Dragon Shattered_A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy Romance

by Keira Blackwood

  “Call us if you need anything,” I said.

  Ariana nodded, and Quentin allowed the doors to close.

  I took the few steps down the hall to our suite, not waiting for the guys. I needed to get inside, decompress, figure out what was going on in my head and in my heart. I was disappointed that the thief had gotten away. Pelletier had been belligerent with Ariana, and that pissed me off. And Ariana was disappointed in herself, and that hurt more than anything. Couldn’t she see how amazing she was?

  I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The fugly couches were an assault on the eyes, but even so, I was glad to be home.

  Slade shuffled past me and collapsed full-length on one of the couches and took up the remote. The kitten seemed just as content curled up on his chest as she had been in his lap during the drive.

  Quentin shoved Slade’s legs off so he could sprawl on the other half of the couch. “You know the cat needs a box.”

  Slade stared at him. “She’s sleeping with me.”

  “No,” Quentin said. “To do her...business.”

  “I’ll fix something up for her later.”

  “If she pees on my bed…” Quentin warned.

  I headed into the kitchen and pulled three beers from the fridge. “I’m bringing out your Hiber-Nation IPA,” I called. “I don’t know which of you bought it, but we’re all having a drink tonight.”

  “Sounds good,” Slade said, his voice tired.

  I still hadn’t heard the sounds of Gamebox come on. When I came out of the kitchen area, Slade had rested the remote on his chest next to Princess Needleclaw and was staring at the ceiling.

  I passed beers around.

  “So that was awful,” Quentin said.

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Slade said.

  “Understood,” Quentin said. “Something else strange happened, though—and I feel awkward even bringing it up.”

  I settled into the other couch, ignoring the spring that jabbed into my left ass cheek. “Speak,” I said.

  He shot me a dirty look. “You know how we all...admire Ariana, correct?”

  “Yep,” Slade said.

  “Has either of you felt jealous to any degree of one of us?”

  Slade shook his head and I said, “Nope.”

  “I was disappointed you got to kiss her first,” Slade said with a pointed look at Quentin, “but whatever, my turn will come soon.”

  “A strange thing happened at the party,” Quentin said. “Some other man came up to Ariana, in an endeavor to...well, to put it in a crass way, he wanted to get into her pants. Although she was wearing a gown, not pants, but—”

  “We get it,” I said. The harshness of my voice surprised me as something bitter and dark sprouted in my chest. I wanted to punch something. “Who was this motherfucker and where does he live?”

  Slade slowly stood up, his brows coming together and his face a mask of barely controlled rage. Princess Needleclaw looked miffed that her bed had moved. “I’m ready to go after him.”

  Quentin gave a little chuckle. “Stand down, guys. Ariana sent him off without any trouble at all. It just struck me as odd that I had your same reactions. I wanted to shift into my dragon and turn that man into a smoking carcass. But I’ve never felt jealous of you two flirting with, or even touching, Ariana.”

  He was right. It had never bothered me to see her with either of them. In fact, I’d gotten some sort of twisted, vicarious pleasure from it. In any other situation, I might’ve thought it was kind of taboo, like dudes who had a fetish for seeing their girl with other dudes. But that wasn’t it. There was something pure about this, about seeing her with them. Something that I couldn’t name.

  “But we all admire her, am I correct in that?” Quentin continued.

  “Fuck yes,” I said.

  “Then I propose a kind of gentleman’s agreement.” He stood up and drained his beer. “It will safeguard against any of us getting uncontrollably jealous of the others and fighting over our beautiful Ariana.”

  Slade nodded, waving a massive arm that Quentin should continue.

  Quentin tossed his empty bottle from one hand to the other. Then he smiled. “A few days ago, we joked about sharing her. What if we come up with a schedule?”

  “Like she’s a fucking timeshare or something?” I asked, incredulous.

  Slade laughed.

  Quentin scowled. “She doesn’t have to know, but I honestly cannot fathom that an agreement such as this would disturb her in any way. I believe it will keep us from stepping on each other’s toes.”

  “Will this be an hourly schedule?” I asked, still suspicious.

  “No, I propose that we alternate days.”

  “Dibs on tomorrow,” Slade said before I could even open my mouth.

  The dude was quick for someone so big.

  “Fine,” Quentin said. “I spent most of this evening with her. So tomorrow will be Slade’s day. The following day will be for you, Taylor. Then I’ll take the next day, and so on.”

  “The poor woman should get a day off,” I said.

  “Sunday,” Slade said. “A day of rest. So I’ll take Monday.”

  “Fantastic,” Quentin said. “Monday and Thursday for Slade, Tuesday and Friday for Taylor, and Wednesday and Saturday for me.”

  I waited while he walked over to the fridge and pulled out three more IPAs. He passed them around.

  “So, are we agreed?” he asked.

  “Agreed,” Slade and I said, and the three of us clinked our bottles together.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ariana

  The first thing I’d done on Monday after I’d woken and dressed was settle in at my desk to scrutinize every detail of the security footage from the disastrous night. It was the same thing I’d done all day Sunday. My office had felt cold in a way that I wasn’t used to. At first I didn’t know why. But after leaving the Brightwater job defeated, I realized I craved physical reassurance. I missed my partners.

  Not five minutes of footage had passed before I heard Maisie’s gentle rapping on my office’s frosted glass door.

  The warm scent of vanilla and earthy cinnamon accompanied that of my favorite tiger shifter.

  “Come in,” I said.

  The door cracked, and Maisie peered around the corner before venturing in. Maybe she was nervous that my mood would be sour after such a crushing defeat. She was right, but I wasn’t going to take it out on her. I was going to put that frustration back into the work, right where it belonged. I would spend all of that energy finding the bastard who’d broken through our defenses. Then I’d take it out on him.

  Maisie’s scent betrayed her nervousness, as did her tentative footsteps.

  “I know you’d never bite my head off, but damn, you’re sending out some massive anger waves,” she said.

  I forced a smile. “Sorry about that.”

  “How are you holding up?” she asked.

  “Moving forward,” I said. Maisie had been the best on Saturday night. As my personal assistant, she’d naturally followed the events from afar, and she’d had a stiff drink waiting for me in my penthouse by the time I’d gotten home. The woman wasn’t just a PA, she was a friend. My best friend.

  Maisie set down a tall cup of vanilla chai on my desk, twice the size of my usual cup. The scent was comforting before I even tasted it.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I also brought muffins.”

  I felt a smile spread across my face. She really did know me.

  She sat down in the chair across from me, grabbed a giant cinnamon and sugar muffin from the bag I hadn’t noticed, and slid the other over to me.

  The streusel-coated pastry from Big Beans was a good two days’ worth of calories, and my self-pity go-to.

  “This is most definitely what I needed,” I said, then took a huge bite.

  The mix of soft muffin and crunchy streusel, Ceylon cinnamon, and coarse sugar danced across my tongue. Like magic, my frustration eas
ed with a huge rush of endorphins.

  “Mmmm,” Maisie said, and swallowed a big bite. “Almost as good as sex. Better than some.”

  I laughed.

  “Which makes me wonder,” Maisie said, “how’re you getting along with the guys?”

  “I haven’t—”

  “They drool when they see you,” she said, with a knowing grin. “If it was me in your place…”

  “It’s been a long time,” I said.

  “Even more reason to let loose and have some fun,” Maisie said. “Speaking of…”

  I gaped when she tossed a white bag labeled Beck’s Pharmacy on my desk. “What’s that?”

  She winked.

  I used my little finger to tease open the bag, already suspecting what was inside. “Maisie, if this is…” A compact-sized container was just visible beneath a receipt. “It is. What are you doing?”

  “Hey, doesn’t hurt to be prepared. Just in case.”

  I gave a huff of disbelief. “Maisie!”

  “What?” She blinked with an exaggerated innocent look on her face. “I’m prepared, too. Being prepared means I get to do fun things. Like trying out one of the new hires last night. He was better than this muffin.”

  My first thought was that she couldn’t be talking about one of my guys. Surely she was talking about one of the other new hires.

  I shook my head. My guys? Where had that thought even come from?

  Before I could ask who she meant, Maisie added, “The new lion shifter, Aaron. Beefcake with the spiky hair.”

  “Congrats,” I said, feeling reassured despite the fact that I hadn’t really been worried about her hooking up with Slade, Quentin, or Taylor—I just couldn’t see it happening. Not that she wasn’t gorgeous, but more that my mind didn’t see one of them with anyone. Except me, a sly voice whispered in my mind. “Aaron’s hot. So, was he a ‘more than once’ kind of guy?”

  It would be nice to see her find someone worth more than one date. It had been a while since Maisie had had a steady boyfriend, and she was the type who was happiest when she did. She was a bit of a romantic, seeing glimmers of hope that she’d found her mate in every man she dated. I wondered if Taylor was like that. I could imagine him seeing not only love in all the wrong places, but the goodness in everyone he met.

  “Three times,” Maisie said, pulling me from my thoughts. “And that was all in one night. Anyway, he’s picking me up after work today. I have a good feeling about this one. He makes me feel like a piece of me that was missing isn’t missing anymore. You know?”

  “I do.” I’d felt it with Marc, and only Marc, until I’d met Taylor, Quentin, and Slade. I’d been sure I’d found my mate the moment I’d met Marc. But now everything had become so complicated.

  “You’ll find love again,” Maisie said, and touched my wrist. “But only if you let yourself.”

  “All right, Cupid,” I said. “I need to get back to this.” I gestured to the laptop, to the paused footage of the Brightwater on auction night.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Maisie saluted and rose from her seat. “You know where I’ll be when you need me.”

  There was a knock on the door. I breathed in the scents of metal and flame, smoke and clouds. I remembered the way he had filled that tuxedo when I’d seen him in Pelletier’s vault. My mouth watered, and it had nothing to do with the muffin.

  Maisie opened the door, and there filling the frame was Slade.

  His shoulders were as wide as the doorway, leading down to broad pecs and chiseled abs. Baby blue fabric stretched across his chest, but his t-shirt didn’t hide any of his exquisite definition. His sleeves were short, as seemed to be his preference. Given his biceps, it was my preference too.

  “Come in,” I said.

  He took a few steps forward before I noticed Maisie behind him, pointing at me. Then she squinched up her face and squeezed her hands in the air out in front of her, just about the height of Slade’s ass. She nodded her approval before shutting the door and returning to her own desk.

  “Thanks again, Maisie,” I called after her, knowing she could hear me through the closed door.

  I smirked and turned my attention to the hulk-sized Adonis standing in front of me.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Good morning,” he replied. “Can I sit?”

  I imagined him sweeping the desk with his massive arm, pulling me from my seat and tearing through my blouse. What would his big hands feel like on my breasts?

  “Please.”

  The air between us was heavy. Where was this coming from? I’d been focused on work, but as soon as I’d caught his scent it was like the throw of a switch.

  I remembered the way Quentin had touched me during our stolen moment at the auction, the feel of his lips on mine. The cool peppermint that lingered. I looked into Slade’s big brown eyes, and I wanted to taste him, too.

  Last time we were alone together, it hadn’t been so intense. It was as if every encounter with one of the three of them carried over to the next, no matter which of them I was with.

  Slade broke eye contact and pointed to the screen.

  “That circle,” he said. “He pushed it just before he moved through the walls.”

  “I’ve never seen that tech before,” I said.

  “Me neither,” Slade said. “But maybe Quentin has.”

  “That’s a thought,” I said. “If anyone would know what it is or where it came from, it’d be him.”

  While Whitesong was known for thorough planning and charity, the Curtis Company was known for its use of cutting-edge tech. They also carried more weapons than were necessary, and made jobs overly complicated to show off whatever new device they’d wasted their money on. Quentin likely knew every device Chad Curtis had in his arsenal, and where to buy them.

  I picked up the phone and dialed the guys’ room.

  Slade kept his attention on the screen, but I knew he was listening.

  “Ari,” Taylor answered.

  My breath caught. Hearing his voice made my heart flutter, but it was my name that made me pause. No one had ever called me Ari aside from Marc. I insisted on Ariana. Somehow, it felt right coming from Taylor.

  “Hey,” I said. “Is Quentin there?”

  “Just a sec.”

  “Hello.” This time the voice belonged to Quentin. The little flutter happened all over again.

  “Hi,” I breathed.

  “Ariana.” His voice was a caress.

  Slade’s pecan-brown eyes sparkled as he looked me over.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Quentin asked.

  That word—pleasure. I remembered the feel of his hands, the taste of his lips. Every encounter with Quentin brought me pleasure. I kept my gaze on Slade. With every thought that passed, I watched the intensity burn in Slade’s eyes.

  Trying to shake off the arousal burning through me, I spoke to Quentin. “Would the Curtis Company have any connections to someone who would sell the kind of device that would allow a man to walk through walls?”

  “I’ll put in a few calls,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Slade sat across from me with his legs crossed casually and his hands on his thighs. He appeared at ease, but his eyes told a different story. His eyes told me he wanted to pull me into his lap, to touch me, to kiss me.

  “Bye, Quentin,” I said, and hung up the phone.

  I laced my fingers together to give them something to do, and leaned forward, just an inch closer to the sexy dragon sitting across the desk from me.

  “It’s unlikely that this guy created the device, had the skills to blend in at such an exclusive event, and wanted the artifact for himself,” I said.

  “You think he’s a pro.” Slade folded his hands together and laid them on his ripped stomach. I wished it was my hands sitting there instead of his.

  “I do.”

  “So how do we find out who he works for?” Slade asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I sai
d. “Out of the entire vault, I only saw him take one piece—a dagger. Compared to everything else in the room, it seems like a low-value choice.”

  There had been steel plate armor in the style of the Darkland clan, and short swords and decorative bucklers favored by the Stonefang pack for human-form combat. The more blood-soaked and the more damaged, the greater the worth. There were heirlooms and jewelry once belonging to families whose bloodlines had been entirely wiped out by the war.

  What was it about that one dagger that made it valuable? I tried to recall the specifics—curved hilt, black sheath with bronze details, the swirling black and silver metal of the blade. Could it have belonged to her? I couldn’t be sure.

  “Maybe he took something else as well,” I said. “What do you think?”

  “I didn’t get a good look,” Slade said. “The squirmy little guy wiggled like a lizard when I tackled him.”

  “Pelletier would know,” I said. I hated the thought of seeing that man again. He’d been enough of a horror before he’d been robbed, and before he’d drunkenly tried to grope me.

  Slade tensed, and he leaned across the desk. He put his hand on mine, and excitement skittered up my spine.

  “If you have to see him,” he said. “I’m coming to protect you. Is that okay?”

  A part of me wanted to say I didn’t need protecting. I was competent and he should know that. Every other fiber of my being said yes. To Slade, to everything, yes.

  “Yes.”

  I drove the Cayenne, afraid to trust myself in the back of the Escalade alone with Slade. The closer we got to the Brightwater, the more tense I became. As if he could feel it, Slade took my hand. His palm was rough from manual labor, and as massive as the rest of him. But his touch was soft and tender. He was sensitive to my feelings, which made me even more drawn to him.

  When we arrived, Slade jumped out of the SUV and came around. He held the door for me like a gentleman, and offered a hand to help me out.

  “If he tries to touch you,” Slade said, “I’m going to kill him.” There was no humor in his voice.

  “I’m sure we’ll be just fine,” I replied, though I wasn’t entirely sure. Jacques Marquette Pelletier seemed the type to throw things—slaps, glasses of wine. And though I was entirely sure Pelletier deserved it, I would prefer if Slade didn’t punch him.