Dragon Shattered_A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy Romance

by Keira Blackwood

  With every word I spoke, she leaned closer and closer to me. Her breath touched my cheek. She smelled tart and sweet.

  She placed her hand on my chest, and I held it there, allowed her to feel the beating sincerity of my heart, of the truth I spoke. She lowered her gaze, and leaned even closer. Her lips crashed against mine.

  I let go of her hand to wrap my arms around her, crushing her chest to mine, feeling the mounds of her breasts against me. I tasted her lips with my tongue, and she parted her mouth so I could claim her further and show her, with my mouth, the feelings she stirred within me. Heat, warmth, sweetness. I trailed my lips down to her throat, tasting her skin, sensing her pulse beating rapidly. She moaned as I licked the line where her collar met her chest.

  Her moan was caught by the breeze and stolen away, but it seemed to remind her of our position. She straightened in my arms and pulled back, licking her lips.

  I let her go, feeling bereft.

  “We should get back to the others,” she said. And just like that, the icy barrier was back in place. And just like that, she owned me, body and soul.

  Chapter Nine

  Ariana

  The morning began as most did, in my office with a mountain of work and a steaming cup of vanilla chai from Big Beans in the Halo, the ring of smaller businesses that formed the Arrow’s outer wall. The leather of my desk chair was ice through the thin fabric of my blouse, while the warm mix of earthy spices and smooth vanilla swirled across my taste buds.

  I checked my laptop for the latest feed from the Brightwater. Most of the security footage was inconsequential and featured Maisie’s new hires mixed with our long-standing security guards as they walked the grounds. I fast forwarded to the shift that interested me—that of Taylor, Quentin, and Slade.

  The first person I noticed from their shift wasn’t any of the men I was looking for. It was a short, round woman with silver hair—the housekeeper who had welcomed me to the Brightwater the day I first met Pelletier. Her shoulders hung as if she was tired. Then I watched as she curled up into a ball by the bottom of the curved stairwell in the great room. She held her face in her hands, and I realized she wasn’t tired. She was crying.

  What made her so sad? My first guess was Pelletier, though I had no way to know for sure. I sympathized. She had to deal with him all the time, while my commitment to him was limited.

  A shadow entered the frame, then a form followed. Taylor’s presence brought a smile to my face, even just his image. He walked over to the housekeeper and sat down beside her. Words were exchanged. Her spine straightened. Her head lifted.

  Soon after, she squeezed his hand, then rose to her feet and walked away.

  What had he said to her? I imagined it was something sweet, reassurance that she would see better days. Maybe something poetic like he’d shared with me, words of beauty, though not those of Hafiz. His poems of love were just for me.

  Taylor’s romanticism of the everyday had me skeptical, but only at first. Then I realized all of it was genuine. And the sweetness reminded me of weekend sunsets overlooking a lake of blossoming lotus flowers. Of what it felt like to be loved. In a way, he reminded me of Marc.

  Besides our connection, I appreciated Taylor’s experience. It wasn’t just how he made me feel in stolen moments alone together, but I liked him for the partnership position, too. Everything he’d said during our interview was true, and I needed those skills for the upcoming auction.

  Next, I watched Quentin converse with Pelletier. I couldn’t imagine a better candidate to help lead Whitesong. I’d managed to snag the best from the Curtis Corporation, based on the work that meant the most to me—charity. In the video, Quentin was dressed like he owned the place, in a perfectly fitted suit, just as he wore every day. Did he own anything else? He defused the client’s volatility as if he had been born for that very purpose. Managing Pelletier proved Quentin’s competence for the partnership position. Not only that, but he’d noticed possible entry points to the Brightwater that I hadn’t noted on the map, and other security details I hadn’t discovered on my own. Thoughts of that conversation pulled me back to the wooded path, to his hypnotic blue eyes and peppermint scent. Even twenty-four hours later, I could still taste him on my lips.

  As I watched, he looked up at the security camera and winked. I knew it was only for me, and just like when I’d met him at the bar, it only took one look to get me going.

  I took a big old gulp of vanilla chai and fast forwarded for a look at Slade.

  It was difficult not to drool when I found him. Slade Rouland had a way of making a t-shirt and a pair of jeans sexier than street clothes had any right to be. Even though I’d read his file—predominantly revolving around a distinguished military career, medals of valor, and roles of leadership, I’d expected someone who looked like him to have a peanut brain. But the way he’d handled himself when Pelletier had screamed three days ago had surprised me. Not only was he smart, but his reaction time was impressive. He was both swift and fearless. If there was any real trouble on the night of the auction, Slade would be up to the task.

  I still had no idea who I was going to choose. Any of the three would be an asset to Whitesong. With only five days left until the night of the auction, I needed to make the choice. Today.

  A single droplet of water fell onto the windshield. Then another. And another.

  Had my potential partners brought umbrellas with them to the Brightwater? I imagined Taylor soaked from a sudden downpour, his hair a thick mop long enough to hang down into his eyes. I imagined Slade running around in it, tearing through puddles of mud and having great fun. And I imagined Quentin, perfectly composed under an umbrella. That sounded about right.

  The thick blanket of clouds above was broken with gaps, as sporadic as the rain that it produced. With any luck, it would amount to only a drizzle.

  The ferry arrived on the island, and the sun peeked through cracks in the clouds.

  I’d spent a little time getting to know both Taylor and Quentin. It would only be fair to give Slade the same opportunity before I made my decision.

  When I arrived at the Brightwater, the rain had stopped. I heard Taylor’s warm laughter echoing over the drive as I climbed out of the Cayenne. I followed the sound around the side of the building.

  “We connect on a profound level,” Taylor said.

  “But have you kissed?” Quentin quipped.

  My cheeks heated. Maybe I should have been offended that they were discussing me like some sort of prize, but instead it was kind of hot.

  “She let you kiss her?” Slade’s voice was filled with disappointment.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Taylor said. “As soon as I win the job—”

  “You?” Quentin asked.

  “I wish it could be all three of us,” Taylor said.

  “Me too,” said Slade.

  “Well, in the spirit of comradery,” said Quentin, “maybe we should have a schedule.”

  “For her time?” Slade asked. “Seriously?”

  I’d heard enough. It wasn’t that I was offended, because the idea was sweet. They didn’t want to fight for the position or for more time with me. Why couldn’t one of them be a completely unqualified ass? It would make choosing so much easier.

  When I turned the corner, all three men snapped their attention to me. Standing together like that, their differences were clear. Quentin was the essence of formality, at ease in his pressed suit with his long, golden-brown hair pulled back and his hands in his pockets. He was sharp and confident, debonair.

  Slade was twice the size of the other two, muscled beyond reason. He was military through and through, with his short hair and stiff stance. He was as comfortable in his white t-shirt and black slacks as Quentin was in his suit.

  Taylor was halfway between, with his khakis and gray-striped, button-down shirt. His brown hair brushed his neck in a cut that suited his sweet nature. He was poetry and picnics, empathy and encouragement, all wrapped up in a masculin
e package. Of the three, it was Taylor who I’d developed the quickest connection with, who seemed to understand me deeper than seemed possible in the brief time we’d known each other.

  I turned to Slade.

  “Do you have a moment, Slade?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  He sprung forward, and I half-expected to be tackled to the ground. Not that I would have minded.

  “You served two years in Badinor,” I said.

  “I did.”

  He smelled like metal and scales, a unique combination that promised both an impressive wingspan and skill with his hands. He moved gracefully for a man his size, each step landing softly, silently on stone and grass. I watched the subtle flex of each muscle through his fitted t-shirt, and ached to smooth my hands over each one.

  The yard curved with the shape of the building, first open grass, then we reached a garden I’d regularly seen on surveillance, but only once in person. At the time it had been dark.

  In daylight, the sight was much more impressive. A twenty-foot tall hedge separated the garden from the yard. There was a single gate that allowed entry. It bore a circular metal emblem, with intricate details, those in the shape of a wolf howling at a full moon. It was also partly open.

  “I like it in here,” Slade said. “It’s like that book, The Secret Garden.”

  “You like to read?” I asked.

  He led me through the arch, down a path that made me think this place was actually a hedge maze instead of a garden, and out to a patio by the water’s edge. Potted chrysanthemums lined the sides of the patio, the blooms ranging from canary yellow to pomegranate red, and every shade in between. The stones of the patio stopped just at the cliff of the rocky water’s edge. I could see miles out into the ocean.

  “I like lots of things,” he said. “Mama read me that one for bedtime when I was little.”

  “It’s a classic,” I said.

  “There’s a bench if you’d like to sit,” he said.

  I took a seat beside him on the stone bench. It was small for two people, with one of us being the size of a linebacker.

  “It’s a nice view,” I said, and looked up at him.

  He met my gaze. “It is.”

  “It’s almost secluded,” I said.

  “Almost,” he replied.

  His hands remained in his lap, ever the gentleman, while my mind wandered to all the things we could do back here. Alone.

  “That’s why it’s important to check here,” he said.

  “What?”

  “The night of the auction,” he said. “It’s a good place to hide.”

  “I suppose it is,” I said. Which reminded me, I was supposed to be interviewing him, not just enjoying his company.

  “Private security often attracts veterans,” I said. “I’ve seen your physical prowess on the tapes.”

  When he smiled, his brown eyes sparkled. There was softness and warmth beneath his hard exterior. What other surprises would I learn about him?

  “What else would you like me to know before I make my decision?” I asked.

  “Most of it’s in my file,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve read that I led my unit through battle in Badinor, so you know I can take charge when I have to. You already know about my Medal of Honor. But we’re all more than what a folder full of papers can tell.”

  His walnut eyes peered straight through me. My breath caught.

  “Like you,” he said. “I can read about your charity work or about your company’s reputation. But there’s nothing in the papers about what drove you to start Whitesong Security. There’s nothing out there that tells me who you are.”

  “Doing good in the world was a vision I shared with someone who’s gone now,” I said. “I started Whitesong Security to continue that work, in his memory.”

  I hadn’t expected insight. I hadn’t expected how comfortable it was to open up to him.

  “But aren’t we supposed to be talking about you?” I asked.

  His smile was contagious.

  “I was raised by a single mom,” he said. “Learned respect and strength from her. It’s why I joined the Army, to serve and protect. I wanted to make the world a better place. Still do. That’s who I am.”

  It wasn’t just the arms or the smile that drew me to Slade. He symbolized more than that—safety, security. There was a kindness in him that caught me off-guard nearly every time I spoke to him, and I knew I could trust him with my life. I wanted Slade as my partner—just as much as I knew I needed Taylor and Quentin. I couldn’t choose.

  Soft fur tickled my ankle. I looked down and saw the orange kitten that followed Slade everywhere.

  “The Arrow allows pets,” he said. “Right?”

  “Uhh—”

  A scream interrupted me.

  Slade was gone before I registered who had made the sound. It was Pelletier.

  The front door was wide open. Inside, Slade knelt on top of someone I didn’t recognize and held his arm bent behind his back.

  Quentin spoke with Pelletier at the top of the staircase.

  “Good catch!” Pelletier called down at Slade. “He’s a thief, I tell you. Ship his ass straight to jail.”

  Taylor stood two steps above Slade and the intruder.

  “Let him speak,” Taylor said, “but don’t let go.”

  Slade lessened his grip just a bit.

  “Mrs. Jackson sent me,” the man said. His scent was a mix of wolf shifter and terror. “The caterer. She called. She said she called.”

  I looked up at Pelletier.

  “Lies!” he spat.

  “Is it possible you missed the call?” Taylor asked.

  Pelletier just scowled.

  “Perhaps you should check,” Quentin said.

  Pelletier slid his phone from his pocket. Hatred melted from his face, replaced by the usual pompous snobbery.

  “So she did. Release him.” He waved a hand to dismiss us before walking away.

  Slade helped the caterer’s assistant to his feet.

  “Sorry about that,” he said.

  “Yeah.” The man dusted off his pants. “Me, too.”

  I looked from Quentin to Taylor to Slade.

  How the hell was I going to choose between them? I wanted all three.

  Chapter Ten

  Taylor

  My phone rang, and I checked the caller ID. It was Berger, my boss at the Wentuffel. Just before eleven a.m. in Connecticut meant that it was close to five p.m. there. He was working late, and I felt a stab of guilt because it meant he would miss pre-dinner drinks with his wife. I answered the call. “This is Stonehall.”

  “Taylor, when are you returning? I assume that’s why you called me yesterday.”

  “Ah, yes,” I said. “I—”

  Shit, this was hard. Berger had been like a father to me for the past five years.

  “You’re not coming back,” he said, his voice heavy with knowledge.

  “I’m not. I’m sorry.”

  “What are they offering you? We can double it. Triple it, even.”

  “It’s not money,” I said, staring at the door that separated my private room from the rest of the shared suite. “I feel like I’ve come home.”

  Berger was quiet for a moment. “Well, we cannot compete with that.”

  “I’m really sorry,” I said.

  “Is she at least offering good pay?”

  “Well, I haven’t been offered a job yet.”

  He gave a cry of outrage. “Bah! You are leaving Germany and a brilliant position with the best supervisor—me—all for the chance at a job that is no guarantee whatsoever?”

  “It’s not the job that has me leaving Germany,” I said, “it’s the place. Berger, you’re the best. But Germany isn’t home, no matter how welcoming you and your family have been.”

  “I understand. I worked at the Louvre for many years but in the end had to return to my homeland. Just as you must do. But, Taylor, I am going to miss you.”

  “
I’ll miss you, too.” I asked him to give my love to his family and we ended the call.

  I felt heavy and light at the same time. Heavy because I truly would miss Berger, and light because now there was nothing holding me back from Ariana. Walking out to the common area, I faced the two other men vying for the partner position with Whitesong Security. “I take it you heard all that,” I said to them.

  “Yeah. Sounded tough,” Slade said.

  “Are you going to be all right?” Quentin asked, looking uncomfortable.

  “I’ll be fine.” And I would. Because now I had everything to look forward to. Provided, of course, I was offered a job. Otherwise it was back into the job-hunting circuit and I’d have to pray that I’d find something close to Emerald Pines.

  A knock sounded on our door. Quentin got up to open it, revealing Ariana’s assistant, Maisie.

  “The three of you have a meeting with Mrs. West,” she said.

  Maisie said “Mrs.” So Ariana had found a mate before, but she didn’t have one anymore. That loss must have made it especially difficult for her to accept her connection with each of us. I would be here to support her, no matter what.

  “When?” I asked, trying to ignore the nervous stirrings of my heart. Just hearing that Ariana wanted to see us...what could she have to say?

  She looked at her watch and brushed a fallen strand of blond hair from her forehead. “Um, five minutes ago. I’m sorry, Mr. Pelletier wouldn’t get off the phone—”

  “Say no more,” Quentin said. “Please text her that we’re on our way.”

  Maisie gave us all a relieved smile. “Thanks.”

  She stepped aside as we all madly rushed toward the elevator down the hall. Slade shouted, “I get to push the button!”

  “What are you, five?” I asked.

  He just laughed and jabbed the button with one of his giant thumbs.

  “What did your parents feed you?” Quentin asked him, eyeing his physique.

  “My mom gave me whatever she could find. She knew about my dragon nature and worked her butt off to make sure I always had more than enough to eat.”