by Jane Jamison
Dragon Love 8
Dragon Island
Arielle Hopper falls off a cruise ship and clings to a life preserver amid tumultuous waves. Rescued by a mystical creature that can’t possibly exist, she’s sure she’ll die. Until, that is, the creature carries her to a deserted island. At least, she thinks it’s deserted until three sexy men find her. Does she tell them what really happened? Yet her story of escaping danger on the ship then being rescued by a dragon sounds too unbelievable—even to her.
Weredragons Branson and Anthony D’Angelo and their friend Montana Welton know there’s more to Arielle’s story. No woman just washes up on an island with precious jewels in her pocket without something else going on. The men are entranced by their unexpected visitor. Is she the woman they’ve waited for? Will she tell them the truth? If she does, are they ready to tell her their truth? Or will her past catch up to ruin their chance at finally loving their mate?
Genre: Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Shape-shifter
Length: 36,759 words
DRAGON ISLAND
Dragon Love 8
Jane Jamison
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
DRAGON ISLAND
Copyright © 2016 by Jane Jamison
E-book ISBN: 978-1-68295-278-8
First E-book Publication: June 2016
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2016 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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DEDICATION
To my wonderful and supportive husband,
Where would I be without you?
I will love you always and forever.
Me
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
About the Author
DRAGON ISLAND
Dragon Love 8
JANE JAMISON
Copyright © 2016
Chapter One
Arielle Harper shifted the serving tray from one arm to the other before knocking on the stateroom. Normally, she didn’t work the room service shift, but she was happy to fill in for a Lena, one of the other waitresses.
Don’t drop it. Don’t drop it.
Clumsy was her middle name. Or, at least, it should’ve been. God knows she’d earned it. She’d already gotten one pay deduction for the dishes she’d broken so far. Although she’d do her best not to break any others, it was more than likely that she’d earn more deductions. If not for the tips, she’d make little to nothing for her hard, albeit clumsy, work.
After graduating with a degree in studio art, she’d soon found that the moniker “starving artist” wasn’t just something people said. At twenty-eight, she was already behind on paying off her student loans and had decided to take the server’s position on the Holiday Haven Cruise line because the pay was decent and the tips had been rumored to be exceptional. At least the rumor had held true.
She threw back her shoulders—having a good rack helped get better tips—and rapped on the door. “Room service,” she called out in what she hoped was a firm yet cheerful voice. “Please tip big,” she whispered. Putting on a nice smile, she waited.
And waited.
Crap.
The damn tray loaded with drinks, along with a cheese plate, was getting heavier. If she had to carry the thing back to the restaurant, she’d have to take it slowly and cautiously. The more tired she became, the more likely her clumsiness would kick in.
Where are these people?
Granted, their stateroom was one of the largest, a rarity in the cruise ship industry, with a suite that was both spacious and luxurious, but surely they’d heard her. She tried again, rapping a little harder and speaking up. “Room service.”
Again, no answer.
Maybe the occupants had stepped out. Or maybe they were in the shower. Who knew?
What was she supposed to do? She didn’t know the rules for room service. Although she could radio the galley, she didn’t want to. Chef Roche and his staff weren’t the most helpful coworkers she’d ever had. He was a snobby, American-who-thinks-he’s-French chef and ruled his kitchen with a heavy hand.
Maybe she could sneak in and put it on the table in the main living area. After all, it wasn’t as though she hadn’t knocked. Positioning the tray more securely on her left arm, she tried the doorknob and found that it was unlocked.
Okay. Now I really do have to decide what to do.
She went for it. If she didn’t, she was sure she’d drop the tray. With her luck, they’d hear the crash of the drinks even when they hadn’t heard the knock. Using her shoulder against the door, she stepped into the hallway leading into the open living area that had two bedrooms, one on each side.
&nbs
p; “Hello?” Her voice caught in her throat, muffling the sound.
“You’re not going to get away with this, Cartana. I paid for the goods. All the money’s right there. Now hand over the jewels.”
“Calm the hell down, Jake.”
Shit. Someone was in the bedroom to the right. And they didn’t sound happy.
I’ll just set the tray down and leave.
She put the tray down then straightened up. If she left without saying something, she wouldn’t get any tip at all.
“Fuck off and give us the bag.”
“Fuckin’ ass, I’m the one who risked my life to break into the joint.” Another voice, deeper, but just as angry.
“Calm down. No one’s cheating you. The boss is on his way.”
Argument or not, she wasn’t leaving without that damn tip. Summoning up her courage, she strode toward the bedroom and knocked on the door. The door swung open all too easily.
Three men and two women were in the bedroom. The women were naked, but the men were all clothed. A Hispanic-looking man had his arm back, ready to strike at one of the two Caucasian men.
Her eyes widened.
Their eyes widened.
With his arm already in motion, the Hispanic man struck the other man, knocking him sideways. As the struck man fell, he opened his hand. A small black bag went flying toward Arielle.
Amazingly, breaking a lifelong record of not being able to catch a damn thing, she caught the bag. And she didn’t drop it, either.
For a moment, they continued to stare at each other. Then, to her horror, all three men turned toward her and pointed guns at her.
“Hand it over, bitch.”
Arielle should’ve been frightened, and she was. She stared at the small bag in her hand and felt the hard stones inside it. Her hand closed around the bag.
The taller of the Caucasian men sneered, stretching the scar cutting through his upper lip. “I said hand it over.”
She let out a whimper as he lurched toward her and closed his hand around her wrist. Pain stabbed into her, yet she kept her fist clenched. “I brought your food order.”
“What?” He snarled at her then barked at the other Caucasian man. “You fuckin’ idiot, Wilson, you ordered fuckin’ room service? Now?”
“I was hungry, Jake,” whined Wilson.
Fear tightened her chest. “Please, let me go. I swear I won’t tell anyone anything.”
“And what exactly won’t you tell them?” asked Wilson.
“Shut the fuck up, Wilson.”
“I won’t say a word about—” Her gaze darted to the suitcase of money lying on the bed then to her clenched fist then back to Jake’s scary face. “You know.” She tried again. “Please let me go.”
“Not a chance in hell,” answered Jake. He smiled an awful smile and turned her wrist loose. Holding out his hand, he arched an eyebrow. “Now hand over the bag.”
It didn’t take a genius to realize the stones in the bag were jewels. Probably diamonds or rubies or emeralds. Or that it was a crooked deal going down. Someone selling stolen jewels. Someone buying them.
Damn. I really stepped in it this time.
“Are you fuckin’ deaf?” Jake lifted his gun, putting it inches from her face. “Open your fuckin’ hand and give me the bag.”
She wanted to. She really did, but something kept her fingers from moving.
“She’s crazy.” The Hispanic man—Cartana?—laughed. “Don’t kill her yet, friend. She’ll die with her hand closed. You’ll have to cut her fingers off to get it.”
She didn’t think before she acted. If she had, she wouldn’t have had the nerve to try it.
When Jake turned toward Wilson to tell him to fuck off, she clasped her hands together and brought them up, slamming them into Jake’s forearm. The move was the only one she remembered from the self-defense class she’d taken.
The shot rang out above her head. Spinning around, she ran as fast as she could. She might’ve been a clumsy girl, but even a clumsy girl could run like the wind when she was about to get her ass shot.
“Fuck! She still has the bag. Get her!”
Fortunately, she’d left the door open. She raced through it and down the long hallway. Feet pounded behind her, close and getting closer. Her breath hitched in her throat as she rounded a sharp curve.
Where was the pain? Why hadn’t they shot her yet?
She bolted around a laughing couple dressed in evening attire as they stood outside their stateroom door, kissing. They barely glanced her way before returning to their make-out session.
The elevator loomed at the end of the hall. If she tried to take it, she’d be caught before the door opened. She’d have to keep running and hope she could find another way out. Taking the corner at a run, she felt her feet slipping on the lush carpet. A man’s evil chuckle came and went a moment before she managed to regain her balance and pick up her speed again. She bounded down yet another hallway.
Someone, please help me.
Why hadn’t she cried for help? Yet, she hadn’t wanted to put anyone else’s lives in danger. Still she ran. Still the footsteps pounded behind her. She’d be caught at the end of the hallway with no other corridors to turn down. She’d have to take the elevator and pray for a miracle.
Just as she was only a yard or two from the elevator, the miracle happened. The door slid open.
She fell inside the car and slapped her hand against the button to close the door. The three men raced toward her as she waited, trapped like a rat in a cage. She watched, her breath hitching in her throat, as the elevator doors crept shut.
Her heart threatened to break free of her chest as they grew near. Jake lifted his gun and pointed.
I’m going to die.
Arielle shut her eyes and said a small prayer.
The sound of the gunshot startled her. Her body stiffened, her breath held.
And then she realized that she wasn’t dead. She wasn’t in pain. The lurch of the elevator jolted her into opening her eyes. Glancing down at her shirt, she expected to see a dark stain spreading over her chest, but it was as clean and pristine white as ever.
I got away. Holy hell, I got away.
She clutched the radio that connected her to the kitchen. “Hello? Chef? Anyone? I’m being chased by armed gunmen. Please, someone call Security.” She checked the lights on the elevator. “I’m in an elevator and going to the lower deck. Is anyone there? Does hear me?”
She knew what had happened before she lifted the radio and stared at the unlit light. Her stomach fell to the floor. Once again, she’d forgotten to check the battery power. The radio was dead.
She’d have to get to one of the other staff members and use their radio to contact the captain. The security on the ship was more used to handling drunken customers than jewel smugglers, but they were all they had.
The bell rang as the doors slid open. A few people piled inside, doing so before she could get out of the car. Once she’d gotten past them, she looked around for a staff member. Rain had started to fall, explaining why there weren’t more people on the deck. What she saw, however, chilled her.
The deck was deserted except for Jake, Cartana, and Wilson, who stood several yards away. They stared straight at her, hate in their eyes. She took off running again, intent on making it to the other side of the ship and the bridge. Strangely, her mind questioned. Was it the bow or the stern? She never got it right.
She dashed along the side of the deck, keeping near the railing and moving as quickly as she could. Where the hell was everyone? Although nighttime, she would’ve expected to run into a few of the staff members. They, too, must’ve decided to see the new entertainment that had been drawing standing-room crowds. That and the worsening weather. Rain came down harder, beating against her. Why hadn’t she gotten off on one of the upper decks? Or run into the dining areas?
The area close to the railing should’ve been cleared of debris, and for the most part, it was. But somehow she still found
a way to trip and stumble. The slickened deck didn’t help.
“Help! Someone, help!”
Where the hell is everyone?
* * * *
Branson D’Angelo soared over the open ocean. Although the night sky was filled with stars, he didn’t worry about being seen. His cloaking skill was in full force. Besides, who was going to see him over the ocean?
The dark blue sky had been clear when he’d started his flight. Now storm clouds were moving in, and rain was picking up, pelting him. The water, a deeper blue-green, shimmered underneath him. Dolphins played in the water, jumping high to catch his attention, their extraordinary senses allowing them to see past the shimmers created by the cloak. If a human happened to stare at exactly the right place, they might see the strange motion in the air, but most wouldn’t have thought long enough to care what might be causing the effect.
Years earlier, his cousin Anthony D’Angelo and their friend Montana Welton had decided to leave human civilization behind. The discord between the four main dragon clans, Talasium, Emeralian, Verian, and Dradian, had driven them away. They’d met in a bar just outside Rome, Italy, and, after sharing an expensive bottle of scotch, they’d come up with the plan to buy a private island.
They were already independently wealthy but enjoyed investing both in the world markets as well as real estate. Their lives on the island were peaceful. Whenever they wanted company, excitement, or sexual playmates, they’d fly to the nearby Hawaiian Islands, where they owned several acres of prime real estate along with a spacious home.