The place had been checked and cleared for danger, and a guard would remain on duty all night in the living area. Another would be out in the hallway leading to the suite.
She felt caged, not protected. She’d thought of calling Bryan, but she didn’t trust the Bloodkin where her family was concerned. Didn’t trust the Bloodkin at all.
Someone knocked on the bedroom door. She frowned at it and sat down on the leather bench situated at the end of the bed, breathing deeply. This sense of powerlessness was unbearable.
Voices murmured in the main room of the suite.
Fine. She’d see what they wanted. Standing, she squared herself and opened the door.
Mr. Fraser immediately stood up from the sitting room’s sofa. “Emerson.”
She asked the question foremost on her mind. “Did you find out who he was?”
“We did, yes.” He gestured to one of the sofas. “If you will?”
Her heartbeat had doubled in anticipation, but she managed to calmly cross the room and sit down. She was having a nightmare. That’s what this was.
Mr. Fraser wasted no time. “His name was Jeffrey Clay. He has no direct connection to any Bloodkin family.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
Mr. Fraser pressed his lips together, as if debating, then said, “He is survived by a young son who is currently making a miraculous recovery from end-stage cancer.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” That the man who’d just blown off his head had orphaned his child? Because she just might lose it. Officially.
“Well, I can’t say for sure, but I’d guess…blood.” Mr. Fraser’s eyes were sharp with meaning.
“Blood,” Emerson repeated. So it was a Bloodkin?
“Understandable really. What parent, if given the rare opportunity, wouldn’t trade his life for his child’s?”
And…she was lost again.
“But now the child will have a long, healthy life,” Mr. Fraser said.
Because of…?
Oh! Dragon blood.
But that was a myth. A myth!
“You’re saying that dragon blood cured the man’s child? And the man made a trade to come to my office and kill himself in front of me…in exchange for that cure?”
“He delivered a message first. I’m guessing the sender didn’t want to be identified.”
Her so-called friend.
“None of the Bloodkin wants any involvement with this mediation,” Mr. Fraser explained.
She stood. “Who cares what the Bloodkin want? A man is dead.”
“But his child lives.”
Her boss was being deliberately obtuse. “The world is full of people who need cures, but the Bloodkin don’t do anything to help them. If dragon blood heals”—fat chance—“then dragons are heartless, and I want nothing to do with them.”
He looked up at her. “How many people do you think you could heal?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “This isn’t about me.”
“It is, obviously, very much about you. How many, Emerson? If you were to open a vein and become a walking fountain of health and youth? What would happen to you? Is there anywhere you could hide?”
Fountain of youth? This was getting ridiculous. She wasn’t going to get any sane answers today.
“You can’t justify what that man did,” she said.
“He traded his life for his child’s,” Mr. Fraser said. “Who wouldn’t kill for theirs?”
It didn’t matter anyway. “Whoever sent him wants me off the mediation. That was the message.”
Mr. Fraser sighed. “Unfortunately, Emerson, that’s impossible.”
“A man’s head exploded in my office. I’m off it. You take the meeting tomorrow with Gerard Heolstor.”
“Emerson, I’m not of the blood. Anything having to do directly with the families requires a Bloodkin mediator, and the only person we have at this time is you.”
“I’m the only…?” Screw that. “Well, the Bloodkin are going to have to be a little more open-minded about non-bloody people, because I’m not going.”
Mr. Fraser dropped his gaze to the floor.
“I’ve been warned away from this mediation several times,” Emerson said, beginning to pace, “including by the Heolstor brothers themselves. I’m finally taking their advice. The results of the DNA test should be back in a day or two, and then the whole thing will be settled, anyway.” It would take zero effort on his part to wrap things up.
He kept his gaze down. “What about Sadie Couser?”
Emerson stopped dead in her tracks. “Who?” How did he know Sadie’s name?
“The young woman you’re trying to get into the Desert Valley Treatment Center.”
“What about her?” Emerson challenged him. She suddenly wanted to smack him. Had he been looking through her e-mail? Listening to her calls?
“The Bloodkin will see to it that she gets a room at the center for as long as she needs it and that all her expenses are taken care of.”
“I already got her in, and I’m covering her expenses.”
Mr. Fraser’s shoulders heaved with a deep breath.
“You’re not serious,” Emerson said. Blackmail. He was blackmailing her? “No.”
“There’s only you, Emerson. Gerard Heolstor won’t even let me in his house.”
“So you actually expect me to go along with this insanity?” She couldn’t believe it.
He lifted his head just enough to make eye contact. “You’ve got the blood for it.”
“The man—you know, the one who killed himself in front of me?—he said that I would die if I continued this mediation.” There had to be other programs for Sadie. Bryan would understand.
“I doubt that very much, Emerson. I don’t know what he said to you, but it’s unlikely that you’ll be harmed. You’re a Bloodkin woman. The Bloodkin are very protective of their own, particularly the men of the women.”
She sat down in front of him. “The man said I would die.”
“Then that threat was a lie. I’ve spoken to Ransom Heolstor, and he assures me that you will be safe for the duration of your stay at his house.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and when I step outside his front door, I’ll be shot in the head.”
“Emerson, I swear you’ll be safe.”
“If you’re so sure, how come you have to blackmail me to go?”
“Bloodkin have certain safeties,” he said softly, as if embarrassed. “Humans do not.”
“Now I’m not human?”
“It’s your dragon blood that matters.” He lifted his head fully now, and his eyes looked tired and sick. “Human blood doesn’t.”
Emerson went cold, her mouth dry. She didn’t know if there was another threat inside that short statement, but she suddenly didn’t think Mr. Fraser had the authority to clarify. She didn’t want him to, either. This wasn’t up to him.
“You’re another messenger,” she said.
He closed his eyes. “Yes.”
“There’s only me.” She didn’t want her “friend” to spill any more blood on her behalf.
“Yes…my lady.”
She put a trembling hand over her eyes while she worked on her courage. These were some seriously disturbed people.
Enough. She dropped her hand and addressed Mr. Fraser. “See to Sadie Couser.” Her dragon blood made her his boss now. She’d probably always been his boss.
“At once.” His voice was loose with relief.
Emerson turned back to the bedroom. “And get out. I need some sleep.”
CHAPTER 5
Thane was ready to kick in the front doors of the Heolstor stronghold, but when he brought his car to a stop, Gerard’s eldest son, Ransom, was waiting on the great flagstone entry, the massive doors already open behind him. Heolstor strategy had always endeavored to preempt an attack and secure their fortune against unnec
essary losses.
But Heolstor would lose much today.
Thane’s anger smoldered like acid in his blood as he got out of the vehicle. He made Ransom wait while he took a moment to polish the car door. No scratches for Matthew to have fixed this time.
When he was satisfied, he took the broad steps leading to the house, a flush of anticipation mixing with a deep indrawn breath. The Heolstor stronghold looked out over Napa’s gently rolling hills and vineyards, the sun reflecting off the light mist in the air. But despite the serenity of the setting, he was ready to commit murder: first the father, and then the heir—exactly what had been done to the Ealdian line. He’d consider leaving the younger son alive, but if the Heolstor boys were anything like Gerard, then both would fight and both would die. And Carreen and Rinc would know peace.
Ransom had to know what was coming, and yet he seemed unperturbed when Thane reached him. “Emerson Clark is here,” he said.
Thane laughed aloud. “You think she’ll save you?”
The Heolstor line was hiding behind the woman. Granted, she’d delayed their fate a few days already, but Thane had no problem shoving her out of the way now. Like cowards, they’d sent an assassin to kill him.
“Actually, she’s been my hope from the beginning of this mess,” he said evenly. “And if we survive it, I intend to marry her.”
Thane snorted. “I’ll be picking you from my teeth in half an hour. Where’s your father?”
He didn’t wait for an answer though, just stalked inside to find Gerard himself.
Gerard had always resisted change, and so his American home had the stone construction of an old world keep. Likewise, colorful tapestries hung from the walls, an adornment that Thane had long scorned. Tapestries could carry fire to a roof in minutes. And what, pray, did dragons breathe? Fools, all of them.
Thane paused in the enormous foyer—sized for a Bloodkin after shifting—and sniffed the air for Gerard, the old beast.
“Where are you?” he roared.
His call echoed up the staircase and bounced down through the gathering rooms on the first floor.
Dark and Damaged: Eight Tortured Heroes of Paranormal Romance: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set Page 34